Death of a Butterfly

by Simon Brown

  I was becoming paranoid, jumping at every shadow. Next it would be Henry, my aunt or her friends. I started to meditate. Slowly the fear and anxiety washed away with a feeling of contentment. The realisation that I had the means inside me to create such a change of my emotional state felt inspiring. I noticed a fiery glow slowly spread up from my heart to my cheeks.

  When Henry parked outside my aunt’s flat, I felt warm and more self-assured. Henry helped me in with the cases. I felt relieved to find Dorothy in the living room and impulsively gave her a big hug. She returned my affection.

  “Oh, something has changed about you, my dear. You feel warmer, more radiant and loving.” Then she looked over to Henry and said in mock admonishment, “What have you done to my niece?”

  Henry looked embarrassed for a moment and then tried to make a joke by alluding to the prince kissing the frog. I tried to laugh and Dorothy did not seem to understand what he was saying.

  “Where did you find the frog?”

  “Let’s step back a couple of minutes. I tried to make a joke but it failed miserably. Time to move on. I’ve got to go.”

  “‘Got,’ Henry?”

  “I would like to leave now. Does that pass, Mrs H?”

  “Perfectly.”

  I gave Henry a hug and thanked him for all his help.

  I tipped the bag of letters on my bed. I sat down and started to separate the junk from personal mail. My eyes homed in on a familiar brown envelope. I held it in my hands feeling a wave of despair wash over me. I called out to my aunt. She came through.

  “Oh goodness, let me get my glasses and a paper knife.”

  Dorothy put on a pair of white gloves and carefully parted the flap of the envelope with her paper knife. She gently pulled out the white paper. There was a picture of a man and another picture of me, photocopied from the same album. I was standing on the world’s first iron bridge in Ironbridge Gorge. A noose was drawn around my neck and the rope leading to the figure stuck on the left of the page. A bubble from the man’s mouth contained the words u have lost me i find u and then u die. The bubble from my mouth said i give you good time.

  “Goodness, it is the same style as you described the previous two. No grammar whatsoever. Last time I went for tea with Mary Pitchford, she was most pessimistic about modern education. Reading this, I tend to agree.”

  A shot of anger infused my veins. My aunt’s obsession with grammar was distracting us from the horrific message.

  “Anything else?” I asked impatiently.

  Dorothy held the paper in front of her and closed her eyes.

  “You know dear, it feels to me that there is a lot of pain here. Something has happened that has caused a great trauma. Then you die. Death and dying. Has our friend been upset over a death recently? He or she seems to keep implying you are a prostitute. What kind of relationship has this soul had with women? Where does the sex come in, I wonder? Now, how can we heal all this?”

  My aunt did not seem to expect an answer and I did not feel like giving one. I felt irritated that she referred to Mathew’s killer as our friend.

  “At least this confirms you have lost him. Do you want to call the police?”

  “I don’t think it adds anything to the previous letters.”

  Dorothy put the letter and envelope into a clear plastic bag.

  My sleep was disturbed with nightmares, sweats and the need to get up to go to the bathroom. After breakfast I went to the café to read my emails. On impulse I phoned Ruby and suggested she meet me. Ruby was a reassuring thread back to different times. I craved those art school days as an escape.

  I received an email from Edward urging me to meet him. After some deliberation, I gulped down my fears and wrote back agreeing to meet him in a pub after his work. I thought a quick drink and then back home with all the office workers would be safe. I wanted to find out how much he had told Edwina about his loss of love for her and feelings for me.

  Afterwards I read an email from Martin Ledbetter’s office with an attachment from the Hertfordshire Constabulary confirming receipt my new address and stating that they would contact me if I was needed for further interviews.

  Ruby arrived slightly breathless. She sat across from me and ordered a double espresso and cheesecake. I was no expert but their seemed something compulsive about Ruby and food.

  “Oh Amanda, I’ve had such a lousy day. We are decorating our bedroom and the colour I chose looks absolutely ghastly. Somehow it looks more rancid urine than summer corn. Now I’ll have to put up with a grilling from Sergeant bloody Major Bill. Just the thought of him sticking his fat stubby nose into the bedroom and making one of his caustic comments sends me into a rage.”

  I reached out and gently lay my hand on her forearm.

  “You could choose a different perception.”

  Ruby’s cheeks reddened and her eyes flared wider. I thought she was going to erupt. I squeezed her arm a little and tried to look calmly into her eyes.

  “Look Amanda, I just say it how it is. Bill is ruining my life, fact.”

  “Doesn’t thinking like that mean you lose control of your life? You are giving all the power to Bill, putting yourself in a hopeless situation.”

  I moved my hand away and smiled at Ruby.

  “I see through where you’re going with this. Bill’s an obnoxious jerk, end of story.”

  She slapped the table for emphasis. I just smiled and looked at her.

  “Okay, let’s talk about something else.”

  We drifted through a compilation of the highlights of our time together at art school and then we said our goodbyes. Walking home I felt uplifted. By trying to help Ruby I had somehow helped myself. Perhaps Ruby was so entrenched in her battle with Bill that it would take something special to pull her out of her trench and into the open. I wanted to be there for her if she ever felt ready.

  Walking up the stairs to Dorothy’s flat, I was aware of my thighs straining to lift me up each step. I used the slight pain to help me feel each step.

  I shouted out a cheery hello to my aunt as I took my coat off. As I hung it up something sharp brushed against my hand. I looked down and saw the edge of a brown envelop pointing out of the pocket. I pulled it out and let out a short cry.

  “What is it dear?”

  “Another letter. He must have put it in my pocket. He’s been so close he reached into my coat.”

  Dorothy came into the hall.

  “Shall we take it through to the living room?”

  Dorothy got her white gloves, paper knife and another clear plastic bag.

  i find u again

  i very close

  soon time come hore

  when i ready u will know me an taste dead.

  “Oh dear, the English is even worse. Why does he call you a whore? He reveals his shadow. It feels like a lot of pain. Do you think he is asking for help? If he could slip the letter into your pocket he must have the opportunity to physically harm you. Why tell you first?”

  Dorothy closed her eyes and sat still for several minutes. Then she seemed to lose interest. She put the letter into the clear plastic bag and went into the kitchen to make some tea. I sat fixed to the spot. I was totally numb. I couldn’t think, feel or move. Now I really had been found out. Dorothy came back with two cups of tea and took her knitting out.

  “You know, the more I think about Venice, the better I feel about it. I think it would do you the world of good to get away from all this. Time can be a great healer. Francis has a small flat in Venice she rents out to friends. Why don’t I see when it is available?”

  Dorothy carried on knitting whilst I collapsed in my chair. She went back to the time she went to Venice with Roger but trailed off when she could not remember the name of a seafood restaurant she wanted to recommend. I felt I was going to explode. My life was hanging by a thread and Dorothy had become distracted by clams.

  “What am I going to do? I can’t go on like this,” I yelled. I jumped up and paced the room. Do
rothy sat in meditation.

  “Oh, God!” I screamed in exasperation and threw myself onto the sofa.

  “What would you like to do?” Dorothy asked quietly.

  “I don’t know, what can I do?”

  “Well, you are already doing. You have done a lot. And you are going on. Even since you said you could not go on, time has passed and you are still here, taking another breath.”

  I grunted with frustration. Dorothy continued.

  “When I was a little girl I would start a novel, and as soon as I got to the exciting part, I just had to turn to the end to see what happened. I spoilt so many stories.”

  I thought Dorothy was going to go on and explain how my own story would unfold naturally and there was no need to jump to the end, but she remained quiet, leaving her memories alive in the room.

  Later Dorothy came back to the letter.

  “Shall we inform the police? I could ask Martin to come if you like.”

  “Sure, whatever,” I responded rudely.

  Dorothy made the phone call and reported that a PC would come and collect the evidence this afternoon. I was relieved it was not Pride.

  In the afternoon I felt calmer and told Dorothy about my meeting with Ruby. I explained how dismissive she was about my attempt to offer a different view, how attached she was to her version of events even though it clearly upset her.

  “When I sit down with someone, I like to remind myself that I am with the most incredible creature. This is another human who represents millions of years of evolution or has been created in the image of God. Someone whose every cell is a piece on wondrous magic. I find their eyes, skin, hair, mouth, hands utterly fascinating. More than that the person before me has his or her own amazing life history. And here it all is, wrapped up into an extraordinary life form, right in front of me. I just want to explore, ask questions, listen, discover and most of all understand. There is no need for me to impose my ideas, dear. Better to wait until asked, I think.”

  “Okay, I’ll try it next time and perhaps I’ll get a better response.”

  “Oh no, Amanda, it is not to get a response. Only ask questions if you really are interested. Be interested in Ruby because you genuinely are fascinated. Try to understand her and out of that let a natural connection develop. Please do not create expectations. Let Ruby respond in whatever way she feels at the time and accept it, dear.”

  Later PC Fiona Mills came round to take a statement and collect the letters. I felt anxious, wondering if I was still a suspect for Mathew’s murder.

  “How is Inspector Pride?”

  “Detective Inspector Pride is on indefinite leave. I’m reporting to Sergeant Smiley.”

  I asked her what happened, but she would not say anymore. So now the police knew where I lived and Pride was on the loose. What had happened? Did she blame me? My anxieties started to resurface. I was only a hair’s width from returning to paranoia.

  CHAPTER 13

  I left to meet Edward mid-afternoon. Since receiving the last threat I gave up on my disguise. I felt exposed and vulnerable. I walked quickly, looking around constantly for my hunter. Would I recognise him if I saw him?

  Edward suggested meeting at the Nags Head in Covent Garden. I carefully picked my way through Soho and then across Charing Cross Road to Covent Garden. I found the Nags Head, but I was early. There was an old style red phone box across the road and I went over to phone James.

  I felt safer with my back to the wall, peering out of the glass. We discussed the shop. James suggested he take my shares. He said the shop was practically worthless, as the debts had risen to the value of the stock. There was the customer base and some goodwill that had been built up over the years. James had tried selling out but no one wanted to pay money for a liability in the current financial climate.

  I asked him again if he could remember more about his conversation with Mathew before he died. He said he couldn’t.

  After I put the phone down I felt flat. I was still ten minutes early and I did not feel like going into a crowded, noisy pub. I walked along a side road. Vans and trucks were parked on the pedestrian walkway unloading boxes of products.

  I had little interest in Mathew’s share of the shop. There was some sentimental value in that I had helped Mathew through the early stages and been a part of all his challenges. I had joined in the excitement and the successes. I had also been with him when staff left unexpectedly, when a floor manager was found to have been systematically stealing from the till, when an assistant took them to a tribunal for unfair dismissal.

  I stumbled forwards as someone barged into me from behind. I started to look round but a firm hand clenched my neck and jaw, pushing my head forward. I tried to shout out but I couldn’t make a sound. A hand pressed against my lips. My body felt limp. After all this time, after all the fear, my attacker was finally upon me, I lost the ability to fight.

  I was led up a ramp, fast, into the back of a fruit and vegetable truck. My left arm brushed against crates of tomatoes as I was forced to run along the narrow passage between the boxes. As we neared the end, I was thrown forwards violently. I lost my footing and fell against the end wall. I felt a strong pull on my neck again throwing me off balance. I landed heavily on the plywood floor.

  A spasm of panic flew up through my chest. I was frozen with fear. My attacker threw himself on top of me. I could smell alcohol. He clamped my neck to the floor with his forearm. I tried to beg him to stop but no sound could pass my throat. I could see the tip of what looked like a gun in my peripheral vision.

  We were at the end of the truck behind a tower of crated cabbages. I was lying on my side with one arm pinned underneath me. I felt his free hand reach round and pull my coat open. He started to rip my top apart. His breath was close to my ear. He grabbed the exposed cup of my bra and pulled it down hard. He was breathing heavily. I started to sob. I felt weak, hopeless and resigned. I had been totally overpowered. Suddenly a terrible wave of failure consumed me.

  He leant on my neck as he reached for my bag. I felt faint. I concentrated on the pain to keep myself conscious. He released the pressure slightly as he shook the contents out of my bag with his free hand. I tried to say “Please spare me,” but could only make a whimpering sound. I felt a swift blow to my mouth. My lips stung. I saw him grab a handful of banknotes.

  The man shifted his position and I felt the cold steel of his gun against my temple. He pulled my top out from the waistband of my trousers and I felt his cold hand move across my bare abdomen. He squeezed my breast hard. I tensed with pain and let out a gasp. “Please give me another chance,” I cried out to myself.

  I tried to move. I wanted to get away from his whiskey-sodden breath. My ear was folded against a sharp edge on the floor and was hurting. It was hard to breathe with the pressure against my neck. He let out a sigh. It sounded like a groan of great emotional pain. Drops of liquid splashed against my ear and cheek. I felt my head being lifted, I sensed relief, and then he smashed it down. Immediately there was a flash and loud noise. Out of the blackness my head was filled with a vision of the inside of the truck. It was a weird lighting. I could see the vivid pattern of the plywood floor and walls. On the floor were scraps of leaves, Brussels sprouts and a squashed tomato. The image faded quickly. There was a loud rushing sound in my ear. Then blackness. Time stopped for a moment. I thought I had been shot.

  I realised my arm was free. I held it to my eye. Suddenly there was an eerie stillness. I turned slightly so I was cowering in the foetal position. I expected the final shot. Instead I felt a hand on my back. Then someone gently held my hand. I moved my hand from my eye a little. I could see blurred shapes. I started to focus on the face of a young man. I could see his mouth moving, but not hear anything. He helped me up into a half-seated position. I could just make out the words “Are you hurt? Are you okay?” with my better ear, over the rushing sound in my head. I burst into tears.

  I could see the man more clearly. He wore a maroon hoodie and
his cheeks were covered with red acne. I felt a new rush of fear. An older man in a heavy, black coat came in holding a mobile phone to his ear.

  “Don’t worry, love, you’ll be okay. The man with the gun ran off towards the tube station. You’re safe now,” the youth reassured me. I wanted to believe him. He gave me a tissue and I held it to my face.

  I wondered where I had been shot. My senses were returning. I could feel a sharp pain from my ear and side of my head. I could taste blood in my mouth. My knee hurt. I felt sick. My head started to throb.

  The youth pulled some crates of cabbages round to support my back. I pulled my coat across my chest. My heart was still pounding and spasms of distress convulsed my abdomen. I could now see down the truck and out into the street. A crowd peered in.

  “Looks like you’ve been mugged.”

  The older man started to put my possessions back into my bag.

  I heard a siren. The truck lit up with a blue flashing haze. A policeman approached talking into the radio on his shoulder.

  “What’s happened here?”

  The older man spoke.

  “I heard a loud bang from inside this truck. Then a man ran out with a gun in his hand. This lad jumped in and I followed. We found this woman curled up on the floor.”

  “I thought she was dead,” the youth added.

  A second policeman spoke.

  “Can you give us a description of the attacker?”

  The older man replied.

  “About six foot, white, long black coat, black hat pulled low and sunglasses.”

  “Which way did he go?”

  “Ran up James Street, towards the tube.”

  The policeman turned and shouted an order to someone outside and started talking into his radio.

  “Suspect, about six foot, white, wearing a black coat and hat, last seen running up James Street. The suspect is armed and has recently discharged his weapon.”

  The policemen moved to allow the ambulance men through. A man in fluorescent green knelt next to me.