House of the Golden Butterfly

by B. Groves

  “I see it all the time.”

  “I’ve written books about it,” Claire said with a short laugh. “My heroine loses her memory from a trauma and in the end brings the bad guy to justice. That doesn’t happen in the real world.”

  “No. Not most of the time.”

  Mac glanced at the clock. He had to return to work, but Claire deserved his other confession.

  “There’s something else I need to tell you,” Mac said.

  Claire placed a palm over her face. “Do I want to know?”

  Mac hated doing this. He could see the weariness in Claire’s features. She had a rough day, and it was taking a toll on her, but she deserved to know.

  “I’m the one who found your grandmother.” Might as well spit it out.

  Claire’s eyes widened. Her mouth opened and closed as she searched for words.

  “I was called to do a welfare check on her from a concerned neighbor who saw her mail piling up,” Mac explained. “I found her that day. I should have told you sooner.”

  Claire groaned and said, “This is your patrol area. It makes sense.”

  “Yep, but that doesn’t mean I’m here out of pity,” Mac said.

  Claire ran a hand through her wild hair and Mac wished it were his hands doing that.

  “Are you mad?” Mac asked.

  Claire looked at him as if he grew another head.

  “No, no. Of course not,” she said with a reassuring smile. “Why would I be?”

  “I wanted to tell you the other night, but I didn’t think it was the appropriate time.”

  Claire made a face and said, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  “Be glad it wasn’t you. That’s all I’m saying,” Mac said. “I’m glad you’re not upset.”

  “I’m not upset at all. I know it must be hard being here,” Claire answered.

  “I’ve seen a lot in my career.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Mac rose from the chair and hated leaving Claire here in this monstrous house alone.

  Claire gathered the dishes and placed them in the sink.

  “Did you want the leftovers?” She asked.

  “No. It’ll go bad on me.”

  She nodded and turned around to face him. Her lips parted welcoming him for a kiss.

  He turned down his radio and walked over to Claire. He pulled her towards him and pressed his lips against hers.

  God, she was sweet, he thought. Sweeter than honey oozing from a beehive his grandfather used to say.

  Did he ever have any doubts since they first met?

  Their tongues met in a seductive dance that put a stranglehold on Mac’s chest. Her breasts pressed against his chest.

  His work pants were getting tight around his crotch, and later he might have to loosen them for some relief.

  Her arms wrapped around his neck and both separated for a moment to take a breath.

  “I know you need to go,” Claire said with regret in her voice.

  She didn’t let go of his neck and Mac didn’t want to let go of her waist.

  “Yes, ma’am, but I don’t have to like it,” Mac said with a grin.

  They kissed again and separated when static came through the radio.

  The call wasn’t for him, but he needed to leave.

  “Are we still on for the weekend?”

  “We sure are, Officer,” Claire said with a smile.

  “Good. I think we both need a night on the town,” Mac said.

  “I agree.”

  Claire walked him to the front door. Mac avoided turning his gaze into the living room again and this time Claire noticed.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “No need to apologize,” he answered.

  Claire unlocked the door and opened it. “Be careful out there. With all that’s going on in this country…”

  “I know. I learned to keep a low profile.”

  They kissed one more time, and Mac turned to leave. “Remember to set the alarm.”

  “I will.”

  “Call you?”

  Claire smiled. “Anytime. Thank you so much for dinner.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Mac walked outside. The sun disappeared in the west and dusk was settling in. He waved goodbye to Claire and waited for her to shut the door and walk away before he left. He saw the living room light turn on.

  The house had an unsettling presence from the outside. He didn’t know if the eerie feeling that crept up his spine was from memories of Rose or the energy the house was giving off.

  Goosebumps formed on his arms. These big homes never sat well with him. A lot of dark history and Kinsey House was no different.

  This house had seen many tragedies. He didn’t know what made Claire think her brother never drowned, but he had his doubts about the official story and didn’t want to express those doubts unless Claire had hard evidence to present to him.

  Kevin was never wrong and that’s what nagged at Mac.

  Mac shook his head again, got into his cruiser and left.

  18.

  C laire’s lips formed a smile after Mac left.

  She was flattered and stunned that he worried she would not want to see him again after his confession.

  Yes, he’d acted like an asshole, but he lost his son too.

  She couldn’t imagine what that must have been like for him and his ex-wife when they found out their baby died.

  She could tell he was ready to move on with his life and she was glad he wanted her to be a part of it. It brought tears to her eyes as she tried imagining how she would feel if she were in that situation. She hoped she never found out.

  It was strange how he found Rose and now they were seeing each other.

  A strange set of circumstances indeed and Claire hoped the ugly would blossom into something beautiful.

  Claire walked outside and put the shovel and the pickax back in the shed for the night.

  Mac hadn’t convinced her to stop searching for her brother, and she was suspicious that he knew more about her brother’s case than what he told her. She thought about reading her brother’s case directly from the police since it was public record, but she wasn’t ready.

  Claire would start her new book before she settled down for the night. The next day she would meet with George for the first time. She was happy to finally meet the man who’d been her main contact ever since she found out she inherited Kinsey House.

  Her “to-do” list was growing by the day. She wanted to go back to the attic and explore more pictures. She wanted to visit her parent’s graves for the first time in her life.

  All these truths being revealed were overwhelming and frustrating.

  Claire’s mood turned from exhilaration from Mac’s kiss to dark and brooding in an instant.

  Whenever her moods turned like this, she wrote.

  She lost herself in her fantasy worlds where the hero meets the strong and feisty heroine, and they fall in love while on an adventure together. Living happily ever after with a few kids added in the mix. The safe fantasy for people who wanted to escape the reality of their mundane lives for a short time.

  After Mary died, Claire locked herself in her room for five days and wrote a whole manuscript that week after the funeral.

  Her editor wasn’t happy with the dark tone but said it was the best writing she’d ever seen typed from Claire’s fingertips.

  This time, Claire wasn’t writing for her fans. She would indulge in herself and write what she’d been experiencing since she moved back to Kinsey House.

  Was it selfish? Maybe, but she needed to put this story on paper.

  It would be semi-autobiographical. She would market it under a new pen name and try her hand at publishing on her own.

  Claire walked upstairs and grabbed the butterfly brooch from the nightstand.

  She fiddled with it in her hand hoping to see her brother again, but all was silent inside the home.

  As her mood turned, she could feel
the energy from the house as if it were whispering secrets to her from inside the walls.

  She took the servant’s staircase back to the kitchen to grab her laptop and stopped to stare at the family she never knew.

  The whispers infiltrated her mind, but the secrets they were trying to tell her were cloaked behind an invisible wall.

  “I promised I would find you. I meant it. Please be patient,” Claire said out loud.

  Claire could feel the eyes watching her as she descended the stairs and cleaned up the rest of the leftover food in the kitchen.

  She wished Mac could have stayed with her longer. She could have used the company.

  She was looking forward to their night on the town this weekend.

  Her dark mood needed some light to shine on it, and the timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

  Claire walked away from the photographs. A shiver ran down her spine, and goose bumps formed on her arms. She would have sworn on her family’s graves the eyes from the photographs followed her as she walked down the rest of the hallway and down the stairs.

  Thankfully, the mood turned lighter when she entered the kitchen to grab her laptop.

  She made a cup of tea and then settled in to write.

  The inspiration for her story swirled in her mind and connected with her conscious thoughts.

  Once the tea was finished, she sat down on the cozy sofa in the living room. She kept the lights low and the TV silent while she loaded her programs on her laptop.

  The familiar programs loading was a familiarity she hadn’t realized she missed until she typed and wrote out her outline in an old-fashioned notebook.

  Claire lost track of time once she was immersed in her new book’s outline and notations.

  She stood a few times to stretch her legs and walk around, making sure the house was secure for the night.

  The feelings from before disappeared, and she was ready to go back to her book after she checked the windows and the doors.

  She ignored the time. Her mind was too active to sleep although her yawning and drooping eyelids told her otherwise.

  Claire lit another fire, noting the chill in the air. She wanted natural light and heat instead of the heater running to give her a feel for her surroundings.

  After the warm glow lit up the room, Claire turned off the rest of the lights and settled back into the sofa and wrote the first few chapters.

  She hadn’t realized her fingers stopped and her mind drifted right after she typed chapter three.

  She thought she was taking a break, but instead, she was falling asleep.

  Claire opened her eyes immediately knowing she was no longer in her world. The fire was out, and the room was ice cold. The kind of cold that not only made your skin turn blue but seeped into your bones going beyond hypothermia.

  Claire sat up on the couch expecting David to appear any moment, but he was nowhere to be found.

  This time she wasn’t in pain and moved freely when she stood to wrap her arms around herself trying not shiver from the chill in the room.

  “David?”

  Her voice echoed as if she was standing in the middle of a canyon without another soul in sight.

  She walked into the hallway, her breaths coming out in frosty puffs in front of her as she searched for her brother.

  It was hard for her to see since her vision was blurred inside this murky world where her brother was trapped.

  “David, where are you?” She asked as she ventured into the kitchen and the other rooms on the first floor.

  She turned to walk back to the living room when a noise caught her attention.

  It was muffled as if she heard it underwater, but the sound was obvious.

  A child was crying.

  Claire rushed up the main staircase as fast as her legs could move through the gray world to find the source of the crying.

  Once she cleared the landing she froze from the scene unfolding in front of her.

  A shadow stood over her brother. She could see a hand gripping his shirt pulling him across the floor.

  He screamed and cried while clawing at the figure with his tiny hands.

  “You ate them, didn’t you?” The figure snarled at her brother.

  “No!”

  Claire gasped when she saw herself as a little girl come running from her room.

  She ran and threw herself to the floor, trying to grasp her brother’s feet. “Stop hurting my brother,” she screamed.

  “This is none of your business, you little bitch,” the figure growled.

  Claire put a hand over her mouth from shock. Despite this purgatory, her eyes filled with the tears as the memory played out in front of her.

  “He didn’t do anything,” young Claire said. “I ate them.”

  The free hand from the shadow lashed out and pulled Claire off her brother.

  Meanwhile, David wailed and kicked and tried to reach for her as the figure pushed her into a wall.

  “Stop your lyin’. It was him.”

  Claire didn’t recognize the voice. She knew it was female.

  Who was this person abusing them? Where was Rose?

  The shadowy figure turned and raised its hand at David in a full-blown rage.

  Older Claire tried to run to stop this person, but her feet were glued to the floor. She did everything in her power to try to reach David, but all her efforts failed.

  “No!” She screamed at the top of her lungs.

  The hand came down hard on his backside, and David bellowed like a wounded animal.

  Little Claire ran over to grab the shadow’s leg, but again, she was pulled off and hurled against the wall.

  Claire never felt so helpless and so defeated. The memory played like an old movie right in front of her eyes.

  Tears were blurring her vision and all she could do was wipe them away.

  As the figure turned back to her brother, a voice echoed from the staircase.

  “What is going on up here?”

  Claire turned to see Rose run over to her grandson and push the figure away.

  The words and the scene blurred in Claire’s eyes but she could tell Rose was scolding whoever the shadowy figure was.

  Claire knew she was once again leaving this world, but before she did her brother—now in the arms of Rose—turned and looked at his sister saying, “Dig, Claire, dig.”

  Claire awoke not knowing where she was. She felt the cool floor beneath her cheek and realized she had moved from the sofa.

  She turned on her back trying to come to her senses. When she opened her eyes, she found them crusty and irritated.

  Once she opened them and blinked she found herself staring up at a hanging light. She knew enough about the house by now to know she was on the second floor.

  Natural light from outside shined in through the double doors of the balcony behind her.

  She squinted and sat up as the memories of what David showed her came rushing back into her mind.

  Claire brought her knees to her chest and sobbed while the memory played on repeat in her mind.

  Who was the mysterious shadow figure? It was a female—Claire knew that much. And why didn’t David show her the person? Who was she? Why did Rose let this person near them knowing the abuse was going on? How could she have allowed that? How much did she know, and why didn’t she ever do anything about it?

  After Claire had gathered herself, she stood and flinched at the stiffness in her muscles after finding herself sprawled out on the hardwood floor.

  She was feeling nauseated and needed to get to her bathroom quick.

  She walked into her bathroom and bent over the toilet while she dry heaved for a few minutes.

  She then stood and walked over to the mirror and splashed some cold water on her face.

  The questions swirled around Claire’s mind. She knew she needed to go out today, but would have rather stayed here to search for more answers.

  Claire leaned against the edge of the sink and rubbed her
eyes.

  She turned and stared at the light becoming brighter as the sun was rising for the day.

  She tried to hold back the tears, but they flowed down her cheeks.

  She had to fulfill this appointment and was determined to get home as soon as possible to restart her search.

  Her shock and grief dissipated with each passing minute and Claire felt stable enough to go drink coffee and then get a shower.

  She was shocked to find the butterfly brooch sitting on top of her laptop.

  19.

  C laire liked George Stallings—Rose’s attorney, and executor of her will.

  George looked different from the picture she’d seen on her Google search when he first contacted her.

  It was clear he lost weight and worked out much more now and commented about it when Claire brought up the picture when she was escorted into his office.

  “I realized I’d been too eating many doughnuts,” George said with a laugh.

  He also commented that he lost his hair and shaved his head.

  His accent was lighter than what she heard around town and he told her he grew up near Maryland. He was originally from somewhere in Maryland and moved down to Lingate after he had married.

  She liked George right when she met him, although she never trusted lawyers.

  He had a good sense of humor and seemed to genuinely care about Rose as a friend.

  Instead of staying in his office, George led her into a meeting room with an expensive walnut table and soft leather chairs.

  Law books that looked older than Kinsey House surrounded the room making Claire inhale the intoxicating smell of the books, along with the subtle smell of cleaning oil.

  They hovered over the paperwork and Claire signed her name on many dotted lines.

  She was glad she had George to help her, because when Mary and Clay died she sold her childhood home and was free of the obligations right when the realtor put up the sign that said: “Sold.”

  “Don’t forget to call Scott. Rose trusted him with her finances, and his reputation around here is stellar,” George suggested.

  “I have an appointment with him next week,” Claire answered, talking about Rose’s accountant.