𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

89. The Butterfly Effect

I saw it. I saw everything. Police officers dragging James from his house, putting him in cuffs. No doors. No windows. No way out. Every minute hell. He would hear a clock ticking by. It would ring out, its echoes would penetrate the stillness of the air. No light, no shadows. Just the colors of empty black. He would for sure get the feeling of suffocation, like his lungs would cave in. He would be trapped.

Imprisoned.

Suddenly the elevator door opened. No. I had to insist on my first plan. I slowly reached my gun and put it behind my back. Derange opened the room's door with a slight smile posted on his face. I quickly raised my gun and aimed for his chest.

"Move." I yelled.

Derange's face was puzzled filled with confusion. He couldn't form any sentences, his mouth was a big black hole. When Derange opened the door there was something that made me nervous. It could have been a tincture of the wrong aroma, or the temperature being too cold, like a window had been opened in my absence. When it came to attacking we never played by "the rules." that was Derange's advice, he was right in everything.

I loaded my gun and cornered him far away from him guns, I knew he had his gun on the back of his loosen jeans but he wouldn't use it. He was trying to understand what all of this was. I slowly lowered my gun only to raise it again but this time faster, I hit him hard on the head and he fell on the ground, from the side of his head blood was coming out.

With great difficulty I moved him to the bed and tied him up, both legs and hands so that he couldn't move. I sat on the edge of the bed and watched him laying unconscious. His warm, raspy voice that possessed his cords, sent nerves dancing up my spine. His smile always sent my mind into an uncontrolled, captivated spiral and his light touch lingered, it branded my soul with his mark.

I didn't know whether I had to call it love, or if it would be a mockery of my heart. Every time he spoke, every tempered word he spoke invaded my mind, like ivy tendrils seeking any point of weakness to enter. He was able to wrap my body in a blanket of comfort, he consumed my soul in the heat of lust. Deep down I wanted him.

I quickly rose from the bed and called Lorenzo's men, now I had to play all my cards. It was like these three persons met at a maple table inside my brain. One was as negative and dark as a demon on a toad stool. The second voice was sunlight multiplied. The third voice was from one that was gone to the couch and was laying down. My dad's voice invaded my mind, I knew exactly what he would say. "Look, this is going to take a lot out of you, in time and effort. Sit back and take it easy. You'll never get out of this world alive anyway." it was as if he was here talking to me.

When all three had stated their positions, they turned to me for the decision. All three answers stroke positive chords to me, but only one could be chosen. Now, let me see...I knew. Sometimes all we have to do is the right thing even if it would hurt us. I picked up the phone and called Lorenzo's men, after half an hour they were right outside of my hotel's room.

I gave my orders.

"What are you doing?" Derange mumbled behind me.

"I am cutting the snake's head and at the same time destroying its body." I replied, my voice loud and clear.

"Untie me now Alice." he growled.

"Oh Derange, you're such a fool." I sang as I stared silently at him. "I can't let you out of this room until..." I paused, giving him a knowing look.

Derange exhaled through his nose in frustration. I stared at him silently, as if debating whether to tell him what I was planning or no. I nodded to myself, already knowing the answer. Lorenzo's men called one more time for confirmation and then they moved on with my plan.

The kidnapping was over in a second. One minute James was there looking at his precious pool, leaning against the wall and then he was gone. No one saw a thing, no one heard his muffled scream, no one was alarmed in any way. I had him...or better I would have him exactly where I wanted him to and in a while I would go too. I didn't have a good relationship with patience.

They carried him into the basement, his feet dragging against every step it took to get to the ground floor. They sat him in a sitting position and chained him to the wall. When I went, I stared at him for a moment and smiled. The dim light made him skin sparkle and glow. After a while I left Derange yelling at me for keeping him tied up, I put a piece of duct tape on his mouth and I would leave him there until I was finished.

My mother was one for surprises, each day a multitude of tiny things...how they made me smile from toe to lips. Which hand was my cookie in? Which way would we walk to school? It was so fun, all those everyday adventures...I could still feel her excitement at seeing a simple flower or the way the light played upon the path...I see it and she sees it through my eyes.

In a life so ordinary it was her that was extraordinary, not because she had given so much, yet because she was made in that way. My mum turned the mundane into fascination and love, she was my heaven, my superhero. I remember one time, we were out walking and we saw a butterfly.

If ever there was magic powder, it was that iridescent glow of the butterfly wings. It casted a spell on my eyes so that my soul was brought into the moment with a fullness. That instant of seeing those petal wings brought a serenity that held me as if in some universal camera flash. My mum would describe butterflies as the flowers of the air. Both arrive just for the warm weather, both are transient, both are delicate. To her the gaily painted wings were like falling petals in the breeze, tremulous, fragile.

Back then I didn't know about the butterfly effect but now I did. Small causes may have large effects in general. I couldn't move, or even do something without changing something throughout all parts of the immeasurable whole. My decision would affect everyone I knew and not knew.

James would be like caterpillar. Death for the caterpillar was life to the butterfly. His death would be...my life.