TBK: The Butterfly Killer

by A. P. Butler

  “Untie her, strip her, bend her over the T-bar, then fuck off!”

  The unforgettable, now hateful and spiteful voice of Lance stabs his hurtful words into me, the black mongrel rapist I can now see is Mike, rips me from the chair, throwing me across the room. Bouncing then rolling to a halt, somehow finding strength to stumble to my feet, turning to face my new enemy, knowing I can’t win but I plan to go out in a ball of rage. They just stand there, looking at me. Lance just points to the other side of the room, flicking my gaze right to see the cold, ashen corpse of Laura, strapped to a table, her legs pulled apart, head limply back.

  “Turns out she was a better fuck dead darling,” words delivered with malice and hate through the giggles and laughs of Satan and Co, both Lance and Mike just stood and laughed as they watch me die from within.

  Both knew this revelation would destroy me, the knowledge that Laura’s torment was not over, as he and others still enjoyed her brutalised corpse. He was right; I could feel the pain contort deep from within, I struggled to regain my composure, all the time Ubel screaming at me to attack. The black rapist Mike lunges towards me grabbing my head with his unnaturally sized hands, I can’t fight fair against him. Throwing me down over timber cross-section of bondage T-bar, my empty stomach offering only tiny traces of bile. With expert speed and dexterity, my arms and legs are pulled, chained and locked, confining me into a position as if touching my toes. My clothes ripped free with the aid of knife's sharp point, my body now exposed and vulnerable, waiting for Lance’s desecration to begin.

  “Get the fuck out, tell every other cunt to leave too.”

  “Sweet big man.”

  “This pussy’s gonna take some fucking punishment.”

  The steel door slams shut behind Mike, its sound ricocheting from wall to ear, my metaphoric final nail. The faint shout’s and scuttling of feet from upstairs are all I can hear, Lance’s lackeys waste no time making their retreat. The front door closes with a deliberate bang, signalling Lance to pull up a chair and sit before me. The back of chair now his bodyguard, I can barely raise my head enough to see him, as he sits there staring at me. Loud click of metallic lighter sets fear towards my heart as he sits atop his plastic throne, lighting his cigar with menace and hate.

  “Knew I should’ve killed that one decades ago.”

  “Fuck you Lance!”

  “Oh there’ll be some fucking darling, don’t worry. You still aven’t got a clue?”

  “About what?”

  “Little Laura, who she really was, she didn’t tell you did she?”

  “What? I don’t understand?”

  “What that little girl in your fucking head not told you yet?”

  “Told me what?”

  “Little Laura, your gorgeous, lovely Laura, was Hannah, your little fucking sister!”

  The pieces of my disgusting, sordid little jigsaw start to fall painfully into place; the little girls face from my earlier haunting apparitions begins to form in my mind once again. Now I can see her clearly, not just her eyes of pain. The emotion of anger gives way to nausea as I now see little Laura in my mind, my little sister Hannah, who grew to become my Laura. Struggling with the sense of shame and disgust wash over me, losing the battle of repulsion I now have for myself. Hanging there retching repeatedly, no bile to evict, no self-respect to cling to. Lance laughs, flicking the hot dead ash of cigar upon my back, decorating my humiliation, crowning his glory. The repulsive aroma of his cigar infecting my senses as he sits there in front of me enjoying my destruction.

  “The funeral wasn’t Hannah’s; it was little Emily’s.”

  “You watched them kill your little friend Emily, not Hannah.”

  “But I don’t understand? They said she was my sister?”

  “Had to make a monster out of you somehow darling.”

  “But it can’t be.”

  “Course it can, the mind sees what the minds told little-boo. Abuse anyone for long enough, and they live to believe any story to tell em, even you! My naughty little Lisa-Boo!”

  “How - how do you know this? Who the fuck are you?”

  “Still not got it ave ya. I was the little boy, the one with Father Ray, now boyfriend Ray.”

  As he released these words to apocalyptic effect, I must have stepped outside myself, drifting away from my reality into a realm of disillusionment. His revelations had such profound implications I couldn’t deal with everything all at once. Within a single sweeping revolution of a clocks short fat hand, I’d lost all foundations to my existence, I’d fallen in love with my sister, watched her brutal rape and unmasked Lance’s sordid disguise. My life had been a lie masquerading as my own, conducted over, played still by abusers of old.

  The catastrophic implication this news caused only served as a disguised blessing, as if God had finally manifested becoming a reality and intervened, sparing me the pain of what was about to happen. My mind so disturbed, so confused by the torment of knowledge I felt no pain as Lance launched into a violent sodomising attack, this time holding no mercy. The only part that shunted me out of this external experience was Lance himself. So vigorously violent was his thrusting the old wooden T-bar collapsed under motion. Without dropping a beat, he continued to thrust as I lashed out in hate.

  “Naughty little bitch!” He spat his words, as he laid his fist upon face with rapists intent, knocking me into a confused daze. The pain soon chased away my confusion as my sodomy continued. Thrusting violently, desperately I tried to use his motions to free myself from my leathery bounds. With each penetrating thrust they relinquished their grasp; eventually, I managed to free one arm as he finished his assault.

  Spinning round to strike, foot glancing his head, fist exploding upon nose, blood spatter spraying through air, his eyes welled, but no tears fell. He was too fast, too quick, and too strong, my blows only served to anger him more. His hands tightly gripped my throat as he pressed down, the darkness slowly gathered round, silently pulling me into its clutches, then nothing. Blacking out for but a moment as when my senses returned, Lance was attending his wounds by the old metal sink in the corner. Flicking my eyes around the room to find a weapon, anything I could use to hurt him.

  By foot of the padded box, once his throne, I saw my freedom in the form of a syringe, I’d no idea if its venom would bite, but it offered a chance better than fighting. The only other options were pieces of broken T-bar, sex toys and debris, none of which offered the speed of freedom I required. Quietly I freed my leathery bounds, like a church mouse I scurried silently across the floor. Now with liquid venom in plastic weapon, I made my way to serve justice, attacking with the stealth and power of predatory bull shark.

  The needle punched down upon skin, breaking through allowing the cold steel length of needle to slide deeply into his neck. His eyes widened with surprise as I pushed down upon the plunger, injecting its clandestine clear venom deep. He spun around quickly throwing me free, then with clenched fist fires a powerful right, lifting me across the room. His blow left me bloodied and dazed but not out. His attack now imminent, the epic final battle had commenced, a war I would die fighting should it be required. Across the room, he flew towards me, Ubel screaming instruction of how I should fight.

  “Kick across his knee now! Elsbeth, Now!”

  Instinctively I followed Ubel’s instruction, flicking heel straight out. As fast and powerfully as I could, connecting heel just below weighted knee. A loud reverberating cracking sound filled the air. His leg first buckled, then bowed behind. Finally snapped as his leg folded backwards. His eyes, wide as if possessed. His scream penetrating deeply. Leg now at 90 degrees. No longer able to hurt. No longer able to fight.

  “Bite his fucking face off Elspeth.”

  “Kill him now Elizabeth.”

  “No, torture the cunt first Elsbeth.”

  Lilly screaming to kill, Ubel demoniacally calling for torture, I summoned all the hatred, all the anger I had, jumping atop his chest. Both hands raining down a m
onsoon of punches as hard as possible upon his face and throat. Blow after blow landed for what seemed like millennia before he fell limp and still. Time now no longer a friend, I had to move fast, I didn’t know if I or the drugs had incapacitated him. Grabbing the rope which once bound my Laura, I tied him up with as many knots and twists as I could afford, his escape impossible, incarceration complete. Arms tightly behind back, legs tethered at knee and ankle. Paying extra attention to his broken knee, ensuring his pain would return upon his wake.

  Slumping to the floor, falling upon my back, naked alone but alive. My lungs burning as I gasp deeply for air. Slowly my heart beat recedes as the burning fades, my thoughts return to Laura. Still, she lay upon undignified cross of necrophiliac depravity. Nothing I feel now but for anger’s defeat at the hands of sorrow as I finally catch breath, dragging myself through the rancid canvas of death towards her. Unbuckling arm then leg, I pull her down on top of me. Crumpling into a heap of lost devotion, a single emotion circling like vulture above, grief her name, wings widespread. Hours I sat as the night grew old, embracing the raw silent beauty of my Laura, my sister. Crying a tsunami of sorrow for the abused and unloved, for the forgotten and fallen. Letting my pain escape in a spectrum of emotion, each wave manifesting itself as a loud and desolate howl.

  Aqueous sorrow breaking upon Laura’s now cold ashen face, each drop another piece of me dissolving away. Crying desperate pleas to any deity that may listen, to bring her back to me, knowing in my heart she can never return. My thoughts run black as my own abyss stares into my soul, I felt like letting it all go, to chase after my Laura. This empty feeling I cannot stand as it now besets me, my life now a world of vengeance and pain, longing for the pounding to stop, it hurts too much. No control any longer, my life adrift, abandoned. The dark feelings of finality return with greater ferocity than before.

  “Show Laura how much you love her Elizabeth, don’t die for her, stay alive for her.”

  “If you kill yourself Elspeth, you’re killing everybody who has ever loved you.”

  In those few hours of bereavement, Lilly and Ubel held me tight, cradling my soul as I stared blankly back at the darkness of my abyss. Wanting to jump, to throw myself in, to be consumed by its eternal blackness. They saved my life that day, but the abyss left a vacuum. Stripping away any ounce of humanity I had left. Yesterday I knew how to love; today I felt only the darkness. No compassion, no mercy, that day a monster was born, delivered unto the world, to administer nothing but hate and pain, a vengeful justice soon to be had.

  “Goodbye Laura, I’ll never forget you my love.”

  “Elsbeth I want to give his face fucking cancer.”

  Ubel’s rage starting to affect me like never before, I could feel his animosity, his insipid infectious hate grows inside. His mind was far darker than I’d dared to imagine, our thoughts now locked together as he transferred his demons to me. As if the evility of all humanity flowed through me I embraced the intolerant hatred in its entirety.

  “Are you OK Elizabeth?”

  “Will be Lilly, just as soon as this rapist before me experiences true pain and suffering.”

  Ubel just growled in a deep haunting guttural tone, I could sense saliva drooling from his mouth, his eyes now as black and lifeless as my abyss. The bound monster, I once called a friend, I once knew as Lance, struggled against his new enslavement. Holding my Laura one last time, kissing her goodbye, my love eternal, my vengeance true. Now I had a greater cause, a new project to hone my demonic desires. A new soul to help escape its earthly bounds. No mercy, no acquittal, no amnesty awaits, only a love scorned to free spirit from flesh.

  Letting out a long length of chain and metal hook, I limp across the room towards Lance. The hook slides effortlessly through the loop of rope binding his wrists, retaining clip springing back. With nothing but wrath and sadistic pride, I press and hold the green button, no longer blinking as I stare through the eyes of Lucifer. The motors fire back into life, inch by inch the chain retracts, Lance now fully recovered from his paralysis, pleading for mercy, praying for absolution. Smiling with retribution, I stare through lowered brow, as he’s dragged helplessly across the room, through the blood and detritus he’d taken from my Laura.

  High into the air, the hook climbs, with each inch his pain increases, his arms pulled backwards behind, he crawls to his feet, fighting the inevitable. But still, the motors roll, higher into the air his pain unfolds. The motors judder to a halt, hook now locked in hanging embrace, his feet inches from solace. Now the rapist can feel the pain; now he can experience the torment of knowing his fate. Now naked, dangling from pulled arm, his pain all too apparent, his pain my pleasure, my ecstasy, my everything. Sitting to enjoy his torment, my humanity all but gone, now it was my turn to rule, my turn to administer merciless justice for myself, for Laura, for a generation of the forgotten and abused.

  Apocalyptic Men of Horse

  My wounds deep, their pain vying for my attention but my need for sustenance grows ever stronger. For days it feels I’ve not eaten properly, a few scraps thrown my way does not sustain for long. Leaving the condemned to hang, allowing his solitude, his fertile demonic imagination to fester within, whispering its terrifying narrative of sadistic fate upon anxious ears I search for food. My intention clear, unleash his demons to claw at his soul, before I break his body, releasing his spirit to an eternity of nothingness.

  Small passenger lift of freedom greets me with its cold and dim embrace as slowly it returns the world to me. The welcoming warmth of the main house wraps me in her soothing arms, as doors of steel glide freely open. The fine hair upon arms slumber once more as I limp my way to the kitchen. My hunger more prevalent, more demanding than any laceration, my thirst for knowledge now replaced by that of water. Now I need to feed, to drink, to regain my strength to administer an inferno of misery and suffering, justice for all abused. Lance’s kitchen is vast and well stocked, my hunger and thirst quenched for now.

  Warm, soothing waters of shower cascade around, washing away any last glimmer of compassion, however tight its grasp upon my soul. Twisting and turning down through the plug hole, the blood of my lover and sister Laura running away quietly hand in hand. As waters run free Ubel’s rage builds deep from within, Lilly tries to control the situation, her attempts now more futile than Lance’s imminent cry of mercy. “Elizabeth, we don’t need to do this, just burn him and this place to the ground.” Ubel’s no intention of losing this battle, his horsemen of the apocalypse already released, galloping towards my reality, their hate growing with each destructive crash of hoof. Lilly senses her defeat, succumbing to the inevitability of fate, our thoughts all now aligned as demonic obsessions take control. Lilly’s dark malevolence now in full glory, embracing Ubel’s rage as I happily oblige to its consumption of my soul.

  The mansion’s all but still as I dry myself, my thoughts busy with a concerto of violence and malevolent hate. In time we shall unleash the darkness upon the rapist still imprisoned below in his own private nightmare. The basin and surrounding counter top are covered with medications, bandages, swabs and pills. No doubt the repulsive monster below had been treating the wounds of other victims prior to my arrival, maybe just to prolong the agony. Standing before the full-length mirror of bathroom, the reflection of youth holds broken but strong, devoid of conscious, no longer human, barely can I recognise who now stands before me. The darkness of her aura more powerful, more demonic than ever, standing behind with blackened eyes of purest hate the monster within final showing its face.

  Antiseptic stings and bites its way through my wounds. The severity of my injuries from the violence greater than realised, you get used to pain after a while it becomes dim, disassociated from your soul. Washing and dressing my wounds, wrapping gauze beneath bandage, I mummify my right arm and thigh. The cut above eye will require more than just time, bending slight curve to long slender needle, fed with length of purest cotton through eye, slowly to the bottom of antiseptic and blood
it sinks. Now sterile and clean the needle’s point punctures below open cut with ease as I stitch my wound, looping back in Boa constrictor like embrace I seal the laceration, binding tightly, before freeing needle with a single snip.

  Mary Shelley’s creation now the only creature to stare back, except I’d lost all traces of humanity, inside now devoid of all compassion and fear. The next few hours were going to be messy, no need to dress, old shorts with a pair of tan leather boots was all I wore. Never do I torture or kill wearing clothes, no point only adds to the body of evidence, naked I can wash away the guilt, the evidence, and the crime. The police knew of Lance and his business, yet still, they did nothing, too many judges and commissioners involved to warrant investigation. This crime would go unanswered by the authorities, as long as the new order continued the supply of fresh young fruits for consumption the status quo wouldn’t drift far from tree.

  “No remorse Elspeth dear! Let the fucking murdering rapist cunt feel true pain.”

  My intimate friends grow darker as we approach the act. The kitchen’s an Aladdin’s cave of potential weaponry; many innocent looking devices lend themselves to torture as if designed by the subconscious of a tormented mind. Cheese greater, small fork, with paring knife to match, the clothes iron from the laundry, all find a place on the small metal trolley liberated from the garage. Wheeling my mobile torture chest proudly ahead, from room to room I roll upon my quest for more inventive ways to inflict pain and suffering. A small modification to iron is all I must insist, its future occupation too important to miss.