The Curse: The Butterfly Effect, Book 2.

by Margaret McHeyzer

  His brows knit together, the concern on his face obvious. His lips break the serious straight line, and turn upward into a small smile. Perhaps I’ve mistaken the expression on his face. Maybe, it’s not concern, possibly it’s something else. Something much less sinister.

  The huge stone building blatantly stares at me. The door to the vault is open, with a caretaker standing to the side. The building is old, like hundreds of years old and the name ‘Murphy’ is carved into the stone above the door. “I never knew they had this,” I say aloud but more for myself.

  “Your parents had an airtight will. Your mother drew them up, and it was detailed in what they wanted to happen once they died.”

  I smile at what Jude says, because that sounds exactly like my mother. “It doesn’t surprise me,” I say, smiling though sad. “What does surprise me is how quickly their bodies were released. I thought, being an execution, the coroner would hold onto them and not let them go.”

  Jude kicks at a few small pebbles outside the vault. “I may have helped with that process being quicker than ordinary.”

  I turn to look at him, tilting my head slightly to avoid the sun, but to get a clearer look at the expression on his face. “Why would you do that?”

  “Their death was deemed an execution, and I know you wouldn’t want their funeral delayed. So, I paid a few people to hurry up and release the body. No sense in keeping them away from where they wanted to be laid to rest.”

  My heart skips a beat. It flutters its little wings like crazy, then settles down. “You did this for them?” I look to the vault door, then back to Jude.

  He shakes his head, and offers me a genuinely warm smile. “I did it for you.”

  Damn.

  Why does he have to be so normal . . . and nice?

  “Thank you, it means everything to me for you to step in and help them.” I look back to the vault door, and notice the incredibly bored caregiver. “I’m not sure I’m ready to go in there.” I squeeze Jude’s hand.

  He steps in front of me, and places his hands on my shoulders. Slowly he runs his palms up and down my arms. “I’m here for you, whatever you want to do.”

  Swallowing hard, I look up into his deep, dark eyes. They really are black, there’s no color to them. “Your eyes are so dark,” I utter to myself.

  “They’re black.” He looks away, embarrassed, before blinking for a few seconds. When he turns his head to look at me, something new flashes in his eyes. It’s an emotion I can’t describe. Something so severe and powerful, my own body doesn’t know how to react.

  The blood running through my veins quickens, as does the breath desperate to escape. Parting my lips, a murmur whispers past them. What’s happening?

  “I . . . um . . .” Before I say, or do anything stupid, I compose myself and stand taller. “I want to go inside.” But, do I?

  “Do you want me to come in with you?”

  My gaze travels over his shoulder where I stare at the vault, knowing my parents are in there. The reminder of how they died catapults me back into reality. “I think I can do it on my own,” I say, trying to find the courage to believe my own words.

  He steps away and tilts his chin down. A flash of hurt passes before he lifts his head and offers me a smile. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

  “Thank you,” I say as I turn to look at the vault again. Taking a hesitant step forward, my heartbeat increases as my palms perspire. Wiping them down my jeans, I pause and try to compose myself before I go in.

  My pulse is thundering so forcefully I can hear it echoing in my ears.

  I take another step forward.

  Fear quickly rises, as does sadness and hopelessness.

  My feet move on their own, and I tremble with an uneasy, scared feeling bubbling away inside.

  I shouldn’t be frightened because this is the resting ground of my parents. But this turmoil of emotions is coming at me, thick and strong.

  As my feet continue on their mission to enter the vault, guilt trumps every other emotion. Moving up the few steps, I enter the vault. Inside lie two coffins, next to each other, with a third place free. One coffin is smaller in size, and lighter in color, while the bigger one is richer in shade. My father is on my left, my mother on my right, and a place beside her is set with a plaque reading, ‘Our little girl is lost, please find your way home soon.’

  Hurt rips me to shreds, and tears burn my eyes. I clasp at my chest, and struggle to hold my bleeding soul together.

  Running my hand over Dad’s coffin, the ache inside erupts free. Sobbing, I fall to my knees, completely ashamed. Consumed with remorse, I bring my hands up to hide my face and break down.

  Absorbed by guilt, I chant to my parents, “I’m sorry. I did this to you. I’m so sorry.” The torture inside tears its way through me. It slashes a huge hole where my heart once lay. It destroys me, completely, totally, utterly.

  I lift my head to glance around in this vault. It’s cold and heartless and nothing like my parents. My mother was tough and the disciplinarian, but she was always fair and loving. Dad, he was my rock. He was my strength when I needed him most, and he was my hero.

  Slumping further to the ground, I cry even harder. I had only seventeen short years with my parents before they were ripped away from me in a callous and cold-hearted murder, ordered by a monster. I’ve now lost hope. Hope that one day my Dad would walk me down the aisle, or that my Mom would hold her first grandchild. Hope of having them in my life until they passed in their sleep holding hands. It’s all been brutally torn away.

  And all because of me.

  I killed them.

  I killed my parents.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper to them again, hoping they find it in their hearts to forgive me. “I’m so so sorry,” I weep over and over again.

  Collapsing completely to the floor, I lay my head on the cold concrete floor and cry. Overwhelming pain wraps around me. Nothing can mend my broken heart. Nothing can take the guilt and agony away.

  Closing my eyes, I wish for death to take me. I deserve to die. I should be in a coffin instead of them. It’s because of me, me!

  I want Satan to open the floor and swallow me down. I hope he hears my prayers. To take me and bring them back. But I know they can never live again.

  “I promise you my soul, please take me and bring them back,” I try to make a deal, my life for theirs. “Please, use my soul, destroy it, ruin it, just take it.”

  They were massacred at too young an age.

  Because of me.

  “I’m sorry,” I cry again, too ashamed to open my eyes and face the reminder of their merciless deaths.

  My tears run dry, but the sadness runs deeper. It consumes me whole.

  Two strong arms engulf my limp body and effortlessly lift me from the ground.

  “Lock the door and leave me in here,” I beg.

  He says nothing. Instead, he carries me out to the car, where he slides me into the back, and rests my head on his lap. The motion of the car does nothing to calm me. Inside I’m hysterical, screaming how it’s my fault how they died because of me.

  On the outside, exhaustion has taken control of my body, and I’m lifeless.

  Jude draws lazy circles on my back, while he talks to the driver and tells him to make the temperature inside the car warmer and turn on soothing music.

  My heart is hurting. More, now I’ve seen what I’ve done to my parents.

  “Jude,” I say softly, hoping he heard me.

  “Yeah, sweetheart,” he responds in a gentle and caring voice.

  “Kill me.”

  He sucks in a deep breath and I can feel his eyes boring into my head. “No fucking way,” he replies.

  Closing my eyes, I let more tears fall. “Please,” I plead with him.

  “No,” he adamantly answers.

  I gasp for breath. His hands are there to console me, but my heart is shattered to the point I don’t think I can ever come back from this.

 
; When we return home, Jude tries to carry me inside, but I shake my head.

  With my head hanging low, I drag my feet into the house and toward my suite. I don’t bother changing into anything, I simply collapse on the bed, hugging my pillow, and cry.

  Jude takes my shoes off, and covers me with a thin blanket.

  As I close my eyes and fall deeper into the pit of despair, I hear Jude talking low into his phone. Turning, I see him sitting in the chair he’s dragged to be beside the bed. Drawing my brows together, my mind and body fills with questions, he holds a finger up to me.

  When he finishes, he turns his phone off and sits back into the chair. “Why are you here?” I ask.

  “Because you need me.”

  “I need you to kill me,” I say with conviction.

  “Don’t ask me to do something I can’t do.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Because you need me,” he replies again.

  “Get out.” I turn over, refusing to look at him. But I don’t hear him moving. I count to ten in my head, then turn to see him still sitting in the chair. “Get out!” He shakes his head. “GET OUT!” I shout at him. He shakes his head again. Frustrated, angry, guilty, and hurting, I throw the blanket back and leap off the bed. “Get out!” I yell so hard my throat immediately hurts. He shakes his head. I grab the pillow off the bed, and throw it at him.

  “Alexa, please . . .”

  “Get out,” I keep yelling even though my throat is protesting. I grab another pillow, launching it him. “Just get out!” He shakes his head.

  I reach over and grab a book, heaving it with everything I have.

  I’m angry at him for not killing me. I’m fuming at myself for causing so much hurt to my parents.

  I’m livid that I never got to say goodbye. But most of all, I miss them so much it’s unbearable.

  My whole body hurts.

  Jude leaps off the chair and embraces me. But I want to keep hitting him. He pins my arms by my body, and uses his body to shield me from myself. “It’s okay,” he says softly. “It’s okay,” he keeps repeating.

  Eventually I collapse, not having the energy to fight him.

  Or even to fight myself.

  I’m not sure how it happens, but before I know it, the darkness inside my heart overtakes my body and shuts down every part of me.

  It’s been two days since Jude took me to see my parents’ grave. It feels like death’s hand is closing in around my soul. The emptiness grows with every passing day. I can barely drag myself out of bed. I know I’m only barely functioning.

  I’m a bad person. My parents died because of me.

  I miss them so much.

  “Miss Lexi, Mr. Jude is worried about you, and quite frankly, so am I. Come out to the kitchen to have something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry,” I murmur and pull the covers further over my head.

  “Please, come have something,” Frank pleads with me.

  “Not hungry,” I say in a smaller tone and curl into myself.

  “Get up. You stink and you need to eat,” Jude commands.

  “Go away.”

  “Get up.” He rips the blankets off my body, and a horrid stench reaches my nose. I haven’t showered since the day of the vault, but, I don’t care. Nothing will mend the hurt in my heart.

  “Go away,” I say again, bringing my knees up to my chest to hug them.

  “Get up,” he says, angry now.

  Turning my neck, I notice his stance. His feet are planted and he isn’t going away in a hurry. “Fine. The quicker I do what you want, the quicker you’ll leave me alone.” He holds in a smirk. I crawl out of bed and stand. “Happy now?” I place a hand to my hip.

  “Whoa,” he dramatizes as he steps back and waves his hand in front of his nose. “You smell so much worse than I thought. Please, before my nostrils burn from the stench, go shower.”

  I poke my tongue out at him and roll my eyes.

  Taking myself to the bathroom, I turn on the shower, strip and get in.

  The warm water does feel great against my skin. The mist rising in the shower looks almost mystical and magical. As the water pounds on my back, I relax against the wall. Closing my eyes, I take several deep breaths. My head flops backward and the warm water falls over my head and face.

  There’s something healing and soothing about water. My heart picks up in pace, and suddenly, rejuvenation begins to sprout. Washing my hair, I let my mind go blank. For the first time in ages, I don’t think of the hurt I’ve brought on my parents or even to Dallas.

  When I finish washing myself, I step out, wrap my hair in a towel and get changed into something clean.

  The stink that draped me is gone.

  Walking out to the bedroom, Jude’s sitting on the chair while Angus, the housekeeper, is changing the sheets on the bed. “You look like you have some color in your face,” Jude says as he stands and makes his way over to me. “You look nearly normal.”

  While my soul is consumed with darkness, he manages to drag a smile from me. “Nearly?” I ask as I sit in the chair, flip my head over and towel dry my hair.

  “Well, just calling it as I see it.”

  “Thank you,” I sincerely reply. “I feel somewhat normal. Except for the whole . . . you know?” I flick my head back and eye Angus. Waiting for him to finish, he gathers the dirty sheets off the floor and leaves the room. “I feel kinda normal. I’d feel better if my parents were still alive, and if I hadn’t gotten them killed.” I let out a humorless chuckle. The ache inside still hurts, but at least it’s not soul-consuming.

  “You didn’t kill them.” Jude sits opposite me and links his fingers together. “Enzo did. And, I killed him.”

  “An eye for an eye?” I ask.

  “Something like that. He was a cocky bastard who deserved what he got. If it wasn’t me, then it would’ve been someone else.”

  I say something that surprises even myself, “I wish it was me who pulled the trigger.”

  Jude lets out a deep sigh and runs his hand through his hair. “Killing someone changes you, Lexi, and I never want you to change that way.” I watch as his features darken. The interesting thing is how they tell a story.

  One of sorrow and remorse that quickly changes to something more. Possibly triumph. Whatever it is, he’s thinking about the first time he killed, and his reaction intrigues me. It shouldn’t, but some masochistic part of me is strangely fascinated by it. I want to ask, but then I don’t want to know.

  Does this make me bloodthirsty?

  Does it taint my values and change the type of person my parents raised me to be?

  Taking a few deep breaths, I choose to not ask any more questions. It’s best I know nothing, because if I do, my opinion of Jude might change for the worse.

  “Are you hungry?” he asks after a few moments of silently reminiscing about his past. Shrugging, I keep my eyes on him, and don’t really answer. “I’m not a mind reader, Lexi, either you’re hungry or you’re not.”

  “What I am is hurting and lost.” I use my arms to hold myself up on the chair while I cross my legs, then sit on them. “Do you think the pain will ever go away?”

  “I think what we need to do is focus on what is, rather on what’s gone.”

  I raise my shoulders and let out a low growl. “I can’t get it out my head, Jude. Because of me they’re dead. I can’t stand living with that. I can’t bring myself to breathe, knowing I killed them!” God, I rip my hands through my hair and feel like screaming at the top of my lungs.

  “It wasn’t you. You’re a product of whatever happened to you when you got your appendix removed. You didn’t give permission for them to put that in you. And I highly doubt your parents would’ve let it happen. So, none of this is on you, it’s all on the people who did this to you.”

  “If only we knew who ‘they’ are.” I exhale, hopelessly. “Not that it matters.”

  “Why doesn’t it matter?” He sits forward, his body tense wit
h concern.

  “Because isn’t it obvious? Whoever put this in me, clearly used me as a carrier, an experiment. They wanted me to have it, which means, I was chosen for a reason. They must’ve researched me, knew who I was, who my parents are . . .” I look down at the floor, saddened. “Were,” I correct myself.

  “Hmm,” Jude grumbles. He’s staring at me. I can tell he’s seriously considering what I’ve said.

  “If you think about it, it makes sense. They wouldn’t want to give this,” I tap my head, “to just anyone. They’d want to make sure they’re giving it to someone who . . .” I stop talking and think about the severity of the situation. I look up at Jude and meet his worried eyes. “Do you think this has all been manipulated by them?”

  He shakes his head. “I think at first it may have been, but when I took you, it changed everything.”

  I scoff at the word ‘took.’ “You mean when your men rammed into the car and kidnapped me?”

  “Again, Lexi, semantics.” He waves his hand frivolously at me.

  I can’t help but smile. He’s really growing on me. I suppose that’s a good thing, considering I have nowhere to go. Without realizing, I become quiet and retreat into myself. I can’t help but think of Dallas and the danger that will always stalk her because of me. My heart was healing for a split second, but now it’s back in little pieces. “I have to say goodbye to Dallas,” I whisper quietly.

  “What?” Jude’s forehead wrinkles with doubt.

  “I need to say goodbye to Dallas. It’s not fair for me to put her in danger anymore. I need to find a way to tell her.”

  “Lexi, this isn’t a good idea.”

  Tears prickle at my eyes, and my heart fills with sadness. “I didn’t get a chance to tell my parents I love them. I don’t want to miss the same opportunity with Dallas, because who knows what’ll happen to me?”

  “Nothing will happen to you,” he says with confidence.

  “Jude,” I sigh, frustrated. “You can’t be around me twenty-four-seven. And whoever got to me once, is probably working out a way to get to me again.”