The Butterfly Tattoo

by M. D. Thomas

  The rope didn’t budge.

  Tears started to leak from the corners of her eyes, trailing down her cheeks onto the mattress, and she lost it, thrashed and jerked against the bindings until her muscles ached and she could barely breathe.

  Nothing gave way.

  Twenty-Six

  JON

  Jon’s cell died right before lunch—after spending half the night at the Hill, he’d been so tired he forgot to put it on the charger when he got home.

  I should’ve noticed when Sarah texted me this morning… but he’d been distracted, still wound up about finding the bartender. The entire night was hard to believe, his trip to the bar and her apartment surreal.

  He didn’t want to risk missing a call from Sarah or from Rainbow Pines, so rather than eat at his desk as he’d been doing lately, he trotted through the rain out to the Volvo and started home. Sarah might have brought his charger to the office, but she didn’t need to be out of the house when she was sick. She’d be mad when he showed up, worried about Lee, but he’d dart in and out and everything would be fine.

  When Jon got to the house the garage door was up and Sarah’s Subaru was parked in the middle of the double bay—they usually left the garage open since Lee went in and out so often to rifle through his bin of baseball equipment. The neighborhood was safe, so they only put the door down at night and when the house was empty.

  He shut off the Volvo and hurried through the rain into the open garage, only slowing when he reached the door to the kitchen. He turned the knob quietly, not wanting to disturb Sarah if she was sleeping on the living room couch.

  “Sarah?” he called out in a quiet voice as he stepped into the kitchen. But the only sound that returned his greeting was the ticking of the old clock.

  Jon closed the kitchen door gently and went through the living room to the hall, walked quickly past the closed doors of the guest room and Lee’s bedroom.

  Will he ever sleep in there again? Ever listen to ESPN on the radio while he tosses a baseball up and down on the bed?

  Jon quickened his pace, suddenly anxious to be out of the house and away from the memories. He quietly opened the door to the master bedroom, pushed inside expecting to see Sarah curled up in the bed, reading a book or snoozing as she waited to get better.

  But the bed was made and their small en suite bathroom was dark.

  Maybe she felt like taking a walk or something… That seemed unlikely because of the rain, but he couldn’t think of anywhere else she might go.

  Still wondering, Jon unplugged the charger that lived on his nightstand and wrapped up the cord. Sarah had a charger in Lee’s room at Rainbow Pines, but her cell was a different brand.

  He left their bedroom and was on his way down the hall when he heard a strange noise. He stopped, unsure where the sound had come from, and heard it again a moment later. A muffled sort of grunt. Snoring? Sarah didn’t snore, but if she was sick…

  He heard the noise again and realized it was coming from the guest room.

  Why would she use the guest bedroom?

  He stood there for a moment, staring at the door to the guest bedroom, the power cord forgotten in his hands, and the noise came again.

  Not snoring.

  What is she doing in there?

  Jon walked over to the door and opened it.

  The bartender was lying on the bed, bound to the frame by ropes that ran from her wrists and ankles. She raised her head to look at him, her chocolate curls framing the gag in her mouth, started thrashing on the bed, grunting behind the gag, her eyes wild. He heard a sharp noise and it took him a moment to realize it was the sound of the power cord clattering onto the wooden floor at his feet.

  What—

  “Jon!”

  Sarah’s voice shocked him out of the stupor that had wrapped around his mind.

  He looked over his shoulder and saw her striding out of Lee's bedroom, her face contorted. “Sarah? What—”

  “Get out of there. Now!”

  Startled by the anger in her voice, he took a step away from the door. Sarah scooped up the phone charger and slammed the door closed.

  “Sarah—”

  “No! In the kitchen. Right now.”

  Calm…

  Sarah drove him forward, her hand on the small of his back, his thoughts a whirlwind of questions and disbelief. She didn’t stop pushing until he stepped into the kitchen. Jon tried to sort his thoughts into some semblance of order.

  “How… how could you do this?”

  Sarah threw the charger to the floor at his feet and scrubbed her hands through her hair, started pacing across the living room, her hands balled into fists, her face still contorted. “It was the only way.”

  Jon pressed his hands against his face, covered his eyes and tried to convince himself it was all a dream. But his hands fell to his sides and nothing had changed. “You abducted her, Sarah? Do you realize what that means? She was the criminal and you’ve made her a victim. You’ve destroyed any chance we had of getting a conviction against her for the accident.”

  Sarah shook her head, her lips pursed as she paced. “No. No, there was no chance of that anyway. It was nothing but a dream, just our word against hers. It would never be enough.”

  “There was a chance at least. Now that’s gone. Don’t you realize you could go to jail because of this?”

  Sarah stopped pacing and shocked him by laughing, an edge of hysteria dancing through the sound. “You think I care about jail? Have you seen Lee?”

  Calm… need to calm down…

  Jon tried to slow his breathing, tried to slow his racing heart as Sarah continued.

  “No. You’re wrong. She won’t tell the police anything, because she’s guilty and she’ll be worried about going to jail.”

  Jon finished a series of deep breaths. Yelling wasn’t going to help, arguing wouldn’t solve anything. “We don’t even know if she was the one driving.”

  Sarah stopped pacing and her hands relaxed at her sides. “She said she wasn’t. Not that I believe a word she says. But driving or not, she’s guilty. They both are.”

  Jon shook his head. “It doesn’t matter if she’s guilty. This is wrong. This isn’t who you are.”

  Sarah’s hands clenched into fists once again. “I’m just doing the best I can for Lee with what I’ve got.”

  “But this isn’t what Lee would want.”

  She crossed the space between them in two large strides and her slap caught him flush and full on his left cheek, rocked his head backwards. He blinked against the pain, gathered himself in time to catch her wrist and stop a second hit.

  “Don’t you dare… ” she said as her arm shook and strained against his grip, her voice breaking.

  Her arm went slack and she started to cry. He let go of her wrist and pulled her toward him, ready to hold her, ready to forgive her despite what she’d done, ready to feel loved for the first time since the accident. Her lips quivered, she wouldn’t look at him and the tears came harder as he put his arms around her. But before he could pull her close she planted her hands against his chest and shoved him away.

  “Don’t you dare,” she said between sobs, backing away from him. “You can’t make this all better, Jon. This isn’t something you can make go away with a hug and a kiss and whispers about how much you love me.”

  “But Sarah—” he said as he stepped toward her. She moved to put the kitchen island between them and Jon stopped, afraid she might run away.

  “No buts,” she said, shaking her head, watching him the way you would a poisonous snake that was within striking range. “I know what I’ve done by bringing that woman here. I know. And I don’t care. Our son is stuck in that bed and I’m scared to death he’s never getting out of it. Scared to death he’ll be just another one of the gorks the staff talks about when they don’t think we’re listening.”

  “I understand that, Sarah. I do. Trust me, there’s nothing that frightens me more. But still, it doesn’t make this ri
ght. Nothing can make this right. We have to let her go. Now.”

  Sarah’s face abruptly changed, the tension in her jaw and around her eyes melting away.

  “She won’t get hurt,” Sarah said, her voice soft.

  She swiped at the tears on her cheeks and left the protection of the island, walked up to him and cupped his face in her hands the way she’d always done before the accident. Her eyelashes were damp from the tears, her blond hair damp from the rain and smelling of lavender.

  “I promise. We’ve just got to keep her here for a little while, Jon. Just long enough to convince her to tell us how to find the man who was with her. We have to. I couldn’t live with myself if we missed the chance to put away these people. Could you? Could you face Lee if you did that?”

  Jon wanted to look away but couldn’t, transfixed by her eyes gazing up at him, by the feel of her hands against his cheeks. He wanted to tell her it didn’t matter, that punishing the people who’d hit them wouldn’t make Lee better. He was angry about it, devastated, but sending them to jail wouldn’t change Lee’s past or future. Either Lee would wake up or he wouldn’t. If he did wake up, either he’d be normal or he wouldn’t. The woman in the bedroom couldn't change that. But he knew it wouldn’t matter to Sarah. He could see it in her eyes. To her it would be the same thing as giving up on Lee. And he couldn’t ask her to do what he’d already done.

  “What if she won’t tell?” he asked, despising himself for the capitulation inherent in the question.

  Sarah’s face relaxed and her thumbs traced the arc of his cheekbones. “She’ll tell us. Hold her a little while longer, maybe let her get a little hungry, and she’ll tell us.”

  “It’s wrong.”

  “We won’t hurt her, Jon. Being a little hungry never killed anybody. It might take her the rest of the way toward telling us how to find the man. That, or wanting a drink. She’s an alcoholic, I’m sure of it. She’ll be dying to tell us just so she can get another drink.”

  Jon closed his eyes, the feel of her touch sinking into him. “I—”

  She kissed him then, nothing passionate, just a lingering of her lips against his before she moved away, her fingertips trailing down his jaw. It was the first time she’d kissed him since the accident.

  “It’ll work, I promise,” she whispered.

  Jon tried to think of something else he could say that might change her mind and couldn’t, could only remember the feel of her lips against his. “This is wrong.”

  Sarah answered without hesitation. “Probably. But the world isn’t always black and white, Jon. It’s not always good and evil. We live in the gray between because sometimes there isn’t any other way. This is one of those times. Lee deserves justice.”

  He thought of Lee chasing down fly balls, of Lee smashed at the bottom of the tree next to the Accotink. “If we haven’t gotten an answer in twenty-four hours this ends.”

  Sarah nodded in agreement, her face grim. “Fine. Twenty-four hours.”

  Twenty-Seven

  ELLE

  The faint light coming through the window had grown even dimmer and she’d stared at the ceiling fan for what felt like an eternity—the hope she felt at the appearance of the shrew’s whipping-boy husband first withering and then dying—when the door opened and the shrew entered carrying a shopping bag.

  The shrew walked to the side of the bed and looked down at Elle for a long time, her face angry one moment and scared the next. Elle didn’t know if that was comforting or frightening.

  “You’ve been crying,” the shrew said.

  Elle wished the gag was gone so she could curse the bitch and spit on her, bitterly aware that the woman and whatever was in the bag made her nervous. She’d spent too much of her childhood nervous and hated the feeling even as it fell into place like a well-worn coat.

  “Are you ready to tell me more about the man who was with you?”

  Elle did nothing. Fuck if she would nod or mumble. If the shrew wanted any kind of answer she’d have to take the gag out first.

  The shrew’s lips tightened but she said nothing. Instead she put the bag on the floor. Whatever was inside clinked when she set it down, sending a paroxysm of fear down Elle’s spine as her mind leapt to pincers and pokers.

  The shrew sat on the bed next to Elle, between an arm and leg, and tucked her hair behind her left ear. She stared at Elle and after a moment the shrew’s face smoothed out, the anger and fear gone.

  “Do you understand what you did?” the shrew asked, her voice calm and dead flat. “You didn’t just take my only child. You took my husband from me. You took my whole life away. I’ve got nothing now. Nothing except a chance to see justice done.”

  Elle tried to keep her face blank as she returned the stare. It wasn’t easy, but she’d done far harder. Her father had seen to that. Had, in a way, prepared her. The thought made a laugh rise up in her belly, though it died behind the gag. The bastard hadn’t done much else for her.

  “Is something I said funny?” the shrew asked.

  Elle knew she should shake her head no. That was the wise response. But fuck her, so she nodded.

  She expected the shrew to lose it again, maybe slap her around some more. Instead the shrew only pursed her lips and reached into the hardware bag. Elle’s muscles tightened against the ropes.

  I won’t thrash around. I won’t. I survived my father and I can survive this…

  There was more clinking and a moment later the shrew withdrew a length of chain from the bag. The links were on the thin end, nothing heavy duty, and it was only a few feet long. Three at the most. But when the shrew set it down on the bed Elle flinched away as if a snake had been placed there instead.

  The shrew—her face calm still—reached into the bag once more and this time came out with a couple of padlocks, keys still inserted. She tossed the padlocks between Elle’s splayed legs, then picked up the chain and walked to the end of the bed.

  Elle jerked her head up, her eyes on the chain. The shrew pushed one end under Elle’s left ankle, looped it back on itself, and then picked up a padlock. She unlocked it, slid the hasp of the lock through two links of the chain to complete the circle, then closed it with a quiet snick that sounded like a thunderclap in Elle’s ears. The key stayed in her hand.

  Elle’s heart hammered in her chest. Ropes already held her but for some reason the chains made the situation more real. More permanent. Suddenly she could see herself growing old in the room, years passing as the shrew kept her hidden away from the world, like one of those sad fucks the authorities find every now and then caged in someone’s basement. She strained her head higher and garbled through the gag.

  “You’d like to talk now?”

  Hating herself for it, Elle nodded.

  The shrew looked at her for a moment then said, “If you scream the gag goes right back in. Understand?”

  Elle nodded again. The shrew came around the bed and pulled the gag down, removed the wad of cloth from Elle’s mouth. Again Elle felt that sense of relief, of freedom that her mouth was clear. It was crazy that something so simple could feel so damn good. “Why chains?”

  The shrew had already moved back to the foot of the bed and was studying the length of free chain. It wasn’t long enough to reach and then wrap around her other ankle. “I’m sure you need to use the bathroom.”

  She did, and badly, but she said nothing, her thoughts jumping from one useless idea to another until they settled on being quiet.

  “The only way I can get you to the bathroom is in shackles so you can’t try and run.”

  Shackles. Elle decided being quiet could take a flying fuck. “What’ll you do if I just shit and piss in the bed?”

  The shrew’s face stayed blank. “I can’t stop you if you want to do that. But I think you might regret it after sitting in your own filth for a few hours. Don’t you?”

  She’s a real bitch underneath that boring face… “Look lady, I’d tell you where to find the guy if I knew. I told you
his name already. I don’t know anything more than that. It was a one night stand, okay?”

  “Have you seen him since that night?”

  Elle hesitated, then said, “He came by the bar once.”

  “So you’ve talked to him a couple of times, which means you probably know more about him than you think. You just haven’t remembered it yet. Probably because you drink too much.”

  “There’s nothing else to remember goddammit. I’ve told you everything I know.”

  Instead of answering the shrew started untying the knot next to the chain. After a brief struggle the knot came loose and Elle’s leg was free.

  Elle didn’t hesitate, kicked out immediately at the shrew’s head. The shrew dodged backward, the foot missing her by inches, and with surprising reflexes grabbed the chain that flailed behind Elle’s leg. Elle jerked the leg, hoping to yank the chain free, but before she could even tighten the slack the shrew yanked Elle’s leg back onto the bed. Before Elle could react the shrew jumped onto the bed and sat on top of the free leg. She wasn’t a big woman, but Elle had no leverage and it might as well have been a three-hundred pound man on the end of her leg. Her legs were closer together than they had been and the shrew wrapped the free end of the chain around Elle’s other ankle and then snicked a second lock into place.

  I won’t cry. I won’t…

  She bit her tongue until it bled.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” the shrew said, her chest heaving as she took a second chain and two more locks out of the bag. She walked to the right side of the bed and repeated what she’d done with Elle’s ankles, except that she freed the right arm, leaving Elle tied to the bed’s opposing corners so that she still couldn’t move much. Elle didn’t struggle, her head full of visions of how she would use the chain to choke the life out of the bitch on the way to the bathroom.