TBK: The Butterfly Killer

by A. P. Butler

  “Okay Elizabeth, you’re very naughty, but I like you, and I’m also very impressed. So what else can you read about me?”

  “Well, I can see your skirt was re-hemmed by your Parisian lover’s grandmother, am I right? What’s wrong with her Parkinson’s or dementia?” Laura’s eye now perching precariously upon sockets edge, her shock abounds she simply nods her head in agreement.

  “Parkinson’s, but how the hell did you know that?”

  “The stitching’s all over the place; there’s an air of uncertainty to it.”

  “God I must look a right mess to you.”

  “Not at all, I think you’re stunning. So tell me why you’re having an affair with the Parisian.”

  “To be honest, I love my fiancé, but he doesn’t make me feel special.”

  “And the Frenchman, does he make you feel special, or is he just a pay-day?”

  “Elizabeth, I’m not like that!”

  “Yes, you are, don’t worry I am too. Why shouldn’t attractive women like us command the finer things in life? And let’s face it, men are as much our playthings as we are theirs.”

  “God, you make it sound so sleazy.”

  “Sleazy or slutty?” My retort accompanied by an adorable smile and amorous eye.

  “Elizabeth!”

  “So do you like boys more than girls?”

  “Actually I prefer girls, I just can’t find one who can look after me. Is that a bad thing to say?”

  “Not at all, I’m glad you like girls and don’t worry I can afford us both.”

  My comment the green light she’d been waiting for, giggling she turns her attention directly towards me. Now I’ve got her; she’s bitten, she’s mine. The second I think this Ubel starts making a slurping sound like he’s wiggling his tongue as to suggest a lewd act, which only serves to broaden my smile further.

  “You know Elizabeth I’m kinda glad I met you now, the French guy, Charles is good looking, but there’s something a bit off about him.”

  “How long have you been with him?”

  “Almost a year now, but he’s a bit guarded at times, just won’t let me in.”

  “That settles it, Laura; he’s gone. We just need to resolve your fiancé situation.” Laura giggles while running fingers take a seductive path through beautiful hair, irises all but gone, consumed by pupil. Her skin flush with colour, her breathing deepens as the intensity of her sexual arousal bombards me with visual and chemical enlightenment.

  “Elizabeth I don’t even know you.”

  “Then join me for dinner tonight, and get to know me.”

  Seconds run faster than train as she pauses for a moment, chasing through the idea, a small naughty smile rises from side of mouth, devastatingly gorgeous dimples grow striking an amorous arrow straight to my heart.

  “Okay why not, you seem harmless enough, and I must admit I’m a little excited at the idea of being with a woman again.”

  “Bin-fucking-go, we dine on lady lips tonight Lilly girl.”

  “Not the most eloquent of deliveries Ubel, but it would appear so, I do hope she tastes as good as she looks.”

  “So Laura, why do you hide your wealth from both men?”

  “Oh my God, I don’t honestly, it’s only from my fiancé, Charles, my Parisian lover has money, he gives me a few thousand every week.”

  “You naughty little thing, so your fiancé doesn’t know?”

  “Oh God please don’t, I feel awful.”

  “So how much will you charge me for tonight?”

  “Not sure yet, depends on how good you are, I might even give you a little discount.”

  For the rest of the train journey back to London we sat chatting and laughing, feet indulging in sub-table tangos, eyes fornicating at extraordinary sights. Ubel and Lilly on best behaviour, which is most unusual for Ubel. When I’d first met Rachael, he’d spent the whole time whispering rude words upon my ear, at one point I tried to complement her about her amazing eyes, only for him to butt in at the last second, causing me to say her, she had amazing nipples.

  “God Elsbeth, I hope her puppies don’t fall apart like a prostitute's pins!”

  “Ubel I don’t think we could find a flaw in her if we tried.” Lilly and Ubel almost stunned into silence at her beauty. We continue to chat freely, her attraction to me becoming more and more apparent, as I to her. Contemplating the consequences should we get together, and how exactly she’s going to end it with fiancé dear are but a few of the thoughts now running through her mind. It’s obvious she’s willing to offer anything to resolve her search for love and security. By the time our train of temptation pulls into St Pancreas station, she’s in full flirt mode; I know its half because she finds me attractive and half as she sees me as her salvation, but I don’t care, she’s a goddess to me.

  “So tonight, 7 pm, Baker Street tube station?” My only request as she leans forward, closer than the lash of an eye, I can feel her breath kissing my lips, her eyes controlling my every thought as her reply fornicates with my senses.

  “Tonight it is, Miss Elizabeth Norton.”

  With eyes softly closed I absorb her essence, my senses about to overload with elation and chemistry as she offers a final, farewell hug. Her breasts press against mine, warm mint of breath dancing past ear. She feels fabulous, I don’t want to let our embrace end, but eventually we reluctantly part. As seductively as any succubus she turns, walking off towards the carriage door, she knows she has me as she revels in her sexuality and my entrapment. Watching her perfect hips wiggle I stand comatosed by desire as she affords each perfectly formed buttock to bounce announcing it’s pertness to the world, but especially me. Stopping by trains door, she tilts her head only to offer one final tantalising wink, before disappearing into the torrent of commuters all scrambling from the train. Ecstasy now my master, engorged by hormones happily I collect my case and coat from beneath the damp marquee of bovine disgust. Sliding hand into arm, wrapping silkiness of scarf loosely around neck, I leave the train, my happiness evident to all.

  “Bing-fucking-go, Elspeth!”

  “Well-done Elizabeth, she really is a beautiful young woman, I think she’s going to be magnificent for us.”

  “Elsbeth I know her, I’m sure we’ve met her before.”

  “Don’t be so silly little Ubel I think we would have remembered her, don’t you? Anyway, you think you’ve met everyone today, what’s wrong with you, except the obvious?”

  My happiness so great I can’t stop the biggest happiest smile fill my entirety, vigour, youth and energy now my lovers, my head full of the joys of new young blossoming lust. My excitement now knows no limits as I allow myself to ponder at the prospect of tonight’s meeting with Laura.

  “Best get home and scrub your garage doors Elsbeth girl.”

  “Ubel, you dirty little man-pig, could you get any more offensive?”

  “Well, let’s see Lilly, for starters you’d be safe in an all-male prison.”

  “Ubel it’s not just your personality women find disgusting.”

  “Leave him alone Lilly; I don’t care I’m so excited he can say whatever he likes.”

  It was about three-nanoseconds later, that I started to regret that statement as Ubel took my happiness as a signal to unleash a cascade of obscenities. Within his lust filled list of rude and naughty positions he included quite a few choice sexual activities he was planning for this evening, most of which I must admit I did find quite amusing, even if I was a little inflexible for them.

  The final leg of my pilgrimage from Paris to London abodes came to an end. Gathering my things, making my way through lobby and out through the high brick arches of Pimlico station. Past the old church to the left, the street’s alive with people. The tree lined street I live on, just off Lupus Street is quiet as I walk home, still smiling to myself, a few discreet and expensive Christmas lights flickering in one or two windows warms me further still.

  Silveriness of key turns easily in the brass Yale of lo
ck guarding the blue front door, securing the entrance to my sanctuary of London. My only greeting, an alp of junk mail, I’d only been gone five days no doubt most of it from credit card companies all attempting to get me to sign up for a life of debt. Traversing the climate changing amount of unsolicited mail left upon hallway floor I walk into the front room. Passing photo of Rachael as I go, her gaze now filled with hate towards me as though she could still be, still sentient but yet so silent.

  “So she got it all fixed up before she left for Paris then Elizabeth my dear.”

  “Looks like it Lilly,” my sombre words melancholy marched their way into the cold silent room as the loneliness attempts to crush my earlier elation. Ubel quick to fend her away.

  “Let’s get coffee and cake Elsbeth girl. Then we can attack that rain forest you’ve got going on downstairs, can’t have your Amazon putting her off.”

  Crying out with laughter at Ubel’s gross but hilarious analogy, I head off towards the kitchen as instructed to make coffee. The kitchen feels cold as does the rest of the house, flicking on the heating as I make coffee. Compressing the grounds tight I lock the filter into place, then await the homely aromatic flavours of Java to fill the air. The monotonous repetition of answer phone bleeps away in the background as the first enjoyable sip of dark delight kisses my tongue. Hitting the play button, I listen to a collection of monotone sales calls informing me I’ve been involved a car accident or have PPI yet to claim, which is always news to me as sarcastically I ask nobody in particular if I survived the crash. My humble little house still feels like home after all these years, sitting on the soft enveloping leather sofa, as I allow myself to reminisce for a while, enjoying home comforts embrace.

  “Better dump all the bitches shit Elspeth.”

  “Or Ubel in English we say, we may need to remove all of Rachael’s belongings just-in-case we’re entertaining this evening.”

  “That’s what I said Lilly, you bloated old hippochoccamoose!”

  Thirty-five seconds was about all they could manage before destroying the blissful silence I was enjoying with my two favourite lover’s, coffee and cake. Unfortunately, they do both have a point; I really do need to spring clean a little I can’t bring Laura back here, not with Rachael’s photos and clothes cluttering up the place.

  “Just tell her she’s your dead sister, might get a sympathy finger fiddle!”

  “Only Ubel could mix sex and murder.”

  “Really Lilly! After what we did in Paris?”

  “Elizabeth we need to buy that book about soundproofing cellars by Josef Fritzl, build somewhere for Ubel to live.”

  “Fritzl would need to drug himself to fuck you, Lilly.”

  “Okay, guys stop it the pair of you, for fuck’s sake! You’re both right; let's get this place organised.”

  This time I have to step in, if Lilly loses too often to Ubel there’ll be hell to pay, last time he out insulted her she sulked for three weeks, I don’t think I can put up with just Ubel for that long again. Last time I had to invent new voices just to regain some sort of normality, only for Ubel to scare them away. Lilly’s wisdom is also something I may need this evening, or maybe just a babysitter, while I try to seduce Laura. It’s funny I never wanted children, but it seems karma has decided to give me them anyway, locked in my head, no chance of the pair ever moving out. A life sentence without the emotional attachment of love to reward me.

  The Trichotomy of Truth

  6:05 pm and I find myself still standing upon the northbound platform waiting for the now late, rush hour tube train to arrive. Wistfully I daydream about all the things I long to do with my Laura over the next few days, weeks and months when my fantasy is broken by another disgusting product of western life, the phone shouter. Impossible not to notice this obnoxious looking banker type standing close to platforms edge, insisting we all become party to his malignant telephone conversation. Normally I’d have no real objection to this; I find the observation of obnoxious sublave’s both fascinating and repulsive at the same time. Ubel, on the other hand, was a little more vocal with his thoughts.

  “Noisy fucking cracker cunt!”

  “Again not the most eloquent delivery Ubel, but I must agree.”

  “Give the cracker a little foot tap to the conkers Elspeth. Assist him under the next train girl, won’t see anything, promise.”

  Ubel’s suggestion came through a full hand of split fingers over covered eyes, his idea very tempting but today I’m pre-occupied with a higher and more important agenda. It does, however, frustrates me that London’s become a city overflowing with CCTV cameras in an almost Orwellian fashion. In years gone by it would’ve been all so easy to assist him under a train before casually strolling to the southbound platform disappearing into the vastness of the underground network. Lilly’s right it should be considered community service, but alas London’s no longer a city of progressive, innovating free thought it used to be.

  Today it’s no more than an example of failed forced multiculturalism and inequality. It appears perfectly acceptable for minority groups to flock together enjoying their own, but the second a native wishes to do the same they’re labelled as racist and xenophobic, no equality here. No longer can people express an opinion in case it upsets someone somewhere, no freedom of speech either. Well, unless it’s protected by a particular religion that is, then hate can be freely regurgitated with no redress at any corner for public consumption.

  Lilly, on the other hand, is forever siding with any minority group, insisting they cannot be intolerant, insisting their hate for English culture is justified. Anyone wanting to protect native culture must be a racist fascist to her. To Lilly, it's fine for other cultures to fly their flags as a sign of national pride proudly, but if any native wishes to do the same they’re instantly labelled as uneducated and undesirable, her tolerance no more tolerant than any other extremist. Happy to condemn her own, but never does she turn her scornful gaze upon the less desirable aspects of migration, or indeed herself. Sometimes I have to agree with Ubel, her form of tolerance is most repulsive, it’s easy to see why so many dislike her type. Ubel’s a little more direct.

  “We’re the fucking minorities now Elspeth. Outsider in my own country.”

  “Ubel you’re an outsider in your own head.”

  “Lilly even in the darkest of rooms your face is still off-putting.”

  “Stupid little xenophobe!”

  “Lilly a phobia is irrational fear or hatred, I don’t fear or hate foreigners I just want to be treated equally. In a country that respects the wishes of its own people, you know democracy and all. Not some tin-pot minority rule dictatorship of liberalism.”

  “Oh shut up you horrible little pig-man. You’re so stupid Ubel, you couldn’t even spell IQ.”

  “Ubel, Lilly, enough you’re not going to spoil my evening, I want the pair of you to be quiet. Do you understand?”

  “Sorry Elizabeth, but he makes me so angry, he’s just so intolerant, unlike us. Just remember tonight don’t talk about politics or religion.”

  “How the fuck can you say you’re tolerant Lilly when you show such intolerance to any opinion that isn’t yours? That’s like having a referendum then demanding a new one if you don’t win. Would you like the vote to be recounted until you get the result you want Mrs Mugabe? Maybe we should just assume that everyone who can’t or didn’t vote would have agreed with you, that all sounds wonderfully democratic Lilly. Oh and Elsbeth my dear, for fuck sake don’t talk about the politics of religion.”

  “Just fuck off the pair of you!” This time my internal scream quells their argument, for now at least.

  The tube train finally comes crashing and banging to a halt in the station, like it’s been kicked out of the tunnel by a bouncer for asking what colour his mother's fur is. Leaping over the massive gap from platforms edge to train, forcing myself aboard as nobody seems willing or polite enough to move out of the way. The train jitters, jolts and whirs back into life as is
so typical of the underground system, accompanied by an assortment of noises which flood the carriage. Moving further down inside, only to find myself punched directly on the nose by a most unpleasant aroma emanating from some disillusioned woman. Does she think showering in cheap Eau de toilette will increase her chances of winning the affections of a partner, more likely induce a coma!

  “God now I know why the French call it bog water, she smells like shit, please move Elspeth.”

  Obvious who the culprit was, a middle aged, recently divorced woman sitting two or three feet away, empty seats either side of her on this rush hour train, nobody brave or indeed stupid enough to sit next to the human skunk. My escape hindered by a sea of arrogant rudeness and ear-bug ass-holes, sealing my fate to endure this journey in its entirety, consumed by her Rohypnol like existence. The doors crash shut like a prison door being slammed, one massive shunt, and off we go into the blackness of beyond.

  One ear-bud asshole who brought himself to the centre of my attention almost immediately was a young man of council dress and wispy boy-tash. Lilly has her own cute little nickname for them, she now affectionately refers to people like him as, the fatherless few. This obnoxious little man-boy has decided to share his offensive gangster rap style music with not only himself but anyone unfortunate enough to be within a five-foot radius. It amuses me that some people make such a fuss about being respected, yet seem to be the first to show no respect themselves. Apparently, it’s acceptable for them to infect us all with hateful homophobic, sexist and racist music, shouting the word nigger every five-seconds, but if I say it, even in discussion, I’m labelled a racist. It's like the world’s trying to fight discrimination with discrimination and wondering why it's just driving a bigger divide. You can say this word but he or she can’t just because they wear a different colour skin.