The Butterfly Effect

by Luis A. Santamaría

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw through the window that someone was moving down the street, and she reacted as if she had seen a cat with wings. Jaime? He was the last person she expected to find in an Oxford hospital. Did he come to see her? How did he find out?

  He walked quickly. He was talking on the cell phone, and with his other hand he held a bunch of flowers. He looked pleased. A few seconds later, his image was lost when he entered the building.

  Sara raised her eyebrows and assessed the situation. Jaime had not come to her call when she had needed him, and she could have avoided some problems. Yet he remained her only friend. She was glad to realize she still wanted to see him, and she felt special.

  If Jaime was her only friend, Diana was the love of her life; now she knew for certain. She shivered when she remembered the horrible sight of her coming to the room on a stretcher in the early hours of Sunday. She was unconscious and pale. At first she had thought she was dead, but then realized that no corpse would be taken to a hospital room. The nurses soon explained in a very simple English that her partner (couple, how nice that sounded) suffered from hypothermia and had swallowed a lot of water, but was already out of danger. Apparently, they had saved her from drowning at the last moment. The first thing she asked for when she awoke, they said, was to see her Brunet.

  She was, therefore, moved to the same room as her, and there she went. Sara watched the rhythm of her breathing as she slept peacefully in the next bed. The bruises on her face were almost gone, and the color of her lips were turning warm again.

  Why them? Neither of them had done anything to provoke that mad policeman's wrath. Were they two more victims of a sick society? In the quiet and almost ceremonial atmosphere that had been imposed in the room, Sara inadvertently traveled to the World of Second Opportunities. She realized that if she had not been at 219 Cowley Road on the precise night that Lennard was killed, she would not be in that bed with her hand torn to pieces. But it went further: if she had never traveled to Oxford to start a new life with Diana, she would never have gone through that damn street. Besides, it was very likely that she would have continued her quiet neurosurgeon's life in Ámber if Charley Rubial had not attacked her at home that Sunday afternoon. Therefore, the conclusion was this: if Dr. Salas had not meddled his nose into the medical results of his son-in-law, nothing that happened next would have taken place.

  Would she have been happier in that alternative world where that old pig never altered the results? Sara let out a gasp of happiness, as she knew the answer so clearly. She focused again on Diana's serene breath and thanked the butterfly for fluttering its wings on that early summer day.

  A pounding of knuckles sounded behind the door. Sara wiped away the tear before shouting, "come in!" and welcoming her old friend. She had many things to tell him.

  Jaime Vergara smiled kindly at the young, freckled clerk when she handed him a bunch of assorted flowers. He paid, crossed to the other sidewalk, and walked toward Churchill Hospital. At that moment, the mobile phone vibrated in the pocket of his pants. He had a strange feeling, as if by being in another country it was impossible for someone to contact him. He pulled the device out of his pocket and noticed that he had a new message. The sender was his boss in La Paz, Dr. Fuenmayor and the content of the message caused Jaime to stop in the middle of the street with his brow furrowed.

  I guess you've heard. Come and see me in the office as soon as you can.

  Knowing what? Something about him had happened in Spain, it was obvious. Would the trial have gone ahead for the Shapiro case? Jaime was still staring at the contents of the message as the phone began to vibrate in his hand and to emit the classic and strident incoming call sound. It was his sister. What the hell was going on?

  He picked up.

  "Mary, what's wrong?"

  "Where are you? Don’t tell me you haven’t heard!”

  His sister shouted excitedly over the phone, and Jaime couldn’t distinguish whether she did it as if they had won the lottery, or rather as if some relative had died.

  "Take it easy, Mary," he said quietly, trying to make something clear. “I'm in England, I'll tell you later what happened.”

  “In England? Are you crazy? Come home right now!”

  "But what happened?"

  Jaime was confused. He was beginning to fear the worst.

  "They just said on TV that they arrested Ernesto Shapiro, a deadbeat son for the murder of his father!"

  “What are you saying?” he said, and he resumed his march toward the hospital.

  "Apparently, a hacker accessed his computer. Police have received a series of evidence and anonymous papers showing that the Shapiro marriage conspired to murder his father. The plan involved including you to the point of making you look guilty. They had played it well, little brother.”

  What a fucking bastard!

  “Great, María, you relax. This afternoon, I'll fly to Madrid and we’ll see each other. Then we can learn all the details,” he said. “In addition, my boss also wants to see me, I suppose to talk about the same thing.”

  “Yes? Damn, this is too much!”

  "I’ll leave you for now, little sister, I have a matter to settle before I return. As soon as I get off the plane I’ll give you a ring. Thanks and goodbye.”

  Jaime sighed as soon as he hung up the phone, and he automatically got goose bumps. An anonymous person had sent evidence to the police? He knew perfectly who was behind everything. In the end, Aly had kept her word.

  Resplendent, Jaime arrived at the hospital and asked for the room where Sara Mora rested. He couldn’t take it any more, so, from the elevator, he wrote a short message to Alyssa through his cell phone. When he pushed the send button, he noticed that his hands were shaking, and he mentally reprimanded his childish attitude.

  He reached Sara's room, and before knocking, he glanced at the flowers. Would she forgive him for not coming to her aid when she had needed him? He hoped so. Friends do that. "Friends..." That was definitely the word. He knocked on the door and prepared for Sara to tell him the whole story from start to finish. It promised to be fascinating.

  From the day of the death of Dorian, Carroll and Horner, Alyssa Grifero was disconnected from the world. After Jaime and Tena testified in favor for her and against Horner, Marcos Tena himself had freed her from the handcuffs, and she had been free and without any charges. Oxford police had asked her to remain available until all the Lennard-Horner trials had been held. She spent the first few days of freedom washing clothes and resting in a luxury hotel with which she had been rewarded.

  She also went to Dorian's funeral and was attentive to the television when they spoke of the Spanish hero who had saved a young woman from dying in a pit. She was surprised to be touched when she saw Tena receive his first medal.

  Well, Don Perfecto. I'm glad for you.

  It was as if she was enjoying her last hours as Alyssa Grifero, at least as she was known by everyone, and she had decided to start a new life.

  A beep from her cell phone startled her, to her immense irritation, while enjoying a bubble bath in the hotel room. She covered herself with a towel and walked barefoot until she picked up the phone and discovered the message:

  From 'JAIME'

  You did it. I don’t know how, but you did. Let me reward you. I want to see you... I miss you.

  She was thoughtful. Never before in her life had anyone become interested in her that way, and less anyone so... special. Jaime wanted to see her; and then, what? Would they lock up in her suite to make love for a whole week? Were they just friends? In fact, she missed him too. She wanted him to want her for being who she was. Not to judge her without knowing her, she wanted to be special to someone. That someone was Jaime, she had decided without knowing it the afternoon that she appeared in his flat without warning, like a wild and dangerous fugitive.

  Alyssa Grifero felt exceptionally well.

  That was when she made a decision. She would travel to Madrid and she
would meet again with Jaime. They would talk for a long time about their future and, if everything went well, they would make love, buy a cat and eat breakfast every day by the window that overlooked that busy avenue.

  Any other option was inconceivable.

  But, before abandoning England, she had to do one last thing. The reason she had traveled to Oxford at first had been the legacy that Charley had left both her and Verónica Salas. Due to mourning for the loss of her husband and pregnancy, Verónica had asked her to go on behalf of both to meet Miguel Rubial, aka. Lennard, and ask him about the mysterious music box that was supposed to contain the inheritance. That had been the simple plan from the beginning, and Oli, who called himself Jasper in the Internet world, was going to accompany her from a distance. But Alfred Horner crossed her path that precise night, and everything became hell.

  Now nothing prevented her from opening the music box, collecting her share of the inheritance, and starting a new life with Jaime.

  She put on some red pants and a white T-shirt she had bought at GAP, as well as her black leather jacket, and left the hotel. It was a sunny, splendid day. It was nothing compared to the storm on that night of hell.

  She walked the streets of the city feeling like a heroine. It was as if the streets, the buildings, and the lampposts... they revered her. In less than a week she had killed a rapist and murderer, had collaborated in caging the corrupt Ernesto Shapiro, and had conquered the best man in the land. Along the way, in addition, she had helped many good people to get out of their corresponding predicaments. It was not bad for the omnipresent Alyssa Grifero.

  The house that was Mike Lennard's home at 219 Cowley Road housed an unusual calm from the street, as if it also needed a quiet time after all the hustle and bustle, murders, examinations, and so on. It still had the security tape on its perimeter, but it would not be difficult for Alyssa to cross it and go into the building, the bathroom window overlooking the alley was slightly open.

  She had never been inside, so she couldn’t compare it to what it was, but the atmosphere of the house seemed dull, sad. She wasted no time in morose glances at the bathroom, and with increasing nervousness ascended to the upper floor. The wood complained like an old, abandoned house, and Alyssa found it hard to believe that until some days ago here lived a normal person.

  Lennard's bedroom contained nothing out of the ordinary, nor was it a charming musical box that looked like a safe that adorned the dresser under the window. The few rays of sunlight streaming through the curtains illuminated the box directly, as if guiding the visitor toward her final reward.

  Alyssa approached cautiously, aware that she might be facing one of the most defining moments of her life, and lifted the lid gently. An irritating melody began to ring as Alyssa watched the collection of watches Lennard kept in the music box.

  It's just a cover. It has to have a false bottom.

  To her great satisfaction, the section of the watches could be raised, and under it, another level was hidden, where Lennard kept all kinds of old wires, plugs and memories that were worthless. It was like a tailor's box.

  Alyssa stirred those things in her hands, as her nervousness grew more accentuated. She didn’t understand anything. Where was it? Had that asshole Charley been pulling her leg? No, he wouldn’t do that. That is to say, it was possible that yes he could, she didn’t doubt it, but it was unthinkable that he could do such a macabre joke to his sweet Verónica.

  So where the hell was her inheritance?

  Wait, I've touched something.

  The box contained a third level below that of the watches and that of the junk. However, it was directly inaccessible. What Alyssa had felt with her fingers was a metal lock. But.... she didn’t have a key! What opened the lucky box? Desperate, she rummaged through the drawers in the room, the closets, and between the sheets. She found nothing but dust and lint. Then she realized that it was not a normal lock. The key that would open the third level of the musical box should be larger than any conventional key. It must have a cylindrical, hollow structure.

  Where had she seen such an object? She was sure that description was familiar.

  Then she got it, and the pain was immediate and detestable. A part of her wanted to burn the box, tear it to pieces. She wanted to take Charley's body and crush his skull against the damn music box. But that was stupid. Thoughts swirled in her mind, and at last she calmed down.

  "Now I’m fucked,” she said aloud. Then she smiled, and the laughter gave way to a thunderous laugh.

  She loaded the box, left the house and headed to the airport, past the hotel to pick up her things. She devoted her entire flight to studying a proper way to apologize to Oli. Explain that what he saw through the webcam was a complete mistake, and that the fact that Jaime and she were more than friends was not going to change anything in their friendship. But above all, and this had to happen at all costs, she had to convince him that they needed the cylindrical key that he always had hanging around his neck to collect Charley Rubial's inheritance.

  Rafael Salas awoke in the middle of a new white light that offended his eyes. An army of doctors came and went around the stretcher as if in an imprecise and futuristic sequence in slow motion. He rolled his eyes and allowed his mind to wander through his subconscious.

  A series of visions materialized, now very clearly, one behind the other. The first was the bloody body of a girl on the ground, next to a tractor. Pain and crying. This image was followed by a much more tender one: a newborn baby with wide-awake eyes came into his arms. Someone had told him his name was Óliver, but it seemed more likeable to call him Oli, as a nickname. Then a dying Alfonso running to embrace Verónica overflowing with love. Many had vilified him for exchanging the diagnosis of the tumor, but for him, that lie had been his greatest contribution to the world. The beautiful image gave way to the figure of Saul Morgan saying goodbye to him. His only friend.

  A disembodied voice echoed suddenly, lapidary, in the depths of his brain: the incomplete protects the secret with the iron tube, Félix's riddles. The last vision had taken place in the same room a while ago. Oli was saying goodbye to him and had an object around his neck... a kind of metallic cylinder... oh, no... THE RUBBER TUBE!

  Now he understood everything. The incompleteness to which Félix referred to in his riddles was none other than Charley. Of course it was the amputee! And the secret that protected the cylindrical key, the damn iron tube, was...

  My God, I have to tell Oli.

  He opened his eyes again, returning suddenly to the real world. He tried to free himself, but he couldn’t move a millimeter; the straps were tight. Neither could he speak or shout, for some sort of mechanism that had been anchored between his teeth covered his mouth. Rafael felt the cold of two metallic tongs on his temples, and suddenly he was afraid.

  No, not now! Something terrible was about to happen. What are they doing to me? I need to warn Oli of the danger that he is in!

  A powerful electrical shock pierced his brain from side to side, and then everything went out.

  Amelia... my child...

  Thanks

  The more I write, the more I understand how necessary those grains of sand are for the more selfless people. Publishing a novel is not easy, and for that I can assure you that The Butterfly Effect would not be the shadow of what it is if it had not been...

  ...for my colleagues, always ready to help, always the first to reserve a copy to read or give away.

  ...for Janie E Cruz, my brilliant translator.

  ...for Luisfer, who had the courage to write his personal feat and share it with me. His life experience served as inspiration for more than one scene in the novel.

  ...for my family. Cousins and uncles who do not lose the occasion to be interested in the state of the novel or to place themselves in front of the radio or television every time I’m being interviewed.

  ...for Luis Alberto María, a friend and excellent photographer, who kindly offered to make a session with the ob
jective of finding the best author’s image. Thanks for the great coffee.

  ...for all the friends who, even in the distance, recommend my novels. I feel its warmth in every paragraph. Special thanks to Álex, David, Edu and Pablo. Without them I would be lost.

  ...for the anonymous readers, bloggers and followers in social networks, responsible for keeping my novels in the top positions of Amazon's best sellers. Thanks in particular to Gatsby, owner of the website Gatsby's, because of his articles I got the inspiration for the colloquium between Salas and Morgan.

  ...for José, my consultant and distributor. Thank you for making my books available in hundreds of bookstores throughout Spain.

  ...for my brother and my parents. Those responsible for my ability to tell fictional stories. My most ruthless critics and deserving of every accomplished reader or published novel.

  ...and for Silvia, who has the cross of living with a writer (I assure you that it is not easy). She gives me advice, inspiration and brilliant ideas. She pushes me on the slopes and slows me down when everything seems to go dangerously well. My real partner.

  * * *

  [1] Invictus, by William Ernest Henley (1875).