TBK: The Butterfly Killer

by A. P. Butler

  The next few hours I spent cutting and editing the recording of little Teagan, splicing it together with a host of other gruesome sounds. At one point I did think of adding other more blood-curdling screams to the recording, but any good parent would quickly distinguish the different between their child’s screams and that of others. Most of the information from the laptop and Ray’s desktop was now transferred onto an external hard drive. Ray was a techie, his office full of hardware, zip drives and other computer paraphernalia I’d no idea about. As the SD card popped out I gathering it up and begin to weave my destructive web of Mike demise.

  Re-arranging the speakers from the living room into the small side room, pointing them towards the hall. My plan was a simple one; I was aiming to take Mike out as soon as he walked through the door, no messing, a straight injection to the neck, hang on for a few seconds until the drugs took effect. Not a beautiful plan, but I didn’t have the time nor the inclination to waste on him, I needed him to issue an order to the lower ranks and then die, that was it. Ubel insisted on a spot of torture, Lilly seemed tempted too. Dragging one of the large metal framed chairs from the dining room, I placed it in the middle of the entrance hall, Mike’s new throne of torture now awaited him. Before running around the house and garage, collecting all the toys and tools, I would require.

  Dragging a chair from the kitchen, setting it behind the door, I sat, I waited. For over an hour I replayed Hannah’s assault over in my mind, building my hate, unleashing my demons. With syringe full of Etorphine hydrochloride or M99 as it’s sometimes called as my weapon of choice. Another act of liberation from Lance’s vast pharmaceutical collection upstairs, maybe this time it would be used upon the perpetrator of pain, not the victim. A few times I’ve used it in the past, purely for its extremely fast action, an opioid of the highest quality, they advertise it can knock out elephants, maybe that’s why it’s only approved for veterinary use.

  Mike’s an elephant of a man, so I thought it would do the job nicely. Hard and fast I can fight, but you need to choose your battles wisely, Mike would eat me alive if I tried to fight fairly. By my calculations, I’ve got about 10 or 12 seconds of rodeo riding before the drug take effect. Usually, I’d use the correct amount per kilo, but Mike’s the size of a house, so I added a little extra as an insurance policy. If he throws me free before I’ve a chance to deploy my liquid poison I’d not survive for long.

  The day’s once again been defeated by night as headlights flash through the narrow arched, French glazed windows of the hall. All I can hear is Mike chatting to someone on the phone as he crushes gravel under foot upon his approach. Key slides into cover of lock, clicking as the barrels inside catch. Sucking deep slow breaths, I try to oxygenate myself before battle commences. Wide-eyed in the darkness and ready to strike, I stand upon the chair. The door swings open, quietly and slowly as he walks in obliviously into his fate. Eyes now scrunched tight, anticipating the flash of light as he flicks the light switch to the on position. Dead in his tracks he stops as the sinister loan chair in the centre of the hall greets him as lights flash into being, his suspicion aroused, reactions growing.

  Kicking the door behind him closed, I jump on his back before he can turn, one arm wrapping around his enormous neck, the other stabbing the syringe where shoulder meets neck. The plunger fires down releasing its venomous bite. Syringe now released as I wrap myself around him tight, locking on to him with all my might. His natural reaction is to drop to his back, to drop upon me. His weight punches the wind from within, as he lands atop. In a flash he’s spun around, now commanding the higher ground, firing a huge clenched fist directly at me. Darting my head out of the way as his fist crashes into the marble, a cracking sound echoes out as bone deforms then fractures and breaks. Knee greets his genitals with precision and pace, as I try to scatter away.

  My blow weaker than I’d hoped, he grasps me by the throat, standing to hurl me across the vastness of the empty entrance hall. Flying through the air as if he’d thrown a rag doll, my right shoulder taking the full force of the landing as I slide past the chair, halting close to my trolley of toys. My body arching in pain, my breath slowly returning. His eyes filling with hate, now with full understanding of the situation, he charged forward towards me as he shouts out his hate.

  “Fucking little white cunt, I’m gonna rip you the fuck apart.”

  “Fuck you nigger.” My hate screams back at him, with all the pent up hatred and rage I have.

  My choice of words wise to initiate a prescribed response. No racist am I but the boot leaves the victims they say, and Mike’s footprint was evident to see, I also required Mike to react violently. The faster his heart pumps, the quicker the M99 will kick in. The best way to get a black person to react is to call them a nigger, a word of such emotive power, especially today. Most black people are still slaves to the word, more so now than at any other time in history, just using it will induce a violent, and aggressive reaction. They haven’t realised their responses can be predicted, so giving the abuser the power to manipulate. All with a single word, no chains, no whips, never understanding the use of the word removes the power of the word, but it has to be use by all, not just segregated to a select few by colour of skin. Segregation of language is almost as vile and destructive as segregation of colour.

  By Mike’s third step he’s beginning to feel the powerful sedative now consuming his body and mind. His fourth step’s a half stumble; he didn’t make a fifth. His face crashed down hard onto the white marble tiled floor. His head hitting the floor hard, thumping out a sound that makes me wince while sucking at air. The house falls quiet, once again silence takes her position upon thrown. Mike’s breathing’s shallow and slow, as I pull him onto the chair, I didn’t account for just how heavy he was, which makes his entrapment more energy sapping than anticipated. Finally, I get him in the chair, arms duct taped and strapped down to each rest, legs lashed, cuffed and taped for added insurance.

  Lance had an assortment of different firearms in his possession strewn about the house. Selecting a cannon of a revolver, I grab a black gripped Ruger Super Redhawk, tucking it in waistband behind, the cold steel causing shivers to run free. Only now did I chose my weapon, I didn’t want to have a gun around while Mike was unrestrained, if he’d gotten hold of it, I’d now be experiencing the full painful length of his vengeance. Checking his restraints once more, I pushed the needle attached to the syringe full of adrenaline into his arm, as plunger met tip I jumped a safe distance back, then waited. Mike jolted back to life, eyes wide and raging, snarling at me like a wild bull, just waiting to be let loose. Spittle and snot flying from his mouth and nose as he raged at me, the silverback was ready to fight, but the little albino chimp had outwitted his brute this time.

  “Fucking little cracker cunt, you’re fucking dead.”

  “Shut up rapist; I’m in charge now.”

  “Pistol whip his jaw Elizabeth, that should quieten the little slave boy.”

  Hurling a torrent of racial and sexual abuse towards me, Mike’s true colours started to rear their ugly head. Mike’s racism so evident it seems even Ubel was shocked into silence by his hate as I still hadn’t heard from him. “Gag him Elizabeth, hiding behind his ethnicity as if it gave a monopoly on playing the victim.” Pulling a length of grey 2-inch wide gaffer tape, I proceed to tape his mouth shut, locking his hate inside. He tries to fight me, thrashing his head around, left and right, but still, I keep at it. Eventually, he’s subdued once more, only his eyes still raging at his treatment. Head now gaffer taped to the high metal back of the dining chair. Silence once again reigns over the house, except for the odd muffled racial insults coming from within Mike, as he continues to blame every white person for every black crime ever committed.

  “You can have a quick, painless death, or a slow lingering one? The choice is your's, Michael.”

  A muffled fuck you sneaks passed lip and tape, then something about never going back, I decide to pacify him a little more ps
ychologically than physically this time. The screen on my phone lights up, a beautiful photo of little Teagan playing in the school yard presents itself in high definition. Holding the screen to his gaze, his eyes narrow as he stops trying to fight, his racial hate now succumb to a greater, more powerful emotion, love. His next few words more a blur but I think he muttered ‘untie me’ or something I’m not sure, whatever he said he was now in a much more communicative mood.

  The gaffer tape comes off much slower than it went on. Mike’s now asking himself why he didn’t shave this morning, as the last few inches pull out some facial hair. Just for the fun of it, I rip the last strip away hard, removing as much hair as I can. Mike lets me know his dissatisfaction with a flurry of abuse, again telling me how he will ‘get a gang of niggers to rape me,’ apparently his use of the word not as offensive as mine. Holding the tape up in front of his eyes his torrent of racial abuse slows before returning to Mike’s own darkness within.

  “Calm down Michael you don’t want little Teagan to hear you use that kind of language do you?”

  Instantly quiet becomes his master, looking scared and angry, his brain now wondering if little Teagan’s here, if I’ve got her.

  “Don’t fucking touch her.”

  “You tell me what I need to know, and she’ll be left alone, OK?”

  The seconds tick slowly by as he thinks his options through. He knows it's checkmate, I’ve won, he can’t escape, he now thinks I’ve got Teagan, and he also knows what pain he put me through. Years I’ve known of Mike, as he I, so he knows what I do, how I operate. He also knows I won’t hurt her, but he does know I have contacts that will. In this industry finding a lowlife to assist in any level of depravity is quite simple, and Mike knows it.

  “OK, just please don’t fucking hurt her please.”

  “Her pain depends on your answers Michael.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Tell me what I need to know, the names and addresses of all the men that raped Hannah.”

  “What, you mean your fucking sister?”

  “You really shouldn’t test me Michael, not unless you want little Teagan sold off. I’m not sure how long she’d last being raped by some Pakistani grooming gang, you know these religious types.”

  “Don’t touch her, you fucking snow monkey hoe.”

  “Your quite the racist Michael, maybe it’s best for little Teagan not to have you as a role model. Now I’ll ask you once again, who hurt Hannah?”

  “Fuck me I don’t know who they are, we just grab random blokes, offer them a grand and tell them to fuck whoever.”

  “Sorry Mike but I don’t believe you.”

  Without hesitation, I took my phone out, speed dialling Lance’s phone which I’d left in the small side room next to us. After a few ring’s, I end the call but continue a fictitious conversation. “Rape the little girl, give her a taste of Hannah’s pain.” By this time I’m standing behind Mike with the laptop open as I press play. Teagan’s little voice rings out from the speakers behind the door in the side room. Her scream rips his heart out in a way only a parent can understand. He cries out for me to stop, begging for her pain to end. Allowing the recording to play until she cries out for daddy, knowing the devastating effect this will have.

  Mike loved little Teagan, that much was now obvious and I was now fully enjoying his pain. His tears told the story of his distress as they rolled down his face, I didn’t think he’d hold out long, not many can endure the sounds of a loved one suffer. Decades I’ve known how to break a parent, their strength and weakness the same, their children. But I also knew if Mike lived through this I was beyond dead; he would make sure of that. If you’re stupid enough to add children into the mix, you have better be smart enough to kill them all, parents and children. If you don’t, they just grow into enemies of tomorrow.

  “Now you know how I felt watching you rape my sister, you fucking cunt.”

  “Sorry Lizzy please stop she’s only six, please.”

  “Imagine your little six-year-old now taking her first steps into womanhood.”

  “Please stop it; she’s innocent, please Lizzy I beg you.”

  “So was Hannah.”

  “I’m sorry Liz, please stop it.”

  “Tell your boys to find and execute every single one of the men who raped Hannah. And I want to read about it in the news, so make it visible.”

  “If I do will you stop hurting Teagan?”

  “Of course I will Mike, just make the call.”

  “Call Dave and hold the phone up.”

  Fiddling about in Mike’s trouser pocket was as interesting as it was disgusting, I could feel his massive muscular legs as I routed around his baggy rapper style jeans, finally grabbing his crappy old flip front mobile. He might not look smart, but he was. Smart enough to use disposable phones, never leaving incriminating evidence laying around. This small bit of news allowed me to start respecting Mike for his professional approach at least, not enough to spare his life, but respect all the same. Dave’s voice rang out from the tiny speaker, as I held the phone close to Mike.

  “Dave, it’s Mike. Lance wants those blokes from the other day dead, one of them talked, so we need them all taken care of. Send a message to the rest, leave the bodies for the police.”

  Dave didn’t say a word, the line just went dead, the empty static of a deadline filled the hall for a few seconds before I flipped the front closed, tossing the phone into Mike’s lap.

  “Now please let her go.”

  “Never trust a woman scorned Michael.”

  My words cutting deep into his soul as I spat the words towards him as coldly as I could, looking straight at him, his eyes could tell I felt no empathy, no sorrow. Walking towards the small room in front of him, I pulled the hand cannon from my waistband, pulled back the hammer rotating the cylinder aligning the next round. Mike screamed out for me to stop, for me to not do what I was about to do. Pushing open the door I fired two rounds into the empty sofa. Then calmly and with a calculating voice, I told my imaginary accomplice to finish fucking her, dispose of the corpse once the organs have been removed, then set up the deal.

  Mike was devastated by my little ruse; his breathing dropped to a shallow fast hyperventilating rush. Drool ran from his open mouth as he hung his head with pain, his abyss consuming him as I watched. His eyes no longer full of rage, now just one single emotion was in control. Bereavement had a grip on him now as if one round had killed Teagan; the other killed him. Now he could embrace a tiny amount of my pain. My decision to use Teagan’s voice alone had proven to be excruciatingly powerful, as much as it was painful. There in front of me sat a broken man, a father who thought he’d just witnessed the torture, rape and murder of his only child, his only love. Now I could begin my fun in breaking his body; his mind now fragmented beyond salvation.

  “Just fucking kill me you white bitch whore.”

  “Elsbeth I want to torture him first.”

  “Sorry to disappoint but I’ve got so much more for you Michael.”

  Lifting his head, I looked him in the eye, just winking at him as I let a sinister smile grow upon my face. Mike was a nasty man; I’d never liked him, just something about him didn’t sit well with me. Having spent some of the afternoon researching how to causing as much pain as possible, I discovered the immense pain of the bullet ant. Unfortunately, in Hampstead, they’re a bit scarce on the ground, so I opted for battery acid instead, not quite as powerful but as Lilly pointed out “Sometimes one just has to make do.”

  Drop by drop I let the chemical eat away at him, Mike screamed like his daughter after the fifth or sixth drop. If you listen carefully, you can hear the same tones in siblings screams, a relic from our prehistoric past, the ability to identify a family tie in trouble. His skin immediately reacted, the smell of dissolving flesh filling the air, a most disgusting smell causing me to dry retch a few times. Little wisps of light blue-grey smoke dancing up from each droplet, accompanied by a judd
er of pain and a chorus of screams. Mike’s greatest pain by far came as a result of Lilly’s suggestion we inject the acid directly into various parts of him, his eyeballs taking the most punishment, his testicles a close second.

  It must have been 8 or 9 o’clock in the evening when my stomach rumbled for me to stop and eat. Pushing the revolver’s barrel into Mike’s mouth aiming high, then with a steady, easy pull, I let the trigger fall backwards, releasing the hammer forward. A loud firecracker sound reverberated off the walls as the back of Mike’s head, and most of its contents exploded out backwards, covering the double French doors leading into the living room behind. Small pieces of skull bounced off the wall and came tumbling to a halt next to foot. It would appear Mike did indeed have a colossal brain; it managed to cover most of the doors behind him.

  -2-

  The Range Rover was full of the things I wanted to take, flash drives, files and folders from the little cinema room when Lilly’s voice came to me. “Transfer their funds through the network; they’ll never know Elizabeth.” The money I could use now, I’d just killed my only connection to the underworld of harvesting. Ray’s computer was still on as I entered the office, a screen saver as disgusting as the last rolling across the screen. The desk drawers were locked, but the might of the Redhawk resolved that issue quickly. It took a while to find the right details from the volumes of paper in the drawers; eventually, I found the access codes and passwords. £132,240,033 was the account balance, sitting wide-eyed, stunned by the sheer size of their operation it amazed me. For years I’d known there was money in crime, but I didn’t think you could amass this much, not without greater international contacts or political intervention.