TBK: The Butterfly Killer

by A. P. Butler

  Christmas and new year came and went, Lilly, Ubel, and I enjoyed eight day’s of eating, drinking and fornication. On Christmas Eve I’d gone out to admire a beautiful clear Parisian night, watching the lovers congregate at the steps leading off towards the Eiffel tower. That’s where I met him, his name was Silvan, he was attractive, intelligent, fun to be with and a wonderful companion too. We ended up spending most of the festive period together. After we’d both explained we didn’t want a relationship, but also didn’t want to be alone over Christmas, we agreed just to have fun. He told me he was away from his wife and kids while working in Paris, so we just fucked, enjoyed each other’s company for a bit.

  After a few days I started to feel normal, like any other woman, I starting to enjoy life once again, but this time in a way that was new to me, exciting, fun. On the morning of January third, I kissed Silvan goodbye through the open rear window of the taxicab whilst snuggling into my blue puffy body warmer, before he was shuttled off into the distance, off to some nondescript office building somewhere in Paris. It occurred to me; I hadn’t even taken a photo of us together. But then I didn’t care, I was happy, I almost skipped as I made my way to the small, cosy cafe not far from my apartment that had recently become a second home. Once again I indulged in the oral sex of coffee on tongue, as it slowly sipped at my soul Ubel spoke.

  “Ready to administer justice to some pedo’s Elspeth my dear?”

  “Yes my little Ubel, I am.” My words dancing with the enormously mischievous smile I now wore upon my face.

  “Fuck yes girl. Eliz-a-beth, Eliz-a-beth.” Ubel chanted.

  Like a retarded American being, spoon fed another mouthful of patriotic propaganda. An incredible concept patriotism, the justification of governments for the mass murder of innocents. Never have I been fooled by the idea of one countries sedition of another’s. Sometimes you need to free yourself from the bounds of humanity to understand and see humanity for what it really is, a big charade behind which hides nothing more than the eternal battle for supremacy of the masses by the information and money rich.

  “Ubel, why do you have to do that? You sound like the village idiot.”

  “Fuck-you-lilly, fuck-you-lilly.”

  “Elizabeth can we buy Ubel a book on euthanasia, maybe a brochure from Dignitas.”

  “Lilly your face couldn’t tempt a rapist.”

  -4-

  The Eurostar was almost empty on my return journey, a handful of business people and a few tourists, all tapping away upon tiny phones or shiny laptops. An Orthodox Jewish man sat down the carriage from me; my thoughts turn to how brave he must be to dress in such a way that no doubt makes him a target for so many, much like a Muslim woman, uniforms of their fictitious friends, or maybe just their own armies.

  “Never high-five a Rabbi Elsbeth. They take it the wrong way.” Ubel quips before he starts to sing ‘If I were a rich man,’ from Fiddler on the roof. Chuckling to myself at his little joke, I imagine raising my hand out to high-five a Rabbi and seeing it from his perspective. Most of the time Ubel just makes fun of people, I think it’s his way of coping, this was one of those times.

  “If I were a rich man, ya ba Dibba Dibba Dibba Dibba Dibba Dibba dum. Imagine that Elspeth, a song where a Jew sings about wanting more money.”

  “Ubel you’re such an anti-Semite!”

  “Oy!…I didn’t write the bloody thing, it was written by a Jew Lilly, so is he anti-Semitic too?”

  “He’s allowed to comment on his culture.”

  “So one-way racism once again, how can we have multiculturalism if we can’t comment on each other's culture?”

  “Horrible little man-pig!”

  “We can only live as one when we celebrate and embrace our differences. Anyway Lilly, I think it’s a really happy catchy tune. Dibba Dibba dum!”

  Ubel then sings away to himself. Actually, he makes rather a good Tevye. Impossible I find it not to bob my head and smile as he dances around in my mind. The rest of the train journey was uneventful, Lilly licking her wounds from Ubel’s history of music lesson, Ubel singing every song ever written by a Jewish composer or lyricist, which made for quite an impressive soundtrack. UK customs was as empty as the train, I sailed through without a word from Ubel, at one point I thought he’d disappeared again until he shouted a volley of obscenities at a young disabled boy standing with his mother. Although to be fair he did insult both of them with the same gusto. The tube and final five-second cab ride back home was nerve-racking, I didn’t know what to expect. The taxi driver was a bit taken aback when I told him my address too. But I needed to check the place out first, so I asked the driver to drop me off a few doors down, allowing us to drive past first.

  The house was cold and quiet when I got in. The mail had backlogged behind the door which was a welcome reassuring sign, meaning nobody came in through the front at least. The windows were all still locked from the inside, the back door bolted and locked. Nobody had visited, I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign, could they just be waiting for me? Checking the alarm log, my paranoia starting to get the better of me. But again nothing, no evidence of anyone turning it on or off, all was as it should be. The coffee machine spluttered into life as I flicked through the endless junk mail. The central heating just now starting to warm the place up, enabling me to remove my jacket, my gloves and scarf, however, stayed firmly on.

  The rest of the day I spent going through all the documents I’d taken from Lance’s, to see if I could find anything I’d missed. My thoughts also turned again to devising a plan to capture Ray. He’d know by now the fate of Lance and Mike, with Laura there too it wouldn’t have taken long to figure out it was me. Setting a few booby traps by the back door and all the downstairs windows just to comfort myself. The front door was now rigged with the revolver that kissed goodnight to Mike if anyone tried to get in they would be offered six reasons not to, but I still didn’t feel safe. As the dreary, lifeless day grew old and grey my paranoia grew with it; I knew this place was bad, it felt violated and would remain so until I had assured the dissolution of Ray and his associates.

  Sitting upon lush leather sofa in the front room, coffee warming me from the inside-out, was when I saw it. The incriminating evidence that caused my heart to thunder, my irises to vaporise. Placed upon the mantelpiece of white marble sat an old granny photograph of Hannah. My little Hannah as a child upon the lap of Raymond, her face a portrait of pain, his just pleasure. They’d been here; they knew how to surpass my security systems, I panicked, dropping the bone china coffee cup which exploded upon hitting the warm oak floorboards. With trembling arm, I reached out to gather Lucifers calling card. Scribbled on its back were the words ‘Did you enjoy Bayswater Lisa-Boo, and how was Silvan?’ They knew everything, where I’d been, who I’d been with, I had to get out, the only place that was safe now was Catford. Throwing a few items into a backpack, I ran to the tube; I had to get to Catford the only place I could stay calm and plan my attack. Over two hours I spent changing directions and trains in an attempt to lose any watchers, almost missing the last train to Catford.

  The front door hiding in darkness as I approached, the overhanging evergreen whipped abound the solitary street lamp setting an eerie tone, shadows cavorting around in the blustery darkness of night, there dance that of witches at flight. Catford was quiet apart from the few selfish wankers driving around with their music blaring out, wearing the ‘don’t give a fuck attitude’ of disrespectful youth. Christ, I’d forgotten how small this place was, a tiny excuse for a living room, a bedroom not fit for hamster, joined to a bathroom kitchen combo for some god awful reason. The kettle sounded like a jet plane taking off as it crackled into life, the freeze dried brown puddle water they marketed as coffee was out of date, although I’m sure it would make no difference to the taste. The sugar now just a solid block of granulated sandstone. Boiling water fell freely into old, chipped safety of mug, the few chunks of sweet stone dissolved helplessly at liquids touch, it
tasted disgusting, but reassuring all the same. Like vagabond into the living room I strolled, escorted by a punch then whine of prehistoric Cathode Ray television filling the air. Sitting on the tiny cream floral sofa I sipped the puddle water as every possible outcome raced through my mind.

  Exactly what happened after that I’m not sure, things became confusing, disassociated. The room metamorphosized into a purgatory of senses, from scorching hot to freezing cold then back again; the lights dimmed until almost nothing but vague shapes could be seen. Slumped upon sofa, sensing others with me, hands pulling at arm and leg, my head rolling backwards, flopping like rag doll. No matter how hard I tried no scream or plea for help came out; dream or reality there was no way of knowing, my world changed into a strange soft fuzzy slow-motion nightmare. Words danced around in a drunken samba; the sound of a blurred almost inebriated Lilly and Ubel circled around, floating in, then out of audible focus. The hardness of shoulder punches into stomach causing limp body to fold over. Bobbing about, my head bashing into what felt like lower back of mountain, it was moving, but where eluded me. Head smashed down bouncing to a dull thump, walloping something hard but soft at the same time; almost carpet-like, seconds later the clapping thud of pressure punched at my senses as car boot closed around me. Darkness wrapped me up in her cloak of comforting nothingness as my struggle with reality was finally lost.

  Revelations From A Devil

  My eyes heavy, head numb, as if all night I’d been drinking, but without the hangover or the need to French kiss the rising sun. Sight clouded by darkness, I can see nothing, hear nothing, the ground’s cold, hard, unforgiving, all I can feel is the texture of stone. Hands wander around looking for clues to my location, reaching out I can feel it. A cold heavy feeling from decades past entombs me once more, taking a deep hopeful breath that I’m wrong, that I’m just imagine it all, I move my leg. A heavy, soul destroying sound fills the air, the rattle of cold hard steel attached to leg clamp locked in enslaving grasp around ankle tight.

  Terror runs her cold hand down my spine as the magnitude of my circumstance becomes apparent, If I’m back here, back in my childhood nightmare, there’ll be a cage entombing me. Hand sliding over each link of chain I trace its captive path backwards, already knowing the destination; of what awaits. The thick, slippery dampness of rusty steel flows underhand as I’m reunited with my purgatory of old, my breathing shallows while heart speeds. Anxiety grows causing fear to unlock a million cell doors in my château of damaged memories. Crying out for freedom as much panic, my voice just echoes its way back to me. No other noise, no other cry for freedom, just the cold cruelty of silence ringing in my ears.

  For how long I’ve been here I can’t say, I’m cold and hungry, but time and I departed company a decade ago, or so it seems. Familiar phantoms of my current location announce themselves, the sound of metal copulating with itself, followed by the clang of steel as if door bolt had dropped. Eerie, haunting hinge squeaks scurry their way to me, sounding like little mice, little blind mice, scurrying around. Now my location confirmed, my terror turns to stone as it incapacitates me in its petrifying clinch as it did when I was young. Seconds later a deafening crash punches into the air as the window shutters bang open, light floods in all around me, racing to shut my eyes, preventing sunlight from drowning me.

  Instantly I can feel the warmth of the winter’s sun lapping at me, bathing me in its life-giving affection. It’s a beautiful bright winter’s day outside, but a cold day in my childhood hell. My gaze slowly turns from a blinding white to a myriad of colours, the rays of light cut through the harrowing vista now set before me. Empty cages littered the old room, marks of scuffles from a lifetime ago all but washed away, leaving only a faint ghost for an observant eye to see. Destitution starts to build inside. Lilly cries out in distress as she realises where we are, her voice fades into the distance, Ubel’s heavy breathing remains, dark, unholy, he lets out a deep demonic growl as his hate builds.

  The old timber steps creak under foot, dust parachuting its way to the floor as each board bows under enormous weight. An old husky voice knocks me to the ground with haunting resonance, “How’s my tight little girl?” This voice swells around me like a murderous mist of malicious intention. A foot followed by a flick of black cassock pounds its disturbing malignancy ascending into its evil, sadistic realm. Cassock flutters to a halt with devilish regality as he stops in front of me, black cotton weaved buttons running sinisterly from hem to neck. Perched atop, as if his face were all that were left of his humanity, dead eyes look down from above. Lucifer's abomination, the disgusting obesity of Raymond Freeman, now standing before me, the odour of yesteryear pinching at my senses, hands cupping a frayed, tatty old copy of the Bible, while demonic brow meets sinful grin upon scornful face above.

  His eyes as cold and black as they were that day all those years ago when he sat behind me on the sofa. His face now old and wrinkled, tiny red veins explode from nose to cheek, his nose now a mass of bumps and lumps. Easy to see the years of illicit drug abuse and dancing with the devil have taken their toll. Looking as weak and vulnerable as a dying, lost animal he stood there, all apart from his eyes, they still hold the devil within, fresh as the day he signed the contract.

  “Hello, again my child. Well, haven’t you grown into an excellent servant of God little Lisa-Boo.”

  Frozen with fear, locked into a position of submission, I’m unable to beat this man; I’m still scared of him. Decades of abuse, torture and hate have formed who I am; in front of this stealer of innocents, I am but a child. For decades I’ve wanted to find and kill this monster for all the crimes he has committed, but his mere presence renders me weak, defeated with innate fear. Ubel’s the only one who can fight this man; he’s the only part of me that has a darker presence than this servant of God. His eyes penetrate me as deeply as they once did, I’m transfixed by his gaze. All I can see is an old man with the demonic notion of God above, pulling the string’s, controlling the man below, his lips move, but I can only hear words of hate.

  “An exceptional disciple of God’s work you’ve become Little-Boo, an investment we must protect.”

  Unable to think, to move or speak his presence so powerful, so crippling I feel lost in a sea of emotions, wave after wave of insidious thought from yesteryear crash over me. Ubel takes control, his hatred for Raymond, far greater than any human could control, Raymond may have the devil within, but my little Ubel commands legions of the possessed and damned. “Fuck you cunt,” I growl, as Ubel’s guttural voice manifests itself upon my lips. “How’s lover-boy, Lance?” Spittle and drool fly from mouth as I slowly turn into the twisted monster Ubel’s always wanted me to be.

  Raymond just threw his head back in laughter; a large pleasing smile form's upon tired fractured lips, as his gaze locks back upon me.

  “My Little-Boo I find myself both disturbed and elated by your recent actions.” His voice as clear and unfazed as if he were chatting to a parishioner.

  “A debt of gratitude I must show to you for removing Lance from my life little-Boo; but he had to go, too messy you see. Attaining far too much unwanted attention. He caused too many difficult questions to be asked. As for his jealous obsessions with you…..well….let’s just say they were unacceptable as much unwanted, why he felt the need to kill Laura I don’t know.”

  Locked in the back room of my mind I sit as Ubel takes control, Raymond’s reply stunning me with its honesty and callousness. “The Lafite was fucking fantastic fat boy!” Ubel growls back, trying to taunt him, to prescribe a response.

  “Well yes, the wine did upset me, for that I should punish you, but those duties are reserved for much lower servants of God than I these days.”

  “Why did you tell Rachael?” The only question I can shout past Ubel’s growing hate.

  “We had to bring you back; you were heading in the wrong direction. We needed you with your sister.”

  “But why? What have I done to you?”

  �
�It’s not what you have done, more what you can do. You see, I knew you’d kill Rachael; I knew you’d go to Paris, I created you remember, I know your every thought. You dance to the tune I set Little-Boo. Rachael was too pure for you; she would have led you from God’s path, from our path.”

  “Shut the fuck up about your imaginary friend you fat blubberous cunt!” Ubel roars at him, like a scared captive animal he rages, anger and hate clouding any chance of intelligent thought. Raymond’s amusement was all too evident to see.

  “Elizabeth, muzzle the little man-child and speak with me yourself.”

  Ubel’s anger rages inside as Raymond dismisses his attack with almost parental authority. If only I could open my mind and let him out, to attack him to rip him apart, but I can’t. Pleading with Ubel to let me speak, begging him to save his anger for Raymond’s execution, his torture. Ubel raged at the forefront of my mind, hands gripping tightly, not willing to relinquish his new found power.

  “If the verminous little man-boy is all you have to offer Little-Boo, I’ll come back in a few days, see if we can talk then.”