The Black Butterfly

by Shirley Reva Vernick

  “Look,” said one of the girls, pointing to a bunch of vines. “Let’s go in.” Her voice sounded kind of familiar, but I couldn’t see her face behind her sunhat and shades.

  “Go in where?” asked the other girl.

  The first girl walked ahead and pulled back the vines to reveal the mouth of a dark cave. “C’mon,” she said, flaunting a grin just before disappearing inside. I knew that smile.

  “Hey you, wild woman,” the guy said as he stepped into the cave. “Where are you taking us?” He put his hands on her shoulders. He was crushing on her.

  “We’re not supposed to do this, you know,” the other girl said. “No going in the caves. No separating from the others.” But she entered anyway, and—with the drumbeats echoing off the back of my awareness—I followed into the blackness.

  The leader girl rifled through her shoulder bag and produced a flashlight. “Damn if I’m going all the way to Mexico and not exploring the Mayan caves,” she said, taking off her hat and sunglasses.

  Oh my God. No wonder her voice sounded familiar. She was my mother! My mother on her high school Spanish trip to Mexico. The trip that got her kicked out of private school. The trip that started her odyssey into Weird. I wasn’t just in a different place—I was in a time warp.

  Mom—well, she wasn’t my mom here, not yet, for now she was just Vivian—directed the flashlight beam into the cave’s interior. It stretched on forever. Here in the entryway, the cave was barely tall enough for us to stand upright, but in a short distance, it opened up to a high arching ceiling dripping with greyish brown stalactites. Rocky alcoves faded into shadow. I could see openings to side tunnels.

  “Awesome,” marveled Lover Boy.

  Mom/Vivian flashed the light beam all around. “Remember what the tour guide said—how the Mayans thought caves were living things? I think they were right. Can’t you feel it? It’s breathing. Growing. Sweating even.”

  Lover Boy didn’t miss a beat. “What I remember the tour guide saying is that caves are where the ancients went to screw and get high.” He put his hand on Vivian’s butt, but she slapped it away.

  “I don’t like this,” said Scaredy Cat. “I’m leaving.”

  Vivian didn’t seem to hear her, but Lover Boy did. “Come on, Babs,” he coaxed. “Just a few minutes more.”

  “I’ll see you later,” she said, turning to leave. “And don’t be late. I don’t want to have to cover for you guys.”

  When she was gone, Lover Boy walked up behind Vivian and put his arms around her waist. He tried to turn off the flashlight. He thought this was a hookup.

  “Knock it off, Chance,” she said, pulling the flashlight out of his reach.

  “But this is the perfect place. Dark, private, roomy.”

  “This is sacred ground. If you’d pull your head out of your dick for once, you might get that.”

  His mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t know whether to feel amused, chastised or mad. Maybe she’d never talked to him that way. Maybe no one had ever talked to him that way.

  “Chance,” she said, her voice softening. “I really, really want to see what’s here, and if we take more than a few minutes, we’ll be missed. So let’s just look around, okay? I’ll make it up to you later, I promise.” She stroked his cheek.

  “Lead on then,” he said in resignation, and she did.

  We walked slowly, purposefully, awestruck by this vast, otherworldly place. It smelled dusty but not dirty, damp but not musty, old but not decrepit. In some spots, red and black line drawings adorned the walls, drawings of people or maybe animals, I couldn’t tell. There was a secluded chamber to my left, and I had the creeping sense that if I looked inside, I’d find a thousand bats hanging from the ceiling.

  All at once, Vivian stopped. Something had commandeered her attention. She stared into one of the stone alcoves, hand to her chest.

  “Viv?” said Lover Boy. “What’s going on?”

  “There,” she pointed, but he didn’t see anything, and neither did I.

  Somewhere outside, in the distant world of the above, a whistle blew. “That’s us,” said Lover Boy. “Time to hit the bus.”

  Vivian shook her head, her eyes still riveted to the empty alcove. The whistle blew again.

  “Come on, Vivvy,” he said, a nervous edge to his voice. “We’ve got to go.”

  “You go.”

  “Not without you.” He tried to take her hand, but she shrugged him off.

  “Go. I mean it.” And she did mean it. Her voice was hard, urgent. She pointed the flashlight to the outside. “Tell them you don’t know where I am. Tell them anything you want. Just go.”

  “But–”

  “Please, Chance. I need more time. Do this for me.”

  He shook his head, but he did as she asked, leaving her all alone in the cavernous Mayan underworld. When she turned the light back to the alcove, I could finally see what she saw. There was a man squatting on the floor. A wizened, skinny old man wearing a toga-like shift, fanning a small fire. I don’t know how I’d missed him before, how I didn’t at least notice the flames and the shadows dancing on the rocky walls. He was so close to where we were standing, I could even smell the musky scent of him.

  “Hello?” Vivian whispered.

  He didn’t look up.

  “Habla español?” she tried again.

  He turned his face toward the wall and said something, but it was neither Spanish nor English, and it wasn’t directed at Vivian. He didn’t know she was here. He reached into a small leather bag tied to his side and extracted a handful of powder, which he blew onto the fire. The flames jumped, and a spicy fragrance filled the alcove. He said something again.

  The powder, whatever it was, made me feel strange, and it seemed to have the same effect on Vivian. Her eyes grew red and watery. She was unsteady on her feet and had to sit down. I joined her. It wasn’t a disturbing sensation. In fact, I felt remarkably calm. Best of all, when the man spoke again, Vivian and I understood him.

  “Granddaughter,” he said, “do not be afraid. Do not be sad. This is a time to rejoice.”

  From behind us stepped a girl of twelve or thirteen, barefoot, dressed in a long white skirt and no top, just a white scarf tied in a way to cover her small breasts. She was beautiful, with dark green eyes, a black braid down her back, and beaded jewelry around her neck and ankles. When she stopped in front of the fire, she was fighting tears.

  “Tomorrow is the day,” the old man smiled up at her. “It will be a great and glorious time.”

  “I know, Grandfather,” she said dutifully. “I know I should be happy and proud to join the gods who dwell here.” She choked back a sob. “But I don’t want to die! I don’t want you to seal me in here until I perish from thirst and hunger and darkness. I don’t want to sit alone among the bones of past sacrifices. I want to live!”

  The poor girl. A human sacrifice. And what an awful way to go. Couldn’t they just hurl her off a cliff and let her die instantly, instead of the drawn out agony of starvation? I looked at Vivian and saw sorrow in her eyes.

  “You want to live,” the old man said, blowing a little more powder into the fire. “And so you shall live. With the gods of the sun and the moon. Forever in glory.” He offered her a toothless grin.

  The girl was trying to look angry or at least indignant, but the powder was doing its job. She was sedate. The old man motioned her to sit, and he took her supple hand in his leathery one. “My child,” he said, “your offering will assure us a bountiful harvest. You would not deny us that, would you?”

  She lowered her head and shook it.

  Vivian, red with outrage, was about to shout something, but she didn’t get the chance.

  “Vivian!” boomed a voice full of teacherly authority from outside. “Vivian Coltrane. Get your ass out here. You’re busted.”

  That voice was all it took. The old man dissolved away, taking his granddaughter and his fire with him. Now it was just an empty, damp ca
ve, filled with the echo of a teacher’s threat.

  Vivian stood up with difficulty. She looked out of it, hung over. “C-coming,” she called hoarsely and stumbled out of the cave.

  I tried to follow her, but I never reached the opening. Instead, I was suddenly back in the murky tunnel, alone except for the ever present drumbeats, which were louder now, coming from somewhere down the dim passageway. I felt cold and disoriented, but I walked on, knowing Vivian and the cave were inaccessible, walled off in another dimension. The door that had opened long enough for this one quick glimpse was shut.

  I came to with a jolt.

  “Welcome back,” I heard Blue say, his voice as casual as if he were welcoming me back from a trip to the bathroom.

  My head felt heavy and light at the same time. I had to look around to make certain I really was back. “What was that?” I asked when I was pretty sure I was in the right place and the right year.

  “That was your first dream journey. How was it?”

  “Are you kidding? Wild. How did you do it?”

  “It’s the drum,” he said, toying with one of the decorative feathers. “The rhythm takes you beyond your five senses. A shaman would say the spirits escorted you. But you were still the driver. So it really wasn’t me, it was you.”

  “Uh uh, no, I most definitely was not behind the wheel on that road trip.”

  “Maybe not consciously. Maybe it was deeper than that.”

  “But is it true, what I saw? Did it really happen?”

  Blue shrugged. “I don’t know what you saw.”

  “I saw my mother when she was—”

  He held up a hand. “And even if you told me, I still wouldn’t know if it’s literally true, or just…true. Journeys are different for different people.”

  I slumped back into my seat. “I’ve always wanted to know what really happened to her down in Mexico. I still want to know.”

  He inched a little closer and said in an almost whisper, “I’ll help you if I can.”

  Absently, I went to give his hand a squeeze. It didn’t work, of course. “Sorry.”

  “Me too. I’d do anything if you could touch me like that. Like the way you meant it. Did you feel anything at all?”

  “Well…”

  “Nothing, huh?” He looked so sad.

  “How about you?”

  “Heat. Like a warm breeze maybe, but not like a human touch. I haven’t felt a human touch in a hundred years.”

  “God, Blue. Well, at least we can see and hear each other. Am I really your first?”

  He nodded, the backlighting in his eyes flickering. “Well, in a way, there was one other person, a young woman. I thought she saw me a couple of times in the hallway—you know, turning her head my way, slowing down when she got close. One night in the parlor, I could have sworn she was looking straight into my eyes. But then she walked right through me, like she had no idea I was there. No idea at all.”

  “How frustrating.”

  “I’ll admit, I followed her around a bit after that, hoping she’d see me or hear me or something, but she didn’t, and then she left. Her name was Vivian…Penny, are you all right? You look ill.”

  “Was this about fifteen or twenty years ago? And did she have wavy blonde hair and big teeth?”

  “How did you know?”

  “That was my mother, Blue.”

  His mouth unlatched and then curved into a vague smile.

  “She may not have seen you, but she definitely sensed you,” I went on. “She’d have done anything to make real contact with you. It’s her dream, honest to God, her life’s dream to see a ghost. She’s in Idaho right now trying to track one down.”

  “Then I didn’t just make the whole thing up. You both have the gift. Hers is just rougher.”

  It occurred to me that Mom wasn’t much older than Blue when they almost met. They both would have been 20-something, even though one of them had been that way for decades. Twenty-something, good-looking, and desperately trying to connect with each other. “So, did you think she was cute?” I asked and then instantly felt appalled for saying it.

  I don’t know if ghosts ever blush, but Blue remained monochromatic. “I didn’t look at her that way.”

  I made up my mind to believe him, not because I thought he was necessarily telling the truth, but because I couldn’t stand the idea of him crushing on my mother, even if it was all those years ago. Why it bothered me, and why I was so eager to know if he’d had any love interests, was an egg I didn’t want to crack. So I decided not to ask him anything else, for now.

  “Hey, can we, um, pick this up a little later?” I asked. “I didn’t get much sleep last night, and I’m beat all of a sudden.”

  “Of course.” He stood up, drum in hand.

  When he reached the door, he added, “I’ll see you later.” He said it like a question, like he didn’t know whether I wanted to see him again or not.

  But there was no question in my mind.

  Chapter 5

  Only two things are infinite,

  the universe and human stupidity,

  and I’m not sure about the former.

  —Albert Einstein

  When I woke up, my room was dark. What was supposed to be a catnap, just ten or fifteen minutes to recharge after my dream journey, turned out to be a two-hour doze on the loveseat.

  My first impulse upon waking up was to call Mom, tell her about Blue, and ask her a zillion questions about Mexico. But no, if I did that, she’d be on the next flight out here, video camera in hand, giving credence to George’s suspicions about me. God, that would be awful. I was not going to turn into Mom. No matter what.

  My second impulse was to brood over George and his “friend” Iris. I was pretty sure I could entertain myself for hours with that one. I could beat myself up for letting myself believe he might turn out to be a nice guy. I could ask myself how I was going to face him over the next eleven days. I could list the personal defects that kept me from ever having a boyfriend. Yup, I could go on and on. However, right now I was hungry, since my lunch had consisted of a spoonful of bouillon topped with processed cheese stuff.

  On the bright side, all seemed quiet below. Apparently, the popcorn had all been strung, the virgin cocktails slung, and I wouldn’t have to worry about crossing the tree-decorating party on the way to dinner. I hauled myself off the loveseat and headed downstairs. As I passed by the Tiger Lily room, I could hear Starla’s voice. She sounded angry. No, not angry—urgent. I stepped closer to the door but couldn’t make out any words, so I walked on.

  The Christmas tree twinkled softly at the far end of the parlor. Tiny white bulbs and delicate, mostly glass ornaments wound their way tastefully around the branches, culminating in a silver angel at the top. I stood at the foot of the stairs admiring the unicorns and the gingerbread people, the little-boy handmade reindeer and the beaded balls, wondering what bits of family history each decoration held. I didn’t even notice Bubbles lounging in a corner armchair, her legs dangling over one arm, a drink balanced on the other.

  “There you are, Penny,” she waved. “Feeling better?”

  “A little,” I said, stepping into the parlor. “The tree is gorgeous.”

  Bubbles nestled deeper into her chair and crossed her legs. “I think it’s our best effort ever. That Olivia has a real eye for design.”

  “Olivia?” I asked.

  “Iris’s Olivia,” Bubbles said. “Her partner. They’ve been together for ages, though not many people knew it the first couple of years. Didn’t you meet her at the Grindle Point?”

  I crumpled into the seat next to Bubbles as her words sunk in. All my misery, all my fake digestive illnesses, all my stupid behavior toward George this afternoon was even more ludicrous than I’d thought. “No, Olivia wasn’t there,” I finally said.

  “Oh, too bad,” she said, taking a sip from her glass. “Maybe another time.”

  “Maybe. Have you had supper yet?” I was suddenly too agitated to
eat a thing, but it seemed like the polite thing to say, it being dinnertime and all.

  Bubbles swung her legs around to the front and set her glass on the floor. “I ate way too many cookies to think about a meal. You go on ahead. I’m going to hit the hay early, I think.”

  I stood back up. “Okay, see you later.” I started across the room, then thought of something. “Bubbles, would you mind if I used your computer for a few minutes? I have homework over the vacation, if you can believe it, and I need to look something up.”

  “Of course, dear,” she said, motioning in the direction of the lobby. “It’s right on the desk.”

  I googled dream journey. The first hit was Dream Journey Studio, a film company currently promoting its feature Reiki: The Movie. After that came a bunch of books, video games and songs with titles like “Dream Journey—The Last Unicorn,” “Journey to a Dream” and “Dream Journey to the Peach Blossom Land.” Not to mention the Huffy® Dream Journey “too cute” girl’s bike with the “stylish pink frame and white tires.”

  When I typed dreamjourney as one word, that’s when I got results. I learned that journeying is meant to “part the veils between the seen and unseen worlds.” It’s used for spiritual purposes like self-discovery, healing, sharing energy, and sensing a connectedness with others. Listening to drumming is supposed to slow your brain waves and help you enter the necessary altered state of consciousness.

  Whoa, this stuff was freaky. I probably wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t just experienced it myself. But there was no denying that something remarkable had happened to me when Blue drummed, something unearthly and amazing. I read everything I could find online, then decided to see if there was anything else to read in the study.

  I was already in the doorway of the study when I caught sight of George. He was taking the Monet print off the wall to reveal a flat-screen TV, and it wasn’t until he sprawled on the couch with the remote that he noticed me.

  “Hi,” I said, hating that it came out squeaky.

  “Hi,” he answered. I just stood there, not knowing where to look or go, so he added, “You can come in if you want.” Nothing in his voice said he wanted me to come in. All it said was it’s a free country.