The Butterfly Effect

by Luis A. Santamaría

  After that day, Freddy never saw the girl again, who was none other than Alyssa Grifero. He traveled to England to study English during the summer, and thus avoided crossing with his cheating ex-girlfriend. It was an unnecessary precaution, as the teenager didn’t leave the house for weeks, and when she did, it was to leave the coast of Malaga and disappear from the map.

  As they were about to conclude their holidays, Freddy learned from a friend in Spain that the girl had gotten pregnant that summer; there were rumors that she had been raped. She had apparently aborted. Freddy, still in England attending his classes, was astonished to hear this, and a terrible doubt assaulted him at once. Had he been the cause of the rape?

  What the hell had happened that night? The truth was that he was so drunk that day, so out of his mind, that he remembered nothing. What if the child was his? What would become of the little girl now? He chose to reject everything. Most likely, the bastard Nacho Conde was dating her for a while and had overtaken her at some point.

  The young man then decided to start a new life in Oxford, England, where he was bitten by the police bug, so he applied and he was approved. He changed his name and became agent Alfred Horner (orphaned from birth by his father, he used the family name of his host during that summer). He met a beautiful young woman named Donna, and did not think of Alyssa again, he literally erased her from his memory, until the night that, four years later, he met the stunning Ania handcuffed and open-legged, at his disposal.

  Monday, November 13, 2006

  Everything became crystalline. A door had opened in the depths of his subconscious. Nailed to the waist of that blond monument, he watched as the last piece of the puzzle flew past his eyes like a feather and settled gently into a hollow of the same shape. The complex puzzle had been completed. Now he knew with certainty who had liquidated Mike Lennard.

  Just getting rid of Ania, Agent Horner got dressed and got the address for Diane Tallent in a few seconds from the police headquarters. He picked up his badge and the Hekler Koch Compact before going out the door.

  Someone knocked on Diane Tallent's door. The British girl, who had just taken a hot shower, turned off the dryer, covered herself with a cotton sweater, and ran to open it. Vader's fluffy butt came to rest on the dais beside her feet when the figure of a man about her age, looking as if he'd had a bad day, she glimpsed him on the other side of the wood, displaying his bright face with an identification badge.

  "Diane Tallent?" He asked roughly.

  The one mentioned nodded with a frown as she stroked the tips of her hair, still wet.

  "I'm police officer Alfred Horner," he said. “You are detained.”

  Oh, my God...

  She had no choice but to struggle, because when she wanted to react, the woman's arms were already immobilized against the wall. A metallic cold gripped her wrists. She bellowed and kicked with all her strength in the hope that some neighbor would listen, but the wind was intense and there would probably be no one on the street at that moment. The last thing that kept her memory was that she was dragged into the back seat of a car. It all faded when the clang of something rigid hit the back of her neck.

  It was 06:50 pm and it had started to rain.

  Sara squeezed her fingers together as she ran and noticed a viscous liquid. The blood that had sprouted from the Buddhist's hand was clotting on her skin.

  What am I going to do now?

  She wanted to go to the police and tell them about her meeting with Kurt Payne. How he had cornered her on the landing, leaving her no choice but to use her knife in self-defense. Because it had been self-defense, right? Would they believe her? She had to be calm. After all, she had not killed anyone.

  The wind was blowing hard against her face, making it difficult for her to run and bringing chaos to the situation.

  On the other hand, she told herself, the police probably keep the letters that relate to Diana, and what's worse, to Lennard. Frankly, she was making merits to earn a spot on the Wanted list at the police station, if such a thing existed.

  Deja vu.

  Just like last October 12, when she unveiled nosy Doctor Salas' deception, she was again running out of breath in the storm. On that occasion she had done it to try to save the life of Alfonso Morales. It was in vain. Now, however, she fled from fear. And just like that day, it seemed that her heart was going to explode. Why do you always get into these messes, Sara? The first drops of rain had already gotten rid of the dried blood on her hand, and as she decided whether or not to go to the police, she had already arrived at Diana's house.

  Vader waited sitting by the fence at the entrance to the garden, and the door of the building was ajar.

  Sara stepped quietly into the hall, completely silent. In the kitchen sink were two dirty dishes, a glass of wine, a frying pan, and some cutlery, all without scrubbing.

  “Diana?” She exclaimed, but she got no answer but the echo of her own voice.

  The bathroom door was open, and from the hallway you could see the straight curtain of the shower and a wet towel lying on the floor. Diana's hair irons were connected to the current. Sara frowned and pulled out the plug.

  “Diana!” She repeated, this time with an annoying lump in her throat.

  The last room she went through was the bedroom. The bed was made and smelled good, but there was no trace of her lover.

  A mew from the front door caused Sara to shudder, and immediately afterwards Vader slipped into the room with his hair curled and his tail raised. He hid behind her legs.

  "What's the matter, little fur ball?"

  There was a loud slamming door. Someone had just entered the house, and Vader was trying to communicate that it was not his mistress.

  Sara took a quick glance down the hallway through the gap between the frame and the door. She had to mentally count to three so that her body wouldn’t react to the terror of seeing that arrogant policeman creeping towards her position. She was able to identify a weapon hanging from his right hand. He was going after her.

  Shit, shit, shit!

  To the utmost desperation, Vader let out a second meow, which eliminated any possibility of going unnoticed. She turned and analyzed the situation. She only had one choice. She ran to the window, opened it wide, and jumped onto the back lawn just as the leather boots of the male figure trod on the bedroom floor.

  She nearly tripped twice before leaving the garden for the road. She ran with all her energy, and as she struggled to save her life, she let the tears flow, clouding her vision. She had the idea of avoiding the main avenues, so she continued to escape through the narrow alleys of the city center. The ground slid like oil-battered songs, and the streetlights shone ghostly shapes on the stone walls. Without knowing how, Sara had ended up in the middle of a horrible nightmare.

  The passage from High Street to Catte Street, also known as Queen's Lane, is a narrow, winding stone road through which time seems to have run out. A must for New College students, during the day Catte Street is one of the most charming tourist attractions in the city. At night, dingy and lonely, it becomes the typical place where no one wants to walk alone. As Sara twisted the first two corners of the passage, she passed a boy riding a bicycle. She made a stop to plead for his help, but the cyclist didn’t stop; he didn’t even look at her. She twisted the last gap between spasms and glimpsed the Bridge of Sighs, which led to the open city. Hopefully, she picked up the pace at the moment a police car skidded violently and stopped under the bridge. The driver got out of the vehicle.

  That unexpected twist in the chase made Sara wince in her heart first, and then she stumbled. She had tried to stop suddenly, but the wet stone was like an ice rink for such acrobatics. She landed face-first against a puddle. She held her breath and closed her eyes. The muscles in her body didn’t respond, and she wasn’t sure whether any bones had been broken. Her pursuer must have been close by now. The only thing that could be heard in the alley was the strong heel that the soles of his boots produced when he steppe
d on the damp ground. They were approaching slowly.

  Sara Mora prepared to be arrested. The heel stopped at her side, and Sara, fully surrendered, and relaxed her body to make things easy for her captor. She had no intention of resisting any more. She expected a brief shaking and a strong pull to place her wrists behind her back. She had seen it in countless movies. Instead, she was flipped over face up. She looked into the face of the cop who had been chasing after Mike's death. Raindrops fell from her bangs to her eyes, blinding her. And the warm glow of the lanterns didn’t allow her to focus on anything in particular. She did not see the butt of the pistol slam into her forehead.

  Chapter 20

  "Since I have a little time left, I think it's the moment of the last lesson, and it's one I've learned in the last few weeks.”

  "Okay, but hurry it up. The security guys are here.”

  "The last lesson is that the more you try not to love, Morgan, more people put their lives on your path for you to love.”

  "Well, I'll take it as the best compliment I can get out of your mouth."

  "Dear Saul, it has been a real pleasure to talk to you.”

  "The pleasure has been all mine.”

  Monday, November 13, 2006

  It is curious how the simple touch of the soft skin of a pregnant woman can give value to a whole life. Rafael made this reflection as he slid his hand down his daughter's belly. He dared not do more than just touch it. He was touched by the prospect of living with his second grandson.

  Verónica looked up and met his eyes. Damn! He almost couldn’t remember how beautiful they were. Had his daughter forgiven him? The future mother leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. Rafael did not want Verónica to see him crying with emotion, so he rubbed his eyes to hide his emotions.

  When he opened them again, everything had vanished as if by magic. A very pure white color invaded his field of vision, and intense light struck him intermittently in his eyes. The next thing he noticed was that everything moved around him, even though his legs were immobile. His whole body was without movement. He suffered a sudden bump and nearly vomited. Verónica... Where was she?

  The universe stopped again, and now the blinding light no longer blinked, but remained motionless in front of his pupils, indignant with him. Offended, he had to look sideways, and discovered an open door with a particularity: it was horizontal. It was then that he knew that he was lying on his back. A stretcher? He couldn’t move because, he found, he was tied around his legs and hands by straps. And yet he felt such a comforting peace that was gradually invading him.

  His world moved again, only that it was no longer the world, but the stretcher to which he had been tied. Where were they taking him? He tried to speak, but the words did not come out. It was obvious that they were punishing him for something. Had they gotten that drug on Félix? They couldn’t do that! After all, he had always acted for the good of the creature. In addition, he was a much better qualified physician than all the payroll babes who cared for the sick. What did they know? He remembered seeing several nurses take Félix to the ward. The poor chimpanzee had his arm dangling, and blood dripped from his upper arm. On second thought, it was possible that he had crossed the line. Maybe he deserved a little punishment; maybe a symbolic hard ear pulls.

  He continued to go through radiant, endless corridors when he came across Saul. His petite African-American friend raised his thumb as the stretcher passed him and winked at him, accompanying a singular smile that seemed to say, everything is going to be all right.

  Saul Morgan disappeared from his field of vision as he had appeared, and then the stretcher stopped again. A metal door slid behind his feet. He was not going to move any more.

  An exasperating pain ran through her body. Diana gritted her teeth as she brought her hand to the back of her neck, where an important bump had grown. She winced and fell to the floor. She had lost her balance, not because of the pain, which in itself was already high, but the floor was slippery without warning. What happened to me? Where the hell am I?

  She was remembering little by little. The policeman’s visit, the arrest, and then-an indescribable emptiness. She had a vague sense of being abducted rather than arrested. She tried to mentally draw the face of her captor, but it was impossible. Her head hurt too much.

  She looked around. Almost everything was half-dark and smelled musty. She stood up despite the pain at the nape of her neck that accompanied her every movement, and began to feel the walls. She was enclosed in a small place, maybe in a storage room, as it lacked windows. The wall was old wood, though from time to time Diana touched metal surfaces, always halfway up.

  She had to get out of there, that was clear. There was a door, but it was iron, and it was locked. If only I could break the lock. She searched around for a sharp object, and... thank God! In a corner of the room she found an object about five kilos in weight with a long edge and a wooden handle. A small ax? It would certainly work.

  She went to the door and began to hit at the lock with a movement that ran from top to bottom. First, onslaught... and nothing. A second attempt a little louder... and the door remained intact. She tried another blow a third time, lucky, this time swinging the ax. Diana struck a blow so brutal that the ax bounced off the metal plate and hit the ground. The edge of the weapon had created a crack in the wood and... what happens now? A stream of water began to surge through the splinters, creating a puddle. Now Diana understood why the floor had slipped before: she was inside a ship. And it had begun to sink. She didn’t have much time.

  The existence of Rafael Salas had been a roller coaster. It had been governed by very extreme principles in which, you were with him, or you were against him. He had enjoyed living on the edge, always on a tightrope, and personally and professionally, that had taken its toll. He was not a violent man, at least of action, and despite having broken the professional code on a couple of occasions and having turned his marriage into a nightmare, he was going to be remembered by most as an out of the ordinary human being. Above all else, his son-in-law Alfonso, had admired him. As for his daughter Verónica, and Sara, although they had betrayed him by filing a complaint against him, he knew that at heart they loved him. And Oli, dammit... it had been a real pleasure to belong to this world just to feel the warm love of his little grandson.

  He was beginning to lose track of time by the time he received a pleasant surprise: Oli had just approached the table and had stared at him with an annoyed expression. He apparently did not understand what was happening. And neither did he. He no longer knew what day it was or how long he had been lying on that table with wheels and shackles. When was the last time he had faced those blue eyes? He couldn’t remember. He felt comforted when he heard his voice.

  “Hello, Grandpa.”

  Rapid words came to Rafael, as if they were speaking from another room. He was certain that it was his grandson who spoke, because he saw his lips move. He wanted to answer, to engage in a new intelligent conversation with him, but he couldn’t. He just watched. Oli had grown his hair, and it seemed that his mother had dressed him again in that horrible pink shirt. On him, he had a pendant attached to his neck with a curious shape: it was a metallic cylinder that the passage of time had covered with rust. For some reason Salas knew that Oli was sad.

  “Thank you for helping me with Mom and Dad, Grandpa. Yes we did it."

  Was Oli talking between sobs? Everything was getting so depressing.

  "I love you, Grandpa."

  Rafael Salas thought he lost consciousness, and when he awoke again, he was alone. In the next room someone was having a conversation. He distinguished two voices, one of a man and one of a woman. And a constant cry in the background. The man's torn voice was unmistakable: the stretched-out Rodolfo Grau. The woman's voice was that of his daughter Verónica, there was no doubt either. He guessed that Oli was crying.

  “No alternative. This is necessary,” said the male voice.

  "But how bad is he?"

&n
bsp; “When he entered the center he had mild symptoms of neurosis, probably due to all the stress he had suffered in recent months. He was still a brilliant doctor, and even managed to beat me in a verbal duel. For you to understand me, he didn’t miss a beat.” Rafael seemed to be a thousand years old as he listened to the director's bleak revelation from the stretcher. “But the old Doctor Salas, still believed he was a legend. He didn’t understand why he was here or the gravity of his acts abroad. So we had no choice but to perform the psychological tests. We had to use sneaky tricks so he wouldn’t suspect, and we even provided him with a medical coat so he could continue to believe his own lie.”

  “And then? What changed?”

  "He met Félix. And then, Saul. Félix is the most seriously ill patient we have, and Rafael became obsessed with him. He came to steal drugs (or what he thought was medicine), he snuck into his cell, and pricked him with a syringe. What was a remedy to him turned out to be a bestial attack. I don’t know what would have happened if our nurses wouldn’t have arrived on time.”

  "And what did he inject him with?"

  “Serum. Simple serum. Imagine instead of giving him that, what if he had given him something stronger! Félix would be in a body bag right now.”

  Salas looked from his stretcher as if they were talking about someone else. He listened as his daughter burst into tears. It was a lament of grief and remorse.

  "And who is Saul?"

  "Saul Morgan. He is absolutely no one.”

  A silence.

  "You mean to me that...”

  “Nonexistent. Saul Morgan is not a doctor in this center because he is not directly a real person.” Salas thought he would die hearing this. “He was a product invented by your father's imagination, perhaps to have someone to talk to. He was a friend to talk about his sins, someone with whom to vent. Saul was proof that Rafael Salas suffered from acute schizophrenia.”

  The voices weakened until they ceased to be perceived. Everything slowed around him, became blurry, and finally, black.