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The Miracle of the Butterfly!

The Profession of Ben Smith

By Don FeazellePublished 4 years ago 6 min read
2
Photo by Timo Vijn on Unsplash

“Something about the deep blue crisp Autumn sky,” Ben stared up into the heavens mumbling to himself. “The blue goes on forever.”

“Honey, we are going to be late!” Ben turned to see Nancy standing at the door dressed and ready. “I will be in shortly.”

Ben turned back and continued to gaze heavenward. “Why?… Why?” After several minutes, he turned toward the house. That was when the sight caught his eye. Hundreds, maybe thousands of butterflies lighted on a wild cranberry bush down by the pond. Intrigued by the beauty, He paused to watch. Bright red berries and multi-colored butterflies crawling flapping their wings. Nature decorated the cranberry bush for the holidays. Ben shook his head, “Sorry, little butterflies, you give me no hope today.”

Again Nancy stuck her head out the door. “Do you know what time it is?”

Ben turned and headed toward the door, “I’m coming, woman.”

Though the traffic was light and moving, the trip dragged on. A six-hour trip, Nancy and Ben never dreaded this drive more.

While Ben drove Nancy distracted herself by playing Words with Friends.

Struggling to concentrate, Nancy sighed and turned to look at Ben. He was gripping the steering wheel like a man hanging on for dear life.“Honey, you have been driving for three hours. Why don’t we stop, eat, then gas up? After we stop, I will take over driving so you can rest for a while. Besides, you need to eat and take your insulin.”

Ben started watching the signs closer, looking for an exit, “What time does the GPS say we will arrive?”

Nancy closed out Words with Friends, Facebook, FB Messenger to get to the GPS app on her phone. “We… will arrive at 4:44 PM. If we stop now, we might lose an hour or so and arrive at the hotel around 6:00 PM. That will still give us plenty of time to check-in, grab a light supper then go on to Madison. I am worried that all this stress is driving your blood sugar high. You look a little flushed, sweaty, and your eyes are bloodshot.”

Ben snapped, “Stop nagging me. I will pull off at the next exit.”

Nancy glared at Ben for several seconds. Ben glanced over, “What is it?”

He glanced again and noticed the pools forming in her eyes. Ben sighed, “Honey, I am sorry, I snapped at you. I’m as stressed as you are.”

Nancy reached into the glove box and grabbed several tissues out of a travel pack. Wiping her eyes, she said, “I don’t mean to nag you. I am about to lose one of the two most important people in my life. I don’t want to lose you too. I worry about your health.”

Ben reached over and patted her on the leg, “Nancy, I love you. Always will. Hey, there is a Cracker Barrel Restaurant at the next exit. Let’s stop.”

Nancy and Ben sat off by themselves away from the others in the observation room. Repeatedly, she glanced over at the other family. Nancy felt compassion for them. She would look over and whisper, “I am so sorry.”

Bethann Malkins met her desire for forgiveness with anger, resentment, harsh remarks, “What kind of parents are they to raise such a monster? YOU KNOW the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!”

At the set time, the corrections officers marched Benjamin Rayford Smith, the 3rd, into the execution chamber. Both Nancy and Ben broke down in tears.

Benji, as his parents had nicknamed him, is Ben and Nancy Smith’s only child. Benjamin Rayford Smith, the 3rd, read his final words:

Before God in whom I am about to stand, and is my sole righteous judge and witness, I swear before Him and you that I did not commit the acts for which the State of Virginia is about to take my life. As stated under oath during the trial testimony and repeatedly during my appeals, I did not murder Angela Malkin. To the Malkin family, I am deeply sorry for your loss, but the real killer is still out there.

As I have previously stated and for a record of my final testimony: While walking home from work on the night of November 5th, 2010, I took a shortcut home through Walton’s woods. I stumbled upon the body of that poor girl who later I found out was Angela Malkin, age twelve. I saw her lying on the ground to the right of the footpath. Because of the reduced light, I did not know that she was dead. I reached down to check for vitals when I discovered her naked body, mutilated, with a knife sticking out of her chest. The killer left her clothes neatly folded several feet away from her body.

The police arrived, seeing me leaning over Angela Malkin’s body. They assumed I was the killer. Because The Commonwealth Attorney and the police department thought they had an open and shut case — I believe — they did not thoroughly investigate this crime.

I have accepted my fate and placed my soul into the hands of God’s mercy. I harbor no ill will.

To my mother and father, I love you. Don’t worry about me. I go to a better place. Again to the Malkin’s my sincerest sorrow over your loss.

Sincerely, Benjamin Rayford Smith III.

The last words, Benji heard. Gary Malkin, Angela’s father, screamed, “Shut that the murderous bastard up. Finish the job.”

Fifteen minutes after Benjamin Rayford Smith, the 3rd’s, heartbeat stopped, and he was declared dead, the Warden’s phone rang, and he picked it up. “This is Governor Strayhorn, STOP the execution. Smith is innocent. In Richmond, they arrested an alleged serial killer who claims to have killed Angela Malkin. He had collected hair samples from his victims. The lab just confirmed that one of the samples matched Angela Malkin. The man, a Jeffery Gacy, has stated that his final victim will die tonight by the hand of the state.”

Warden Mueller sighed, “We are too late.”

One Year Later:

Sitting on the bench Ben had stationed in front of the wild cranberry bush, he smiled over at Nancy, who sat beside him, “I am glad, I didn’t chop that bush down. Look at all those butterflies.”

Nancy smiled back, “They are beautiful.”

While Ben and Nancy quietly sat on the bench holding hands, a Cranberry Bog Copper butterfly landed on their embraced hands. After several seconds the butterfly flew back to the bush.

Nancy let go of Ben’s hand, “I guess this a sign for me to get up and fix dinner. Benji should be here with his new girlfriend, Marie Malkin. I still can’t believe he is alive. Dr. Morten swears he had no heartbeat and that Benji was clinically dead. Do you believe it was a miracle?”

Ben chuckled, “That and he is dating Angela’s sister. Hard to believe we were the hated enemy a year ago. I guess if the shoe was on the other foot. We might have felt the same way at the time. I am glad that the Malkins have moved on.”

Nancy paused and looked back, “They make such a nice couple.”

As she walked toward the house, Ben yelled to Nancy, “Last year, I was wrong about the butterflies. They did give hope. Despite dying for a crime he did not commit, Benji had hope.”

Ben stood and headed for the house, “Honey, I am coming to help.”

© 2019 Don Feazelle

fiction
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