It All Started With The Butterflies

Chapter 36

Chapter 36: The White House

I impatiently waited for Caspian in English and when he didn't show up, I knew something was wrong. Sure, he was one for bunking class, but he would have told me. He wouldn't have made me worry unnecessarily; he knew I was a stress bunny.

"Have you seen Caspian?" I whispered to Chrissie.

She shook her head in reply, before scribbling on the side of her notebook and tilting the book so that I could read her message.

'Going to see Shawn. Want to come?'

'When?' I wrote next to her message.

'After school'

I nodded my head. Maybe I could find out if his family had any enemies that he knew of; it was kind of weird that just when his sons show up, the Mayor ends up dead. Shawn and Levi seemed like the kind of guys who picked up trouble wherever they went.

The school day ended and there was still no word from Caspian. I still had to find the pear tree where Asher's bag was buried, and I was not strolling through the expanse of the dark and dingy forest without Caspian by my side.

Chrissie pulled up outside the Mayor's (now Shawn's) house. The house was massive, but of course it would have to be massive and showy: this was the house of the town's ruler. It was a White House! If I wasn't so jittery, I would have laughed at my own joke. From the outside the house looked like an uninspired painted landscape. Like an artist had just decided to draw a big house and settled on a very boring composition. The paint on the walls was thick and glossy and looked new, so new that looked like it had been finished yesterday. The front yard wasn't a yard, it looked more like a parking lot. You'd think I would have come here before, since I had seen mostly everything in this small town. Or I would have at least passed it on my way somewhere, but this place was new to me. There were about five guards stationed outside the entrance. My guess was that this was a new fixture, since there was no way anyone would have made it past these armed men; not even a trained hit man could have pulled it off.

Chrissie walked up to the giant front doors and I trailed behind her, willing to let her do the talking. The guard stationed by the door had the face of a stern old man, but the physique of a bodybuilder. All Chrissie had to do was give her name; the guard held a walkie-talkie to his ear, mumbled a few things and then let us enter. I stepped cautiously around the other guards. They looked kind of trigger-happy, with their guns pointed upwards and their fingers never wavering from the trigger.

We stepped into the expanse that was called the entrance hall. We were greeted by a tipsy Shawn who stumbled towards us; a small, grey flask in his hand. He stopped to take another gulp, before offering some to us. To my relief Chrissie followed my example of declining. Shawn's eyes were red and swollen. His hair was uncombed and stood up on edge. Zits dotted his once clear chin, and his ivory skin was red and blotchy. I reminded myself not to judge the state he was in; he had lost his whole family in a couple of weeks.

The interior of the house was magnificent; I had never seen such intricate architecture before. The floors were made of brown-hued tiles, with hints of gold in them. The walls were a rich, caramel sort of colour; and it looked like it would take kindly to tapestries hung on it. Gold railings framed the staircase, and each room was separated by a brown door, with a big crest on each one. The crest consisted of a lion that looked like it was in the middle of roaring. The Steel family crest was a symbol of bravery.

"We came to see how you were doing." Chrissie saved me from having to talk first.

He let out a loud laugh, not an amused laugh but one that signified he was not sure what to say. He stepped closer and pulled Chrissie into a tight embrace. I could tell she was uncomfortable from the awkward back pat she gave him, and the way her mouth curled into something that was most definitely not a smile.

Shawn led us to the lounge and plopped himself onto one of the armchairs; his unbuttoned shirt flapped to the side, exposing his toned chest. He took a long gulp of alcohol before gesturing towards the double, leather couch. Chrissie and I sat down simultaneously. Awkward silence filled the room. I was honestly thinking about asking Shawn if he knew of anyone who would want to kill his family members, but I didn't. He didn't look like he was capable of thinking at this moment, and I didn't want it to seem like I was unsympathetic.

"So," Chrissie broke the silence. "What have you been up to lately?"

Shawn raised his eyebrows before shrugging. "Nothing, really." He looked at the bottle of alcohol on his hand, and didn't offer any further information about his personal life.

Chrissie nodded her head. "If you need anything..."

I rolled my eyes; either she was just trying to be nice, or she had forgotten that Shawn was at least five years older than her and a complete drunkard.

"Can you stay here tonight?" he asked, his eyes glazed over with depression. "I just can't spend another day alone in this haunted place."

I didn't know if he believed in ghosts or he meant haunted metaphorically, as in he couldn't look at anything without being reminded of his father and brother.

"Sure." I wasn't expecting Chrissie to agree: I thought she would come up with some excuse. Should I stay with her, just to make sure she was safe? Shawn did look a bit unstable. "Why don't you stay as well?" Chrissie read my mind.

"Umm," I tried to decide what to do. "Ok," I agreed, Chrissie was my best friend, we had to look out for each other. "There's just something I need to do first, but I'll come right back when I'm done."

"Ok." Chrissie didn't even offer to come with me.

"Don't you need to get clothes or something?" I asked, not wanting to leave her here with Shawn.

"Can you get me something to wear? Just one of your T-shirts and jeans for school tomorrow?" she asked. "I'll wear these clothes to bed." She gestured towards her black mini-skirt and cropped beige top.

I nodded my head. She'd be fine. I wouldn't be long, only a couple of hours. Shawn was too drunk to even hold onto his flask; if he tried anything Chrissie could always just shake free from his grip and hit him on the head with a vase or something.

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