The Butterfly Tattoo

by M. D. Thomas

  “If you don’t get out right now, I’m calling the police,” Elle said as she backed farther into the apartment, wishing there was something she could pick up to threaten the woman. But in the sparse apartment there was nothing. She thought of throwing the empty glass at the shrew’s head, but she’d probably just miss.

  “You’re not,” said the shrew and Elle could only watch the apartment door close, the umbrella abandoned outside. The shrew wasn’t a large woman, shorter than Elle and maybe thinner, but she stepped forward as if she topped Elle by a foot or more. “If you do, I’ll tell them what you did.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, lady.”

  “Don’t you dare lie!” the shrew hissed, spittle on her lips, her whole body shaking. “You know exactly what you did to me. To my son!”

  Elle stared at her and backed farther away, tried to think of what to do. But she couldn’t. Every thought was a dead end, except one. “I need a drink.”

  Disgust filled the shrew’s face. Elle ignored it and turned toward the kitchen. The shrew followed her part of the way then stopped.

  At the counter, Elle picked up the bottle of cheap vodka—using it as a weapon didn’t cross her mind—and poured a shot into her glass. Then she thought about how there was no landline and she didn’t know where her mobile was, and added a second shot. She looked at the shrew, her face full of rage, then raised the glass and swallowed the booze in one long pull. She’d have to talk the shrew back out the door.

  “Do you want a drink? I don’t have a lot to mix with here, but I can stir you up something if you don’t like it neat or with orange juice.”

  “Of course I don’t,” the shrew barked.

  Elle nodded. “Okay. Tell me again what you want and why you think I can help?” Even if she’d known where to find Harvey, she wouldn’t have given him up so quickly. Partly because he’d warned her—she didn’t think he was as hard as he tried to come off, but she suspected he was hard enough to make her life miserable—but mostly because she knew Harvey wouldn’t think much of someone who folded that easy.

  The shrew’s mouth tightened, and when she spoke she sounded like she was talking to a child. “We were in an accident on the Accotink Parkway and my son was injured. I don’t remember much, but my husband heard your friend say something about bartending. That, and he saw the tattoo on your face. He didn’t think it was a butterfly, but when he saw you last night, he knew.”

  What can I say say say butterfly gave me away way way…

  Elle considered admitting she’d been there that night. She could claim it’d been a one night stand—not even a claim, really—and that she’d never even known the man’s name, couldn’t help. She’d met him at the bar, thought he was hot, and the two of them had gotten fucked up and then gotten in the accident. He’d been driving and afterward he’d told her not to tell anyone, had dropped her off at home, and she’d never seen him again.

  She couldn’t do it though. Not to the shrew. If she told the woman she’d been there then she wouldn’t be able to get the shrew out of the apartment. She could see it in her face. “I’m afraid your husband got it wrong, lady. I’ve never been near the Accotink Parkway in my life. He must have imagined everything. Go ahead and call the police if you want. They’ll bother me, but they’ll find out I’m telling the truth.”

  The shrew’s face grew angrier, but Elle doubled down.

  “I’m sorry your son ended up in a coma. I am. I’m not a parent so I can’t imagine what that must be like, but I’m sure it’s fucking terrible. And you want the people that did it to pay. I get that too. But you’re looking in the wrong place.”

  The vodka singing in her veins, Elle walked out from around the kitchen counter, passed the shrew and went to the door, pulled it open. She was sure it was the right thing to do. “If you need anything else come on back and ask. I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

  The shrew stared at Elle, her mouth clenched and hard, but she said nothing.

  Elle met her gaze, knew that if she looked away the shrew would read it as a sign of guilt. After a moment the shrew’s face softened. She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t look like she was chewing rocks anymore either. Maybe just dirt. Elle took the slightest step backward, inviting her once again out of the door, and the shrew nodded, as if she’d come to a decision.

  “Okay,” the shrew said, nodding as she walked toward the door. But she paused next to Elle, her eyes staring outside the apartment. “There’s only one problem.”

  “What?” Elle asked, the question startled out of her.

  The shrew’s eyes slid onto her own, glinted like hard little diamonds. “I never told you my son was in a coma.”

  Fuck… The curse had barely entered her thoughts before the shrew picked up the ceramic bowl by the front door and swung it toward her head, Elle’s keys and money clip falling to the floor. There was no time to scream, only an instant for her alcohol-stunted reflexes to fail her. The bowl crashed into the side of her head and the world went supernovae bright, then dark as night.

  Twenty-Two

  SARAH

  The ceramic bowl shattered and the woman slumped to the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut, half in and half out of the doorway, a small trickle of blood beginning to flow down the side of her head. Sarah stood over her, a jagged fragment of the bowl trembling in her hand, her lips parted, her chest heaving.

  No time to waste, Sissy. Get moving…

  Sarah dropped the ceramic shard onto the cheap living room carpet. She bent over, grabbed the woman by the armpits and pulled, leaned backwards against the weight, and a moment later the woman’s feet cleared the threshold and then the path the door would sweep. Sarah dropped her to carpet.

  She walked past the unconscious bartender and picked up the umbrella she’d dropped outside the door, glanced outside to make sure there were no witnesses. The dim landing was still empty.

  Sarah backed into the apartment and closed the door, propped the umbrella against the wall, then knelt and extended a shaking hand toward the woman’s head.

  She knew all along. Knew and tried to lie about it…

  Sarah was sure if she’d left, the woman would’ve been out of the apartment within a day, probably out of the city, too. Then they would’ve been back where they started, with nothing. No justice for her Lee, who’d come to her so she’d know what to do.

  The woman’s thick curls were spread around her head like a halo. Sarah plowed her fingers through the hair until she found the impact site, a hard knot the size of an apricot, the skin split down the middle and oozing blood.

  I wonder if I hit her too hard?

  You saw how much she was drinking, Sissy. The bitch won’t even feel it when she comes to…

  Sarah doubted that. Nobody could take that kind of a hit and not feel it later. No matter.

  Gotta find something to tie her up with…

  The insanity of what she was doing flitted through her mind, but she didn’t care—it was what Lee wanted. The whore and her friend had put Lee in a coma and she wasn’t going to sit back and let them get away with it, let them live their lives like nothing happened while Lee sat in that goddamn bed day after day after day never moving. They deserved to suffer just like him.

  Outside the rain began to fall harder.

  Sarah went into the kitchen and started pulling open drawers, searching for something to restrain the woman. On her third try she found a stack of mismatched kitchen towels. She grabbed all of them and hurried back to the woman, who still hadn’t moved.

  Gotta hurry… no telling how long she’ll be out…

  Hopefully the alcohol and the blow to the head would combine to keep the woman unconscious for a long time, but Sarah couldn’t bank on it.

  Sarah took two of the towels and knotted them together, then knelt and rolled the woman onto one shoulder, her head flopping. She pulled the woman’s arms into place and used the knotted towels to bind the woman’s wrist
s, her hands still shaking. Once that was done, she rolled up a third towel and stuck it between the woman’s slack jaws. She wrapped the towel ends around the woman’s head and tied them off.

  Maybe I should keep her here instead of taking her home?

  No, Sissy. A friend or family member might call or show up. Stick to the plan…

  The plan made her nervous. She’d texted Jon not long after he left Rainbow Pines and told him she’d gotten a headache and then vomited, told him she didn’t want to risk getting Lee sick so she was going to stay at the house until she was better. Best if he stayed away from her as well—she’d pack him some spare clothes and his bathroom bag and run them back to Rainbow Pines, would have the staff put them in Lee’s room. He could stay with Lee until she was better.

  You can’t control anything here, Sissy. But you can manage your husband. The plan will work…

  But she still had to get the woman out of the apartment and into her car.

  Sarah went to the nearest window and split the dusty mini-blinds, peered out as the plastic slats quivered beneath her fingers. The rain fell in undulating sheets, pounded against the asphalt in the parking lot so hard the water bounced back into the air. She let the blinds close.

  If I can get her down the stairs and out to the parking lot I’ll be fine—the rain is coming down so hard nobody will be able to see a thing…

  She had to go immediately though. If the rain let up or stopped the chance of getting caught would be higher.

  Sarah opened the door a few inches, then went to the woman’s head, bent over, and put her forearms beneath the woman’s armpits and lifted. She struggled for a moment, but eventually made it upright, the woman’s head slumped across one arm. Sarah backed away from the door, pulled the woman around until she could get a foot in the door and kick it open. She dragged the woman out of the apartment, almost hit her flopping head on the door frame.

  The rain outside the building was so heavy she could barely see the cars in the parking lot. She left the door open and lurched to the stairs, exposed to any curious eyes until she could get into the rain.

  Certain someone would see them and call out, Sarah’s heart pounded in her chest as she descended the first flight of stairs, moving backwards as fast as she dared, the woman’s feet thumping down every step and threatening to disrupt her balance. By the time Sarah made it to the second flight the muscles in her arms and thighs were burning, and halfway down she began to doubt whether she could make it to the ground floor, much less the car.

  Stop whining and do it, Sissy. Lee’s depending on you…

  Panting through clenched jaws, Sarah tried to ignore her aching muscles and sped up even though it made her feel like she was going to fall at any moment. She turned quickly through the final landing and started down the last flight of steps, her arms quivering. Two steps from the bottom, her legs gave way and she stumbled backwards, turned just in time to prevent the worst of the fall with her left hand. An instant later the bartender’s weight collapsed on top of her and the woman moaned.

  Get up, Sissy! Now!

  Sarah wanted desperately to just lay there, to let her muscles rest, but the little moan that escaped past the towel in the woman’s mouth spurred her on. She shot back up to her feet, carrying the woman with her, and backed toward the parking lot as fast as she possibly could. A moment later they emerged from under the building overhang into the downpour and she was instantly drenched—it was like jumping into a pool.

  Sarah dragged the woman across the flooded asphalt—her thick, curly hair now a limp towel draped over her head—and, after some difficulty, opened one of the Subaru’s rear doors and shoved the woman into the backseat, only banging her around a bit before she got her inside, her face shoved against the far door. Sarah moved the bartender’s feet out of the way of the door and closed her in.

  Her legs still burning, Sarah trotted back to the apartment, took the stairs two treads at a time, water continuing to pour off her despite being out of the rain, and hoped no one decided to come out and watch the storm or have a smoke.

  No one did and a moment later she was back in the apartment, the door closed behind her. She ignored the water dripping off her clothes, picked up the last towel she’d left on the floor and walked to the kitchen. Using the towel, she put away the orange juice so it didn’t look like the woman had disappeared in the middle of what she was doing. Then she retrieved the pieces of ceramic bowl from the carpet and wiped them down quickly before throwing them in the kitchen trashcan.

  Make sure she lives here alone, Sissy…

  Cursing herself for nearly forgetting, Sarah ran to the apartment’s bathroom. She used the towel to open the vanity drawers, but there was nothing inside any of them to suggest that more than one person lived in the apartment, much less a man.

  I should check the bedroom…

  No, Sissy. Just get out of here. We’ll find him soon enough…

  On her way back to the apartment door, Sarah picked up the keys and money clip that had fallen to the floor—carefully, by the edges so she wouldn’t leave any fingerprints—put them back on the table, and grabbed her umbrella.

  She took one last look around, then wiped the inside of the doorknob and opened the door. It wasn’t raining as hard as before, but it was still a downpour and no one was in sight. Using the towel, she turned the door’s button lock, then closed the door, wiped down the outside of the knob, and ran back to the Subaru without looking back.

  Twenty-Three

  ELLE

  The pounding was the first thing Elle became aware of.

  It wasn’t a hangover—she’d have recognized that right away. This was a different beast. Her eyes squeezed shut, it resonated through her skull like an alarm bell and when she moved her head throbs of pain made her stomach churn. She recoiled from the queasiness, afraid to move again in case she barfed all over her bed.

  Gotta get some pills…

  The thought of moving was frightening but she had to get something to help with the pain. She cracked open her eyes at the same time she tried to sit up, her head pounding like a motherfucker.

  But she couldn’t sit up. Her arms were caught on something.

  Confused, drunk, and still full of pain, she rolled her throbbing head to one side, squinted at her arm, and saw there was a rope tied around her wrist. She flexed the arm in disbelief and saw the rope raise off the bed and tighten, her arm moving no more than a couple of inches.

  That’s when it all came rushing back, the woman in her apartment, that shrew swinging the bowl at her head.

  Elle jerked her arm again, harder, and still it wouldn’t budge. A bloom of fear expanded in her chest as she swung her head the other way and saw that her other wrist was bound as well. The pain forgotten as adrenaline flowed into her veins, Elle raised her head and looked at her feet, saw two more ropes stretching to the corners of a bed she finally recognized as not her own.

  She began to scream.

  Elle flung her head back and forth, curls flying, her arms and legs jerking at the ropes that circled her wrists and ankles. Her world narrowed to the four points binding her to the bed, a world where there was no room for rational thought, only an animal instinct to escape that precluded logic. If she could’ve gotten her teeth to the knots at wrist or ankle she would’ve chewed at them until her lips and gums bled and her teeth loosened in their sockets.

  The shrew ran into the room and Elle screamed louder, strained against the ropes until her muscles burned and her joints felt like they were separating.

  The shrew reached the bedside and—despite Elle’s thrashing—stuffed something rough in her mouth. Elle tried to spit it out but the shrew looped another piece of fabric over her mouth and then tied it off behind her head, holding the wadded cloth in.

  Elle’s heart raced, thumped so fast she thought it might explode out of chest. Her breath came fast and then faster still, until she strained to breathe past the gag, unable to suck in enough air through h
er nose. It wasn’t enough and she felt like she was drowning, there wasn’t enough air, she couldn’t get enough air around the gag, and so she breathed faster and harder, made it impossible to get enough. Spots appeared in her vision, shooting toward her as if they were piercing her eyes and tunneling into her brain like parasitic worms.

  The shrew was talking and gesturing at her, but Elle was too far gone to understand the sights and sounds coming at her. The shooting spots grew brighter and brighter and then they too were swallowed by darkness.

  Elle woke the second time to find the room empty once more. She was disoriented for a moment, head throbbing, vision spinning, and then the ropes and the gag placed her squarely back in reality. Her heart—still beating fast but no longer galloping—picked up a step as she struggled to pull air into her lungs.

  Get your shit together…

  She breathed through her nose, inhaled and exhaled as slowly as she could. She’d never had a panic attack and the thought of it happening again scared her.

  No chance of getting out of this if you can’t stay conscious…

  That was some heroic bullshit. How in the fuck could she possibly get out? She was tied spread eagle to a bed, could barely utter a sound because of the gag in her mouth, and had no idea where she was.

  Bad morning to get shit-faced. Sober I might have had a chance against that maniac… or at least come to before she could drag me all the way back to her lair.

  Not that it mattered. Done was done.

  A memory swam through her mind. She wants to know where Harvey is…

  But she couldn’t lead the shrew to Harvey, didn’t even know his last name, much less where he lived.

  I’ve got nothing. I can’t give her what she wants and I'm going to die here…

  No, Elle thought, shaking her head. Fuck that and fuck this freak…