The Butterfly Tattoo

by M. D. Thomas

  I wonder if the kid is still watching…

  His lungs began to ache.

  Don’t let go…

  Harvey didn’t know whether the thought was his or the boy’s. It didn’t matter. It was time to let the creek claim the boy the way it had his idol, time to let it claim Harvey as well for what he’d done, for leaving the boy and his parents behind, for causing Nonno’s death.

  Don’t let go…

  Harvey’s legs caught against something, a submerged tree perhaps, but he remained limp, only the muscles holding the boy tense. They were held against the current, the force against their bodies increasing as they stopped moving, tugging at the boy. The brown of the water began to turn black before his eyes, his lungs burning, screaming at him to open his mouth.

  It’s time, Harvey thought and he loosened his grip, water filling the gap between their bodies as the current tried to pull the boy away.

  Something thumped against Harvey’s chest, hard points that jerked and beat against him, and even though he couldn’t see a thing, he knew it was the boy’s hands.

  He’s awake…

  Adrenaline surged through him and Harvey crushed the boy back against his chest before the water could take him, pushed against whatever was holding them, disbelief rolling through his body like a shockwave. For a moment there was nothing—his shoe, or pants, or whatever, still caught—and then he hurtled upwards, broke the surface and inhaled a great slug of air with a harsh wheeze.

  He came up facing downstream, altered his hold on the boy, flipped him over so that he faced the sky, his mouth free to breathe, assuming he hadn’t already inhaled too much water. The muscles in Harvey’s legs and free arm burned as he kept them from going back under. He wished he could see the boy’s face better, could really look at his eyes, but keeping the boy afloat took too much effort.

  He’s awake. He—

  The thought died as the boy’s father hurtled into them from out of nowhere, plunging all three of them beneath the surface.

  Fifty-Five

  SARAH

  The water swept her downstream, and as Sarah struggled to stay at the surface she knew that after twenty-five years she was finally going to drown.

  But her body had other things in mind, fought to stay at the surface. Her arms and legs churned, her mouth beneath the water one moment, above it the next, and then she saw the maple tree—it seemed to be rushing toward her, rather than her toward it. The maple’s trunk was small, less than six inches in diameter, but past it there was nothing but water for another hundred feet. She would drown before she made it anywhere near another tree.

  Sarah kicked and thrashed as hard as she could, was about to be swept beyond reach of the tree when she threw out her left arm and hooked her elbow around the narrow trunk. The creek swung her around and she grabbed hold with her other arm as well, the current streaming her body past the tree. It almost felt like she was flying, except that water poured over her chin and mouth, trying to force its way in as she held her head upright.

  “Hold on, Sarah!”

  Sarah heard the shout, saw Jon clinging to a tree upstream, his gaze already off her and searching the creek. But Lee and the man were nowhere in sight, and Jon's frantic search meant the worst had happened.

  You caused this, Sissy. The moment you chose your own life over Adam’s…

  Oh Lee, she thought, and in that moment of unimaginable loss, she let go for the first time since the pond, let go of the anger and despair she’d felt since the hit-and-run, of the desperation she'd felt since she'd seen Lee by the loading dock behind Rainbow Pines, of the idea that a drowning little girl could be a cold-blooded killer instead of a frightened child. She let go of all of it, and with it went her mother's voice.

  Fear of the water prevented her from letting go, from choosing to drown, but her muscles were wearing down and soon there would be no choices left to make. The better for it. There was no point in living with Lee gone. She found some small peace knowing that he’d drowned unaware of what was happening to him, the terror she’d lived with all her life averted. She’d die and maybe the two of them would be together again.

  Sarah was starting to slip free when the man surfaced just upstream of Jon, still holding Lee as they hurtled downstream, and the absolute desolation she’d felt moments before disappeared, ceased the moment her eyes found her Lee.

  She ignored the pain in her hand and pulled hard, raised one scraped arm and thrust it out of the water and around the maple, brought herself closer with a strength she didn’t think she had.

  Just as she got both arms firmly around the trunk again, Jon shoved away from his own tree and slammed into Lee and the man. Sarah gaped as the three of them went under, as they resurfaced and swung around wildly in the river, hurtling closer to her by the second.

  She gripped the tree as hard as she could with her right arm, the wood pressing painfully into her forearm and bicep, and extended her left arm.

  Fifty-Six

  HARVEY

  “Let him go!” The boy’s father shouted when the three of them surfaced, clawing at Harvey’s grip on the boy even as he fought to keep his mouth clear of the water.

  As they struggled, Harvey saw the boy’s mother stick out her hand but he knew they wouldn’t make it, even if the boy’s fool dad didn’t drown all of them first. She wasn’t directly in their path and they were moving too fast—if they kept on the way they were going they’d miss her.

  He’s not ready to die… he's not ready…

  Harvey knew there was only one way.

  “Here,” Harvey grunted, and he took one last breath as the father—his eyes wide—grabbed hold of the boy.

  Now…

  Harvey grabbed the boy’s torso and shoved him and the father toward Sarah Young with every ounce of strength he had, kicking his legs so hard his joints throbbed. He went under instantly, propelled downward by the force of his own push, but he didn’t try to surface, just pushed and kicked and drove the father and son forward until a final shove propelled him in the opposite direction.

  He struggled back to the surface and sucked in a lungful of air, spun himself in the water until he spotted the boy and his parents clinging to the tree at least twenty feet upstream already.

  Still might all die, but at least they’re together…

  Harvey turned himself so that he could see where the water was carrying him. The muscles in his legs were fatigued and burning, but his arms still felt strong and he was able to stay upright. The creek turned ahead, the water shifting him toward the far bank where it moved faster around the outside of the curve, an area heavy with drowned vegetation.

  Not far from the spot where I hit them, he thought as he stroked toward the bank, hoping he could use the force of the current to push him to the edge of the water before he got to the curve.

  But the water carried him downstream faster than he expected, and within seconds he was swept into the trees that clogged the edge of the creek. He’d have to grab whatever he could and hold on.

  Harvey was raising his hands from the water to wrap them around a promising tree when one of his feet snagged an unseen branch in the water below. Before he even had time to realize what was happening, the current swung him in a hard semicircle, headfirst into another tree.

  Harvey cried out in pain as bursts of light appeared in his eyes. His right hand rose instinctively, pressed against his throbbing skull

  oh god it hurts

  even as his left arm flailed against the water. But his foot was still trapped and the water poured over his face, covered his eyes and filled his mouth before he could even suck in another gulp of air.

  Vertigo washed through his head and the current pushed him under. Eyes rolling through the brown water, he fumbled at his pants with both hands, tried to pull his torso toward his stuck foot, but he could barely even bend at the waist.

  Can’t… god the pain…

  Lungs burning, his head full of agony and confusion, Harvey roll
ed and twisted like a wild animal, but his trapped foot didn’t budge.

  The water darkened before his eyes, the throb in his lungs transforming into what felt like a bubble of heat in his chest that kept expanding until it took over his entire body.

  Nonna…

  Harvey tried again to reach his leg, couldn’t even get his hands to his waist before the water streamed his limp arms past his head so that they flapped in the current, and the water grew darker still.

  Can’t…

  Nonna…

  The bubble of heat popped and a small orb of light appeared in the center of Harvey's eyes, growing, and growing, and growing, until it was as big as the moon. Harvey drew the Accotink into his mouth, filled his lungs, and the light faded.

  Fifty-Seven

  SARAH

  Just when she knew they wouldn't make it, the man disappeared under the water and somehow Jon and Lee not only came closer to the maple, but crossed to the other side of it. With no time to alter her hold, Sarah was forced to reach around the trunk toward them as they started to shoot past the right side of the tree.

  An instant later, Jon grabbed hold of Sarah’s wrist. He and Lee swung around the tree with so much force that they pulled her torso around the trunk, the bark grinding into her cheek and gums like sandpaper, two of her teeth digging into the wood before they snapped like glass rods. The maple bent under their combined weight as Jon’s fingers dug painfully into her wrist, but that was nothing compared to the pain that bloomed in her shoulder, as if the muscles, tendons, and ligaments were being ripped apart.

  Screaming with pain and effort, Sarah let go of the trunk and grabbed Jon’s forearm, the tree between her arms. She’d been pulled so far around the maple that she was able to force her left foot around the trunk, and the current locked her leg in place, Jon and Lee’s weight pressing her chest into the tree so hard that her ribs creaked with bursts of pain—the thought flitted across her mind that her ribs were breaking. Struggling to breathe past the agony, she started to pull them toward her.

  Fifty-Eight

  JON

  He let go of her wrist, and somehow, Sarah—the part of her face that he could see around the maple a rictus of pain and blood—pulled him hand over hand until he was close enough to slip his free arm between her stomach and the trunk and to lock the crook of his elbow around it, Lee bobbing at his side as the tree swayed in the current. Sarah let go of him and sagged against the tree, panting, blood trailing out of her mouth and down her chin.

  He spoke, barely able to get the words out around his own ragged breaths. “Help me get him closer.”

  Sarah only nodded and reached toward Lee with her left hand. She grabbed his armpit and the two of them tried to pull their son closer to the maple, but halfway there Sarah lost her hold and Jon nearly lost Lee altogether.

  “I can’t,” Sarah said as she sagged against the tree.

  Jon’s arms felt like warm jelly despite the water that felt colder by the second. He didn’t know how long he could hold on to Lee or the maple. More spectators had gathered on the bridge upstream and a few people were running alongside the creek toward them, yelling at them to hold on. They were at least fifty feet from the edge of the water, the space between a thicket of tree trunks and branches, most of them too small to hold a person. He didn’t know how rescuers would reach them.

  Forget that… just hold on…

  “Press on my arm, Sarah.”

  Sarah shifted without speaking, pinning his arm tighter against the trunk. It was just enough to ease the strain on his arm muscles.

  Calm… just focus on holding him…

  That’s what he did until the tree trunk cracked, the pop of the splitting wood shooting through his arm like the lash of a whip.

  Fifty-Nine

  SARAH

  Sarah screamed, certain the maple trunk would give way and the current would sweep the three of them downstream to their deaths. But after one sickening lurch the popping stopped, leaving them a little deeper in the water, the tree bobbing farther than it had before.

  Jon looked around, but a glance told Sarah there were no other trees close enough.

  “You’d never make it,” she said. “Not with Lee.”

  Jon’s eyes were bleak despite his next words. “Help is coming. We don’t have to hold on much longer.”

  Sarah looked over her shoulder, her face, her mouth, her entire body blazing with pain. Jon was right. A rescue vehicle was sliding to a stop on the wet pavement outside the bridge barriers, lights flashing. As she watched another vehicle pulled in behind it and men started pouring out of both, grabbing equipment and running toward them.

  Sarah looked back at her husband and son. One of Jon’s arms was close around Lee’s neck, the other wrapped around his back. Lee’s head was still, the water streaming across his bare shoulders where the gown had slipped, his face turned slightly toward hers, the flat part of his head pointing toward the sky where more blue was beginning to appear through cracks in the cloud cover.

  Lee looked at her.

  He wasn’t just gazing blankly in her direction. She was certain Lee was seeing her.

  “Lee?”

  She let go of the tree trunk with one hand and extended it toward him, the pain forgotten. Lee didn’t answer, but his eyes followed her hand when it passed in front of him.

  “What?” Jon asked.

  “He moved his eyes, Jon. I sa—”

  There was a hollow pop dulled by the water and the maple lurched again.

  No. No, not now…

  “It’ll hold,” Jon said, but he didn’t sound like he believed his own words. The rescue workers were almost there, sprinting across the soggy ground, carrying ropes and poles and floats. “It will.”

  “We’re too heavy,” Sarah said as she gazed at Lee.

  “It’ll hold,” Jon repeated, but Sarah no longer listened.

  Too heavy…

  She stretched as far as she could and touched Lee’s cheek. Beneath her, another pop vibrated through the tree. Not as big as the last one. But there. “I love you, Lee.”

  “Get back against my arm,” Jon said, his eyes darting between Lee and the rescue workers.

  “Tell him about me,” she said as she ran her fingers down Lee’s cheek. Then she slipped around the trunk and let the current take hold of her.

  “Sarah!” Jon screamed as the maple rebounded away, freed from her weight.

  She hoped it would be enough to let it hold until they were rescued.

  Jon stretched a hand toward her, unable to do more while he held onto the tree and Lee. “Sarah!”

  The people on the bank shouted. One of them threw a flotation ring but it came up short and was quickly beyond reach as Sarah picked up speed. She tried to swim, but her arms and legs felt like lead weights hanging from her body, her chest a band of pain where she'd been crushed against the maple trunk.

  Her Lee was the last thing she saw before she went under.

  Sixty

  TWO YEARS LATER

  JON

  “Tell me again,” Lee said.

  The two of them sat on the leaf-littered ground beneath the budding maples that lined the western bank of the Accotink, the afternoon sunlight gold ribbons that slanted through the trees, the air cool but not cold as winter gave way to spring.

  “We caught up right before he took you into the creek,” Jon said. “Your mom went in after him… ”

  As he recounted the story yet again, Jon wondered if the fascination Lee had with the day Sarah died was healthy. Dr. Kamarti said Lee’s desire to hear the story over and over had more to do with his reawakening than the loss of his mother, likened it to being born again, said the story helped Lee understand his past. Jon wasn’t so sure.

  They were about a mile south of where the car accident had happened, only feet from where rescue workers had found Sarah’s battered body pinned in the crotch of a twisted beech tree the day after she died. Harvey Aiello’s body had washed up miles d
ownstream a week later, after the floodwaters had receded.

  During the weeks and months after Sarah’s death, Jon had wandered the banks of the Accotink whenever he could find the time, and more often than not, he ended up by that twisted beech. There was something about the way the creek looked through the maples, the way the light filtered down through the leaves above, that drew him time after time, to sit and attempt to understand. Perhaps it was the same search that led Lee to ask about that day again and again.

  Jon glanced at Lee as he spoke. His Nats hat was perched on his head. He had on his favorite player’s jersey. On his left hand was a glove, in his right hand a ball. He wasn’t back to normal yet, but Dr. Kamarti and the staff at Rainbow Pines were astounded by how fast he was recovering.

  The first year and a half had been slow and excruciating, months and months of painful work to find the words to express himself, to feed himself with a fork and spoon, to toss a ball in the air, to walk smoothly—he’d had to relearn all the skills he’d mastered years ago, but was forced to do it with a body that wasn’t as strong and a mind that wasn’t as agile. But in the last six months, everything had started to fall into line, gaining more and more speed, until a flabbergasted Dr. Kamarti had admitted that Lee probably wouldn’t need therapy much longer. Lee had laughed at that and said he wouldn’t stop working until he’d signed with the Nats.

  And so Jon recounted the story. Not everything of course—Lee knew nothing of Elle. There’d been questions because she’d been seen with Jon at Rainbow Pines, but the police seemed to accept his story that she’d come to him when she’d realized what Harvey Aiello planned. When they couldn’t find her the questions had stopped. Jon had gotten a short letter from her six months later, no return address but the envelope postmarked from Vegas, the brief note an incoherent scrawl of excuses and apologies. But Jon told Lee the rest. It was a story the media had lapped up for weeks, spinning Lee’s awakening in the swollen waters of the Accotink as a sacrifice-induced miracle.