I cringed at the pictures under the headline of Channel 12 News. "CHARLES HUDSON IS A PEDOPHILE," it read. His mugshot was scattered all over the internet. He'd been brought in for questioning, but there wasn't enough evidence to pin him to the missing children. So, they had no choice but to let him go. That was what the article said.

Though, the rumors didn't end there. People continued to call him a pedophile and tried to chase him out of town. The people of West Greenbush just assumed. I didn't know if it was true either. But here I was, watching him. Now, I wouldn't call it stalking. I was merely observing for research. There was no harm in that, right? John told me not to intervene. Well, I was learning from afar.

He was just as I imagined. A mid-forties man with onyx black eyes, gray hair, and a slight sag in the face. He moved fast, very attentive to his surroundings. I was sure he'd noticed my car sitting here for over an hour now.

But he hadn't bothered coming towards it. My windows were fairly dark, so I wasn't sure if he could see me anyways. He only proceeded to go about his daily routines. Those consisted of taking out the trash, walking to the grocery store, mowing the lawn, and doing other small things to ensure his property was kept in shape.

It wasn't like I made it obvious that I was watching him too. I'd kept my head down most of the time I'd sat here. My eyes were focused on my sketchbook. I only glanced up every once in a while to see what he was doing.

"Hmm." I rotated my wedding band around my finger as Charles trotted inside his house. It looked like he was gone for good.

It wasn't hard to find out where he lived. He'd been living in the same residence for the past seven years now, before the disappearances and after. So, I was able to easily ask around West Greenbush. Once I brought up the word pedophile, everyone in the neighborhood pointed their fingers at one man and one man only. I was almost glad John moved us out of here. There was more drama and gossip than I could handle.

I reversed, backing away from the curb so I could pull my car out. When I succeeded in doing so, I began driving toward the community center.

Charles Hudson looked like any other old man I'd ever met. Then again, didn't they all?

A pedophile could come in any shape or form. Whether it was an old man, a young woman, someone in their early twenties. It made no difference. Some of my teachers in high school could've been pedophiles, but I wouldn't have known. I was young, oblivious, and I only had eyes for one person at the time.

When I got to the center, Rick was standing in the hallway beside the front desk guarding the doors as usual. "Afternoon, Angie. I opened the door for the ladies so they could sit inside and wait for you."

"Good afternoon, and thank you, Rick." I smiled and looked down at my watch. It was only fifteen minutes to one. There were always a handful of ladies that were earlier than they needed to be.

"How are we doing today, ladies?" I greeted as I entered the classroom. When I made it to the front of the room, I placed my kit down on the floor.

"Hi, Angie!" Multiple voices spoke at once.

"Are we ready to get started?"

"Yes!" most of them yelled.

"Alright, let's wait for the rest of the class to show up. Then we can get started at one on the dot." It didn't take long for the classroom to fill up five minutes after one. Eventually, an hour had gone by until it was almost completely quiet.

I flicked my wrist in the same motion until my paintbrush coated the canvas with ease. Numerous whispers from the back of the classroom filled my head. But I was able to tune them out. I hadn't stopped thinking about Charles Hudson.

I had so many questions. I couldn't approach John with any of them, or else he'd get suspicious, possibly angry. So, the article on him remained tucked away in my bag for further observation until I had the strength to dig it back up.

Perhaps I could have asked either of my parents. My father often gossiped with the other nosy husbands during football Sundays when he was at their houses. And my mother kept up with the news every morning before she left for work. There was no doubt they'd have known about the pedophile rumors.

"That's really nice." I jerked back as Evelyn's presence loomed over my shoulder. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you! I thought you heard me walking up to you." Her words sputtered.

I laughed breathlessly and wiped my hands against my apron. "It's okay, Evelyn. You're fine. It's my fault. I was just deep in thought."

She stepped to the side, eyeing me with a frown. "Has everything been okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah. Everything's been fine." She didn't seem convinced, but she didn't say anything else. It was no secret in this classroom that I'd been a train wreck for the past two months.

When word got out about my brother, I had been out of work for a week. Rick told me the ladies were worried about me and Rosemary's well-being. It was a kind gesture, but I was okay. I was still breathing. So, that should have counted for something.

"Why don't you get back to your painting now? We're almost finished with watercolor. We'll be using acrylics soon," I suggested with a smile. Evelyn had been excited to start using acrylics. I remembered when I mentioned it a few weeks ago, and she hadn't stopped cheering since.

"Okay." She smiled but reluctantly walked back to her seat. I sighed in relief. Convincing everyone I was okay was hard. It was even harder when they knew I was lying.

* * *

"Hey, Angie. Can I speak with you for a minute?" Someone approached my car from the side. I closed the trunk and took a step back. Evelyn's small figure was still in place. She appeared as frail as a leaf in autumn, as if she'd blow away with the wind.

"Hey, Evelyn, what's up?" I folded my arms, raising my chin.

"I don't mean to overstep my boundaries, but this is your first child, right?" she asked. Her eyes danced over the pavement, avoiding mine. It was almost like she was scared I'd attack her just for talking. If I didn't know her, I would have thought exactly that.

I raised an eyebrow, tilting my head slightly. I didn't understand why she was asking me that all of a sudden. Nonetheless, I shrugged it off and settled with, "Yes."

"Oh, thank goodness. I'd hate to assume. Um, do you mind if we could grab a cup of coffee together sometime? My due date is soon. Lately, I've been super scared about this pregnancy, and I don't know who to go to except my roommate. Considering he's a guy, he doesn't know the first thing about how it feels to be pregnant. Besides, I think he's tired of me," she rambled.

I opened my mouth to retort until I noticed a colorful shadow sitting on the roof of my car. It was teal blue. By now, I knew the drill.

"Um, about that, Evelyn"—I trailed off, my eyes focused on the small insect—"I'd love to grab a cup of coffee with you. How's Sunday afternoon sound? We can go whenever we set a time, yeah?"

"Really? Oh, yes! I'd love that." A smile overcame her features.

"Yes, of course. We'll talk more about it tomorrow. I really need to get going now."

"Okay!"

I felt bad for rushing off, but I had other issues to attend to. For instance, catching that butterfly before it was out of my sight. As soon as I got comfortable in my car, I drove my foot down on the gas.

"Okay, Mary. This is the moment of truth. Prove I'm not crazy and tell me you're trying to reach me, please." I flipped on the radio, allowing the sound of static to fill the car.

"I can't believe I'm following a damn butterfly down the road," I muttered under my breath. Every few seconds, I leaned forward to make sure it was still there. It didn't fly too far from my car nor too close, as if it was guiding me in a specific direction.

The butterfly took a sharp turn to the left. I quickly turned the wheel, changing direction. Every street we passed through triggered a new memory in my mind. All the memories of my childhood with Cory and John. The butterfly then turned to the right.

"Where the hell am I going?" I couldn't stop the question from tumbling out on its own.

I was following an insect around town to God knows where. If I were to add this to what I'd tell John I did today, he'd drive me to my doctor to make sure I wasn't sick. I wouldn't blame him for doing so either.

Finally, we reached a destination. "West Greenbush Park. . ." I read.

The words were bold with white as the gleam from the sun hovered over them. They were slightly spaced out in a basic font. And they were bent out of shape in a slight curve that made the sign more noticeable, similar to the entrance sign for The Bronx Zoo. I shut the engine off, prying my keys out of the ignition.

"Please don't fall. Please don't fall," I repeated under my breath.

The butterfly flapped its wings faster, causing me to move faster. It was hard to keep my eyes on the butterfly and pay attention to every step I took. My breathing fastened with my pace while I held onto the bottom of my stomach.

Shit. What section was the butterfly heading to? West Greenbush Park was an open community park split up into sections. People were shooting me odd stares from the first playground I passed by.

Then, the same occurred from a few people in the workout area. I was sure someone would walk over and ask if I needed help soon, but I tried my best not to draw attention to myself. Instead, I acted as if I was just a pregnant woman power walking for exercise.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me. . ." I slowed down.

A sign pointing to the hiking trail greeted me. I watched the butterfly fly into the path. It may have been empty, but that didn't change the fact that this was an odd choice of destination. I turned my head, glancing around the park.

Bikers rode their bikes along the pavement behind me, kids played in the playgrounds around the park, and soccer games were happening on the grass. No one was paying attention to the hiking trail.

This was a risk that was going to cost me. I could already feel it. The adrenaline in my pace had been replaced with turmoil. I groaned and turned back to the trail. Its entrance sign taunted me.

Finally, I let out a grunt and said, "To hell with it."

Then, I proceeded to follow the butterfly into the trail between the trees.

* * *

At first glance, it was hard to tell anything was buried beneath the soil. That was because it had been merged into the roots of the trees. If not for the spot of pink, I would have missed it.

I had followed the butterfly along the trail until it separated from me. It flew down the hill through the trees surrounding the path. The hill only went on for an estimated two minutes, steep and covered in autumn leaves. But still, I didn't miss the dirt-covered light pink material.

It resembled a shirt of some kind. It resembled . . . something that was torn from a child's piece of clothing. This could have been any child's clothing. But I recognized it from one of the girls in the files. And my heart sank as the thought settled in.