The butterfly effect is the idea that small things can have non-linear impacts on a complex system. In other words, small events act as catalysts for starting conditions. The concept is imagined with a butterfly flapping its wings and causing a typhoon - thus the butterfly effect.

I end the call and sink down into my chair. Maybe I should be crying, at least feeling some morsel of sadness, but I feel indifferent. The selfish bastard died of a brain aneurism. So what. Selfish bastard!

A few days later I tell my captain I will be taking a few weeks off work. The precinct will have to survive without Detective Chase Barrows for a couple of weeks as I head back to my birth home to sort through some details of my father's death. 

~~~

Woodstock, New York, 2020

I gaze upon the old, gray house with familiarity. Although I haven't seen it in over two decades, it has remained untouched by time. Memories I had driven from my mind come flooding back with ferociousness. I see sunshine everywhere except over this house. Here, I see a dark cloud hovering.

Keys in hand I walk up the stone steps to the wooden double-doors. The doors don't appear as massive now. Looking around, the whole house appears smaller, diminished in my eyes. After unlocking the door, I slowly turn the handle and push the door open. It loudly creaks - the first sign of aging I have seen. Peering inside, I see the house hasn't changed since the day I left. My father's lawyer told me my father employed staff over the years for upkeep. Now, it is up to me to keep them or not. 

Looking down at the keychain, I see the odd-shaped key and instantly knows what it unlocks - the west wing door. The west wing was my father's hideout from us. Noone was allowed. I recall the day I saw him leave without locking the door. As a curious child, I didn't miss this unique opportunity to sneak inside this mysterious part of our home. I still vividly remember the blackboards covered in random numbers, math equations, drawings. Gadgets covered work tables. I was so entranced, I didn't hear my father come back. The beating that followed would stay off any further curiosities on my part.

My father, Professor William Barrows, taught physics at a prestigious college nearby. When he was home, he spent his time locked away in the west wing. I remember all too well my parents constantly fighting over his distractions from family interactions. However, both my parents seemed to forget I was there, needing love from them. At eighteen, I left home and never returned. A few years later, I got word from a relative my mother passed away from cancer, but I knew what really killed her. She died of a broken heart. And I never forgave my father. 

To my surprise, my father called several times after my mother died, leaving a message about wanting to meet. I was bitter and would delete his message. I saw no reason to let the selfish bastard back into my life.

Years as a detective have served to fuel my inquisitive nature. Now, I want ... no need ... to learn whatever it was that took my father from my mother and me. What was more important than us? I climb the long staircase to the west wing, curiosity quickening my pace. I unlock the door and step into the room. A feeling of fear overtakes me, but I shake it off, telling myself I have nothing to fear now. My father is gone ... forever. 

I am surprised by what I see. Everything appears orderly, not the scattered mess of papers and blackboards I had remembered. I was just in this office that one time, but it made a lasting impression. The room has not seen a dust cloth in quite some time though. Obviously, his staff was not allowed in this room to clean. There are file boxes on the wooden bookcases labeled with the letters of the alphabet. Deciding to start at the beginning, I pull the box labeled "A", blow the dust off the top, and set it on my father's desk. 

Pulling out the papers one by one, I spend the next several hours reading. Leaning back in the chair, I can't believe my eyes. Oh my God, my father was a nut case ... mad scientist ... whatever you want to call him. From the looks of these notes, he appears to have thought he discovered a way to travel back in time. He notes that each moment/place in time can be defined by four coordinates. And he even sketched some sort of device with notes about creating a wormhole evidently allowing a traveler to return to that moment in time. 

Scratching my head, I really can't comprehend what I am seeing. The walls of his office seem to close in on me as a myriad of emotions overtakes me. First, I can't believe this actually works. Second, I am angry this is obviously the reason my father wasn't in my life. My mind spinning in a million directions, I am torn between thinking my father was crazy or a genius. Sometimes there is a very fine line between the two.

In his notes, it logs he returned to the same coordinates more than forty times before the coordinates change. I find these scribblings particularly interesting:

1st jump - Lambach, Austria-Hungary, March 27, 1897. Result: War still happened and worse outcome. Note: Killing Hitler won't stop World War II. Effects non-linear. Trigger a flutter. Side effects: headache for several hours, maybe unrelated

2nd jump, same coordinates. Result: War still happened. Earthquake added. Try a different flutter. Another headache.

And so on and so on until...

43rd jump, same coordinates. Result: No war. No other big events triggered. Success! Side effects: Headaches after each jump. Must be related!

I put my head in my hands, more confused than ever. Who is Hitler? I am a history buff and there was no World War II. And what does he mean by "flutter"? And why did he travel to some random place like Lambach, Austria-Hungary in 1897 forth-three times?

My inquisitiveness overtakes rational thinking and I spend the next three days pouring over boxes of notes. Time and time again, there are "jumps" listed with a faraway location and past date. All have events beside them that I never heard of and all eventually say "Success" before the coordinates change again. Slowly my mind absorbs the data, analyzes it, and I come to this farfetched conclusion - my father thought he was changing history. Who was this man I called "father"? My mind is truly boggled. Then, I find the device. A small hand-held metal device with dials to set the four coordinates. One end has a trigger and the other a hole. My father had to have built this as I have never seen anything quite like it. Another layer to this mystery.

Some force keeps pulling me into his research. I don't believe in time travel but can't walk away from what I am reading either. Oh for fuck's sake, just try the damn device keeps running through my mind. Obviously nothing will happen and I can stop spending any more energy trying to understand the writings of a lunatic. 

I finally get to the end of the recorded jumps and find something shocking. In addition to his notes, there are numerous drawings of a woman - the most captivating woman I have ever seen. So beautiful, I can't stop staring. She has shoulder-length hair with side-swept bangs, wide-set eyes, and very curvy, full lips. There is something about her eyes - they draw you in. In several pictures, she is wearing a costume of sorts ... maybe a dancer. I suppose my father drew these pictures, but like everything else I found, I have no clue why. All I know is I need to find out more about this woman. These sets of coordinates never have the message "Success" beside them or any results. What happened? Did he quit going for some reason? So, if I am going to try this, I want to use the last set of coordinates labeled New York City, 1943 for my time travel attempt. 

I can't really say I am nervous. However, I pick up the device and feel a slight sense of relief my father enabled the device to log the beginning coordinates, eliminating a worry to figure out which numbers will bring me back. "What am I thinking," I mutter aloud, "thinking this might actually work?"

And then it happens. Not sure why, but a growing possibility that this all might be real creeps inside me as I pick up the device. Taking a few deep breaths, I point the device to open space and wait. I am looking for something to happen. It does. A dot of swirling light appears and gradually grows until about six feet high and four feet wide. I stand there staring. Then rapidly blinking. Sputtering curse words. Then I close my eyes and step through the opening. When I open my eyes, I find myself standing in an alley, feeling very dizzy. 

I am across the street from the nightclub, Copacabana. At least I see something I recognize. Looking for street signs, I see I am on 60th Street. Trying to get acclimated to my surroundings, I take in the dress codes and cars of the people around me. It certainly looks like it could be New York City in the 1940s. I have to give it to him - he did it. The selfish bastard did it. Shaking my head, I still can't believe it. Then, I see her. Her! She walks right out of the nightclub. It has to be her. She is wearing the fur-collared coat my father had her wearing in one of his drawings. 

My attraction to her takes the lead and I dash across the street calling, "Ma'am. Excuse me, Ma'am."

"Yes," she says turning around to face me. Oh my God, her voice is like an angel. And she is stunning. His pictures could never capture her beauty in person.

"Do you have the time?" is all I can think to say.

"Yes, it's 2:00 am. If you are wanting to go into the club, you are too late, we just closed for the evening."

She eyes my clothing and continues, "Are you new in town?"

"Yes, I am. I ... ummm ... am staying at the hotel a couple of blocks away. I just got to town and am looking for a little something to eat."

"Well, you are in luck. I know a fabulous all-night diner a block away. Want me to show you?" she says, batting her long lashes. 

"Yes, thank you."

As we stroll along, I ask her many questions, trying to keep from sounding like a detective. I learn she is one of the Copa Girls and lives right around the corner from my pretend hotel.

"Here we are," she says, stopping in front of the diner.

"Thank you so much for your help. Could I convince you to let me buy you dinner? If it isn't too late for you. I would be happy to walk you home after."

She smiles and agrees, telling me she is hungry after performing in her shows. I quickly find her beauty is not the only thing about her that captivates me. She is charming, intelligent, and vibrant. I really haven't met another woman like her. I tell her I am a detective and she tells me about her career as a dancer. She hopes to work her way up from Copa Girl to a broadway show. My hand eventually ends up holding hers and our eyes keep locking. My cock strains against my dress pants. I don't remember the last time I felt this aroused. She is breathtaking and her name is Cathryn Peterson.

After what seems like hours of laughing and chatting in the diner, she tells me she needs to get home and get some sleep for she performs again tomorrow evening. She allows me to walk her home, her arm tucked in mine. The city apparently never sleeps, as there are still quite a few people walking the streets. We reach a narrow brownstone and she announces she lives here. We climb the stairs to her doorstep.

I turn to face her with my face very close to hers. I watch in amusement as her nervous eyes keep darting between my eyes and my lips. I tilt my chin, whispering, "I want to kiss you, Cathryn."

My lips part slightly making her tremble. Her hand presses against my chest, feeling my heart thumping ... for her. I nudge her chin up with my thumb. One hand mimics her hand and rests on the top of her chest. I become even more aroused feeling her heart beat faster as she bites her lower lip. My thumb moves up to graze her lips, watching as her breath quickens by my touch. Like an old romance movie, we stare into each other's eyes, feeling each other's hearts beating faster and faster. I am touched by the vulnerability in her eyes.

"I will kiss you now, Cathryn."

"Oh my," she gasps.

Ever so slowly, I bend toward her and brush my lips against hers. Her breath catches. I look in her eyes and then kiss her again.

Reluctantly, I pull back, deciding this is enough for tonight. Her eyes take a moment to reopen and I take a mental picture, not wanting to forget her beauty. After unlocking the door for her, I hand her key back, and we say our goodbyes. I remain on her doorstep until she is safely inside and I hear her lock click. Turning, I walk back to the alley to return home. I have her name now and can't wait to research her and discover the importance of Cathryn Peterson.

I immediately collapse in the chair upon my return, trying to come to grips with what just happened. I have moments of thinking I dreamt it. Other moments where I feel I must be crazy. And other moments where my hard cock forces me to believe it was real. And like my father's notes, I too have a headache. You might not understand this, but I don't check to see if anything has changed since I left. Did my interactions with Cathryn cause a flutter? I don't want to know. Nothing can interrupt these feel-good emotions.

Digging back into his last set of notes, I notice these coordinates vary ever so slightly. Only one number is changed. I deduce he was maybe returning to the time he left off on his last visit. But why? Then, I set about researching Cathryn Peterson. Nothing. She doesn't appear in any searches. She was in her 30s back in 1940, so she is surely dead now. I sift through the drawings of her once more. Without a doubt, my father found her stunning, but his drawings don't compare to her beauty in person. I haven't had much luck with women in my life. I supposed I am relatively handsome, but have been told I am emotionally unavailable. And women don't like that. So, I buried myself in my career, cutting off that side of myself. Cathryn has awakened me though. I feel alive with her. There is just something about her.

I awaken the next day and all I can think about is seeing Cathryn again. I have never felt this way about a woman. I have to see her today. It can only be described as an urgent craving. So, I pack a bag and head back to the roaring 1940s.

Back in New York, I check into Hotel Astor, not sure how long I will be staying. With my passion in the driver's seat and I end up knocking on her door and waste no time kissing her. Pressing my lips against hers, continuing my kissing until I feel her lips relax. Her stiffness goes away and she begins to kiss me back ... deeply ... possessively. It seems she missed me as well.

"Would you like to come in?" she says, after breaking my kiss.

"I would love to come in, Cathryn."

I follow her in and she gives me a tour of her tiny apartment, leaving her bedroom as last on the tour. As soon as we cross the threshold, I pull her in for a passionate kiss. I truly don't know what's come over me, but I must have her. Gingerly cupping her face, my tongue pries open her lips, exploring her delicious mouth. Her hands rake through my hair, with her fingers finding hairs to cling to and twist. Our bodies rub against each other with our needs growing. My fingers lightly trace down her neck, desperate to explore further below.

She breaks our kiss and looks for the light, reaching to turn it off. My hand catches hers, unwilling to let her hide her naked self from me. 

She reaches for the button on my trousers and I help her unbutton me. I reach behind her and unzip her dress, letting it fall to the floor. We remove the rest of each other's clothes and I back her up to the bed, pushing her onto her back. Her breasts are full and soft mounds adorned with rather large nipples. I take my time caressing them and dip my head to suck her as she writhes on the bed beneath me.

"I want to touch it," she whispers.

Rolling off her, I lay by her side and lay my cock in her open palm, closing her small fist around me. Slowly … almost painfully slow … I cover her hand with mine and slide it up and down my shaft, showing her what I like. Her eyes widen in amazement as she watches my cock lengthen within her grasp. She continues stroking me as tiny drops of pre-cum dribbles down over her curled fingers.

I need to make love to her and can't wait any longer to have her. Positioning her back on her back, I slide on top and press my cock against her opening. She lifts her legs and wraps them around my waist, pulling me toward her. I guide my cock inside her softness and we make love. My eyes never leave hers and I whisper sweet things to her while slowly thrusting my hardness inside of her. Only when she begs me to go faster, do I increase my intensity and fuck her harder until we both orgasm together. 

After, she sleeps nestled against my body, her head on my chest, with my arms wrapped around her soft, delicate body. I never believed in love at first sight before, but I do now. I love her ... and she lives in another century.

That night I go to the Copacabana to watch her in the chorus line. The girls have pink hair and elaborate sequined costumes. Mink panties cover toned asses. Fruited turbans are also part of their signature looks. Looking around, green palm fronds are painted on the mirrors, blue lights highlight the bar, and the well-known Carmen Miranda plaster fruit salads hang over the red banquettes. It is surreal sitting here at the elegantly clothed table in an iconic club. Watching scenes from the past play out around me, I think about the fact I wasn't even born yet. 

While she was timid at first, her sexual confidence grows exponentially with each passing day. Sitting up straddling me with her pussy grinding against my long shaft, her long bangs swing down, covering one eye. I reach up to brush her hair back so I can see both her beautiful blue eyes. I am anxious to make love to her but enjoy these playful moments too. She is exploring while atop me. When she leans forward, her long hair cascades over us like a canopy. Her voice like an angel as she giggles while swooshing her silky hair across my face.

“Kiss me,” she says.

I tangle my fingers in her hair and pull her mouth to mine, biting her lower lip, before giving her the kiss she craves. Her dress, gathered in the front, caresses my naked stomach with her smooth undulations. She is ready and maneuvers me inside her, gradually taking me, in inch by glorious inch, until she is full. Her vagina a tease – draws me in, just to push me out again. It feels unbelievable being inside her. Better than in my dreams. She torments me with her breasts too, dangling them close, yet out of reach of my hungry mouth. I want to suck one, but the closest I get is a nipple brushing my cheek.

I reach my limit with her teasing. In one deft move, I switch positions, pinning her down with my weight. She lies breathless beneath the mass of my hard body. Hooking my hands behind her knees, I raise her legs before plunging inside her pussy. She gasps at the instant fullness. I make love to her with slow, deliberate thrusts. Her release builds until she climaxes. My climax follows. 

"I love you," I say with certainty.

"I love you too," she says, smiling, reducing me to putty in her hands.

Sweeter words were never spoken to me. I don't remember the last time I heard these words.

While she sleeps, my thoughts travel back to my father. I don't yet understand everything that my father was doing, but I know what I am doing. I am in love ... with Cathryn. Was my father? I still haven't been able to find a connection between her and the future. Her name isn't in any history books, or Google searches. She is essentially a nobody to history, yet everything to me. 

Cathryn awakens before me and wants to make love again. She is delightfully insatiable. She tells me her pussy aches from overuse, but she doesn't care. She wants me inside her again and rolls over on all fours, wiggling her ass at me. I spread her cheeks and quickly fill her with my needy cock. A hard fuck ensues, rocking her body forward with each thrust. It looks like her pillow is her lover, the way she claws at it … squeezes it ... presses her face against it.

The next day I make a big decision. I love Cathryn and have never felt this happy in my life. I want to live here with her. In my mind, I plan out our future ... my new future. I will get a job as a detective. This is the time of the mobsters and dirty cops are everywhere. I know mob boss Frank Costello is part-owner of the Copacabana. There must be opportunities for an honest cop/detective like me. Maybe I will positively change history as I live out my life with Cathryn. I smile thinking about cheering on my girl on her dream for Broadway. Excited. Hopeful. Happy. These are all emotions lacking in my other life.

So, I travel back to the future, liquidate my bank accounts, and sell our family home, which provides me more than enough money to live out my life starting in the 1940s. And I don't pause to check what may or may not have changed on the timeline. Reckless? Maybe.

My last issue to resolve is my painful conflict over my father's research. After much internal debate, I decide to burn everything. Unlike my father, I see the danger of the wrong person finding this research and wreaking havoc on history. My years as a detective have shown me the lowest of the low life among us and I can't risk one of them getting their hands on his findings. When I return to Cathryn, I also intend to destroy the time travel device. 

I have some clarity about my father now. He was rolling the dice each time he time-traveled, then returning to see the outcome. He kept playing this game until the future suited him. And to his credit, he created a pretty good one. And now, I have probably fucked up by going back in time. 

There are many questions left unanswered. How is Cathryn connected? Why her? Was she the butterfly for a major event? Is each flutter in her life creating a ripple effect of changes building to a major change in the timeline? I remember the excerpt in my father's notes: The butterfly effect is the idea that small things can have non-linear impacts on a complex system. The concept is imagined with a butterfly flapping its wings and causing a typhoon - thus the butterfly effect.

However, my heart quiets my head for my heart has what is seeks and needs no more answers. All I need is to be with her. I use the device one last time, returning to my one and only love. One look into her eyes and I know, unlike my father, I don't want to see or control the future, but will ride out whatever is to come with the love of my life. 

Who is the selfish bastard now? The man who forsakes love to improve the future or the man who forsakes the future for love. You decide.