TBK: The Butterfly Killer

by A. P. Butler

  So now our little ruse was set, the ill-educated little man-chimp bound tightly in our web of lies, he even suggested Laura spent the weekend with me ‘to make sure the poor defenceless little woman could cope’. We both jumped at the offer, Laura almost giving the game away as she squealed with excitement, quickly then trying to control her emotion with a lady-like cough and flapping hand over elated eyes as if to dry her tears. A long and intimate hug his only reward, as I pressed myself against little Einstein, all while exchanging fornicating eyes of intended amour with my lovely Laura. Exploiting his offer I assured him I would most definitely require Laura to stay the entire weekend to console me in various ways.

  That was that, Evan was under control, his microscopic man-brain now convinced that at some point shortly there was a threesome on the horizon, my close and intimate embrace may well have planted that seed of false hope in the manure of his mind. Evan then called his best friend, inviting him over for a weekend of gaming. The idea that two men would gather around playing with each other with electronic toys was almost exactly what Laura and I had planned, although our toys were much more enjoyable, they also didn’t involve shouting at the television.

  Tonight I also thought would be a good time to discuss us, we both want to be together, and so there seemed no point wasting any more time. My plan, well Lilly’s, was to get Laura to tell Evan that over the course of our weekend we’d got close, things happened, and she wants to be with me. Maybe we could throw in a couple of naughty threesome’s just to soften the blow, show him how much we loved each other. The thought of his mighty oak as Laura called it did have quite some appeal. Not much he could do after that, we’d drift into a loving lesbian relationship, he’d hook up with a well matched and equally stupid shallow gym bunny.

  The other option, which of course was Ubel’s, was for him to have a little accident, nothing nasty or cruel, just a little crash, maybe a slip at the train station. Lilly and I both agreed to try her suggestion first if all fails we could always send Laura away for a few hours and let Ubel have fun. So tonight was a crucial night, not only because we were both extremely frustrated at not being able to enjoy each other for so long now, but we had the Evan situation to resolve finally.

  -1-

  Quietly sitting in the warm, relaxing waters of my bath, reading a wonderfully insightful article about political corruption when my unwanted, haunting little spectra dissects me with her traumatic words once again. Her cold, harrowing whisper grows goose-flesh upon skin as her refrigerated tongue snaked its icy passage over ridge of vertebrae towards frosty neck. Enveloping my nape with icy hand, the room plunges itself into a horror scene. Ambient temperature drops like dying swallow, the waters fall icy cold entombing me in their glacial embrace, breath now a crystal disguise as the little voice took control once more.

  “Remember the little one’s first time?”

  “How he pulled her from your protective embrace,”

  “Screaming to take you instead,”

  “The old metal buckle as it ripped across your face Lisa-Boo.”

  “Her cry defeated by pain’s might as he raped her,”

  “Do you remember my dirty little Lisa-Boo?”

  An overwhelming montage of sickening images flashes themselves into my mind, those of a little girl who suffered with me. Younger than I, about the same as the other little girl, five maybe six? She was different, I can’t see her face clearly but I sense her being, I can hear her calling my name.

  “Remember her screams for sisterly protection little Lisa-Boo?”

  The enormity of this sickening truth sets upon me; this latest nightmare releases its demons to rape my soul, the little girl’s my sister. How could it be that I didn’t remember having a sister? The cold spectral voice continues to cut at me pardoning more incarcerated demons, my sister’s memory now flooding back to me. She’d been over a decade lost in the twisted and imprisoned deluge of childhood memories lurking deep inside my mind; there’s so much I can’t or just don’t want to remember of those days. My disgust dances with trembling limb as the memory of her assault is forced upon me.

  Chasing breath the full barbaric horror of that gruesome day crashes down upon me, obliterating any sense of progression, any sense of identity. The images start to flood quick and fast, my dear sweet little sister and I, both fostered, both abused. Never seeing the mother, only the two priests as they would come to us, There were more than my sister and I, many more, I can see them all. Locked in small dark cells or tiny metal cages, their little hands clutching at steel bar, screaming for forgiveness, crying for mercy.

  “When she screamed our name as he hurt her Lisa-Boo.”

  Nothing now but for her little eyes of sorrow and pain, the sounds and smells all but disappeared, just her shocked, tortured little eyes now visible, blue-green dots of agony staring past my being, directly into my soul. Helplessly I watch as she becomes just another object for the sickness of my captors to enjoy. Her eyes wide with pain, tears quietly trickle down cheek as a single brook of blood flows down innocent leg.

  “Remember holding her close, as she cried all night,”

  “Your pretty pink dress nursing wounds of a stolen innocents.”

  “Remember when they came for her again in the morning?”

  “Her little blue face as he pressed hard at throat.”

  “The sound of her head hitting that stony floor.”

  “Lifeless eyes staring upon empty soul of my selfish, nasty little Lisa-boo.”

  For what seemed like hours I just laid there in the cold waters of my bath, staring at the marble tiled wall at foot, magazine floating by knee. This can’t be true; I would have remembered her, I wouldn’t have let them do that to her. The ghosts of despair circle above as I wallow within my self-worthlessness, blaming myself for her abuse. This time the malignant little spectre has destroyed me with her words, eviscerating me with her harrowing prose, piece by piece the foundations of my life start to crumble. Nobody could now recognise what it's like to feel my torment, my sorrow, my fear or my loneliness.

  “We’re here for you Elizabeth. Maybe the little girl’s wrong; you know how things get confusing when we think of those times.”

  “Elizabeth, please say something.”

  “Elspeth, my love, we are here for you, we always have been.”

  Over the next hour or so Lilly, Ubel and I talk about this new apparition of horror, trying to understand how it could be, how I could not have known of my sister. The revelation that I may have let my innocent younger sister get abused was too much for me to deal with, my words grew dark as the sense of guilt grasps me with her torturous hand. Dark thoughts had haunted me before, but never this dark, never this powerful, never to the point I felt like letting go of it all. The memory that my little sister could have been with me throughout my abuse was too much; I had to uncover the truth.

  For years I’ve hidden behind a facade of strength and power, but they’re as fake as Lilly and Ubel, it’s only when I let the truth in that I realise I’m still the scared little girl from way back when. Ubel starts to act the fool as he always does in situations like this, attempting to make me smile, to snap me out of this descent into self-despair. Trying to pull me away from my abyss before I dive in. He’s usually quite good, but this time he struggles. Hours he weaves his silliness attempting to save me from the gravity of my abyss; eventually, his persistence wins through.

  “Elspeth bet I can fart a bigger bath bomb than you.”

  “Let’s play a game Elspeth.”

  “Not now Ubel, she’s not in the mood.”

  “Yes, Lilly I know, I’m trying to cheer her up minge face.”

  “What game my little Ubel?”

  “A little wager, I bet you can’t make Laura fart before she sits down tonight. And yes a muff puff counts.”

  Ubel’s naughty little wager does exactly as he knows it will, I start to giggle at the thought of how to accomplish such a task grows in my mind. Ubel�
��s magnificent at distracting me from thought, most of the time I despise him for it. But not now, today I welcome his silliness as he pulls me back from the precipice of my abyss. Laura’s now firmly fixed on my mind; the truth is I need her as much as she needs me. Pulling plug with toe, I let the cold waters run about me until its emptiness echo’s my soul.

  -2-

  The door bell rings dispelling the last remaining tormenting apparitions from my mind. In my excitement a bolt of nervous energy canter’s causing me to spill my half full glass of red, I shudder with anticipation as my eyes dilate and arousal heightens. Regaining my composure I skip like an excited light-hearted fool to front door, flicking the catch, throwing the door wide and free. Standing in all her beauty, at last, my Laura was with me once more, she looked the most divine of all creations waiting upon step of door. As radiant and beautiful as I’d ever seen her, pulling her in from the miserable dark wetness of the doorstep, kissing her fully, passionately as if I’d not seen her in many a lifetime.

  “God I’m so happy you’re here,” my words almost crying from me as I crushed her with a full and needy hug.

  “Me too hun, Evan’s not got a clue. He’s playing with the boy’s so I thought I’d cum play with you.”

  “Laura you have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

  “Yes, I do Elizabeth, that’s why I’ve decided I’m going to tell Evan about us Monday.”

  Her profound, earth shattering news is the best antidote to my earlier emotions of suicide, like two adolescent teens we giggle and fool around in the kitchen as I cook, the wine in full flow. Mr Gaye gently serenading us to get it on in the background. Laura sits, elbows resting upon black granite of counter top, with lusting sin-filled eyes of amour. Both of us doing our best to resist the temptation of Aphrodite’s embrace. A loud metallic crash rings out as the front gate slams shut from outside, moments later the doorbell rings echoing out around us. Looking at Laura with inquisitive eyes, as she to me, it’s then I remember of Lance, how I’d asked him to drop off my payment from my last delivery.

  “Sorry hun forgot, I asked a friend to drop something off, won’t be long.”

  Happily I scoot, gaily down the hallway opening the door revealing Lance standing under an umbrella, wrapped in the warm embrace a full length luxurious black cashmere trench coat, accompanied either side by two enormous meat mountains, both looking as big and strong as ocean liners. His face wearing his usual big welcoming smile, grabbing my face he pulls me out into the cold night's air, only to kiss me fully on the lips.

  “All right darling, not interrupted any lesbo action ave I?”

  “Hi Lance, come in hun, meet Laura.”

  “Sorry darling got to go, things to do, people to hurt, you know.”

  “OK hun, thanks once again for the cash.”

  “No problem darling, get yourself back to them lady lips, all right sweet-cheeks. Tootle pip, gotta go.”

  Lance’s conversation with me conducted entirely while he stared directly towards the kitchen, towards Laura, I turned to call her over, but she’d gone, maybe checking the food, or filling her glass. Lance gave me a big fat kiss on the forehead, winked at me, then grabbed my boobs whilst telling me how lovely they are. Boobs or bum he always grabbed one, it’s just one of many idiosyncrasies he has, and I adored him for every single one of them, no matter how inappropriate. He bids farewell once more, then turns and walks back to the warmth of his luxurious Bentley, surrounded by his man mountains of menace.

  Shouting out for Laura as I closed the door, but she didn’t reply. Bounding up the stairs, I slipped the case Lance had given me into my safe, sitting behind the excellent forgery of St. John the Baptist, by Leonardo. Discovered in China last year, I had to buy it; Da Vinci had a way of mocking the church when doing so would guarantee their tolerance by way of fire or torture, most likely both. Instantly I’d fallen in love with the way he’d painted a look of questioning upon the effeminate St. John’s face, almost as if he’s saying: ‘Really? You actually believe this shit,’ all whilst pointing to the heavens. It still makes me smile when I see it in the Louvre, on the rare occasions I visit.

  “Laura,” I shouted again, but still she said nothing, concern started to grow at her silence. Bounding downstairs, two at a time, ricocheting from wall to wall as I raced into the kitchen. My eyes darted around searching for Laura, the stool she once sat upon now wet with urine, a fast percussion of inhales coming from the corner to my left. Sitting on the floor in a little curled up ball of trauma and tears was Laura. Urine and fear her only supportive friends surrounding her.

  “What the hell’s wrong baby?”

  My words reaching her almost as quickly as I did, she looked at me with nothing but fear as if I were coming to hurt her, her eyes grew wider as I approached. She said nothing, just stared at me shaking her face as pale as virgin snow, tears of mascara running freely, lips trembling as fear fondled. Wearing a look of sheer terror she just sat there. The closer I got the more I could smell her fear, I could hear her heart pounding as if she were sprinting to get away from the ghosts of yesteryear.

  “Laura, what’s wrong?”

  “How, - how do you know him?”

  “Who, Lance? I’ve known him for decades, what’s wrong?”

  “He’s one of them; he used to do bad things to me.”

  “What?”

  “He was one of them.”

  “No, not Lance, trust me you must be mistaken.”

  “NO I’M NOT FUCKING MISTAKEN!” She screamed at me with fists clenched, her eyes a wild intensity.

  “He did things to me, I know it was him, why did you bring him here? Who the fuck are you?”

  Her eyes darting from left to right, as she relived those terrifying memories. Beads of sweat now growing from her brow. She seemed confident it was Lance who had hurt her all those years ago. Not knowing what to do or say, I just tried to calm her, to hold her.

  “How can you be sure, you said yourself you don’t remember much.”

  “His eyes, I’ll never forget his eyes, Elizabeth, please believe me.”

  “Calm down hun I believe you. Honestly, I do. Let me get a photo so that you can be sure.”

  “Don’t leave me, Elizabeth, please.” Her plea ripping into my heart as the little girl's voice had earlier, but I had to show her how wrong she was.

  Upstairs I raced in no more than three giant strides, dashing for room to room, throwing stuff left and right trying to find my box of photo albums. Throwing the contents of the white wicker box across the bed, I start ripping through hundreds of pages. Years I’d been with Lance, I must have a photo of him as a young man somewhere. Penultimate page of final album was his hiding place, a picture of Lance and I, almost ten years ago now, no more than 18 at the time, Lance maybe a few years my senior.

  Leaping down stairs, I rushed to my Laura’s aid once more, still sobbing uncontrollably in her empty corner of despair and destitution. Jumping hysterically as I went to brush her tear laden hair from broken face, tears now a torrent of past crimes tumbling down her face onto her once white tee shirt, lip-gloss smeared from lip to ear as she buried her face once more. Picking her face up I looked deep into her eyes. Eyes which held nothing but sorrow and pain stared back at me; I’d seen these eyes too many times in my past, she wasn’t lying, tonight had hurt her. We touched foreheads as I sat with her reassuring her we’d be okay.

  “Please Laura, let me in, please let me help.”

  We sat together in a pool of urine, tears, make-up and pain, for what could have been no longer than fifteen or twenty minutes, but for us, it was a life sentence just sitting holding each other. Holding her to my chest stroking her damp matted hair, the smell of her fear filled my nostrils; I no longer notice the urine. Memories of the comfort this gave to others when I was young came flooding back; it worked with Laura now too. Slowly her tears receded as hair lay back upon tired arm as small traces of colour made their way back to her pretty, now make-up smeared
face. We chatted softly about all the nothings in the world; she tried to apologise for being so damaged, I told her she didn’t need too.

  Knowing all too well what Laura was going through I’d felt the same this afternoon, I’d Lilly and Ubel to protect and comfort me, Laura only had me. Now I’d to be strong for Laura; she needed me more now than ever, I was one of the few who could understand her pain and torture. We finally pulled ourselves to our feet; I held Laura as she looked down, embarrassed at her mess, then over towards the cooker, only saying sorry once more for spoiling our meal. Again I assure her it doesn’t matter, that none of this matter’s, I only care about her right now, to hell with dinner, to the house, to it all.

  “Sorry Elizabeth, but I really did think it was him.”

  “Yes, beautiful I know, but he’s no older than we are.”

  “Yes, I know, I’m so sorry, sometimes it all comes back.”

  “Don’t apologise hun, I know Lance is ugly, but I’ve never seen anyone wet themselves over it before.”

  We both let out a relieved and emotional giggle as she hugged me with loving desperate arms. Wine was now the order of the day, a good red can solve many ills, and I have a particularly good collection of this now urgently required medicine. Quickly pouring a full glass of red velvet, we both take a long, satisfying sip of heaven, the seven springs Pinot Noir isn’t exactly a slurping wine, but tonight it was. Pouring another couple of glasses as Laura disappears upstairs to shower and change. For now, I decide the photo of a younger Lance and I, may not be the best course of action, opening a drawer I toss it in forgetting about it almost as soon as the drawer closes silently upon itself.