TBK: The Butterfly Killer

by A. P. Butler

  “Let’s see if your tolerance to flagellation is as strong as to raping children father.”

  Spite now my only emotion, enjoyment her gift, returning my arm, I twisted my whole body like a Tiger in the Woods preparing to strike the ball. All the pent up anger, hatred and pain condense into a single explosive movement of arm, wrist, body and will all coming together sending the first pride racing towards the naked torso of the damned. The cat clawed into his flesh with the might and ferocity of a pride of protective lionesses, flesh parted like Red sea to Moses, his ruby waters exploding into the air covering the windows to the left. Screaming out in agony, his cries to be the first of many, but this first atonement aroused me the most. The father cried like a new born as the cat left his chest, his tolerance to pain not as great as his passion for the fictitious, nor his love of the unspoken.

  “Where’s your God now father?” My hate punching at him from screaming voice, his body still convulsing to the waves of pain gripping his conscious. Lashing my whole body backwards in the opposite direction unleashing a second pride to rip into flesh, crossing his chest with symbolic crucifix, the blood running wild and freely down his exposed body.

  “Once again I’ll ask you father, tell me what you know of my parents.”

  “Why, what does it matter?”

  “It matters to me; I want to know why they left Hannah and I with you.”

  “Kill me; I’ll be received into the kingdom of God knowing you’re still in pain.”

  The predatorial cat came raining down upon his genitals; the soft unprotected organs didn’t stand a chance, slicing into them with great vengeance of feline pride. Screams of pain like a symphony being performed by a great orchestra echoed around, lash after lash adding a new instrument to my musical, as much his pain. “Stop Elizabeth you’re going kill him too quickly!” Lilly’s voice the only reason I released the cat, her nine beautiful tails now sleeping upon a blood splattered cross below. The pentagram beneath now looking more demonic as the father’s blood dripped upon it.

  “They died……they died in a car crash,…..in Paris.” His voice now full of pain, but still no remorse.

  “The church took you in, gave you a life.”

  “You took my life from me, you stole my childhood, my innocents you bastard.” A mixture of emotions now taking control as I screamed at him, but anger conquered this battle almost instantly as he still thought his actions were acceptable, that he saved me.

  “Crucify the child rapist Elsbeth, and enjoy it my love.” Ubel’s voice commanded me, willing me.

  The metal oxen lowered him down upon the timber pentagram; he was too old, too weak to put up much of a fight, the cat had taken a deep bite from his soul. Pulling legs into position, one at either point, as I held the big hand-made iron nails above his ankle. Point pressing against skin, I let the hammer slam down forcing the first nail deep into flesh, stopping only at bone. With each strike, the room filled with a metallic ping and cry of agony, like the finest opera the sounds seduced me with Christian pleasures of Romanic days gone-by. The second strike punched the nail through bone, the third, locking nail deep into timbers beneath. With each new strike, his prayers to an imaginary friend stopped as the pain of reality forced herself upon him.

  His other leg took a few more strikes to place before I moved to his arms. He was still as I untied his wrists, the pain too much for him to bear. “According to Christian beliefs Elsbeth, if he can’t cope with the pain of purification he must be guilty, the devil’s protecting him from it.” The cutters snapped shut shearing through length of barbed wire, binding his arms to the other two points of timbers treachery beneath, his restrainment now almost complete, I just had to include a few more iron insurance policies.

  Sharp angled point of the cannula dove deep and freely into the vein beneath, coming to rest just below crook of elbow. Medical tape holding tight as needle retracted allowing a small fountain of crimson red velvet to pulse free, twisting the value laying dormant the flow as I readied the adrenaline. Pressing down upon the plunger the clear life rushed into the tiny plastic cannula, pulsing its course through system. Within seconds he gasped back into life, his pain followed quickly, as he let out a cry of pure agonising cruelty. “Glad to have you back father,” came my words of hate and enjoyment as I positioned the next nail just above wrist, making sure not to dance too close to Major Tom and his vessels of life. The hammer came smashing down atop the iron nail, metallic ping dancing free, sending the point almost all the way through, the second strike was probably enough, but this man of hate needed to experience pain, so the next few strikes were as much for fun as function.

  The father’s protection by devil was strong, almost losing another battle with conscious as the last strike hit final nails head. “Can’t nail his head to the last point can we Elizabeth.” “No, Lilly-poo’s but the heretic's fork can restrain him,” Ubel giggled to Lilly. The metallic oxen was about to take the strain of both the father and his new crucifix of retirement. From grunt to high pitched whine the oxen changed its tune as the last of the slack was taken up, slowly but surely dragging the father and cross higher into the air. His pain gradually increasing as gravity came into effect. Just before the last two footpoints lifted from ground, I wowed the oxen in its relentless march, leaving father at angle slight.

  The heretics fork’s a crude but highly effective little device, eight cold steel inches tall with a pair of sharp prongs at tail and horn. A simple puritanical leather belt attached to waist, horns beneath chin, tails to chest, fastening the belt around the father's neck, head now locked in monastic silence. Now he could neither talk nor sleep, the instant his head dropped the horns or tails would start to penetrate, encouraging his alertness.

  “Let’s see how much you feel like talking tomorrow father?”

  “No rest for the wicked Elsbeth.”

  With oxen continuing to recant, the captivating cross with prey of pentagram and father slowly rose from the floor, his agony now very evident, very real. An inhuman baritone of sounds emerged, as he struggled to keep his head up while trying not to scream, the fork doing its job in persuading him to swallow silent lies. “Your lies require a period of contemplation father.” Twin now joined the cannula I'd placed a few minutes ago, unskilfully forced in. The second didn’t enter as quickly; his arm this time looked as if Norman Bates had attempted cannulation. One belonged to saline for proper hydration, the other to board spectrum antibiotics. “Should ave got a fucking junkie to put the needle in Elsbeth; they can find a vein blindfolded at fifty feet.”

  A sorry pathetic sight he made as he hung there, a father of the cloth, now crucified upon a wooden pentagram, a pair of drip hoses coming from each arm like wings of medicinal angel. The blood from feline bite only now starting to slow, his eyes holding pure pain for me to dine upon, his head held high and proud by the fork of a million of the massacred innocent.

  “The pentagram kinda looks like a wheel Elsbeth.”

  “Your point Ubel?”

  “Well, the cast no stone brigade did like to break people on the wheel, maybe he should walk a few miles in their shoes? After all, it’s what the little Hebrew would have wanted.”

  The mallet, big and cumbersome, its head just a crude lump of cold steel, no science to it, but it made an excellent tool for the manipulation of sinew and bone. His right hand was the first to foreclose, the cracking of bone a whole body experience, as if someone had run across my grave I winced as the sound tickled its way across my soul, the father seemed to take it much worse. The second strike was a little mishap-full, accidentally splitting open his hand, not my intention, but no major issue.

  “Elizabeth, you’re only supposed to break the bloody bones!” Lilly quipped in the best Michael Caine impression she could afford. Her joke brought a giggle and smile to my face; the father now seemed to have lost all bravado from earlier as I moved on to his other hand, then both feet. With each blow, he tried to control the pain, not to scream ou
t, any attempt to release the pain only resulted in inducing more instruction to obey his new vow of silence from God’s silent fork.

  “We should call it the compos mentis cutlery Elsbeth.”

  “Why Ubel?”

  Now I’d taken to answering to both Lilly and Ubel in audio form, usually, I just needed to think to communicate, but now in front of the man who made them as much as me I talked freely. The perception of insanity works wonders when psychological torment is required. Ubel reminding that he’d always thought sanity looked so tedious, so tiresome. “Well, it was only ever used on people who didn’t have an imaginary friend, you know sane people.” “Very true Ubel.” By the time Ubel and I have finished our conversation, the father had passed out once again. “Disgusted with his low tolerance for pain Elizabeth.” Lilly was right; we were going to require a lot more stimulants to keep him going if he were to experience the passion of Christ’s last days.

  “How long shall we keep him alive little Ubel?”

  “Well, Elsbeth, I was thinking maybe three days. In the big book of bullshit, they say it took three days from death to resurrection. Maybe the father could try it the other way round, three days from life to death?”

  “Then three days it shall be my naughty little Ubel.”

  The bloodied mallet bounced up from the dusty timber floorboards as I dropped it next to the metal trolley at windows edge, Ubel then exploded into a moment of torturous genius once more. “Cut a couple of tiny holes in the netting to let in a few aerial assassins Elsbeth.” That’s how I left the father that first night, crucified with broken limbs upon his very own satanic timber cross, the heat, humidity and attention of mother nature’s very own flying squadron of aerial assassins should make hell of tonight, and tomorrow more painfully amusing.

  Secundo die - Penance

  Kiri’d gone by the time I’d returned yesterday afternoon, Lola and I took a journey of discovery to see her, to thank her for her assistance, this time with our good friend Mr Franklin. I’m only now starting to understand the subtleties of Cambodian driving, you take the most direct route, regardless who’s in the way, a two-mile journey becomes four, straight line a series of evasive manoeuvres as you weave around every inhabitant of Phnom Penh. During our odyssey, Lola and I were almost killed by an SUV which actually had kill score badges painted on its side, any other place I’d have been furious but here I just smiled.

  Tears of happiness, relief and astonishment tumbled down Kiri’s beautiful face as she unwrapped my little bundle of Benjamin’s. Her tears infectious, my elation grew as my own torrent emerged behind blue eyes. I knew how much of a life-changing amount I’d given her; I didn’t care it was a pleasure to embezzle the devil.

  “Careful Elsbeth you’re on the rocky slopes that lead to religion, all this charity.”

  “Don’t be silly Ubel, religions don’t do charity, they only care about wealth, control and murder.”

  “Unless it’s a charitable donation of semen to a needy child that is Lilly.”

  “Ubel I’m not sure what disgusts me more you or the people that do that!”

  “What about the religions that protect the people that do that Lilly, don’t they deserve your disgust even more?”

  The morning was chilly, the sky littered with little fluffy clouds, drifting to a gentle breeze; unfortunately, nobody had asked the humidity to excuse itself. The fluffy little cloud’s burned away quickly as the sun majestically rose higher into the pale blue infinity, casting her regalness across the land, embracing with loving arms of warmth. A chorus of nocturnal life bedded down while an orchestra of the diurnal hailed the arrival of the new sun goddess. The roads were almost empty creating a sense of an apocalyptic tomorrow, all human life now gone. The streets felt like a billion ghost’s watched as Lola and I spluttered down the road.

  Lola my bright crimson pink tuk-tuk, the only colour in an otherwise sea of concrete and dust. As the day grew the people came, one, then two, then hundreds by the time I was leaving the cities bosom. The roads now an Amazon of mechanised life, swelling around traffic accidents like little eddies in an unstoppable odyssey in the pursuit of prosperity. A notion then dawned upon me like the beginning of a new day, the people with the least own the biggest smiles, the western city sublave’s rarely smiled, endlessly chasing the consumerist dragon hoping to find happiness.

  The little generator sparked into life upon my second attempt to woo her, the environment this time free from a cough of black smoke. The sight which greeted me as I unzipped the father’s catacomb was wince-inducing, the local areal assassins had indeed been busy. His entire body looked like a newborn planet, hundreds of tiny red volcano bite marks from top to bottom. Almost like an organised sortie of aerial bombardment had occurred, a very successful carpet bombing raid indeed.

  “Looks like nature does ave a penis enlarging solution after all Elsbeth.” Ubel’s comment dragged my eyes down towards his genitals, his penis now twice the size of yesterday, swollen and red, but I was quite sure not in a comfortable way. The father was still very much awake when I entered, the heretic's fork doing sterling work at keeping him conscious. He’d no doubt drifted away a few times throughout the night, small rivers of blood emanating from each prong evidence to the forks effectiveness. The saline and antibiotic drips were now entirely consumed, without delay I resolved those issues, I didn’t want him losing his senses this early in our pilgrimage.

  “Should we not ask him again Elizabeth?” Lilly questioned, her voice sounding optimistic. The fork pulled free from his flesh with ease; his only reaction was to spit. “Well, that’s gratitude for you!” Lilly took great offence to being spat at, Ubel then did something I strictly forbid him to do, he took control of my movements for a second, my knee flicking sharply up to entertain his swollen genitals. The severity and emphatic nature of his screech echoed around the bloodied room, with such ferocity it seemed every creature nearby stopped for a second in appreciation to his pain filled opinion.

  “Ubel! Don’t ever take control again, do you understand?” His apologetic reply was nearly as broken as the father. “Sorry Elsbeth, but he did order a wake-up call!” “Once more and I will eat spiders all day, every day just to piss you off.” My snap back. The tears rolled down the father’s face as the pain consumed him. My desire to strip to my usual torture attire was strong today, but the idea of any stray members of the Cambodian micro air-force was terrifying. Dior had given way to a new scent called DEET just-in-case, but the father’s desiccation made me feel I’d better up my coverage to prevent unwanted attentions.

  “What happened to my parents?”

  “Told - told you yesterday, they died in a car crash in Paris.”

  “He might be telling the truth Elizabeth?”

  “Why did you not foster Hannah and I out?”

  “We tried - but nobody wanted a pair of damaged girls like you.”

  “You damaged us you bastard.” My happiness evaporating into anger at his nonchalant words.

  Every time his spoke, even though he was in pain, knowing the reaper was twiddling his thumbs in the corner waiting for him, he still had no remorse or guilt for his actions. Biting down hard I tried my best to remain calm, but this man boiled my blood with every hate-filled word.

  “Why did you rape us and the others?”

  “It was god’s will you silly girl, I loved you, and the others.”

  “What you did wasn’t love, it was rape, you ripped me open every time you forced yourself upon me.”

  “It’s my sexuality Norton; you enjoyed it, you cried tears of joy for my attention, they all did.”

  “Enough Elizabeth lets seal his lies inside, suture his mouth closed.”

  “True Elsbeth, can’t change his sexuality, he finds children sexually attractive, best just kill him.”

  “Well, father I find torture a real fucking turn-on!” My words spitting out at him as if Ubel had a sister who I’d now become.

  The small orange ratchet
strap wrapped tightly against the father’s forehead and the final crowning point of pentagram, with each pull his confinement increased. The only needle I could find was a large fishing net needle left behind from the workmen who’d installed the netting. The reel holding the cotton thread dropped to the floor as I held onto its end, bouncing and rolled away as I passed its damp end through steely eye. Approaching the father he pleaded for mercy, for forgiveness, I explained there was no god powerful enough nor real enough to protect him anymore. The fork nestled back into position, forcing his mouth shut, sealing his lies and hate inside once more. Hollow prayers to a man made construct of control and hate, proved no reprieve to his pain as needle pierced lip and cotton held him quiet. Pulling the thread tight, I forced his mouth shut, entombing his lies and prayers to himself, if he wanted to speak the truth or release his pain, he was going to have to experience being ripped apart to do so.

  “Shall we begin Elsbeth?”

  “Excellent idea Ubel, what do you have in mind for today?”

  “Well, he’s got a bit of a belly on him, wouldn’t want him to meet the trinity of twats like that, how about a little tummy tuck, spot of liposuction?”

  “Ah, so that’s why you insisted on a wet vacuum cleaner.”

  “Indeed Elsbeth I amaze myself sometimes girl.”

  “And what music shall we enjoy this time Ubel dear?”

  “Let me think about it Elsbeth.”

  The metal cannulation tube I’d acquired was a real liposuction device, shiny, sterile and containing twenty-four holes along its length. The duct tape and cheap liquid vacuum cleaner were not entirely medical centre quality, but with a little Heath Robinson tinkering, I’m sure I could get them to work. Wrapping the grey duct tape around the cannula and vacuum hose I proceeded to create an air tight fit, Ubel started to hum Bach’s Toccata and Fugue, not quite in D minor but still managing to set a very sinister atmosphere. “We should have bought a stereo Elizabeth; I’m sure the father would appreciate the ecclesiastical tone.”