Butterflies in Winter

By Nyah

What if you were slowly losing your rights and
privileges right from under your nose and didn't know it? What if you partially
funded the ability for this to happen and didn't know it? What if you figured
it out but couldn't convince others to believe you? Molly Everett found herself
in this very situation. From the depths of a lowly position with a lottery
commission, to the heights of the largest double cross in American history,
Molly found herself in too deep. What if the price of preserving our most basic
of guaranteed freedoms were too high for anyone to pay? What if America as we
know it became a distant memory?

What if?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 5, 2003
• ISBN: 9781410731937

Nyah

Nyah is a St. Louis, Missouri native who grew up in Illinois.  She became fascinated with politics, and that fascination inspired her to pursue careers in law, corrections, public service, and ultimately, teaching.  Nyah’s love for mystery and intrigue, fueled by her appreciation for American and English literature, lit the flame that forever burns to stimulate the imagination and challenge youth to critically think.  “The world is a very different place now,” according to Nyah, than when she first discovered her world, and the one beyond as she saw it, when she attended Southern Illinois University, Carbondale, Illinois.  From that time to this, she has watched the social and political consciousness of American youth give way to video arcade games and various other thoughtless forms of engagement that rob them of their ability to creatively and critically think.  Through her writing, Nyah hopes to restore the gift of imagination and the thirst for knowledge that supports it.

Book preview

Prologue

What if you were slowly losing your rights and privileges right from under your nose and didn’t know it? What if you partially funded the ability for this to happen and didn’t know it? What if you figured it out but couldn’t convince others to believe you? Molly Everett found herself in this very situation. From the depths of a lowly position with a lottery commission, to the heights of the largest double cross in American history, Molly found herself in too deep. What if the price of preserving our most basic of guaranteed freedoms were too high for anyone to pay? What if America as we know it became a distant memory?

What if?

- Chapter 1 -

Who in his right mind or what crazy person would have his ass out in this weather buying a lottery ticket? said Molly to herself as she looked at the clock on the wall and then out the window onto the 20° below zero, 2-½- ft snow-laden ground and sidewalks. She was ready to go home and began to worry if her 1992 Chevy Blazer would start in this godforsaken place. Minneapolis wasn’t her idea of a place for any human being to live, including her, but she’d just graduated from college with her business administration degree and wanted to show off to her family and friends so she took the first job offer that came her way—although she thought it was a shitty job in a top hellhole. She kept thinking: Why in the hell am I here? What possessed me to take a job for a lottery commission? What honor is in that? Her concentration was broken at the very instant that her coworker retorted, Let’s get the hell out of here before it snows some more. You know they’re predicting six more inches before midnight tonight. Molly grabbed her coat and ran out of that office as if she’d stolen something, saying, Come on, Susan, you’re taking too long. If you want me to drop you off at home, you’d better come on now or I swear I’ll leave you. Molly was a beautiful young woman, but the one thing she lacked, second only to diplomacy, was patience.

- Chapter 2 -

Molly snuggled up to the fire that she had made in the fireplace and nursed a glass of white wine. The trip home had frozen her to the bone and that type of deep freeze seemed to take forever to thaw. The telephone rang and Molly got up to view the screen on the phone to see if she wanted to take the call. She picked up the receiver on the fourth ring and said in her most sexy tone: Hi big daddy and in the immortal words of Jose Feliciano, Come on baby light my fire…on this cold, lonely, Tuesday night. It was David, the current love of her life, and the stockbroker she idolized. Molly was into money and power and what better hookup than a stockbroker…a young unattached one at that. This is a fool’s Tuesday, David, said Molly. Fools are out in this shit buying lottery tickets like crazy. Be my fool—my fool for love—and come on over. I’ll make it worth your while. You can hit the big one tonight. Molly’s vanity became her and she knew it. David was a sucker in love and she knew that too. When I get there you must promise not to talk shop, David said in a somewhat seductive tone, because the only talk I’ll want to do is pillow talk. That was a deal that Molly could live with and she, like her stockbroker friend, was good at making deals. Molly squeezed a great big kiss out to David into the phone, hung it up, and began to tidy her place up a bit. Molly was accustomed to the finer things, having been born into a moderately wealthy family of a surgeon for a father and a professor of sociology for a mother.

What Molly knew of social order she learned from the teachings of her college professor mother. Molly’s world as a child and growing up was sheltered and orderly. The order of things and other such nonsense meant how tidy one kept one’s things, according to Molly. So Molly went about the business of preparing to receive her guest for the evening, and making a conscious mental note not to mention in the slightest degree anything remotely related to his work.

Molly turned up her wine glass and swallowed the last drip of wine residue. She then put another bottle on ice while she lit several vanilla-scented candles throughout her three-bedroom, split-level condo with a loft. She smothered the fire that was remaining in the fireplace of her family room and lit a fresh one in the fireplace of her huge master bedroom suite. She drew a hot bath, scented with vanilla, put on some mood music, and immersed herself in the bubbles and thoughts of David. As she hit the remote to increase the volume on her CD player, she heard the doorbell ring 2½ times and knew that in very short order David would put his key in the keyhole, unlock the door, and join her in the bathtub, and as if she had had a vision, there stood David, his 6’2" frame, brown eyes glaring at the bubbles in the tub and Molly’s body through the bubbles. As David glared, he very slowly, methodically, removed every stitch of clothing that he was wearing and bent down, gently kissing Molly’s lips, as he glided into the bathtub, and politely caressed Molly’s body, while she yielded as if totally lifeless.

- Chapter 3 -

It was Wednesday morning, six a.m. Molly rolled over on her right side reaching for David. She felt a cold sheet but smelled the distinct aroma of a freshly brewed pot of coffee—her favorite—French vanilla. She stumbled to the bathroom, washed her face, brushed her teeth, and now with deliberate speed put on her robe and made her grand entrance into the dining room. Molly, 5’7, with long black hair, black eyes, a rather slender build, was beautiful, graceful, intelligent, and witty, but she could not cook. David, on the other hand, made a mean scrambled eggs, bacon, French toast, juice, and coffee breakfast, and as Molly walked into the room, with her second step David almost simultaneously placed the cup of French vanilla coffee into her hand. Molly reciprocated with a kiss on David’s lips and they both sat down at the table. Let’s play hooky today, said David. I can’t today, said Molly, You know it’s Wednesday and it might be pay day for some lucky idiot. The pot is up to $120 million and I can’t miss today. I wonder why they let the pot get so big and then have people gambling their asses off trying to be the ‘lucky’ one. It’s almost scary. Molly, you know that ‘they,’ whoever ‘they’ are, have no control over the pot. This is strictly a game of chance. You can’t honestly think that someone is manipulating this thing. You have to know better. I know you’re right, David, but sometimes it makes me wonder. So what are you doing for lunch today, Molly? asked David. Susan and I are eating Mexican. At least she is, I’m eating rabbit—you know—lettuce and shit. I just go along for the ride, especially since I’m not driving. OK, said David. We’d better get going. The sooner we get this day started, the sooner it will be over. I’ve got people to see and things to do. OK Mr. Stock Broker, said Molly, Go make us some money."

Molly arrived at work just before nine a.m. She ran to her office and pulled out a stack of papers about six inches tall. She had to review the figures in this report for her nine a.m. meeting and she had just run out of time. She was going to have to wing it. Will Mr. Seevers be at this meeting, Susan? asked Molly. If he does it’ll surprise me, said Susan. He’s never at these meetings.

As a matter of fact, have you ever seen him? Nope, said Molly. I haven’t either, said Susan. Oh well, said Molly. Maybe he’s not real. Maybe he’s a ghost. Maybe you need to go over these figures, said Susan, so maybe you can keep your job. Maybe you’re right, said Molly, and they both laughed.

Mr. Seevers was not at the meeting as Susan and Molly had surmised. He was, however, a vital figure to the lottery commission. He was the CEO and in his eminence, signed all the checks. Without his signature, the signature of Dale, the finance man, meant nothing. If anything ever happened to Mr. Seevers, the commission would be on total shut down because absolutely no money would change hands. So God bless and keep Mr. Seevers, they all would say. Mornings always seemed to fly by when there were meetings to attend. Molly and Susan were key players at the lottery commission and their presence at the meetings was imperative. They worked in the accounting department and worked closely with Dale, who signed the checks. Is it lunchtime yet? asked Susan as her stomach growled. I think we’re close enough to knock off for lunch now said Molly, and the two left in Susan’s Infiniti QX4.

At Los Rancheros the crowd was large. Susan ordered the combo special with tacos, burritos, enchiladas, refried beans, Spanish rice, guacamole, nacho chips, nacho cheese, salsa, and a bottle of antacid. Molly always wondered where Susan put the food that she ate. It always went in, but never stayed anywhere. Maybe she’s bulimic, Molly thought. But what the hell, Molly was on her own mission to be and stay thin. Caesar salad, please, said Molly, and a diet cola. Susan began to speak when Molly abruptly interrupted her. Look at the TV, said Molly. What the hell? Looks like there’s been a shooting, said Susan. At that time the volume rose on the TV and a solemn hush fell over the restaurant. The regularly scheduled programming had been interrupted to bring this late-breaking story. "There’s been a horrific shooting at a middle school in McKeon, Michigan, where seven students are believed dead, along with the school’s principal and three teachers. The shooters are said to be students in attendance at the school, but their identities are being withheld because they are minors. The shooting is said to be the bloodiest massacre ever in the history of this tiny rural town, tucked neatly away in central Michigan. We will continue to update you on this story as the events unfold. Again, we are reporting live from McKeon, Michigan where some students entered their