by A. P. Butler
The
Butterfly
Killer
A.P Butler
First published in London, Great Britain in 2017 by the author:
A.P.Butler
Copyright © Andy Peter Butler 2017
Andy Butler has asserted his right to be identified as the author of the work in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below:
[email protected]
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover design & artwork by Andy Butler
Cover Photography by Elena Schweitzer
Via Adobe Stock Photography - #92201965
E-book ISBN: 978-0-9957992-0-2
Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9957992-3-3
Paperback KDP ISBN: 978-1-5213641-2-3
Epigraph
I would like to take this opportunity to acknowledge and respectfully remember all the men, women and children from all faiths, races and genders who have been raped, tortured and murdered throughout history at the instruction of psychotic religious leaders and their murderous advocates.
Even today the major religions of the world refuse to take ownership for the crimes their followers commit against the innocent in the name of a fictitious friend. Their ongoing failure to condemn can only mean they adamantly condone.
The darkness is most definitely still within, collective hate hiding behind a false liberal veil of love, peace and tolerance. Tolerance is not to kill, persecute or maim should someone not prescribe to your religion or political ideology, it is to accept and embrace differences, living in peace with mutual respect and equality for one another.
A world without hate filled religion is the only way to thrive as a species; organised religion is nothing but a highly efficient control mechanism used upon the ill-educated, poor, weak and those who choose not to question.
“Religion is but warfare of the mind.”
A.P Butler
Table Of Contents
Goodnight Sweet Rachael
Exodus of The Guilty
Laura My Concubine
The Trichotomy of Truth
Schrödinger’s Cash
The Deception of Discovery
Awakening Devil’s Child
Apocalyptic Men of Horse
Forgotten Eyes of Yesteryear
Emancipation of The Innocent
Recuperation Before Reprisal
Revelations From A Devil
Mr Brewer’s Forgotten Yesterday
The Wise Monkey’s of Paris
Eradication of Parisian Plague
The Killing Fields of Courage
Befriending The Basilisk
Primo die - Inquisition
Secundo die - Penance
Tertio die - Absolution
Goodnight Sweet Rachael
Hard into the skull the rusty metal pipe thunders, blood splatter copulates with tongue and face. Eruptions of clean, fresh blood pulse high into the air in all their ruby red brilliance. An orchestra of deforming skull marry, their love-child a loud fibrous cracking sound reverberating from wall to ear in this squalid dank little room. Goose skin grows as the grimacing sound dances its Arctic passage from nape to hip, like cold finger slowly descending spine. Rachael’s body falls limply upon the now blood soaked rags littering the mattress beneath. Agony brim eyes fixed with eerie concern and condemnation, silently asking their final penetrating question. Why?
The beautiful young woman can resist no more, her dying eyes quietly losing their intensity, her gaze passes from me, to through me as she silently slips into her personal abyss. No god waiting to greet, no angels serenading her arrival, just dissipating back into the cosmos of creation she once belonged.
“Once more, fucking little bitch loves it!”
Ubel’s dark, destructive little voice fills my mind, loudly shouting as if he were real, standing next to me, spitting orders hoping I’ll blindly obey. “Enough! She’s dead.” The quiet, respectful voice of Lilly authoritatively commands. Her middle-class, home-county accent too persuasive to ignore. She’s my calming, meticulous, Machiavellian voice, having been with me the longest, more thought-like than Ubel as if we were one, entwined at birth.
“Crush her skull, fucking whore.”
“Be quiet Ubel, don’t be so disgusting, we need time to think, to grieve.”
“Fucking Judas bitch whore.” Snarling words of hate fly from Ubel in his gruff prehistoric voice, as if plumes of phlegm were flying from his mouth with each barked word of hate.
“Ubel you disgusting little man-pig, you have the personality to induce suicide.” Lilly quick to insult, nearly always calling Ubel a man-pig, sometimes worse.
“STOP IT!” My voice echoes out into the winter’s winds as I scream at them to stop, to be quiet.
Metallic pipe now resting upon decaying corpse of bedside cabinet, floating in a sea of dirt and detritus. Dejected I take my walk of shame to the far side of this cold, damp little room, turning only to face my Rachael before sliding down the wall into the floor. Bulldozing sombre train tracks through dirt and dust upon timber boards. My eyes locked on her now eternal haunting gaze.
Naked, alone and bloodied I sit, my attention wanders from tendon to bone, artery to muscle. Looking at Rachael, admiring how wondrous an organism the human body is. A seductively beautiful machine in all its incarnations. Granting our consciousness access to feelings, tastes, sounds and experiences, from the compelling emotions of happiness and sexual gratification to the excruciating despair of loss, pain, and bereavement.
Pain and pleasure hand in hand for the beautifully macabre yet deceitful dance of self-discovery and destruction. Merging to become conjoined twins in my never ending pilgrimage of sensory salvation. Attempting to exploit the same pathways to my consciousness, an eternal battle of supremacy where only one ruler can reign.
“Smack the fucking bitch again,” whispers Ubel. Not only is Ubel obnoxious like so many, but he's also obnoxious in a far worse way. Not satisfied with violence and rudeness, he’s also extremely crude, barking Tourette-like insults indiscriminately, no more tolerant than any religion. His voice becomes distant, dissolved by the now familiar and strangely welcome emotions of nausea and arousal battling to become my next reality, my next conscious feeling.
A slow melancholy waltz my breath now takes across this wretched little mausoleum. Drawing a deep lingering breath, slowly I exhale while staring at this latest act of demonic insanity. The remnants of my latest victim, my lover, my Rachael, now scattered about this suffocating little room, with holocaustic disrespect I’d taken her life. Cut from sternum to pubis, flesh hacked ferociously from body in a frenzied attack of barbaric cruelty. A cardboard canopic case now home to vital organs, inside a dirty little sarcophagus of a room. Upon a sea of syringes a rusty metal framed bed floats, secured firmly to it lays the now lifeless, tormented naked corpse of Rachael Emily May.
Her once beautifully pert augmented breasts, now a disarray of peeling electro-stimulation pads, their wires still connected to car battery beneath. Lifeless her body still twitching at breast as each pulse fires, the battery freely offering its last few watts. Eyes ruptured, orbital sockets broken, tributaries o
f blood red tears sinuously cross her now unrecognisable face. Tongue pulled out, fixed with rusty nail to a fractured and dislocated jaw. A satanically brutal display of violence, climaxing in a ritualistic finale of abominable proportions. Her labia and clitoris bitten off, placed symbolically upon her now swollen tongue. Crowning this exhibition of cruelty I’d forced an old, rusty metal pipe deep inside her, a visual display at the level of malevolent hate and contempt I must have subconsciously felt towards my Rachael.
My internal struggle now complete, nausea triumphing this particular battle, but the war would rage on. Stomach churning as the army of bile begins its march, rank and file it advances north. Saliva fills mouth as I start to salivate, the familiar sensation of nausea grows ever stronger. Hurling myself upon all fours, barking vomit violently at the disgusting ferociousness and cruelty of the reality I’ve created. Each convulsion of stomach, removes a little more of my soul, tempting my abyss to creep ever closer. Each attack nausea loses its authority upon the battlefield, arousal taking the offensive, the emphasis exchanges, carnal desires winning over, nausea defeated.
“Look how pretty she is now, our beautiful Rachael.” Lilly’s soft and comforting voice quietly forms in my mind once more, soothing my pain, offering the final blow in defeating nausea.
“She looks more beautiful than ever Elizabeth.”
“Why’d she have to find out Lilly? Why couldn’t she just stay away?” Broken by hate my voice whimpering from me as I try to make sense of it all, my soul now as broken as my Rachael.
“She was a liability; we couldn’t trust her, you know she would have talked, we had to ensure her silence.” Again Lilly tries to appease my guilt, to lessen my pain.
“Buff our little pearl Elspeth dear.” Ubel’s voice whispers to me, carnal desires advancing upon his emotions, controlling him in their entirety.
The last echo’s of Ubel’s frustration dissipates into the void; replaced by a deafening silence which slowly encompasses me; its dark, illicit shroud folding around. Feeling the urge to follow Ubel’s pleas once more, I allow the carnality to consume me. Only the rhythmic beat of one heart is now audible above the sound of yet another winter’s gale whipping up from outside. A heartbeat of audible contradiction grasps at my reality, a lip biting, eye dilating smile flourishes high upon my face. These are the times I enjoy the most, as a post-murderous wave of arousal now washes over me. Unable to resist the powerful surges of emotion pulsing within, I relinquish myself to its authority.
With bloodied finger I bring myself to the brink of euphoria, a feeling longed for, a sense different to any other. Heart beating a seductive, haunting allegro drumbeat, as nipple grows upon firm, bloodied breast I enjoy the moment. Convulsing violently, as wave after wave of sadistic pleasures thunder through me. A shuddering, pulsating breath I exhale as euphoria embraces me in its entirety before quickly it fades to pain, as my now sensitive pink pearl retreats to the protection of her tailored pink beret.
With lusting lip I slowly enjoy the mixture of Rachael’s thick dying blood mated to my lasciviousness, drawing in the unique taste of carnal metallic pleasures. Its taste induces a new, more powerful addiction to commence its compelling dance through my psyche. The delightful decadence of endorphins now crashes over me like welcoming waves of nostalgia, warmth, contentment, elation and relief are the emotions I now find myself bathed within. Another exceptional life quietly extinguished, set upon its final odyssey into the oblivion of nothingness.
In all my 28 years I’d never enjoyed a lover quite like Rachael, I didn’t want to kill her, but she gave me no choice. So many I’ve killed but felt nothing until now, so prolific my obsession any number I offered would fail to communicate the true scale of pain and anguish I’ve happily inflicted. All of them I remember in every gruesome detail, taste, touch, smell, each possessing a unique ovation at the end. A single finalising breath, agonisingly signalling yet another empty soul’s been freed from its tormented life. Rachael was different, I loved her, I just want to feel loved, to be free my childhood nightmares as well these haunting malevolent voices.
-1-
Rachael was very attractive, five foot and three inches without the gorgeous little Jimmy Choo’s she once proudly paraded around town. Mesmerising long autumn red hair and sublime physically the only conclusion one could draw upon viewing her once provocative, 24-year-old figure. Fabulous curves flowing from perfect, yet fraudulent breasts, to her fertile and modest hips, a fantastic bottom with gorgeous legs culminating in tiny, beautiful little feet. Those little feet with high arches as if bound tightly at birth giving her a more angelic step, especially when she’d perform her seductive little dance across our bedroom floor. Exposing herself in all her majestic nudity, a tempting succubus coming to consume.
Rachael’s outstanding beauty I first admired on one of the many dating apps, the serial killer’s search engine of choice as Ubel and I have affectionately come to call them. A spectacular boutique, an emporium of delicious human fruits. Flicking through a bounty of willing prey by the minute, picking out the ripest, most attractive, most vulnerable ones. Their location proudly yet naively announced, my intentions aroused, a quick skip, hop and jump to indulge once more.
Rachael captivated me for the same reasons they all do; she was a victim, she stood out like a narcissistic beacon of envious vanity. From the need to augment her breasts, to the tiny inked patches of nonsensical artistic detritus which stained her naturally flawless milky complexion. Sometimes they’re obvious, as Rachael had been, other times you have to look a little deeper to uncover their dirty, sordid little secrets. Ultimately they’re all the same, none have escaped my naturally seductive and charming personality, nor my perfectly kept feminine physique. My sexual attraction draws them in like an all-consuming event horizon. A body so captivating in its perfection I can with ease entice even the most adamantly resistant of prey. Masterfully camouflaging my darkest predatorial intentions, and all from behind beautiful blue eyes.
-2-
“He’s coming to get us Lisa-Boo.”
A creepy little girls voice whispers soft lingering word’s of fear-inducing hate upon timid ear. Her voice I recognise only too well, her cold, malevolent little voice scares me. The paralysing sensation of fear looms over me once more, her dark demonic cloak wrapping around in a suffocating embrace. The haunting little girl now blowing menacingly upon ear, freezing me with dread. Her tongue slowly winding its Siberian passage upon repulsed skin of cheek. Blood runs like ice through stony veins as her glacial embrace tightens. Reality comes to a temporary, spine-tingling halt as she quietly whispers me back to my dark, desolate childhood.
“Remember when they would touch us Lisa-Boo?”
“When he used to come for us, singing our name,”
“Teddy could protect no more.”
“When he first called us his tight little girl.”
Curling into a protective ball upon cold floor, trauma rips into my soul once again as her little voice whispers quietly to me, sending chills cascading through my body. Her words dragging me unwillingly back into the torrid inferno of my childhood. A childhood full of pain and hurt, nothing but years of sexual, physical and mental abuse. Now all hidden deep inside my twisted little château of memories. This the voice that abducts me, incarcerating me once more at her will. Providing the only memories I have, slowly but surely she’s been unlocking the horrendous vaults to a forgotten yesterday, each time revealing a tiny bit more of my forgotten past, of my torment.
“When he would touch us little Boo.”
“Remember Lisa-Boo, remember the pain.”
“The song about the little mice,”
“The song the little girl would sing.”
“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ELSPETH!”
The demoniacally psychotic voice of Ubel punches out with the power of a silvery backed giant of bound fist upon testosterone filled flight. His aggressive guttural male voice, violently ripping me back to my now hyperventila
ting reality. Another haunting episode of my childhood whispers to me from its dark solitary hideaway deep within my psyche. My breathing galloping from behind as I try to calm myself from this latest auditory hallucination.
As eyes focus and reality dawns, I realise the dark winter’s sun’s now completely evaporated, leaving nothing but a turbulent darkness from outside. Alone in this skyward crypt, the cold crisp winter’s wind blows uncontrollably through the broken little window, whipping at curtain rags erratically. The sense of death, decay and misery now overpowering, as it dances with the aroma of my bile. Heart pounding, breath racing once more as the magnitude of my current situation reveals herself, thrusting hard I sit upright consumed by Iris evaporating panic.
Far too long I’ve been here, if I’m found like this, with Rachael, they’ll never let me out, not after what I’ve done, not when they realise who I am. Survival now my reality, I need to dress, to get out of here quickly, for now, I have to incarcerate my feelings in my private château of nightmares firmly. Vaulted away from me, in what has become an impenetrable hell of memories and emotions. A place I fear to linger, case the truth of my childhood envelops me once more. Enslaving me within its high wall’s of torturous pain, ceilings of oppression and demonic doors. Abuse its master, and I its slave.
A loud metallic explosion sounds out, jolting me firmly back to my sad reality once more. Flicking head with predatorial reactions immediately to my left, greeted only by a fat, solitary rat, standing nonchalantly before me. Seconds we exchanged intense gazes, staring into the infinite voids of our abysses. In the blink of a blue eye the rat disappears, the question of time now more present, more pressing. Pulling myself to foot, the cold only now starting to envelop me, stabbing at me with trillions of tiny icy daggers. Goose skin quickly grows as shiver turns to tremble upon my now cold naked body still covered in Rachael’s drying red brilliance. Standing beside her still, quiet body one last time I gently kneel to kiss her, covering her eyes with a blood stained rag from the floor. Her final death shroud no more than a dirty old bloodied cloth, frayed at edge, offering no dignity, covering no pride.
