TBK: The Butterfly Killer

by A. P. Butler

  The rest of the evening was as pleasant as it could be, considering Laura’s fragile emotional state, we ordered Chinese, grabbed a few more bottles of the Seven Springs from the rack. Retreating to the comfort and warmth of the front room, making a reassuring little nest of blankets and cushions by the fire, turning the lights low we cuddle up. It was evident Lance had really scared Laura, she drank nervously through the first bottle, slowing some after that. Tonight had changed from fornicating to forgetting, any other person this early on in a relationship would have warranted an instant annulment, but that’s how much Laura meant to me, I wanted to be there for her, that’s when I knew I loved her, I needed her.

  “Where’s the cock-screw?” Laura giggled at her play on words as the third bottle approached.

  “Kitchen, top drawer, by the sink.”

  At that, she lumbered to her feet her baggy pink jog bottoms stuck half way up her bum missing the I from JUICY, a grey UCLA top she’d acquired from my things earlier, half hanging off, one boob semi-exposed by the enormous neckline of the tatty old top. Stumbling forward she stopped, turned to look at me and without warning pulled the front of her jog pants down enough to expose herself. Pointing down telling me that I can have my present when she returned. An offer that any other time would have been irresistible, but a drunken fumble wasn’t what I had in mind for this evening. With that, she let the waistband snap back into place and stumbled off into the kitchen. Quickly followed by a hilarious assortment of crashes, bangs and giggles, as she searched for the corkscrew, that’s when it all went quiet, eerily quiet.

  The only sound audible now was the flicker and crackle of the tempestuous flames of the fire in front of me. Seconds later the front door slammed shut shaking the house awake, the sound of returning door furniture ringing out down the street as Laura ran from her past once more. Clambering to foot, I rushed out into the hallway finding only the solitary photo of a young Lance and I laying on the floor next to the door. Diving to the front door I ripped it open, hoping to find Laura outside gasping for fresh air or being sick. The little metal gate was rebounding from its post, leaping out into the wild blustering winters night, hoping Laura would be in sight behind the tall hedge.

  A loud cracking sound reverberated around my head, then the pain took hold of me. My world came crashing down, as pulsating pain bit into my head from behind, tossing me forward, legs giving way. The world around me slowly turned a deeper pain filled shade of black. The last, dying sounds I could make out were those of an angry and forceful Lance, barking orders at the mountainous men that were now clawing at me.

  “Put the fucking little bitch in the boot with the other one.”

  Awakening Devil’s Child

  Eyelids fracturing as they part, welcoming the darkness my old friend once more, holding me in her protective wings of obscurity, my conscious absorbed by the dull aching pain radiating from the back of head. Blackness all around but for a thin slither of flickering light beneath doors foot, as shadowy feet fell outside. The fumbled sounds of excitement and boisterousness trickle in from outside my small oppressive cell of captivity. Hands chained above, pulled high, the cooling air crawling in, pinching its way menacingly across skin as knees barely touch floor. Fear grows deeper within as the final moments of my abduction suddenly looms behind me, engulfing me with terror and uncertainty, as if blood were sucked from stomach the fear grows within.

  What had I done to Lance to warrant such action? Where was my Laura? None of this I knew, but if I couldn’t fight or talk my way out of this situation, I wasn’t going to be alive much longer. Terror struck deep with its serrated blade as the memory of a young woman from yesteryear filled my mind in gruesome detail. Many years ago a foolish woman tried to blackmail Lance, which of course he didn’t take kindly too. The haunting memory of his reaction still bites deep as the images re-live inside my mind, a sickening display of hate as he performed what he jokingly called his home made hysterectomy. Brutalising her first, he then forced his fist inside, sadistically ripping at her, until eventually he pulled out her womb. Leaving her to dangle, she died within minutes from the pain and bleeding; her agonising screams etched into my soul.

  Urine trickles its way down leg, the last person I wanted to upset, to be tortured by was Lance. Now the real horror and pain of my fate started to devour me with feverish appetite. The sounds around me slip away as the haunting little girl, claws at me once again, dragging me further into her world of fear. The cool still air turns icy cold as the demonic little girl whispers sinisterly into my ear once more. Her frostbitten words cut deep, blood running its icy course. Her Siberian hands grasping both sides of face as I feel her demonic frosty breath blowing over me as she whispers me back to hell.

  “Remember sitting in the church Lisa-Boo?”

  “The tiny little coffin all on its own.”

  “Nobody to say goodbye.”

  The coldness of this image triggers a wave of panic and sorrow to rush over me once more, no longer alone in this dark little cell, now sitting in pretty pink dress upon front row of empty service. A service for a sister, a funeral for a forgotten love. Conducted by her killer, a man who not twenty-four hours prior had raped then murdered her, all in the name of his imaginary friend, a friend who cannot tolerate homosexuality nor murder, less it be performed by a Priest, penetrating a child in his name.

  “Remember the little boy?”

  “How the priest led him away,”

  “Into that little room.”

  Boys tiny figure now fills my senses, by devils hand he’s led away, towards the vestry, towards a sickening fate. A solitary tear rolling down innocent face, not once did he look up, he just stared at the floor as the door slowly closes behind.

  “Remember the silence.”

  “How he took the pain little Lisa-Boo,”

  With door ajar I can see more of his fate, now stripped from waist, bent over table he waits. Disgusting presence of priest forcing himself upon the child is the new hate I can see. No sound the boy makes, his torment so long endured he feels no pain, just the game of forbidden love. Praying for mercy as the divine look away, a spite filled lord nowhere to be seen. The morality of religion for all to see, actions of sin contradicting dishonest words of love and peace.

  -1-

  The door to my solace flys open, the sound of it crashing against the wall shocks me back into my now petrified reality. A huge man walks in unlocking my chains. Out I lash, but he’s too strong, too big for me to inflict any damage upon, my blows just bounce like rain drops as he continues his advance. Throat now confined by fist he drags me out into the blinding artificial light of the adjoining room, greeted by rapturous barrages of cheer and laughter. A few minutes it takes for my eyes to adjust to the dull brightness of this new purgatory. By the time I can see again, my restraints firm, my incarceration upon wooden chair complete. Lance sits astride a dirty padded throne looming above, this cathedra of sin bears restraints at hand and foot bolted to bottoms edge, allowing the humiliating bondage of victim in a position of exposed intimacy.

  “So darling, did she tell you bout me?”

  “What the fuck’s going on Lance?”

  “Don’t play stupid Liz; I know she told you bout me.”

  “But I told her it couldn’t have been you, Lance.”

  “Should’ve fucking believed her darling.”

  “What?”

  “That’s right darling, I’ve got a little history with your Laura.”

  Struggling to comprehend this latest demonic revelation, I’d known Lance for over a decade, at least I thought I did. God, I remember all the things we did together, opening myself to him, I’d let him inside, these thoughts ferment inside as I struggle against bile's upward push. Gasping for air as I fight to gain composure.

  “What have you done to Laura?” Anxious words forming before thought or reason, with tear filled eyes escorted by a trail of saliva hanging from lip.

  “Don’t worry darling; sh
e’s been, entertaining the boys.”

  “Don’t fucking touch her.” Hate now my mistress as I scream at him, eyes now a wild feral intensity as the insidiousness builds within once again.

  “Wo, I don’t think you’re in any position to throw idle fucking threats darling.”

  “Fuck you Lance; you’re a fucking dead man.”

  “Laura’s still here darling.”

  Hate now overthrown by protective maternal instinct, as the battle for my conscious continues. Immediately I turn towards protection, embracing her fully as I realise the fate of my Laura’s still in the hands of this abomination.

  “Take me instead, please Lance I beg you.”

  “Sorry darling, but you know how this games played.”

  “Please Lance no,” broken words of clemency fall from Devils ear as I beg for mercy.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll have you two lesbo’s buried together OK?”

  Monstrous mountain of man next to me spins both I and chair around; Lance flips the big green, dusty, dented spot lamp up to reveal Laura. Bound upon back across padded throne, arms tied behind, her body exposed. Head pulled back locked into position by ropes tied to hair, her mouth forced open, bloodied and bruised her face a myriad of abuse. Legs forced apart as ropes lock her into position of intimacy and free admission. One eye almost traumatised closed, the other screaming in pain as she stares at me through broken gaze and bloodied eye. Snap of finger fills the air as Lance issues instruction for mountain to meet accomplice, taking their positions, at head and hip.

  “Now Lizzy-poo’s, let’s all watch as little Laura enjoys a good old fashioned raping.”

  “Lance please no don’t, I beg you please!”

  “Relax, enjoy the fucking show, we know who’s up next.”

  Hour after hour I’m forced to endure, to watch the horrific brutality of Laura’s gang rape. A stream of masked, anonymous men of all shape and size abuse her, as one finishes another one begins. Spitting, punching and ejaculating not only on but in her, laughing as they go. Laura a passive victim to every thrust, to every blow. Fighting to avert my eyes, her torment becomes my pain, but Lance sits forcing me to witness the violence as he holds my head forward, fingers pulling at eye. The narrative escalates from orderly queue to frenzied sexual assault, a blur of fists and thrusts raining down upon her. Lance’s enjoyment at Laura’s pain becoming apparent as he rubs devils appendage against trembling arm. Pleading for him to stop it all, to show mercy, I cry, but my word’s finding only ears of deafness. Final monster finishes his disgusting assault inside Laura’s mouth, as she lays limp, almost lifeless, her body unrecognisable from the angel I sat with only yesterday.

  “Now it’s my turn darling. Haven’t been inside this one for fucking years,” announces the loathsome man I once called a friend, nothing but excitement and vigour to his voice.

  Casually strolling towards what’s left of my Laura, disturbingly caressing stomach and breast, drawing finger through cut, blood and semen, tasting with high approval. Slumping down into the dirt and deification littered floor she drops as he unties and unhooks, curling to protective foetal ball her only escape. Grabbing fist full of hair he ties a loose knot, slipping irons fist through before pulling it tight, body then drops as he lets gravity bite. Dangling behind in the shadows, in contrast to bare red brick wall, a yellow metal control box hangs, the kind used to open and close heavy metal doors. Grabbing it, he presses the green button of go; electric motors spurt into life as they whirl recalling the hook while dragging her home. Slowly pulled to foot winch lifts helpless body high, straightening out her torture now easy to see, the full ferocity of her ordeal written across body and face, a blow by blow account of her agony written in blood and disgust. Her head, neck and chest now running rivers of semen and blood.

  Slowly she spins around her face disfigured and disgraced, almost dead. Teeth missing, a cocktail of blood and semen streaming from her wounds. Lance laughs as her feet lift from the floor, she scrabbles at foot trying to find restitution, screaming as the agony once again rips through her. Dangling there in full naked, vulnerable exposure, Lance unleashes a vicious flurry of punches and kicks to her stomach, vagina and kidneys, each blow sending unfathomable pain coursing through her. Before Laura’s battle with reality is lost, Lance drops her to the floor once more as he releases break of winch and hook. Kicking her over, stamping on ankle and knee as he pulls her legs apart, forcing himself upon her. His excitement eclipsed only by his malice, as he shouts taunts of hatred and revile with each thrust.

  “Not as tight as you used to be little Hannah, my girl!”

  “Remember how you liked it this hard!”

  Her torment I can’t watch, my head hangs as the tear’s flood free, I cry for us both, more tears than waves upon beach. The more the tears come, the harder Lance forces himself upon her, finally letting cry of ecstasy run free he unloads his venomous seed of hate. Shuddering as his euphoria entwines with her agony. Slowly pulling himself to foot, dragging trouser up leg as he goes. Nothing but numb hatred I feel as I gaze upon Lance. A purgatory of torture awaits him should I free myself from these bonds, the nature of which would sicken the most deprived, reducing the devil himself to seek redemption.

  “Never fucking cross me, I tell you when play times fucking over!” Spitting his words of hate towards me, his face a contorted ball of snarling hate and disrespect.

  Laura’s spirit broken, no inclination, no will to live, resigning herself to her fate she looks at me through blooded eyes as Lance re-hooks hair, green button compressed once more. Her now defeated body, weak and destroyed pulled up from her hell, stretching her out once more to endure. Slowly the motors turn, her body almost inches from floor, this time no struggle, no fight. With shallow breath, Laura offers a last defiant show which bonds itself to my soul. Her eyes penetrating her pain, directly at me she looks as she speaks in a quiet pained and broken voice, saying only.

  “Help - please Elizabeth help.”

  Lance is far from finished his torturous performance. Walking to a large metal trunk he flips the battered lid, sending it crashing into the wall. The hollow metal sound punching into me, as it jumps from the walls that surround. With solitary hand he leans over, fumbling around, the noise stops as he pulls free a dirty old red plastic can. His intentions apparent, I cry for him to end it all, to show compassion, to show mercy. Begging him not to burn her alive as he walks back towards dying love before me.

  My desolate begging just falls from his demonic shroud; he glares at me through cold, dead eyes. The black plastic top of can bounces from wall, spinning to a halt by foot, as he starts to pour the flammable liquid upon her. She jolts in pain as the chemical slowly runs down her body, filling each wound, washing away one pain only to introduce a more enduring agony. An ominous metallic click echoed aloud; bright orange flashes jump from the metal lighter, ignition fills the air. Laura’s reaction to hearing this distinctive sound becomes evident as urine flows freely, now anticipating the enormity of her fate, the grand finale of pain about to engulf.

  Eyes panic as fear grabs her with full ferocity; Lance lets out a cold hearted laugh as he calmly flicks dead the flame. Laura’s torture complete, broken physically, now psychological too, she looks at me with eyes of misery, her will fragmented, demolished. Reaching behind, Lance pulls free a shiny chrome butterfly knife, spinning the blade out with a single skilful flick of wrist. Without error or hesitation, he lashes out slicing cleanly through hair, dropping Laura to ground. Slowly pulling arm and leg to foetal protection once more, her eyes fixed upon mine. Ubel and Lilly scream at me to fight, but my coup de grâce has been served, my will all most as broken as lover laid bare.

  Motionless I sit, but for the tributary of tears now snaking from face. The only person I’ve ever truly loved, lay crumpled and broken in a pool of her own excrement and petrol before me. At Lance I scream to leave her alone, his face blank and hollow as he neglects my latest petition and plea. T
aking his place, kneeling down behind her, scornfully pulling her by the neck until she rests upon his chest. Two pairs of eyes now trained upon me, one showing hate the other just love through a mutilated and broken gaze. Silently crying out to me, praying I break free my restraints and save her.

  Tip of blade delicately traces a sinister path from stomach to final destination. Her skin bows before breaking from pressure of piercing point, slowly slicing its way through, with no remorse it dives. Blades advance ceases, but a whisper from pounding heart, offering chance for final farewells be complete. Through broken mouth and bloodied tear’s her last words come, a soul breaking, compelling, eternal:

  “I love you.”

  Her face tells of her pain as the blade enters heart, convulsions flicker through as she fights for one, then two, tiny gulps of air. Falling silent she lays, no more movement, no more pain. Her dying tormented face now perpetually inscribed upon my soul.

  Throwing lifeless body to ground, head bounces off hard flagstone, Lance stands to brush away the dirt and semen from his expensive checked trousers, along with any sense of guilt or remorse. My final image as I’m returned to my solitary cell is that of my once beautiful, now lifeless love, dumped upon the ground. Her face barely recognisable, wearing nothing but a chain of ruby red attached to an innocuous puncture wound pendant to her chest. Laying dead amongst her own dirt and defecation which now litters this obsessive purgatory, as chair and I train track our way backwards into the darkness, into the solitude.

  “We need to fight Elspeth.”

  “We have to get out of here; our punishment will be worse.”

  “Elizabeth, you have to fight, we can’t let him win.”

  “Now it’s personal my Elspeth. Our time is now, feed upon my hate.”

  Ubel and Lilly’s voices fill my mind, begging me to draw strength from Laura’s death, to offer justice to the men that hurt her. Nothing I feel, no love, no pain, just malevolent pure hate. Through bowed eyes I stare at door, waiting for my chance to unleash the demons within. Lance has scorned me, and the whole world shall soon know. My confinement offers nothing but time for the malevolent insidiousness to grow. Hour’s turn to day’s it felt before someone opens the gates of hell before me. An enormous black man stands there, a sinister, dark look upon his ugly mongrel face. Bending down to grab ankle, flipping me upon my back, still firmly tied to wooden crucifix of chair. Rocking from shoulder to shoulder as I’m dragged across the debris-strewn floor, making out only one other set of feet, as I journey back into the catacomb of Laura’s demise.