The Serpentine Butterfly

by Addison Moore

  His vague threat runs right past my ears. The truth is, I’m still stuck on the word father. I’m going to be a father—somebody’s father, and eventually, one day, three somebodies’ father. My entire body goes numb with shock, and half of what this life-size Ken doll says, while probing my wife’s vagina with the condom on a stick, goes right over my head. The monitor lights up, and the room fills with rhythmic static.

  “Hear that?” He holds up a finger, and I try hard not to smack it before he sticks it into one of Skyla’s orifices in the name of Western medicine. “It sounds like a baseball bat cutting through the air on a loop. That is your baby’s heartbeat. Although—” He sticks his face close to the screen, his hand maneuvering the wand he’s probing her with, twisting his wrist like it was some video game controller.

  “What is it?” Skyla and I say in unison, and she gives my hand another squeeze.

  “What?” Skyla cries as if she’s in anguish, and if the fact half of his arm is missing were any indication, I’d say this space invader has finally caused some bodily harm.

  “It seems”—he leans in further until the front of his bouffant hairdo touches the screen—“do multiples run in your family, Skyla?”

  “Multiples?”

  What the hell is he talking about? Swear to God, if he’s hinting at orgasms—

  “Twins.” He gives a Cheshire cat’s grin.

  “What?” Skyla and I belt it out together again like some macabre choir.

  “Actually”—he looks to the screen slightly confused—“in your case, triplets.”

  “Oh God.” Skyla thumps back onto the table, and I lose my grip on her as the room starts to sway.

  He’s fucking with us. I’ve pissed him off, and now he’s fucking with us.

  “Now”—he pulls out the glistening wand and points as if it were some extension of his hand—“They’re fraternal—meaning they each have their own sack and won’t be identical, but I have to ask. Did you come to this naturally? Although, not entirely unheard of, triplets are still a rarity.”

  “Oh, believe you me”—Skyla hikes back up on her elbows with a glazed look in her eyes that I haven’t seen before, some strange combination of elation and anger—“there is not one natural thing about the way I conceived.” She mutters Demetri’s name under her breath along with Ellis’s, and she might have thrown Chloe’s and Wes’s in there for good measure.

  “It was completely natural,” I assure. Supernatural.

  “Nevertheless”—he points to the darkened screen with its charcoal images flashing in and out of focus—“here is baby number one.”

  “Oh my God,” Skyla and I say it together. This time it’s in awe, nothing short of a God-breathed miracle we’re experiencing.

  “It has a perfect little head.” She sniffles. I kneel in until my cheek is close to Skyla’s as we stare at the screen in wonder. The tiny being on the screen has a perfect human form, tiny limbs, a slightly larger head and belly.

  “Is it sucking its thumb?” I ask.

  The doctor nods into the screen. “I’d say yes.”

  I’m done. I’ve melted, fallen into a puddle of love, and I never want to get up.

  “We did that,” I whisper to her. Skyla and I have created a perfect little being—dear God Almighty—three of them.

  “Baby number two.” He moves to another small sac, and the image of yet another perfect child emerges. “And last, but not least, baby number three.”

  “They’re so beautiful.” Tears stream down both Skyla’s face and mine. Here we are, our eyes feasted upon our children—children—for the very first time. Tiny glowing beings with perfectly formed everything, moving lethargically as we watch from this technological vantage point.

  “It looks like you have a due date of December thirteenth,” he announces victoriously as if he just discovered the answer to some difficult to solve crossword puzzle.

  Skyla sucks in a breath and holds it.

  “What’s wrong?” I gently turn her chin toward me, and then I see it in her eyes. Logan. December thirteenth. Of course, this year that day would have been their second wedding anniversary. “We don’t need to tell him. We can change it a day or so.”

  “No.” She fans her fingers through the air as if it were useless trying to fight it. “We’ll tell him. No more lies.”

  No more lies, just another dagger through his heart. I hate that Logan and I take turns killing each other by loving Skyla.

  Dr. Baxter and the nurse leave the room, and I help Skyla with her clothes, but in no way have we come back down to Earth.

  “Parents.” I pull Skyla in, my lips searing over hers. “We’re going to be parents.”

  “We already are.” Her lips quiver, the tears flow like an open faucet. “Times three.” Her voice breaks when she says it.

  Three. Emily’s prediction wasn’t some far-off future event she was trying to decipher. It was for today, this season of our lives. Skyla and I would have all of our kids in one shot.

  Her cool fingers wipe a tear from my own eye that I didn’t even realize I shed.

  “I’m going to make sure you’re here with me for a very long time, Gage. Three kids.” She shakes her head. “I’ll never survive without you.”

  Three kids. For the first time, I feel completely against the idea of my early demise. I want to live to that promised ripe old age I once predicted for Skyla and Logan—Logan, who is factually dead but here in a Treble. A hollow, sad laugh tries to buck through me. Dear God, I do not want a Treble. No offense to the forces that be that provided it to Logan, but I want life blood pumping through my veins—a real beating heart. I want to be a part of the blueprint, not a ghost in the flesh. I’m not feeling so generous toward Logan anymore. Skyla and I aren’t just dating, aren’t simply husband and wife, a family of two. We’ve upgraded to five in the blink of an eye, and I want to make sure that number stays right where it is.

  “I’ll be here for you and the kids, Skyla, until you’re old and gray.” I can feel the impossibility begging to jump from my throat so I give in. “I promise.”

  Now to make that happen.

  * * *

  Skyla and I hit the Burger Shack on the way home, then I settle her in bed before heading out on a few errands, all of which concern my own biological father.

  Demetri’s haunted estate sits crooked on a hillside not six miles from where I grew up. It doesn’t surprise me. My brother and I have been his pet projects for some time, although who knows how many siblings I might have running around this planet.

  I don’t bother to knock, just let myself in.

  “Yo, Pops!” I shout sarcastically. Not that it matters. Any attempt at humor is lost on the demonic coot. The scent of something familiar baking in the oven catches me off guard, and this alarms me for two reasons—one, I’ve only ever smelled this vanilla cinnamon goodness from the Landon home. And two, I seriously doubt Demetri is swapping recipes with Lizbeth.

  “Son!” Demetri materializes from the stairwell, his body coming into full form as he touches down in the foyer. “You’ve come for a visit.”

  “Not quite.”

  A pair of heels click-clack in this direction, and the sound of a baby fussing lights up the room.

  Lizbeth bursts in from the direction of the kitchen with little Misty squirming in her arms.

  “Oh.” She takes a step back as we examine one another with a vague look of shock, although nothing, and I mean nothing, can shock me more than I’ve already been shocked today. I’ve met a lifetime quota of surprises in the span of thirty seconds this afternoon. “You’re here.” Her affect falls flat at the sight of me. Not something I’m used to with my mother-in-law. “Is Skyla here, too?” She glances nervously past my shoulder.

  “No. She’s not feeling well. She’s resting back at the house.”

  Lizbeth Landon is dressed to the nines with a skirt that sits uncomfortably too high above her knee, black kitten heels, and a skin-tight sweater. What the h
eck? Is she trying to seduce him?

  Demetri takes Misty into his arms. “There, there.” He rocks her back and forth, and she immediately settles down.

  “Dada!” she coos as she plucks at his chin.

  “Oh!” Lizbeth’s face lights up neon red like the butt of a cigarette. “Goodness! Well, she just calls every man that these days.” She waves a hand in my direction.

  I’ve held Misty dozens of times. I’d venture to say more times than Tad himself, and she’s never once called me that—or him for that matter. My gut boils because it just confirms Skyla’s theory.

  “I was just baking some cookies.” Lizbeth’s face fills with color.

  Why do I suddenly feel like I’m intruding?

  Little Misty gives a giggle and a wave in my direction, and my stomach sours. Crap. Lizbeth Landon is a cheat, and that baby is tangible proof of her infidelity. I knew this. Skyla told me herself, but something about seeing them in action, or at least as close as I ever want to get, makes me want to vomit on my shoes.

  “What can I do for you? Is everything okay?” Demetri’s eyes press hard into mine. He knows about Skyla’s condition. Hell, we talked about it.

  “Yeah. Skyla and I were just wondering what weekend you were thinking of throwing that kickoff to summer shindig you’ve been known to host.”

  “A party! Yes!” Lizbeth jumps an inch in her heels and almost eats it on the slick marble floor. “Why, we were just about to schedule that. I’m his official party planning hostess, you know.” She nods in heavy anticipation of my agreement so I give a stiff nod back.

  “Week after next.” He’s studying me, smiling with those dangerous, cunning eyes that only know evil. “Lizbeth will fill you in on the details.”

  “Sounds good.” I head for the door.

  “Wesley is expecting you tonight for dinner.”

  I turn back, sickened by the sight of the three of them playing the part of happy little nuclear family.

  “And what will he be serving?” Bullshit, I assume.

  “You’ll see once you get there. I assure you, Gage, it is a feast fit for a king.”

  I bet.

  But that’s one meal I don’t crave anymore.

  * * *

  Late in the night, as the clock ticks to midnight, I stare at my phone, at the anxious texts Wes keeps sending, but I’m determined to fall back to sleep with Skyla in my arms. Skyla, who is host to our three children. Skyla, who I promised that I would live to a ripe old age for. My heart breaks just being next to her, knowing I’m impotent to add a single moment to my life.

  My phone buzzes in my hand.

  Brother. Finally, Wesley has mastered brevity.

  Perhaps, just perhaps...

  I swing slowly out of bed and head for the restroom. Skyla will know I am gone. She always knows when I leave. And this time I won’t hide anything from her.

  I text him back. Need your help getting down there.

  And just like that, the room disappears.

  It Goes On

  LOGAN

  For an entire week, I’ve successfully avoided both Skyla and Gage, burying myself in making the world a better place, one bowling alley at a time, mine to be exact. I’m not actually avoiding Skyla and Gage, but by the looks of it, they’re avoiding me. In truth, I kind of like the story in reverse. My ego tends to bruise a little easy these days.

  “Knock, knock.”

  I glance up to find Gage himself standing at the office door, slumped over, a somewhat bashful smile on his face.

  “Speak of the devil.” Shit. Did I just say that out loud? “I’d say come in, but there’s only room for one.” I get up and pull him into a hug. I want to hug Gage. I want to feel his solid form next to mine, because the entire time I thought he was dead, this is what I craved. “Congratulations, man. I never did get to say it to you the way I wanted. You’re going to make a damn good dad.”

  “Yeah, well, the jury is still out on that one. I’ll give it one hell of a go, that’s for sure. You’ll be a great uncle. I already know that firsthand. You got a minute?”

  “For you? Always.” Uncle. My heart warms at the idea. It’s not a title I had considered. For whatever reason, I imagined the baby coming into the world and me blinking right out. That still might be the best-case scenario.

  We head into the bowling alley proper and find a seat toward the back, the exact table we sat at that first summer Skyla walked through the door with Brielle. It feels like eons ago that fate brought her to Paragon. I remember the instant I fell in love with her, and now Gage has put a ring on her finger and a baby deep inside her.

  “How is she?” I ask as we take a seat. I don’t have it in me to beat around the bush.

  “She’s pretty sick, but all is well on the baby front. Skyla cries at the drop of a hat. There’s this rage that rears its head about three times a day. It’s pretty wild. There are some tiny details about the pregnancy”—he cuts his hand through the air—“but Skyla probably wants to share those with you. She’s spending lots of time up in the butterfly room—says it calms her.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad she’s doing okay. I’d like to see her.” I’m dying to see her. Hell, I’m already a corpse waiting in line to catch a glimpse, hold her, tell her how proud I am of her for hanging on, how happy I am that she has Gage back.

  Lexy breezes by with a friendly wave. She and Ellis are on staff today along with Liam. A skeletal crew is working the kitchen.

  “Lex, huh?” His brows hike an inch.

  “She’s been as faithful as a Golden Retriever. She even volunteered to furnish White Horse, on my dime, of course. She says it’s a gift to me, no strings. She wants to be an interior designer, and I volunteered to be her first victim.”

  “White Horse?”

  I know what he’s thinking. First, I fucked Chloe in the bedroom that I built for Skyla—although, technically, I did fuck Chloe thoroughly all throughout that massive house, the mattress burning was simply symbolic—and now I’ve employed Lexy to decorate the place. White Horse is ironically barren of Skyla in every capacity.

  “I thought it could use a woman’s touch.” I’m not feeling up to explaining myself further. What the hell? “She’s leaking me info on your brother’s new endeavor. The Barricade’s dream team. Her words, not mine.”

  “Nice. I’ve been to see him myself. Each night, all week. Skyla hasn’t called me on it, but I’m guessing she knows. She’s too sick to bring it up, or I might have done it myself.”

  “What did you glean?” A week? He’s right back to pulling his old bullshit, and my blood boils for Skyla.

  “I’m in discussions with him and the Videns. Demetri wants this to be my decision—should I go back and how much authority I wish to assume. I’m still sucked dry, no powers to speak of in any respect.” He holds his hands up. “I flip the switch, and nothing happens.” His dimples go off. “Just the way I wanted.” He gives a wry smile as if he’s changed his mind.

  “Only it’s not.” I know the feeling.

  “Only it’s not.” He nods in sober agreement. “I want to get together with you and Dudley and talk this over.”

  “Dudley?” He couldn’t have thrown me more if he had said Tad.

  “Yes. He’s a part of Skyla’s future, and so are you. I need to make the best decision, the only decision.” He leans in, pleading for me to get on board. “I’m playing with fire, Logan. If I fall in, we all get burned.”

  “First rational thing I’ve heard coming from your lips in months.” I grind my teeth at the thought of us consulting Dudley about anything, but it makes sense. “Okay. Sounds good. I’m good with Dudley.”

  “Thanks, man.” Gage gives a quick grimace. “And I want to ask you one more thing.”

  “As long as it doesn’t involve Dudley, I’m all ears.”

  “No, it involves the bowling alley. I just took my dad up on his offer to take over the accounting for the morgue. If your offer stills stands, I’m looking to f
ill the position.”

  A tiny relief of a laugh comes from me. “It looks like I’m staring at my new accountant.” I lean over and give him a pat on the shoulder. “I like the sound of that. I’ll shoot you an email tonight. I’ll send enough raw numerical sewage that both you and your laptop will be sick for a week.”

  “It’s on.”

  Down at the last lane, Drake bowls a strike.

  I nod to him, and Gage catches a quick glimpse from over his shoulder.

  “He’s been here nearly every single day, bowling game after game all by his lonesome. Not that I mind. His money is as green as anyone else’s—greener, in fact.”

  Gage shakes his head, a smile dying on his lips. “Drake. Can you believe he and Brielle are the great success story of West Paragon High? I’d say our entire class, but most likely all of West Paragon history.”

  “No kidding.” We both offer a disparaging look in his direction, and he jogs on over.

  “We need to think of an idea—something to pump some serious green into both of our bank accounts.”

  Gage nods just as Drake takes a seat, sweat dripping from his temples. He’s the only one I’ve yet to see actually break a sweat while bowling. That probably means he’s doing it right, and the rest of us are just slackers, a metaphor for life in general.

  “What’s up, Olivers?” He kicks off his shoes, and the stench of vinegar lights up around us. Looks like I’ll be putting those puppies in the discard pile.

  “Just talking about what a success you are.” I offer a thin smile. Drake is okay. He’s just Drake. “What’s your secret?”

  “Dude, it’s my girl. She’s the fucking brains of the organization.”

  Ellis comes by and slips Drake a soda.

  “Thanks, bud.” He salutes us before gulping it down. “You should get your bitches to work. They’re good at that shit. That’s what God put ’em on this Earth to do, right? Take care of our sorry asses while we bowl the day away.”