The Cries of the Butterfly - A LOVE STORY (36 page)

She ignored the bait. Instead, she asked, “So what about this little girl? This Robin?”

“I love her a lot.”

“Are you still determined to adopt her?”

“More than ever.”

“And are you still determined to marry Ms. Burns?”

“More than ever.”

“And how are you going to manage that given the positions of the people who matter?”

“I don’t know as yet. But I’ll find a way,” he said. “You be sure, Miss, I’ll find a way.”

“So we’re in for a fight?”

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” He smiled affably. “That’ll spurt up the sales of whatever it is that you sell.”

“We only sell the truth, Mr. Butcher.”

“Oh! I didn’t know truth could be sold and bought like some commodity. Now I know,” he snickered.

Maddy Witcher’s face flushed. For the first time she was a little flustered. Wolf grinned to himself.

Then it was the turn of the biggies from the international media. They asked profound questions, self-important questions, befitting their lofty status in the world of news gathering and dispensing. Questions that after all was said and done were at best banal in their sum totality. The Press conference that was supposed to last no more than thirty minutes finally got over at seven-ten pm.

Sheltered by his body-guards, Wolf ducked out, as a fresh bout of flashgun popping resumed. Journalist jumped journalist to get one more scrap of news, one last quote; cameramen jumped one another in a shameless orgy to capture that last bit of Wolf Butcher’s flesh. Somewhere a woman journo screamed that someone had groped her breast in the melee. And as Wolf shot into his waiting Hummer, he wondered if these men and women had received any upbringing from their parents at all.
Shit, they are so pathetic!

.

H
e rang the doorbell for the third time. But again there was no answer and for a moment Wolf thought Savannah had gone out. But he quickly dismissed that notion—it was unlikely, given her state.

Finally, he drew the keys to the lock, from a spare set she had given him.

He had dismissed his security before coming here, needing them no more.

The house was in darkness and Wolf’s heart caught in dread. He looked around the living room. The windows were secured and there was an eerie silence. He went to the bedroom. He saw a silhouette at the window on the far side—silhouette of a human head.

Lightly he walked over to her. She was in an easy chair, rocking to and fro ever so slightly.

“Savannah?” His voice was a soft whisper. “Sav?”

There was no reaction. He hesitated, then placed a tender hand on her shoulder, bracing himself for a violent startled reaction. But none came. He squeezed her shoulder more firmly and repeated her name. But again there was no response. Almost panicking, he rushed to the switches by the door and threw the power on. Then he dashed back to her.

Her eyes were open and her chest heaved ever so faintly, and Wolf felt relief flow into him. She was in a creased white, full-sleeve shirt and didn’t seem to have anything underneath. Her knees shone in the white light and her eyes were glazed—unseeing eyes, faraway eyes. Wolf knelt before her. He waited for a tick, then placed a palm on her bare thigh. When she still didn’t react, he squeezed her thigh and uttered her name once more, this time loudly.

She turned her head a fraction and looked at him blankly.

Something exploded inside Wolf. There was a blinding flash of lightning in his brain as a terrible anger seized him. He grabbed her arms and stood up, lifting her clean off the chair like some doll. His fingers digging deep into her flesh, he dashed to the bed and tossed her solidly onto it. The wood protested hotly and threatened to shatter. She screamed, sudden fear leaping to her eyes, and she shrank from him in terror.

But he climbed on the bed and went after her. She screeched and cowered further back, putting her hands up before her face in defense. He swatted her arms away, then clasped her under the armpits and with a mighty heave lifted her in the air above his head. Unmindful of her wild shrieks, he kept her in space for a good ten seconds in an immobilizing grip. His eyes were burning charcoal and his lips were drawn back tight against his teeth in a vicious snarl.

Then he muttered a curse and dumped her down on the bed again. She kept thrashing and yelping, but Wolf kept her pinned firmly down. He glowered at her, breathing hot fumes into her face. Savannah trembled and shut her eyes.

Slowly her struggles began to abate. Then she went limp on her back and began gasping for air. Wolf released her now and stepped back. And he threw up his hands in utter despair.

“I can’t fucking do this alone.” Disgust shivered in his voice. “If you’re going to keep behaving like an useless invalid child, then nothing good can come out of this ever.” He turned away. “If we’re going to make it, I need your help, woman. I need all your strength. I can’t fight the whole fucking world and you too. I can’t afford an enemy within.” He was tired and humped on the edge of the bed. “When I need you most, you are never fucking there.”

.

I
t was nine-fifty-five pm when Wolf reached St. Teresa Children’s Home.

For the first time ever, he was stopped at the gate.

“I’m sorry, sir, but no visitors at this hour. It’s late,” the guard said.

“You know who I am?”

“Yes, I do. But I’m still sorry. Orders,” the security man answered disinterestedly. The man was in his early forties and built like a cape bull.

“From whom?”

“From the highest quarters.” He had turned away. The message was unequivocal: get lost, dude, I have no time for you.

“I’d like to see Sister Toynette,” Wolf said.

“I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean you’re sorry?” Wolf demanded.

“Exactly what I said. You cannot meet anyone until tomorrow morning.”

“Even Sister Blessing?”

“That’s correct.”

“And says who? Do you have it in writing?”

“I don’t need anything in writing.”

“Look, I’ve always visited anytime I wanted. No one has ever stopped me. Why now?”

The guard turned back to Wolf. “New rules. And they’ve not been framed by me.” His face was inflexible.

Wolf exhaled. He began to understand now. So Ian Cass hadn’t been bluffing. The Sunday noon deadline was past. The ‘no-entry’ was in place. He looked at the security guard. It wasn’t his fault—the guy was merely doing his job.
The new rules haven’t been framed by me.
True.

Wolf nodded at him. “Fine.” He looked at the girls’ hostel before him. His baby was there…right there. So close. Yet so far. He hadn’t seen her in ages. A sudden longing made him bite his lip hard. He swallowed hurriedly.

He just stood there for a protracted minute. Then abruptly he turned to the guard. “Do you have children?” he said to him.

For a second, the man was thrown. But finally he answered, “Yes…four. … Why?”

“Then you, of all people, should know how it feels.”

The security guard stared at Wolf for a long moment. He hesitated, then took a step forward.

“I’m sorry, sir, I would let you in, but…” Suddenly the man was civil.

Wolf put a hand on the guy’s shoulder. “I understand. It’s not your fault.” He gave the man a little squeeze.

“I cannot afford to lose my job, sir. I have a family to support and I am the lone earner.” He was penitent, as if it was due to him Wolf was being denied.

“Hey, no worries, bro, no worries,” Wolf said with false gaiety. “What’s your name, if I may ask?”

“Gerald, Mr. Butcher. Gerald Atherton.”

Wolf nodded, then turned to leave. There was a little murmur behind him.

“You said something?” Wolf stopped and asked over his shoulder.

The guard was in the throes of conflict.

“What’s it?” Wolf inquired, suddenly wary that the fellow was going to ask him for some money. It happened all the time with him. They all wanted some part of him, whatever they could lay their hands on. That was the price for being rich and famous.

“I was wondering if…if I could…get a…an autograph…please…” he stammered shyly.

Wolf smiled. “Anytime, bro.”

Suddenly excited, Gerald Atherton lunged for a pen in his pocket. Then not finding one, he said, “Just a second, sir…” and rushed off to the guards’ cabin near the gate. He was back in ten seconds with pen and paper.

Wolf wrote: ‘To my new good friend, Gerald Atherton. Security officer par excellence.’ And he signed.

Atherton hesitated again, then timorously asked if Wolf would sign for his son.

Then there was Atherton’s younger son. And two daughters. And of course the wife.

Wolf asked every individual’s name and wrote a different message for each, making it exclusive for them.

Atherton was gushing. “You made my day, sir.”

“It’s night now, bro,” Wolf laughed.

“Yes, sir.”

Wolf extended his arm, they shook, and Wolf crossed the road and headed for his vehicle at the mouth of twelfth lane.

For a minute, he stood by the driver-side door and looked at the girls’ hostel again…one final glimpse. A lump began to collect in his throat. He shook himself furiously and looked away. He glanced at the security guard by the main gate and saw him waving at him. The man’s face was terribly contrite. Wolf waved back. Without further ado, he got into his car and sent it careering down the road away from the Home. A defiant tear rolled down his cheek. Wolf cursed aloud and flicked it away with his middle-finger, then straightened his back. His face turned firm now and in his eyes came a quiet resolve.

The show of bravado, of defiance, backfired horribly.

THE
island nation erupted the next day.

The Wolf Butcher Press conference was front page news this Tuesday morning of April 22 (as if nothing else was going on in the world), and they had nem con painted him the anti-Christ, the very embodiment of everything evil and ugly in this world.

Classically, The New Halcyon Tribune, with Maddy Witcher’s byline, took the lead.

Wolf Butcher Abandons Daughter-to-be To Embrace A Prostitute.

Little Robin Becomes Suicidal.

Wolf was shocked. Where the world hadn’t even been aware of the existence of the eight year old, now they painted her into a tragic heroine, detailing every little aspect of this abandoned girl who lived in a Children’s Home, who Wolf Butcher had taken a fancy to and promised to adopt, a little girl who called Wolf ‘my Daddy’, in whom Wolf had raised such tall hopes of a great life, and finally when it came to the moment of truth, had dumped her. For what? For a prostitute who solicited business on the Internet.

What does one call a man who exploits an innocent child, pushing her to the very brink of suicide? Does this man have any conscience at all? And to think he is New Halcyon’s most loved son.

They quoted Robin as saying she desperately missed her daddy. She missed him so badly, she hadn’t eaten in two days, couldn’t sleep, felt herself shivering all the time. She wanted to die.

And for this low-on-character woman, this man even forsakes his peerless family. A family that has been the pride of our wonderful nation. A family that has given us a treasure like President Grant Butcher, a twenty-four karat man. How shameless and dissolute can any human being get? What does Wolf Butcher see in this woman that makes him behave so degenerately? Alas, what evil magic has she woven around him?

Wolf felt dizzy as he sat cross-legged on his bed and gawked down at the newspapers spread before him.
Is this newspaper reporting, or part of some C-grade script of some theatrical production?
It was nine-thirty on this fine Tuesday morning and he humped forward and covered his face with his right hand. Rochelle, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him, watched with some concern.

The cellphone began to ring then. Wolf didn’t budge. After seven rings, Rochelle answered it. She heard for a second, then said Mr. Wolf Butcher had left New Halcyon, destination unknown.

When will he return?

He didn’t tell.

Who is this on the phone then?

A maid.

Can we speak with someone responsible?

I’m a responsible person. Very responsible.

No, what we meant was can we talk to someone from the family?

I’m as much a part of the family as anyone else—been with them forever. And who’s the “we”? I can hear only one voice.

And she cut the line.

But no sooner, it began sounding again. Then it was Wolf’s fixed-line.