Page 96 of Butterfly

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ThehospitaltoweredaboveOllie. He counted floor after floor, window after window. It wasn’t one building, but several, and they were all huge. Ollie had strolled the perimeter, trying to catch sight of a purple buddleia. There were no trees or plants, only cold concrete and sparkling glass. Cranes could be seen on the horizon, expanding the hospital with a new unit.

An eighteen-year-old Teddy had been rushed through the accident and emergency doors. Ollie wondered if the surgeon who had saved his life was still inside, perhaps saving someone else’s. Teddy hadn’t told him much about the recovery, other than it being difficult and him having paralysis down the right side of his body for nine months. He recovered sensation, only plagued by pain in his right hand, but he hadn’t recovered his voice.

His speech was permanently gone.

He’d found communicating with grunts and growls mortifying, and only a few people had taken the time to listen to what he was trying to say.

Ollie glanced over to the outpatient building. The letters shone silver in the sunlight; the brick wall wasn’t stained grey with pollution. It was obvious it was a newer section of the hospital. It was less obvious to know it had been the place of Teddy’s crime.

They’d built on top of the field where the caravans had once been. Ollie had read old reports of the locals complaining about them, questioning why they’d set up home right outside the hospital.

Ollie knew it was for Teddy.

They travelled around as a community, and when one of them needed help, they gathered to support them. Teddy had parents, a sister and friends, but not once had he received a letter or a visit. They’d abandoned him. Ollie couldn’t blame them. At twenty years old, Teddy had done the unforgivable.

His actions had led to the death of four people, two of them minors. The outpatient building stood on top of the place they’d died, and there was no plaque, no sign to say something tragic had happened there.

Ollie had seen the guilt in Teddy’s eyes when he’d asked about what he did. He saw the guilt, and the pain, and when Teddy refused to give him any details, he’d foolishly made up his own.

He’d made up that Teddy desperately tried to stop the fire. He’d gone inside and fought through the flames to try to save Gary, Sally, Blake and Annie. He’d collapsed to the ground, burned and blistered, wailing with regret and anguish when he realised he couldn’t.

Ollie didn’t plan to look up the details. Rory had even warned him against it, which left him even more curious.

He wished he hadn’t.

He wished he’d listened to Rory.

Ollie saw the pictures of what was left of the caravan, just wheels and the metal frame stained black by the fire.

He also saw the photographs of the victims, and it wasn’t the two smiling little girls that stuck in his mind the most. It was Gary, blond-haired, bright-eyed, with a small smile. He looked like Ollie. Not identical by any means, but there was a similarity to them, and Ollie didn’t know what to do with it.

He thought back to the day in the cell when they spoke about relationships, and Teddy told him jealousy had ended his. Jealousy. That was a reason one might lash out, do something in the moment that one could never take back.

What if Gary was the ex-boyfriend?

What if he had made Teddy jealous?

What if Teddy took that jealousy out on him?

He was speculating, but Teddy had been so reluctant to tell him about his crime or how his relationship ended.

There were other details Teddy had omitted. Horrible ones. Like how he’d used fuel to make the fire burn hotter, and faster, like how Teddy was found later, blubbing in one of the hospital’s storage units after a concerned member of the public had pointed the police in the right direction.

He hadn’t tried to save them.

He’d run.

Ollie sat on the stone wall outside the hospital, wiping his eyes with his sleeves. Everyone thought Teddy was an animal, deranged, and Ollie had always thought them wrong.

He knew Teddy, and no one else did.

It had made him feel special.

But perhaps he’d had it wrong.

They knew, and he didn’t.

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