TBK: The Butterfly Killer

by A. P. Butler

  “She’s trying to keep someone happy Elizabeth.”

  Lilly’s right, I have to agree, although obvious she’s not interested in either side of this love triangle, judging by the way she’s eagerly tapping away on her dating app. Left and right she swipes, as she accepts and discards with formidable shallowness.

  “Jittery old baby boomer sounds like Ubel.”

  Struggling to fight my amusement at Lilly’s assassination of little Ubel, the image of an old, decrepit baby boomer attempting to stitch appears in my mind. Impossible to keep my delight quiet a full and beaming smile flashes across my face, unable to control myself I let out a full, embarrassing laugh, not helped as the humorous scene develops further in my mind. An old woman frustratingly trying to perform a seemingly simple task, the eternal torment of her mental demise becoming all too apparent. Slowly withering away from within, it would appear this geriatrics choice of time being her killer was not as well planned as she may have hoped. My cry of laughter serves as the catalyst in our eyes meeting for the first time. Trying to control myself, I smile amorously at her, she responds with a full beautiful dilating smile of smouldering sexuality. The moment lasts but for a second, broken only by the ping from mobile life as she receives a new message, her eyes linger long enough for amour to cast her spell, then quickly she reverts to her cyber life once again.

  My curious, analytical gaze continues, over her hips, down slender legs, as my eyes dine she seduces me further still, briefly, but provocatively she repositions herself revealing her majesty, a commando among us she sits. Inadvertently I catch her gaze once more; a small exceptionally naughty smile builds from lip, consuming her whole face with its mischief. Bashfully I smile, discovering I’ve suddenly averted my gaze, embarrassingly reverting to the persona of a coy, shy schoolgirl. How can this woman cause such emotions in me, I’m always the Falcon never the prey! Her gaze holds me till the allure of another lip biting, eye dilating, Tinder Adonis gains her full attention once more. She’s definitely having an affair, no doubt her underwear was the last minute request from her now obviously, obsessed Parisian lover. Quickly removed prior to their final passionate embrace.

  She’s indeed using this one, keeping him hooked for some reason, the sentimental skirt, knickers as a sordid keepsake. All the tell-tale signs of a very manipulative and deceitful young woman. The type of woman I’ve been longing for, she’s exactly my kind of woman. Her legs, waxed to perfection, although she’s going to have to cover those knees before she gets home, her fiancé might buy many of her little white lies, but she’ll never talk her way out of those dirty, great red indiscretions.

  Upon her return, she’ll probably do as all unfaithful women do, drop to her Judases and swallow him whole. A dominant display to be seen as the returning, longing and passionate lover, desperate to feel her one and only once again. Demanding to be taken hard while bounding about like wild cat, in order to provide the perfect alibi for her Parisian recklessness. Sealing her conspiracy of lies with the convincer, “Oh my god darling look at my knees,” escorted by a girly giggle and seductive eye. Yes, I like her very much indeed.

  “Please look at her footwear Elizabeth.”

  Shoes - Oh how I do adore good shoes, they unravel the narrative far quicker than any other item. She may have hidden her wealth well in her clothing, but her shoes gave the game away instantly. A pair of black frayed Mitsu ankle booties by Jimmy Choo, I’d know those little cuties anywhere, the same pair I surprised Rachael too a few weeks back, a small gift after obtaining a judges liver for an alcoholic. Addicts have always been my favourite customers, always coming back for more, never learning their lessons, willing to pay so much only to prolong the abuse.

  The sole exposed her story even further, signs that these shoes get daily use, not just a special event shoe, no she’s got access to funds. From real resources she is not, she must be fucking for it, no doubt excellently skilled at her job, not good enough to warrant a private helicopter for the journey home, but skilled all the same. Her appeal’s certainly evident; she’s a very attractive young woman.

  Grey dullness of French countryside fly's past as I sit and enjoy her beauty, she then does something that offers all the answers to all my questions, she raises her left hand to push the hair from her face. As hair seductively retracts behind perfectly formed lobe, they dance their way to me, revealing themselves. The final elements of her darker narrative, elements which made her instantly irresistible to me. There laid out before me, in all their majestic beauty of darkest desire, the scarified lines dancing across her slender wrist. Three of the most alluring wonderments, only found on the damaged, confirming a deeper more troubled side. This beautiful young woman has stared directly into her abyss; the only question was how much the abyss had stared into her.

  “She could jump up and down on me like a frog in a bucket, Elspeth.”

  “Don’t worry little Ubel, Elizabeth is besotted by her; it’s only a matter of time.”

  The only part of this alluring little contradiction of milky goodness that confuses is the engagement ring? The smallest, saddest, most unacceptable diamond known to humanity, encapsulated in a band of pure dissatisfaction upon wedding finger. “What fuck-witt gets such a goddess a pile of shit like that?” Ubel saying what Lilly and I both thought. She’s clearly a woman who uses men, perceiving relationships as employment, a method to continue her financial freedom. So why accept such a statement of disdain?

  Only a few possibilities offer themselves forward, she actually likes this person of little means, but considering she’s having an affair and she’s listed herself on Tinder it can’t be that, true love bounds tightly. It could be a test, to see how she reacts, what she value’s the most, love or money? How she must have been secretly torn apart when presented with such a pathetic statement of love. Conflicted by her desire to marry a person of means, only to have such a disappointment offered in exchange for her hand. Interesting though as that hypotheses would also suggest she doesn’t know a great deal about her betrothed, meaning he or she has a secret life too.

  The intrigue in her sordid little narrative grows with my desire. It absolutely can’t be from the Parisian lover he’s a means to an end, I know she’s playing the sentimental game there, and anyhow it would have come off by now if he were the bestower. It must be for the benefit of her London life; maybe it’s from one of the many admirers she has? Many women nowadays enjoy a very affluent lifestyle by offering themselves as girlfriends for hire; I suppose a fiancé for hire is just the next logical step.

  Maybe it’s from some misguided fool she’s a weakening for, her acceptance of such a demeaning offering keeps the sex and other primordial benefits flowing. Her physique is simply divine, sculpted by natures perfection, it’s obvious she works out, needs to maintain the merchandise, so it could be from her personnel trainer. Dense as diamond, possessing the armaments of a battleship and fucks like an over volted jack-hammer, just pure sexual pleasure maybe?

  “Well, I believe it’s a test ring, Elizabeth.”

  “It’s a fucking insult, Elsbeth.”

  Lilly could be right, Ubel’s definitely right. A test ring answers many questions, see if she strays before the big event. It would appear to have accomplished its mission; she is, after all, willing to travel to a different country and publicly market herself on various dating apps to obtain a more lucrative offer.

  -1-

  The French side of the tunnel slaps its arrival, the punch of pressure differences clapping at ear becomes the stimulant for my tormenting little voice to return. Violently I’m incapacitated by the demonic little girl, one small cold hand grasping at throat, the other creepily twisting hair with her icy finger. Chest tight with fear, brow growing with sweat, the ambient light in the carriage changes quickly from the dim light of a wet winter’s morning to the black emptiness of the tunnel. Slowly she whispers more details of my devilish, torturous childhood to me once more.

  “Hello my naughty litt
le Lisa-Boo, he’s coming for us.”

  “He’s been drinking again.”

  “He’s stroking our hair Lisa-Boo, can you feel him?”

  “Twisting our hair with his finger so.”

  “Telling you how much he loves you.”

  Fear runs through me, like spiders in vein. Once again the memories locked deep within my château start to tumble out of there forbidding fortress, first the sounds, then smells and lastly tastes. The tastes are the most disturbing aspects, something I’ve never forgotten. The bile in stomach starts its churn, as I’m saturated by his odour. An odour which has more taste than smell, more repugnant than the acts he is about to commit.

  “Remember when he told us that it was god’s will.”

  “When he sat on our bed, made us touch him.”

  “His big clammy hands.”

  “Forcing us down until the end.”

  “Remember my little Lisa-Boo.”

  As if de-fibrillating punch of life had been fired into my chest I convulse back into reality from this latest abomination. For a second I sit, sweating profusely with dilated eyes in a sea of self-induced panic and nausea, I’m sure others can smell my fear, my loathing. Quickly flashing my eyes to see if my terrors made themselves apparent. Nobody cares, nobody’s taken any notice, nobody knew of this latest episode of psychological torment.

  This latest apparition couldn’t have lasted long; we’re still hurtling along inside the tunnel, red information display above aisle proudly presenting 297kph. Wiping sweat from brow before getting up to compose myself, inadvertently I make eye contact with my divine beauty, her gaze as if I’m about to approach. We both smile at each other before I turn, quickly hurrying away towards the toilets located in the buffet carriage behind. Desperately I need a few moments to refresh, to compose myself before I introduce my new found beauty to my sordid little empire of death and deceit.

  “Breath Elizabeth, try and calm down, its over.”

  “Who the fuck is she Elspeth?”

  “Sorry, guy’s I don’t know who she is.”

  The buffet carriage is empty, except for the odious blob that once destroyed my nasal capacities with its offensive stench. This time I find it has enveloped a barstool, now shovelling handfuls of processed rubbish into its vast cavernous, billowing mouth. Entry button of toilet door confirms its action with a click, then opening effortlessly. With bowed head and racing heart I enter hurriedly as the door quickly swishes closed behind me.

  Drawing a deep breath of relief, I proceed to dampen my face with the cool, refreshing waters of running tap. Taking a few moments to study the person staring back at me upon the plastic mirror ahead. A face many years my senior no longer wearing the livery of teenage youth, big beautiful blue eyes sparkling like the purest of diamond, accentuated by long curling lash, floating on an anaemic sea of pure porcelain. A delicate, small sculpted nose leading to full rounded lips, surrounded by forest of short blonde hair in pixie cut. All these elements making up the contradiction that is I, Elizabeth Jane Norton.

  “Stunning Elspeth, you’re truly a beautiful young woman.”

  “That’s beautiful Ubel, Elizabeth does look gorgeous.”

  “Deffo, I’d hang out the back of her!”

  “And back to the obnoxious, sexist man-pig once again.”

  The decision’s made, I need to end these apparitions upon my return to London, I must at least try to understand these disturbing hallucinations from my past. Attempting to regain my composure, waiting a moment longer for a few more remnants of colour to bring life back to my face. The exit button compresses beneath finger as door swishes open. Immediately I make my way towards the assistant, ordering two coffee’s, one for me, one for new prey. The assistant, a middle-aged woman with more years in her eyes than upon her face politely takes my order. Turning she proceeds to operate the minuscule stainless steel barista style coffee machine wedged into the corner of this tiny microscopic bar.

  As the small, meticulously kept machine splutters into life, the repugnant bovine mutters something inaudible in French to the assistant, my shields of repulse on high alert, his words defeated before they can infect my senses. Assistants eyes roll back as if a mere gesture of politeness could have accompanied request. Looking at him with pure disgust, she proceeds to place the third can of full-fat diabetes in front of him, sarcastically thanking herself for the privilege. Turning back to the coffee machine, she clips the brown plastic tops upon the paper cups, placing them on the counter in front of me. Polite smile accompanies payment, as I publicly announce my gratitude for her service, her responce to smile knowingly back in acknowledgement of my sarcasm.

  “He makes a blue whale look anorexic.”

  “Ubel you’re so intolerant! The poor man probably has a date with diabetes. Heart and liver disease no doubt are his lover’s too, poor disgusting retch.”

  “So it’s tolerance and social commentary when you insult him, but if I comment it’s intolerant sizeism?”

  “Oh shut up you stupid little man-pig, I don’t name call Ubel.”

  “Unless it ends with an ‘ist’ or ‘ism’ hay Lilly. Elsbeth, I’m sure we know him?”

  “Don’t be silly Ubel; I’d remember such a man.”

  “He smells familiar Elsbeth; I know he does.”

  From side to side the train gently rocks as I embark upon the shortest of journeys back to my carriage of anticipation, towards my latest angelic project, each step fills me with excitement, horrific apparitions now all but gone. Upon empty seat of distant carriage, I sit, retrieving my phone I log into Tinder to cast my metaphoric hook. From Jurassic to present it takes to load the screen, the new Wi-Fi they’ve installed is almost as slow as a politicians apology, except I get a connection within my lifetime. A few clicks it takes to find her, her virtual realities as wondrous as she is in real life. My thumb flicks down upon the big green icon of heart, letting her know I’m interested. Within the sweep of a second hand, she responds with a like, proceeded by a cryptic message of youth.

  “Hi, whr did U go QT?”

  “Jst grabbing us coffee, bak n a bit moon-pie. X”

  My gaze penetrating the distance as I draw closer to my prey, into the distance I stare, trying to make eye contact with the celestial object of my desire. Her gaze finally lifts from phones addictive embrace as I approach, our eyes copulate upon meeting. Cat-walking up to her I smile while inquiring if I may join her, her expression as excited as I, intrigued as to my intentions, a swish of finger executes her mobile life, phone now screen down upon table in front. The perfection of porcelain hand with French nail offers the seat directly opposite, her eyes like tractor beams I find impossible to break free. Placing hot coffee next to angels palm, I slowly draw back in a lingering, alluring manner, never breaking the seduction of eyes embrace. Relaxed and confident I sit as the seconds drift into history, as the tension builds I finally introduce myself.

  “Hello, I’m Elizabeth, it’s a pleasure to meet you. You’re gorgeous, thank you for liking me back.” Blushing slightly while smiling back, the hunt is on as she weaves a coy, shy act to entice me further.

  “Hi I’m Laura, its great to meet you too, you’re very attractive, I didn’t think you would like me, I’m flattered. Thank you for the coffee too, how did you know I’m a coffee girl?” Laughing I try not to let her know exactly how much I know of her.

  “Just took a leap of faith, you look kinda cool, so coffee seamed the natural choice.” Giggling seductively, taking small sip of hot fresh coffee, her full and sensual lips enveloping the brown plastic top, leaving only a slightest of glossy kisses as she pulls away.

  “Who do you think the Parisian ripper is Elizabeth?”

  What a question, my mind now alive once more, finally I’ve found a woman who can stimulate me mentally, her first question penetrating to the very heart of the matter. No pointless small talk just pure cognitive stimulation, my mind now fully seduced by her words.

  “Well, I think h
e’s a she, and she is me.” Floating across to her my words come with serious tone and silly smile. “Just joking, I don’t know who he is, maybe a hero, perhaps a saint, defiantly a sinner. Oh, and I was only in Paris for a few days, I felt like spending some time in my apartment. How about you? Did you and your Parisian lover enjoy your extended weekend?” Cheekily dispatching my words before kissing fresh coffees embrace. Our eyes still mating across tables width, her eyes dilate as she looks at me with amazement and surprise.

  “How the hell do you know about him? Have you been following me?” Leaning forward as the words fly from mouth to ear, her attention now fully focussed upon me. Elbows resting upon tables edge, now seductively holding coffee in both hands hiding behind its protection, so as not to reveal anymore from secrets troubled embrace.

  “No, I’ve not been following you Laura, I can just read things about people, I take it I’m right then.”

  “Yes, yes you are, God I feel so guilty.”

  “Don’t worry I’m not going to tell your fiancé, but you might want to cover your knees before you go home.”

  “Oh my god please tell me they’re not that bad? You must think I’m a complete whore.” Her complexion now a sea of private pink as embarrassment washes over her, gone the bravado of before, exposing the shy girl beneath.

  “Hoping you are in the bedroom maybe, but I’m not going to pay for it.” Seduction now my weapon of choice, my words caressing her beautiful face as they dance their way to open ear.

  The second's tick by as she assesses me, her trepidation finally dissipating in a cloud of laughter as we both giggle like nervous children. It was as if we’d known each other for years from then on, Laura starting to feel at ease, relaxing her protective barriers. It felt as if a great oppressive mist had been blown away, allowing us to communicate at a level only obtained by life long lovers. There’s something about her I find more attractive and alluring than anyone I’ve met before; I just can’t figure out what it is.