Chase The Butterflies

by Monica James

  “Again!”

  I want to scream, to tell them to stop, but I can’t. The second shock annihilates my organs. I feel like I’m trapped inside a translucent balloon. The stretchy walls are closing in on me. I push, but the texture snaps back.

  “Blood pressure is steady.”

  “Fuck, that was a close call.”

  “Tell her family we did all we could. The rest is up to her now.” I pull myself from the memory, my cheeks coated in salted tears.

  Night turns into day…seconds into minutes…days into weeks.

  “Tori…it’s me. Can you hear me?”

  “I miss you.”

  “Give me another chance.”

  “I’ll never forgive myself for what I did. Please, come back to me. I’ll make it up to you if you do.”

  “I love you.”

  I scream. I feel his hand squeezing mine. A deafening ringing sounds loudly in my ears. I rock forward, cradling my head, desperate to make it stop.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I’ve heard this speech before—every single word. I’ve felt the exact touch. The only thing missing is my reply.

  “I miss you, honey. We all do.”

  “I just wish you’d come home. If you did, all of this would be over.”

  Mom?

  A sheen of sweat covers my body. She’s repeating the same speech, too? What’s going on?

  “…Tori, please don’t hang up. I…this is hard for me, too. We never meant to hurt you. We both missed you so much. I talk to you every day, even though I know you won’t talk back. I’m sorry, please forgive me. I need you. I miss my sister.”

  A storm in a teacup begins to brew, the words, speeches I’ve heard before all mingle, mesh into one. Their voices, their words, they vibrate in my ears, and no matter how hard I cover my ears, the clamor won’t go away.

  “Hello, Brittney. Can you call the station? Young Angus has run off into the woods again.”

  “I ask that you watch over our daughter, Rose. Wherever she may be…please let her be safe and know that we love and miss her so much.”

  No! Make it stop!

  “We hope you like lobster tail.”

  “Typical. He was always bringing home strays.”

  I wake, crumpled to the floor, no longer able to distinguish between reality and fiction. I’m cradled in the fetal position, not understanding what I just saw and heard. The fragments from my past are from conversations I’ve had with people, the only thing missing from each snippet is…me.

  I can see the people who I’ve conversed with loud and clear, but I can’t see or hear me. It’s like I wasn’t there.

  I ransack my mind, detailing over every exchange I’ve had with everyone I’ve met.

  “It’s Charley McMann. We went to high school together.”

  “Retard! Retard! Retard! He doesn’t have any money. His dad is a deadbeat.”

  “Yes, the young boy, Angus…he is my grandson.”

  “Congratulations, Ms. Armstrong. Welcome to Pinewood.”

  “I don’t know why he lied to you, but I’d guess it was to protect you.”

  “I will do anything to protect my son, and I know your intentions are good, but I can’t have…complications.”

  I set the final piece down, the puzzle now complete. It was staring me in the face this entire time. I now understand why Grace hated me and ignored me any chance she got. Why all the interactions I had with my family felt forced as if I was being unheard. Why I was ignored time and time again.

  It’s been said the simple flutter of a butterfly’s wing can cause chaos halfway across the world. So, there is one simple difference, a difference which isn’t so small after all, and that difference is…life and death. These interactions occurred or didn’t occur because I…don’t…exist.

  Peering up at the door, I blink, remembering what lies just beyond it. It was there all along, but I couldn’t cope. My fragile mind erected layer upon layer, blaming the holes in my memory on PTSD. But I never suffered from the disorder.

  My jelly legs barely hold me up as I stand, but I reach for the doorknob, it whining open as I release the door inch by inch. My view is only a sliver, as I can’t process what I’m seeing too quickly, afraid I’ll slip back into a place which doesn’t exist.

  The room is pleasant, a soft peach in color, housing all the essentials that a hospital room would need. The curtains are drawn open, letting in the light, but the mournful faces of the people I love reveal no sunshine will cure their pain.

  People come and go, and the room flickers from light to dark to gray. I know what I’m seeing are occurrences which took place days, weeks, maybe even months ago. It’s a moving picture of everything I’ve missed—missed because lying in that hospital bed is me.

  “Am I dead?” I whisper, feeling Jude at my back.

  “No, you’re not dead.”

  “Then what am I?”

  His sigh is heavy. “You’re in a coma, Tori. You have been for nine months.”

  A single tear rolls down my cheek.

  “The night of your accident, you almost died. They lost you on the operating table except you pulled through. But you never woke. You’ve been this way”—he gestures with his hand toward the bed—“since that night.”

  It’s the most disconcerting feeling to look upon you, seeing yourself how others would. Opening the door wider, I step inside, my gaze never leaving the hospital bed where I lay. I’m wrapped in a peaceful slumber. There is no bruising, no blood to indicate I’m hurt. But the machines I’m hooked up to disclose the fact that without them helping me breathe, I wouldn’t be alive, if that’s what you can call it.

  I continue walking until I reach the bed. My body lies still, lost in an everlasting sleep while my spirit and mind are free to wander. “So I really got shot?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “And you’re really dead?”

  “Yes, I am.” I frown, wishing this was all a dream.

  Reaching forward, I gently place my hand over my own. I gasp; I can feel the touch on my skin. I look and feel just how I remember. “Did Bryan and Matilda sleep together?”

  “Yes.” I’m thankful Jude is giving me the space I need because there is too much, too fast to process. “Those memories you have of what you saw are real.”

  Thinking of when Bryan said goodbye to me and our home, I now understand why. “I can’t stay here. There’s just too many…memories. I can’t live in this home any longer. Forgive me. I tried to stay strong, but I just can’t. You’re so…distant. Cold. You don’t want to come back to me.” I thought he was unresponsive, but I was the one who was impassive because I wasn’t really there.

  The words he spoke take on a whole different meaning now.

  There was never an affair of, so to speak, because I wasn’t alive in the factual sense. I was lost to Bryan. He never cheated, he was moving on, just as I had in my mind. Matilda and Bryan found comfort in one another, grieving and bonding over an event so horrific, they ended up falling in love.

  It makes sense he would sell the house, because as he said, there were too many memories. He couldn’t stand to be there anymore because he knew I wasn’t coming back. I was so angry with them both; I think I closed myself off to getting better. But there was no need to be hateful or hurt. Wasn’t I doing the same in my mind? Moving on and living, the only way I knew how.

  All of their apologies were made right here in this room. So was my mother’s heartfelt plea at my housewarming. I saw what I wanted to see. I went where I was drawn. Every confession, conversation was made not over the phone, but rather over my hospital bedside talking to the person lying comatose in that bed.

  “My home? Does that really exist?” I run my fingertip over my weak pulse.

  “Why did you choose the house that you did?” Jude asks gently.

  Staring down at my sleeping figure, I lift my shoulders, clueless. “I didn’t…it chose me.”

  Jude takes a step closer, but we don
’t touch. “Close your eyes and think back to the night of your housewarming.”

  I don’t bother questioning why.

  I watch as people enter my home, but it’s not really my home. The furnishings are crisp, clean, and modern unlike what currently resides in my house. “Welcome, we’re the Andersons. We hope you like the lobster tail.”

  Mrs. Anderson was everywhere that night, playing the perfect host. She was also strangely weeding my backyard. A sense of sadness overcomes me. “Why are the Andersons in my home?”

  “Tori…you’re in theirs.”

  A loneliness permeates my soul.

  “I’ve gate crashed the Andersons’ home?” I ask, horrified.

  “Sort of. You’re…suspended… between life and death.”

  The weird occurrences are suddenly explained. The porch light randomly going off, the back door not locking, the pipes whining for no apparent reason, the fridge being stocked full. I’ve been haunting someone’s home.

  “I conjured up the housewarming as being mine, but it was theirs, wasn’t it?” He nods while I gasp. “And you didn’t buy the food in my fridge?” This is implausible.

  “No. You saw what you wanted to see.”

  “And that’s why you didn’t want to make a big deal about it?” His silence speaks volumes. “You were once again protecting me from the truth.” I rub my brow, hoping to ease the looming headache.

  “Tori, we all grieve in our own way. This was the only way your mind could heal; deal with what you went through. The housewarming party, you were having an out-of-body experience. You were drawn to the lake house because of me. Your spirit was there, but your body was in a coma. Like astral projection, if you will.”

  My mouth hinges open. “There is obviously something very wrong with me because who in their right mind creates this fantasy world?” I stab at my form with my finger. “I’m right there, Jude. I can wake up any time, but I choose to stay here. Maybe I really am losing my mind.”

  My anger is misdirected because I’m not mad at him. I’m incensed at the person lying peacefully and gutlessly in that bed.

  “I don’t think you have a choice.” The room turns cold.

  His poignant confession has me spinning around. “What do you mean?”

  His shoulders stoop as he brushes past, avoiding making eye contact, which makes my throat go dry. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he wipes his hands along his pant legs before gently stroking two fingers over my inner wrist. The moment he touches me, I whimper, feeling his gentle caress all the way to my toes.

  “That’s not possible.” I shake my head. “How can I feel you?”

  Jude continues stroking my flesh, my skin breaking out into goose bumps. “We’re connected, Victoria, and I think you’re here and not there”—he wretchedly gestures with his head to the bed—“because of me.”

  The walls begin to converge.

  “I should have told you from the very beginning, but I was selfish. You could see what I felt, what I feel for you through my eyes. At first, I wanted to understand what this connection meant. But as I got to know you, I didn’t care. I just knew I needed to be around you because you made me forget that I was…you made me feel alive.”

  He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. We both know the god-awful truth.

  “I don’t know for certain, but I thought I was here―didn’t pass over or whatever you want to call it―because of Henry. I thought I was here to help him accept that he too no longer had a foot in the land of the living. By doing that, I thought I’d make peace and go wherever people like me are supposed to go, but now, I’m not so sure.”

  “W-what does that mean?” I lick my dry lips.

  Bending down, he lays a tender kiss over my rosy cheek. I raise my hand, rubbing over the spot where I feel his touch linger. “Henry is just as stubborn in death as he was when living. We’re both stuck here for a reason.” He pauses, brushes the hair from my brow, before revealing, “And that reason is you. It’s not me who is supposed to help Henry, it’s you. He won’t believe me, but he’ll believe you. When he sees your body in a coma, sees Jillian set a dinner place for him and Rose every night as she slowly loses her mind, and when he witnesses the ball is in his honor because he was shot dead in the line of duty, I think only then we can all make peace with our fates.

  “You helped me let go of Rose, and I think you need to do the same for Henry. He can’t let go, and he’s stuck here, just like the rest of us.”

  “The rest of us” is just so bleak. It brings tears to my eyes. “Henry doesn’t remember what you did for him, does he?”

  “No, he doesn’t remember anything because he doesn’t know he’s dead.” Unable to stand the distance between us, I close the gap, wrapping my arms around him and pressing my chest to his back. “I should hate Rose, but I don’t.” I try to keep the disappointment from showing. What he says next immediately soothes my worries. “I can’t hate her because she led me to you. I now realize she was meant to stay lost because I was meant to find you.”

  “Jude…” My voice breaks. “By finding me…you died.”

  He stubbornly shakes his head. “No, Victoria, I was already dead inside. You brought me back to life. You’re the reason I’m still here. You’re the reason I can’t let go.”

  A tremor of tears racks my body, but I hold it back.

  “You were drawn to the house because of us. You’re stuck here because of us.” His last comment is my undoing. “Once we let go, however, you can move on. We all can.”

  “Move on? You mean…?” I can’t finish that sentence as I bite the inside of my cheek to stop the tears. “That’s why he blames you. He doesn’t want to remember you handing over the information to Rose’s whereabouts because that would resurface what happened next. You both died trying to find her. But she never wanted to be found. He thinks you know when, in reality, you both were within reach.”

  “The dead only recall what they―what we want to.”

  I hate that he falls into such a category.

  “That night, when you came to my house, that was you getting shot, wasn’t it? And when I saw you after I had dinner at Henry’s? You were standing by a car. That was the start of your death…loop? Time warp?” I don’t know what to call it, but he knows exactly what I mean.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you relive that often?”

  The pause is all the answer I need. “Yes, I die every night. It doesn’t matter where I am, I can’t escape my death. Sometimes, it happens for seconds. Other times, it feels like it’s never going to end. We all deal with our demons our own way. Dying is a reminder that I found you.” He turns over his shoulder so our faces are inches apart. “So if anyone is losing their mind, it’s fair to say it’s me.”

  “I’m no one special,” I whisper, unable to understand his sacrifice. “Not worth dying for.”

  “Yes, you are. I happily die every night just so I can meet you again.” I can’t keep the tears at bay any longer and weep uncontrollably.

  This is all too much.

  Jude embraces me as I fall into his lap. He brushes my hair, whispering that it’ll be okay. But it won’t. I’ve just learned that everything I thought was real is actually not, or it’s a twisted take on my reality, which doesn’t even exist. I’m floating between worlds, and if what Jude says is true, I know what needs to be done to decide which plane is my home.

  “So that explains why Grace hates me. She doesn’t even know I exist.” All the conversations I thought I had, like with the girl in the store when I first met Angus, the reason she ignored me was because she couldn’t see me. She’s alive, and I’m…I don’t know what I am.

  “I’ve heard people call this The Fade. We are haunting earth like a… ghost would, but you, you’re different. You’ve found a loophole. You’re suspended.”

  “The Fade? Like limbo?”

  He nods slowly. “Yes. We’re between worlds. We’re on earth, but we haven’t passed over to wherever we’re
supposed to go yet—heaven or hell, if you believe that they exist. If this were a cheesy movie, I suppose you could say we haven’t gone to the light. But you…you’re caught in an ethereal realm. Stuck between two worlds. The world of the living where you hear people who are alive and talking to you by your bedside, and the world of those who have died and need to move on—The Fade.”

  I think back to the conversations I thought I had with my mom, sister, even Bryan; they did occur, but I wasn’t really there. It was all happening in the real world. They were by my bedside. The phone calls weren’t really phone calls at all but were conversations I overheard.

  “We’re looking in on the real world, some of us thinking we’re really there, able to engage in situations as though we’re alive, but sooner or later, we understand that life as we knew it has changed without us. We’re here, but we’re not really here. Some events are a reflection of what is actually happening in the real world, while other times, it’s what we want to see.

  “The Fade is the place where lost souls, dead or caught in limbo, roam…waiting, waiting for…” He pauses, the silence heavy.

  “So…you are a ghost?”

  He nods sadly. “I suppose I am.”

  I gasp, unable to process this. “So…I’ve fallen in love with a ghost?”

  “And I’ve fallen in love with an anomaly.”

  It’s beyond bizarre to see yourself lifeless while you’ve never felt more alive. I shiver, understanding why Jude was so reluctant to take me here. If he were to show me this when we first met, I know without a doubt this situation would have turned out so differently. I suddenly understand why he played along with my fire scenario.

  “When I thought I was setting that chair on fire, when we first met, you came to my rescue because you knew Henry would come, didn’t you? You knew that if I sensed anything was off center, I would start questioning him.”

  “Yes. You have to understand, it felt like years, not mere weeks before I finally found you. I needed to see how fragile your mind was. You were close to death.” He closes his eyes for a moment, pained. “I couldn’t let you slip through my fingers again.”

  I understand why Jude did it. Thinking back to when we first met, I remember how scattered I was. I was lost, wounded from an event which changed my life forever. I felt like I was living in a dream world, and I was. The difference is, now I can handle it. I’m stronger.