The Butcher and the Butterfly

by Ian Dyer

  The screaming intensified shaking Ted from his dream. Dotty was having another nightmare.

  5

  Mike had left home early the next morning. He had awakened from a dreamless sleep. He knew that he had to be away from this place before the girl arrived. Whatever he wanted her for it wasn’t until this evening that he would do whatever it was that he had to do.

  He had been thinking like that as he walked into the shed by the side of the house and made sure the paint he had bought for the fence was still there. He had dragged out the paint tins, opened them with a screwdriver and looked into the whiteness unaware of anything else. Grabbing a loose blade from the work bench he had cut his hand and dripped blood into the tins turning the white paint red. He would not remember doing any of this. When his work was done he replaced the lids, put the paint out on the front porch and walked to work.

  And that is where we find Mike now; sat on his fat backside in his little office at the back of the butchers. His mind is blank. His eyes watching the clock slowly tick around waiting for closing time. He knew something would happen when he got home tonight and that something concerned the girl, the woman and him. That’s it.

  6

  Simon did as he was told. He walked from his house before the girl got there and headed toward the river. It took him most of the early morning to get there and when he sat upon the bank watching the river flow past he thought of the woman that had come to him in his dreams. The dreams were becoming real. She was becoming real and tonight the woman would come to him and he would have her and they would be together for all time.

  For all time.

  7

  Daisy and Doyle went to work as normal. Their nights had been dreamless but Varula had done her work. She had played them both. Told them to stay away, to forget about her for now and focus on the important things in life. Daisy was only come to her when she wanted her too and the same went for Doyle. But in Doyle’s case; the Fates will play their own little games and we shall see Doyle a little later.

  8

  Dotty did not remember her nightmare and her father had not mentioned anything when they sat and ate breakfast in almost silence. When she had left for Thatcham’s, Ted had asked her to be careful and that if she should feel scared today or if she felt in danger that she should come home straight away. Not dilly dallies. Home and fast. The days were still warm but the nights drew in fast.

  Dotty had nodded but not really understood. Going to work today was important and nothing would stop her. She walked to work that morning not happy, not sad. She thought about the girl she had seen yesterday but even that thought was short. Lost to the birds swooping from the sky and to the rabbits hopping across the lanes.

  That day she had worked hard. The fence was her swan song if you like and Dotty somehow knew this. She painted like her life depended on it. The fence turning from white to red quickly. The red paint splattering her from top to tail.

  As she painted she imagined herself as a beautiful butterfly floating gently on the summer breeze. Landing on little flowers here and there and speaking with the other insects of the forest. What she didn’t know and would soon become quite apparent was that the butcher would soon try and clip those butterfly wings.

  The Butcher and the Butterfly

  1

  Mike Thatcham wasn’t watching the clock that hung on his office wall but the sounds of its mechanics filled the room. He has no idea of the time, no idea that the cut on his hand ached for that matter. He was lost in a miasma of nothing. He knew not of the conversations he had had with himself during the day. That his two employees had passed by the door to his office a few times and commented to each other that the old man was mumbling to himself. The words were hard to catch all except two; oil and coal.

  At roughly five-fifteen, there a came a soft tapping at Mikes office door. It was his usual alarm call but it came a small shock to the distant man sat in the semi darkness. One of the butchers informed Mike that his taxi was waiting and then scuffled away.

  Mike, grabbing his coat and his summer cap trundled from the office, caring not if the door was locked and headed out of the front entrance.

  On the cobbled roadway there stood his carriage for the evening driven by his usual ‘man’ Edwards. Mike like, Edwards. He was as old as the mountains but mindful of the privacy of such a well to do business man such as Mr Thatcham. Also he was quite, not one of r small talk and the usual filler that can sometimes be the want of a taxi driver.

  Old man Edwards doffed his cap and readied the two horses as Mike climbed aboard the carriage. It was well furnished, clean and, even though the cobbled streets were bumpy and the paths to his own home mostly off the beaten track, rather comfortable. Mike let out a soft cough and Edwards clicked his throat and they were off.

  The cool night air drifted over Mike. The smells of the city giving way to the muddy stink of the river Strain. They crossed the bridge, the day’s sky giving way to dusk. Once over the bridge the cobbled street disappeared and the rutted track took its place. Edwards was a good driver, that’s why Mike requested him, but even Edwards couldn’t stop the carriage from rocking on the occasional deep rut or boulder that dotted the track.

  It wasn’t long before the horses were directed off the track and down into a shaded valley.

  Long the road a little ways, hidden in the darkest part of Thatcham’s shed, Varula was coming to life.

  2

  ‘Remember me, Big Daddy? Remember what I can give you? Remember what I said I can get for you? A familiar voice said deep in the recesses of Mikes mind.

  Mike nodded and wiped his sweaty brow. Of course he remembered. How could he forget? He was about to answer when he felt a twinge in his pants. A twinge that he hadn’t felt in a long time. The twinge became a caress, not some whorish grab that he had become accustomed too. The ghostly hands that had been caressing his balls drifted away and the womanly voice returned.

  ‘I know you won’t forget me Big Daddy.’

  Mike felt a soft hand touch his face and he moved in toward it.

  ‘She painted the fence today, didn’t she Big Daddy. A fence you insisted was painted white, didn’t you Big Daddy?’

  ‘Yes she was.’ Answered Mike to the voice in his head. He cared little for what Edwards might or might not hear. In fact, he gave Edwards little to no thought.

  ‘Let’s hope she did not disappoint, Big Daddy.’ The soft hand upon his face drifted away leaving him slightly sad but happy that the woman had returned.

  The taxi turned the final two corners and Mike scanned the newly painted fence that was presented to him.

  Clutching the cap he wore from his head the throwing it to the floor Thatcham jumped from his seat and stood bolt upright.

  ‘That stupid mother fucker!’ he yelled to anyone that would hear him.

  ‘That fucking motherless piece of fuck!’ He once again yelled spraying the near vicinity with phlegm. ‘Stop the taxi, Edwards! For fuck sake slow this cart down!’

  The driver startled slowed the horses to a crawl and the brought them to a stop. It was just in time as Mike jumped down from the carriage and ran, a little clumsily mind you, toward his house and to what Edwards thought was a lovely newly painted fence.

  Mike reached the fence, his cheeks almost as red as its paintwork. Big Daddy wasn’t happy.

  Edwards watched in dismay as the usually quiet, business like Mr Thatcham threw his arms in the air and cussed like a sailor in the Drunken Pony. He viewed the odd scene for a moment longer, making sure to note the absurdity of it all before bringing his horses to near and heading them off back in the direction he came from.

  As the carriage trotted off the sounds of Big Daddies unhappiness sang like birdsong on the cool evening air.

  3

  I tells him it should have been white. Insists that he told that silly girl who won’t come and play with me that the fence was meant to be white. He is easy to upset. Easy to make angry. He has so much anger buil
t up inside of him it but merely took a spark for me to light’s it up.

  I keep telling him that she is stupid and needs to be punished and made to answer for her stupidity. A telling off is too light a punishment for this little girl. Big Daddy needs to put an end to her. Like he put an end to his stupid wife and her stupid thoughts.

  I then sees something deep down in his thoughts. The farm he wants, the farm he is buying has secrets. Rich secrets!

  And so I plants another seed in there. He is so easy and soon he will be all mine. Once he has taken the girl and I feast upon her I shall take his boy and then him and haves my way with whomever I wants. I will be strong again and they won’t bury me away like they did before.

  Go get your gun. Big Daddy. Go get your gun and let’s pass judgment on the girl that knows a little too much. Let’s clip that butterfly’s wings. Let’s have some fun.

  4

  Once Ted had said his goodbyes to young Dotty, he remained in the farmhouse; his dream coming back to him time and time again; like a headache that would not cease. It had seemed so real, but at the same time he knew it was a dream. His wife was dead and as for Palaluka, well for all he knew she was but merely a myth raised to keep men and woman on the path of righteousness and to stop them killing and stealing and generally fucking things up.

  But still, the thought of Dotty being in danger had kept Ted away from the fields and on edge. He knew that at some point today something was going to happen and he had to be around so that he didn’t miss it and put Dotty’s life in further danger. It was an odd thought and one that Ted wouldn’t have put much credence to in the past. But that dream and the voices he had heard yesterday had left their stain upon him.

  The day trudged on much like it had for Mike Thatcham only for Ted, his thoughts were focused on his daughter, on little Dotty’s safety and his want for her safe return. He had sent her off to Thatcham’s place to run her no charge business and by doing so would, or possible has, caused some catastrophic damage.

  Sitting in his kitchen watching the old clock that sat in the corner tick slowly over to four of the afternoon he was relieved when he heard the front door open and the familiar thud of his daughters boots hitting the porch floor.

  ‘You home, Dad!’ A voice bellowed from the porch.

  ‘In the kitchen sweet-heart,’ but more importantly, ‘you okay?’

  Dotty trudged into the kitchen and gave Ted a big hug. He was happy to see her but was concerned about the colour of her hands, face and clothes. They were speckled with what looked like blood.

  He pushed her away and held her painted hands out to her. ‘What’s this?’

  Dotty laughed and put her hands against his face. They were hot, sweaty and the same size as his own.

  ‘Silly Dad. It’s red paint. You know how hard it is to keep clean when you have’s to paint a fence. Messy biz-e-niss.’ The grin almost reduced Ted to tears.

  Ted stood and nodded with a grin on his unshaven face. Dotty smiled back and headed off to the small pantry to grab her some cool lemonade.

  Just paint. Not hers, or anyone else’s’ blood. But wait.

  ‘What do you mean, just paint?’ Ted said softly, almost to himself.

  ‘Can’t hear ya Dad.’ Dotty said from the pantry in between large gulps of lemonade.

  Ted raced over to the cool pantry almost bumping into Dotty as she left. ‘I said what do you mean red paint? Thatcham wanted it white, didn’t he?’

  It wasn’t really a question, more rhetorical than anything, but he needed to know.

  Dotty chuckled and shrugged her shoulders. ‘Paint tins were red. They were the ones left out in the shed like you said, Dad.’

  She patted him on the shoulder, and then added. ‘I thought’s it weird but hey ho here I go.’

  Teds brow moistened and his hands became clammy. All of a sudden he felt on edge again, like the safety of Dotty was even more in danger now than it had been previously. He was positive that the fence was to be painted white.

  ‘Are you sure, Dotty? Are you sure you picked up the right tins? Was Simon there?’

  Dotty shrugged, her face turned bright red and her eyes flared up. Ted knew she hated that boy for what he had done to her in the past and in those flared eyes he saw no lie.

  ‘Yes Dad. Right tins, the only tins. And no, Simon wasn’t there.’

  Ted could see her discomfort. He hated questioning her like this but he had no choice. He brought her in and gave her a sweet cuddle. Patting her hair softly he said some soft calming words and then separated himself from her.

  ‘Sorry Dotty. It’s just I know how fussy old man Thatcham can be that’s all.’

  She merely nodded and smiled. He couldn’t ask for more than that.

  ‘Okay,’ he said sighing, ‘Go and have a bath and I shall put on dinner. Pork and chi…’

  ‘TED!’

  A voice bellowed from the street outside.

  ‘TED FUCKING MOORE! YOU HAVE SOME ANSWERING TO DO MY BOY! YOU AND THAT STUPID ARSE OF A DAUGHTER AS WELL! SHE RUINED MY FUCKING FENCE!’

  Ted looked at Dotty and could see tears welling in her eyes and she shook her head in denial. He went to hold her but she stepped away continuing to shake her head frantically from side to side as the angry voice continued to shout for Ted.

  ‘They was the only paint tins. They was the only paint tins.’ Dotty mumbled beneath the tears her skin a flame in the suns late red glare through the window. Ted remained in the kitchen dumb founded and unsure of what to do. Violence hadn’t crossed his mind but could tell that at some point, if he didn’t go to see Thatcham that his door was likely to be kicked in and he would be forced to defend himself.

  Ted turned away trying to ignore the odd mumblings from his daughter. As he walked toward the front door one of Dotty’s mumblings caught his ear

  ‘Don’t let him clip my wings, Daddy. I want to fly with the other Butterfly’s.’

  and it sent a shiver down his spine.

  5

  Martin heard the raised voice from a distance and he continued walking down the rutted pathway a little more cautiously than before. Whoever this Ted fucking Moore was, and his stupid arse for a daughter for that matter, they were both seemingly in trouble. He drew his gun and by the weight knew it was still loaded.

  6

  Mr Thatcham continued to rant as Ted reached the front door and as he opened it; the urge to close it again and run for cover made his muscles spasm. He knew that Mike was looking for a fight and he hoped he could reason with the man, but he had no clue that the fight was going to involve a twelve gauge shotgun and what looked like a man that could not be reasoned with.

  7

  Calm down, the silly girl’s father is telling him. Calm down and put the gun away.

  He is just as silly as the girl. Where is the girl? Where is my butterfly?

  Tell him you want the girl outside now. Tell’s him that you want her to answer for her stupidity.

  He’s not going to. Not going to. NOT GOING TO! Fuck that Big Daddy. Fuck that. You tell’s him and you tells that prick that if you don’t see the girl in less than one minute you are going to blow his head off and then smash the door in and blow his daughters face clean off.

  Tell him Big Daddy.

  That’s it. You mean it to, Big Daddy. Just remember what we can get up to once I have them.

  Raise ya gun.

  That’s it, Big Daddy.

  8

  ‘Come on, Mike. What’s this about? The Fence?’

  Mike kept the weapon cocked and aimed. ‘You know damned well what this is about. That stupid bitch painted my fence red. RED!’

  Ted lowered his voice and took a step forward; his hands outstretched in the universal sign for ‘calm the fuck down’. A soft breeze pricked at his skin and somewhere deep within his mind screamed familiarity.

  ‘Mike, Dotty says there was no white paint. She says, and I believe her, that the paint was red and that they were the only tins in the she
d.’

  ‘Bollox!’ Mike snapped. ‘Little liar. She has always tried to show me up, to make me and my family look foolish. But not today. Now you have thirty seconds.’

  ‘I’m not bringing her out here, Mike, not until you drop your gun and calm down.’

  ‘Twenty seconds, Ted.’

  ‘Mike, listen to me,’ Ted frantically spat, ‘Drop the gun and let’s talk about it. I can lower the price of the farm, pay you back and I shall re-paint the fence myself. Just drop the gun. Please!’

  ‘Ten seconds, Ted.’ The eyes were fierce, reflecting the suns late red glow.

  Looks like you are going to have to kill him, Big Daddy.

  ‘Mike, listen to me. Maybe it was your son playing tricks again?’

  Mikes eyes narrowed and leant forward readying himself. Starring at the gun its twin barrels looked like tunnels into hell.

  Do it Big Daddy!

  ‘Five seconds. Don’t fuck with us.’

  ‘I think, my ill-tempered friend that you should lower your gun and let a Marksman settle this dispute.’ A soft voice from Thatcham’s right suggested and in the distance a rumble of thunder echoed through the valley.

  9

  In the field’s directly opposite Teds farmhouse and from the vantage point of a small hill, Doyle Cartwright had been finishing up for the day. He had collected some more oil and coal samples to once and for all prove to old man Thatcham that there were more riches in this land than he could possibly dream of and was readying himself for the homeward journey.

  Only now, he stood stock still watching the show outside Teds home. The voices were loud but unclear. He could only pick a few words but from that he could roughly put two and two together.

  What the hell had gotten into Thatcham he hadn’t a clue. Usually the man was reasonable, cool and calm, with a wicked tongue. But seemingly young Dotty’s misdoings have finally sent him over the edge and there looked to be some bloodshed tonight to go with the Red Lady sunset.

  Looking to his right Doyle caught glimpse of a man walking toward the scene. He didn’t look all that familiar and carried himself like a man just shy of deaths door and in need of a goods night watering and bed. Thatcham hadn’t seen him. His raised gun remained fixed upon Ted.