TBK: The Butterfly Killer

by A. P. Butler

  “Yes, to Lilly no to Ubel!”

  “No fucking fun you pair!”

  For the next ten minutes, I skilfully eviscerate Jonathan’s corpse, removing his heart, his gorgeous liver, and both beautiful fat covered kidneys, all in perfect working order. Placing each into a separate plastic bag, tying off before popping all into a basin of iced water to keep them fresh. As Lilly suggested, I cut open his throat a little more, pulling through tongue. Christ I wish I’d known it was this long two hours ago. Tempted to try a beautiful double Windsor, but apparently, that’s not a real Columbian neck tie Lilly explained as I wrapped his tongue around his neck, leaving just the tip to dangle down into cavity of chest. These are the times I longed to smoke; I’d love to sit back menacingly puffing on a fat Havana, maybe even offer a cold-hearted guttural laugh. Instead, I just jumped in the shower to wash away the evidence.

  Drying off with the smallest, dampest towel known to humanity, I dress. Popping organs inside a dirty pillowcase, gently hiding all within the protection of leather handbags embrace I pull my hood of urban anonymity over, quietly making my exit. The reception’s empty, quiet and still as I walk through, again with head down avoiding digital eye, but the cold night's air is anything but quiet and still. Shuddering as the glacial winds bite into me with great ferocity, smiling to myself in the knowledge that at least the organs won’t spoil in the frigid temperatures of winter’s cold breath.

  Cuddling deep into my coat as I walk back toward Tower Hill, upon arrival I hail a law abiding carriage of blackness, no satnav required all knowledge known. This first cab takes me to Oxford Circus where I change, jumping quickly into another for the final journey back to Pimlico, back to my sanctuary. The second cab driver is full of the traditional verbal wisdom, informing me of what’s wrong with the world, how he’s solved it all if only people would listen. Politely I entertain his ideas, nodding agreeably as he regurgitates the usual manifesto of hate. Eventually, he takes a breath which I pounce upon to enlighten him. My pioneering concept of profound resonance, the one of burning the obese to resolve the energy crisis, whilst saving the planet, not to mention the species. He was much quieter after that, but he must have been at least 22 stone on a good day, so my comment may have touched upon a lard strangled nerve.

  Pulling up just shy my house I bid him a polite farewell to which he just grunts back as I disembark and dance towards the blue door of my London sanctuary. Home, at last, the organs safely in the special fridge within hidden cellar below as I skip to the bathroom to enjoy a well earned long hot soak. Candles out, lights down, a tall glass of Half Hitch gin mixed with 1724’s decadence in hand as Signore Bocelli makes love to me with his silky soft vocals.

  “Can’t believe he did that in your mouth Elizabeth.”

  “Kinda liked it Lilly, just a shame he couldn’t keep it up.”

  “You did drug him rather heavily Elizabeth.”

  “Very true Lilly, maybe next time I should add Viagra to my little cocktail.”

  “Maybe we should get another one tomorrow, give it a go?”

  “Maybe, let’s see if Laura’s free first.”

  “You really have fallen for her haven’t you Elizabeth.”

  “Yes, Lilly, I have. She makes me want to exorcise my demons.”

  Time’s still my accomplice as Signore Bocelli takes a bow, a few hours more to kill before I’d arranged to meet Lance and deliver the parts. Texting Lance from the relaxing protection of my bath I let him know I’ve got his order ready and waiting to deliver. Laying relaxing once more, thinking of my Laura and those cute little Oxford’s, sleep must have seduced me in the warming comforts of bath as when I woke the waters were cool, the little tea candles about to euthanise themselves. Suddenly a rush of panic floods over me at the prospect of a missed appointment; eyes flick towards digital deliverance, its calming revelation fills me with serenity once more. Old father time still a patron, I’ve enough favour to organise myself and my thoughts before making my way to Lance’s place in Hampstead.

  -3-

  Black carriage of London pulls up, its truck like diesel engine announcing its arrival, reluctantly I leave the shelter of my welcoming hallway for the cold drizzle of morning. Jumping hurriedly into the warm cab, designer pillow case carrier bag under arm as I go. Behind thud of door I tell the driver our destination as off we roll, championed by diesels distinctive purr. How I love London in the early hours, few people are out; the streets are empty and clear, driving becomes such a pleasure. London’s such a beautiful city; it’s only when you view her naked like this you realise her true essence, her true beauty. In no time at all we arrive at Lance’s place, I pay the quiet, respectful driver tipping him well as I go. Jumping free I’m forced to run for the semi-protection of rain offered by the large London plane tree partly covering the intercom at front gate. Pushing down hard on the big clear plastic call button I wait for what seems like the conception and birth of elephants calf before I hear Lance’s cheeky reply crackling over the speaker.

  “Da fuck you want?” Lance’s cockney voice always makes me smile, and this morning was no exception. “Charming Lance I came all this way too, it’s me Elizabeth.”

  “Yah I know, I can fucking see ya muppet, got a camera innit, you coming in darling.” Lance’s words blurt out as the buzzer sounds for the small side gate to open. Slipping through I run as fast as possible to the front door of the massive Georgian-style house, a now soaking wet pillow case bag full of human offal in hand. The door swings open, standing there as naked as the day he were born, except for a pair of white shutter style sunglasses, was Lance. Almost stopping in my tracks but for the rain, now hammering down upon me which seems just slightly less inviting that the sight of his flaccid manhood.

  Arms stretched out far and wide tail-gated by a big welcoming grin upon his face. Tattoo’s cover his muscular body snaking their way beneath patches of hair, from his shoulders to his chest and almost all of the rest of him, except for his shaved genitals, all of which combine to make the most bizarre of sights. The one thing about Lance that always makes me smile is his head and testicles have always looked the same, neither having any hair on them and both a little odd shaped.

  “Allo darling, ad a good night did we?”

  “Hi hun, not really, bit of a let down to be honest.”

  “Oh well fuck it, come in ave a drink. How’s the two fucking head freaks, you still talk to em?”

  “Ubel and Lilly are fine, thank you.”

  “Tell that Ubel he’s a nasty orrible cunt.”

  “You know he love’s you really Lance.”

  Lance was the only person I’d told of my voices, he understood, he didn’t judge, he knew they didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do, so I don’t think he cared too much. Happily, I’d let him chat to them more often should they be more than just voices in my head. Long ago I’d acted as the go-between once or twice when we were together letting him get to know both of them. He got on like fish and chips with Ubel; it was more lard and lettuce with Lilly; he described her as a two faced bitch, where both faces needed a bloody good slap.

  You would’ve thought with Lance’s heritage he’d hate Ubel, but it was Lilly hiding behind her fake veil of liberalism that he actually found more offensive. Ubel, he’d said was just like us all, he just had the courage to speak his mind rather than play clandestine games, at least he could respect that about him. Open dialogue is possible with honest people, with open discussion you can at least try and reach common ground, but lies can never be trusted or accepted. That’s one of the reasons why I loved Lance so much, he just accepted me for what I am, all my faults, my dark memories never bothered him.

  Happily, we stroll through the vast hall towards the kitchen, my hand clasping at but a few of his fingers, his thumb providing gentle reassurance. Giving him the homemade carrier bag as we go, in exchange he hands me a glass full of red silkiness as we enter the kitchen. The generous decadence of fruits, berries and oaks f
ill my nostrils, it’s silkiness copulates with my taste-buds as it washes away memories of the almost poisonous agricultural diesel from dinner earlier.

  “Oh we are fucking posh aren’t we, bespoke carrier bags. What this lot from a little rich kid?”

  “Might have been hun, he was horrible, hung like a baby too.”

  “Ohh god, so fucking disappointing when that ‘appens! Did you get it all darling?”

  “Of course I did, don’t ask what I had to do to get it.”

  “Don’t tell me, Tinder twat, mouth full of cock, bosh bosh, slice-slice, you're done.”

  “Not quite hun!”

  “Didn’t take one up the wrongern did ya?”

  “No Lance, Mr floppy made an appearance.”

  “Ohh I fucking hate that darling, just ain’t bedroom etiquette is it! Always throat-fuck Ray if he gets a flop on.”

  “Nice thought Lance if I only knew what Ray looked like.”

  “So you want cash or transfer darling?”

  “Cash please Lance, I think the greedy banks are taking too much commission again.”

  “Greedy cunt’s more like, and I’m the fucking criminal they say?”

  “Tell me about it hun. I know last time they took almost forty percent!”

  “No justice found near money darling; the whole fucking system’s backwards. Kill someone you get a slap on the wrist, forget to pay your taxes, and the cunt’s ‘ill send you away for fucking life.”

  “Unless you’re a big company, then you can just negotiate your tax rate.”

  “Preaching to the fucking choir sister, more balls on a coward than in Westminster!”

  “God that’s so bloody true!”

  “Bankers are all thick cunts anyhow darling, couldn’t find salt in the sea.”

  “Tell me about it, I’ve got a paperless account, but the stupid idiots still send me a letter each month to tell me my online statement’s ready? Not one of them intelligent enough to try a text or email!”

  “Anyway fuck ‘em, how much did I say again darling?”

  “Forty-five grand.”

  “You sure? Forty-five grand for a bag of fucking offal! Only joking, OK if I pop it round to you Friday night darling?”

  “No problem hun, you remember where I live don’t you?”

  “How could I forget had you balls deep first night you got the fucking place!”

  We both laughed whilst reminiscing about being so young and foolish, sex, drugs, killing all seemed to blend into one another back then, God knows how we got away with it all. Only a few months had I been with Lance before I’d saved enough money to buy the house in Pimlico, he helped me move in, decorate, furnish, everything. Sometimes I miss the old days with him. Even when Lance came out and told me about Raymond I still loved him; I don’t think I will ever stop loving him. Lance isn’t really gay or bi, as he puts it he’s ‘try-sexual’ he’ll try anything sexual, animal, vegetable or mineral, all good to me, he’d once joked. He’s been with Ray for years now; I don’t think they’re monogamous, but still together.

  “How’s Ray?”

  “Fat-fucks all right, still can’t believe you don’t know what he looks like.”

  “To be fair when you started dating, I did ask you to introduce me, but you two insisted on the whole blindfold sex thing.”

  “Course, I remember that ya fucking loved it, dirty little bitch.”

  “It was fun, shame you’re too old and ugly these days.”

  “Anytime you like darling, me and the boys out back give you a right good going over.”

  “Not tonight if it’s all the same Hun, Is Ray here? Maybe I could say hello?”

  “Sorry love, he's out on the job, if you know what I mean.”

  The fact is I didn’t really know what Lance meant, I knew he’d his fingers in a lot of London’s dirty underworld dealings, but I didn’t really want to know more. As for Ray, in almost ten years I’d still never met him. Lance and I don’t really see much of each other these days after I got the house in Pimlico and Lance got together with Ray we kinda drifted apart. Nowadays I only really say hello when I’m dropping off parts, or like most when texting.

  “So who’s this bit of minge you got?”

  “How did you know about Laura?”

  “Laura? I thought ‘er name was Hannah!”

  “Her name’s Laura, and before you ask, yes I really like her, and yes we’ve slept together.”

  “Cor - wouldn’t mind watching that bit of lesbo, set up a little camera, make a few quid.”

  Lance always joked about things, didn’t matter the subject or the sensitivity of it, he’d crack a joke. Maybe it was his way of dealing with what he did for a living, or maybe he just had a very fertile imagination and saw the funny side in everything.

  “No thanks hun.”

  “What’s wrong, you gone off cock darling,” he said as as he waved his flaccid penis at me.

  A smile, then a laugh broke upon my reality as I couldn’t help but giggle, Lance always could make me smile. When we were together he would pull his penis back between his legs and act like a model, telling me ‘I’m a super model darling, no curves, no tit’s no femininity just looking like a prepubescent schoolboy all the designers fantasise about,’ all whilst dancing across the floor towards me. He’d stop just in front, then let it fly out claiming he was a deaf elephant, he’d a trunk but no ears. Every time I’d giggle and tell him to put it away, he’d say sorry can’t hear you, then make elephant noises as he jiggled it about. It still makes me blush with happiness even today, after all these years.

  “So fancy a bit of brekkie darling? You must be fucking starving after your night?”

  “Sorry, Lance but I’m exhausted, mind if I just scoot home?”

  “Course not darling, unless that gangbang's tempting you, Mike’s got a cock like a howitzer, rumour has it he can lay down some serious poundage too. Fancy a bash?”

  Laughing out I tell Lance he’s just the guy Ubel said he’d offer, he responds by flicking my head with his middle finger and telling Ubel to do one. The last drop of red silkiness runs from the glass as I throw out a fake yawn which quickly turns into a real, lingering full arms stretched yawn. It's been a laboriously long and boring night, so I politely decline, as Lance continues to pimp out Mike behind his back. Ever the protector Lance shouts at one of the lackeys sitting on the sofa playing video games to drive me home. A particularly anaemic looking meat mountain reluctantly tosses his games controller across the table his feet rested upon before getting up and strolling off towards the garage.

  With loving arms I hug Lance tightly, then as he always does, he grabs my bum with both hands and offers to ‘give pussy one last try if I’m willing to help out a poor old poof.’ We giggle once more and hug firmly one last time before I say goodbye, wandering off towards the garage. The deep blue indigo Rolls Royce Phantom purrs away like a feline pride as I enter from the kitchen, the rear door open awaiting my arrival, man mountain standing beside ready to close it after me.

  Lance’s head pops around the frame of door as he shouts aggressively at the man, “Put a fucking mark on that car, and I’ll put a bullet in your fucking nonce alright boy!” Followed by a pleasant, loving voice directed towards me, “Later’s darling.” His blown kiss flying directly at me, as I smile and return his affection. The plush cream leather interior makes love to me as I sit upon the full bosom of her luxurious seats, breathing in deeply as the smell of perfection and sophistication tantalise my senses. The door closes with a solid thud of confidence and quality; the garage door opens as we roll majestically out into the thundery wetness of a London morning.

  The Deception of Discovery

  Thursday’s finally evolved into Friday at last, I don’t usually wish away my days but today was going to be the start of an incredible weekend of carnal discovery. Laura and I have been sexting all week; the tension was growing by the hour. Now the proud owner to a collection of extremely provocative, and explici
t photographs and videos of Laura doing and showing various acts she’d like to perform upon me. Coupled with a growing list of text messages was certainly keeping my arousal in full flow, I, of course, reciprocated with equally explicit and erotic replies.

  We’d arranged to meet tonight, I said I’d seduce her with my cooking, wine and body, then treat her to an evening of fun and fornication, just the two of us, and a few select silicone friends. We’ve made up an entirely fictitious alibi to throw Evan, her Fiancé, off the scent. Now I’m one of Laura’s long-lost best female friend’s who’s just recently undergone a hideous split with her nasty, cruel and abusive husband of ten years. Laura now plays the role of knight in shining armour, coming to the aid of me, damsel in distress, providing emotional support through this most horrid of times.

  We’d even set up a convincer, a couple of days ago I’d gone round to their place. Water works in full flow, extra cheap mascara guaranteed to run for that torrent of tear’s look. With deep breath and Machiavellian whispers from Lilly’s darker side I put on the performance of a lifetime, Olivier himself would have been astounded at my sincerity and passion. All just to convince silly little Evan, Laura was the hero in our charade. He lapped it up, as any little puppy dog would, we all hugged, Laura dropped in a few very convincing sobs of heartfelt distress as she felt my pain and occasionally my bum.

  So convincing were we that at one point Evan treated us to a remarkable male performance of the protective alpha-male man-dance, proclaiming to us both how he’d beat him up for us, that no man hurts any friend of his, the standard man roar stuff. Laura was a loving, caring woman at heart; she wanted to adopt every poor fragile animal the world had. After meeting Evan, Lilly questioned whether she intended to marry or adopt him. We agreed that it was adoption, if only men realised we adopt them out of sympathy not marry out of love, all our lives would be so much easier.

  After meeting Evan I could however now see what Laura saw in him, boy did he have a fabulous physique, but unfortunately, he also enjoyed the blissful ignorance of stupidity, she was right the wheel was indeed spinning, but the hamster had died many revolutions ago. Laura said he was a grower and a shower which is very rare, the spectacle of it all even more impressive as he stomped around, his man brain swinging freely beneath his thin gym shorts. The poor stupid little thing had no idea Laura and I were passionately kissing each and every time he left the room on another man rant, like angry little chimp he bounded metaphorically from tree to tree trying to assert his masculinity. The silky soft commentary of David Attenborough was the only thing amiss from his display of male bravado.