The Butterfly Tattoo

by M. D. Thomas

  “If you try to call security, I’ll kill him. If you go to the police, I’ll kill him. If you budge from this room, I’ll kill him. Do you understand?”

  Sarah nodded. Her head felt like it weighed a ton.

  “Do you believe me?”

  She nodded again.

  “Good.” He pulled a blanket from the bed, revealing Lee’s wasted legs, and draped it over his shoulder before he took her by the arm and dragged her to the corner where he shoved her into the knitting chair. He stuffed a corner of the blanket in her mouth, filling it until her jaws were spread so far apart they ached, the rest of the blanket draped across her chest like a giant napkin. One hand locked on Sarah’s shoulder, he set his gun down on a nearby table and reached into his coat, came back out with a piece of plastic that looked like two loops joined in the middle. He shoved her left hand through the arm of the chair and then slipped the loops over her wrists and pulled them tight, the injured hand throbbing in a steady rhythm.

  Sarah gawked at the restraints, then up at the man, and it came to her.

  The suit. The gun. The handcuffs.

  It’s him. She said he’s always wearing a suit. But he’s not a business man. He’s a policeman…

  Sarah thrashed in the chair, strained against the plastic restraints, but they only dug into the flesh of her wrists and made her hand throb even harder. She tried to yell around the blanket but hardly any noise emerged. The man ignored her as he retrieved his gun and replaced it in the holster hidden beneath his coat.

  Sarah tried to push the blanket out of her mouth with her tongue, but the cloth was shoved in so far she gagged. Her body spasmed forward, her stomach heaving, and for an instant she was sure she’d vomit. When the feeling passed, she tried to get enough purchase on the bottom of the blanket to pull it out with her arms or legs but the angles were all wrong.

  The man searched Lee’s arms, perhaps for IV lines, but the port there was disconnected. He lifted Lee’s gown and saw the feeding tube port in his belly, which was similarly disconnected. The catheter was still in however, and the man gazed at it for a moment before he reached down and slid it free. The man stared at the bedside monitor for a moment, then reached out and depressed the power button, shutting it down. Sarah didn’t know if that would alert the nurses station down the hall or not.

  The man ignored her pleading mumbles as he untucked the sheet from the base of the bed and wrapped it around Lee from the torso down, leaving only his neck and head exposed. He picked up the small bundle that was her son, carefully cradled his head as he did so, and even in the middle of the fear and panic she felt blooming inside, Sarah wondered why he would be so gentle if he just planned on killing Lee.

  The man turned to Sarah once more, Lee tucked against his chest. Lee’s eyes were still open and lifeless. “Remember what I said.” The man's voice was quiet and clear. “I’m sorry, but I promise it's what he wants. He helped me figure it out.”

  What—

  No. Lee couldn’t have shown himself to that man. Not her Lee.

  Why not, Sissy? You’re the one that let him down…

  Sarah jerked against the restraints as her heart galloped, pounded her feet ineffectually against the floor as the man opened the door. He paused for a moment to peer down the corridor toward the waiting area and nurses station, and then stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  You failed my Lee again, Sissy…

  Forty-Six

  ELLE

  “Will you do it?” the heel-licker asked.

  She’d have done a hell of a lot more, but no need to tell him that. “Yeah. But you’ve gotta get me out of this bed. Now.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “I need you to promise you won’t run.”

  “Promise,” Elle said without hesitation.

  He propped the bolt cutters against the bed and stood, started to untie the knots around her wrists. Her hands tingled with pain as the ropes came free.

  She lowered her arms slowly, scared her muscles would start to cramp, but they only ached. The cut on her ribs burned and a strong hunger pang passed through her belly as she sat up, but she ignored both as she fumbled at the rope around her left ankle.

  Gotta get out these things before the shrew comes back… before he changes his mind… She didn’t trust him any more than the shrew. They were both fucked up to the nines, just in different ways.

  He made it to the end of the bed and freed her right ankle before she’d even loosened the other knot.

  “Let me,” he said. “I can do it faster than you.”

  She moved her hands aside, tried to decide if she should wrap the chain at her wrists around his throat and choke him to death. His neck was only inches away from her as he focused on the knot.

  What if I’m too weak to use the bolt cutters? Then I might be helpless if the shrew comes back before I can get outside…

  The decision was made for her, because a moment later he loosened the knot and her ankle was free.

  She started to swing her legs around to the side of the bed but was stopped by a cramp that spread though her left calf. She cried out in pain and tried to massage away the cramp.

  The heel-licker dropped the bolt cutters and pushed against her toes to stretch out the cramping muscle. “Better?”

  She only nodded as the muscle started to relax.

  Fuck if I’m gonna thank him…

  He let go of her foot and picked up the bolt cutters again. “Move your legs a little to stretch the chain.”

  Elle did and he placed the bolt cutter jaws carefully around a chain link by one ankle. He closed the handles and the link snapped easily. A second cut and her other ankle was free.

  Elle swung her legs over the side of the bed and held her arms out for the heel-licker. Two more cuts and the chains clinked to the floor.

  That might be the best fucking sound I’ve ever heard…

  She stood, wobbling a bit on her feet, and checked her wrists. The flesh was red and raw, bloody in places, but was nothing compared to the right side of her shirt, which was a kaleidoscope mix of new and old blood.

  The shrew’s husband stared at her shirt. “We’ve got to get a bandage on that.”

  “No,” she said as she limped past him toward the door. “Get me a coat. I just want out of here.”

  She went left down the hallway, the heel-licker at her heels now and wasn’t that goddamn hilarious.

  “I’m sorry she did this to you,” he said as they left the hall and entered into the living room and kitchen end of the house. “She’s just desperate and having trouble accepting what’s happened to Lee.”

  Elle spun on her heels—her knees nearly buckled—and poked the surprised heel-licker in the chest. “Bullshit. People feel desperate all the time when they lose someone. They don’t all go out and get a fucking hostage to deal with it.”

  He dropped his eyes.

  Jesus what a pansy…

  She wanted to run—and fuck the promise—but she knew she wouldn’t make it far. Pansy or not, she was pretty sure the shrew’s husband wouldn’t just let her go.

  She shuffled over to the fridge and yanked it open, pain and the knife she’d seen in the sink almost forgotten at the prospect of food. Her stomach twisted when she saw that it was almost empty inside.

  “There’s some cheese in the drawer at the bottom,” he said. “Sorry, we haven’t been eating here much.”

  Elle stooped to pull open the drawer and grabbed a package of sliced cheddar. She tore it open and pulled a few slices out, nearly lost her shit trying to get the goddamn wax paper dividers out so she could stuff the cheese into her mouth. A moan escaped her mouth as she chewed just enough to swallow.

  “Got that coat?” Elle asked as the heel-licker watched with fascination as she devoured another half a dozen slices of cheddar, more wax dividers falling to the floor. “The coat?”

  He nodded and walked over to a closet near the front door. As soon as his back was turned, Elle
went to the sink and grabbed the knife the shrew had used to cut her and palmed it in her left hand, concealed the blade along her forearm as she went back to the package of cheese.

  The heel-licker came back a moment later, a lightweight blue raincoat in his hand. He walked over and held it out to her. “Can you get it on by yourself?”

  Elle contemplated stabbing him. Even if she got picked up by the police later, she probably wouldn’t get in trouble for that at least, not after what they’d done to her. But she could feel the hand holding the knife shaking—she was still too sore and weak. So she took the coat with her empty hand, wincing in pain as she held it by the collar and slipped the knife-hand into the sleeve. She tried to get her right hand in the other sleeve, but realized immediately that she wouldn’t be able to do it unless she dropped the knife. “Can you hold it up? My side hurts too much.”

  He held the coat in place and Elle slid her right hand inside, winced at the very real pain in her side. She couldn’t zip the coat, not while she held the knife, but it covered up the blood stain on her shirt well enough anyway. I hope I don’t need fucking stitches…

  The heel-licker looked at her for a second, then got a paper towel and wet it, wrung out the excess water. He held it out to her. “Your… cheek. You should probably clean it up before we go.”

  “I’ll do it in the car,” Elle said as she grabbed the damp paper towel. “Let’s get the hell out here.”

  Forty-Seven

  HARVEY

  The boy was shockingly light.

  Harvey felt like he was carrying a doll as he followed the kid down the corridor and away from the room where he’d left the boy’s mother bound and gagged. He felt bad about leaving her that way, about taking her son, but it was what the kid wanted.

  They walked the opposite direction from the waiting area where he’d first seen Sarah Young, on past the storage room and a few unmarked doors, and a moment later reached the emergency exit at the end of the corridor. The kid paused next to the door, waited for Harvey to catch up. When Harvey reached the door he hesitated, eyeing the sign that warned of an alarm if the door were opened. The kid gestured at the door anyway, so Harvey turned and backed into the bar that opened it. He expected the alarm to go off, but nothing happened and he pushed all the way outside, careful not to hit the boy’s head.

  Harvey halted outside the door and stared dumbly up at the sky.

  The rain had stopped.

  The kid walked down the short flight of metal stairs that descended to the asphalt below and Harvey followed. The kid had his glove again and he started tossing the ball in the air, Harvey watching as the ball arced gracefully up and down.

  As big as the moon…

  They walked past the corner of the building and then strode across the large expanse of grass that bordered the parking lot. They reached the Cherokee a moment later and Harvey awkwardly opened the rear door, slid the boy onto the back seat where his eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling with regularity. He used a shoulder belt to hold the boy awkwardly in place, closed the door and hurried to the driver’s side.

  When Harvey got behind the wheel the kid was in the passenger seat. It was the first time he’d ever sat there. Harvey started the Cherokee, ran the wipers across the windshield once to clear the last of the rain, and turned to the kid as they started toward the street.

  “It’s not far to the creek. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Forty-Eight

  JON

  The rain was little more than a drizzle but Jon still had to change routes twice on the way to Rainbow Pines. Flooded streets were everywhere. Some were minor, puddles no more than a few inches deep stretching across the road, some severe, the water more than halfway up the road signs, the houses inundated by a cosmic game of topographic fuck you. If he cared anymore, he’d be glad they lived on high ground.

  They drove down mostly empty streets, the only noise in the car the sound of Elle eating, gorging her way through an entire sleeve of Saltines he’d grabbed from the pantry on their way out of the kitchen. Clasped between her thighs were two Miller High Life’s they’d found in the garage—another was already empty on the floor, and a second close behind.

  Jon had trouble keeping his eyes on the road.

  By the time they reached Rainbow Pines, Elle had finished everything except the final beer, which she’d been nursing. “I never thought beer could taste so good.”

  Despite her injuries, Jon had expected her to run, surprised she hadn’t fled the house as soon as he freed her. She didn’t seem the type to wait around for trouble and he guessed by the next day, she’d be a state or two away, looking for some new place to hole up and make enough money to stay blissfully drunk.

  He found a spot, and as the car came to a halt she finished the beer and tossed the can to the floorboard after the first three. He got out of the car and waited for her to bolt. Instead, she slammed the passenger door shut and stood next to the Volvo gazing at the sky, her curls halfway down her back, her left hand in the pocket of the coat, her right hand hanging limp at her side.

  “The goddamn rain finally stopped.” She lowered her gaze to Rainbow Pines, inspected the care facility for a moment. “Let’s get this the hell over with.”

  She strode toward the entrance, left Jon behind.

  Before the door to Lee’s room was all the way open, Jon saw the empty bed. His first thought was that he’d gone to the wrong room—but there was Lee’s Pirates hat on the bedside table and there was the Nats flag hanging on the wall behind the bed where Sarah had hung it not long after Lee was moved to Rainbow Pines. His second thought was that Lee must be in therapy—but the therapists usually came to Lee and if they didn’t, they moved him in his bed. Then the door opened the rest of the way and he saw Sarah in her chair, a blanket covering her torso, one corner of it stuffed in her mouth, her hands bound to the chair arm.

  Before Jon could even react, Elle screeched and rushed past him holding a knife, ran straight toward the chunky chair.

  “Sarah!”

  Sarah—eyes wide—raised her right leg at the last moment and Elle crashed into it, went down, swung the knife wildly as she fell and sliced Sarah’s thigh, the denim parting beneath the blade.

  Jon jumped onto Elle and she collapsed under his weight, her mouth a snarl until they hit the floor, the air in her lungs escaping in one great whoosh. Jon grabbed the arm that held the knife and slammed it against the floor. The knife came free with a clatter and slid under Lee’s bed as Elle gasped and wheezed beneath him.

  Jon scrambled to his knees as Elle contorted on the floor, struggling for air, and Sarah started grunting and jerking her head repeatedly toward the open door, her eyes wide. Jon understood and grabbed the blanket from Sarah’s lap and yanked on it, pulled it free of Sarah’s mouth.

  “Gag her,” Sarah said, her voice harsh as her chest heaved. “Hurry! Before she can scream.”

  “Where’s Lee?” Jon asked as he shoved some of the blanket into Elle’s mouth and pulled the rest around her neck, twisted her arms behind her back. She tried to resist but was unable to put up much of a fight.

  “He took him!”

  “Who?”

  Sarah thrashed in the chair, her voice a shriek, and Jon noticed that her leg was bloody where she’d been cut. “He fucking took him, Jon! Her scumbag friend. He took our son! Now get me out of this goddamn chair!”

  Jon glanced down at Elle, who garbled against the gag, her eyes wild and rolling. He turned back to Sarah and said, “I’m getting security.”

  She shook her head. “He’ll kill Lee.”

  “What?”

  Sarah spoke quickly but her voice was surprisingly calm. “He said he’d do it and I believe him. He just left. He can’t have made it far. Get that knife or the scissors out of my knitting bag, cut me loose, and we’ll go after him and end this. Now!”

  Jon couldn’t see where the knife had gone, so he put a knee in the middle of Elle�
�s back to hold her down and with one hand grabbed Sarah’s knitting bag from next to the chair, the sack bulging with yarn and needles and pattern books. Rather than search through it, Jon dumped everything out. Balls of yarn rolled everywhere, half-finished scarves and socks littered the floor, and there in the middle of it all was a pair of orange-handled scissors. Jon picked them up and stretched to reach the chair. He slid one blade beneath the zip-tie that bound Sarah’s right wrist, noticed how swollen her right hand was as he accidentally stabbed her with the tip of the scissors. Her skin dimpled around the metal but didn’t give way and a moment later she was free, the restraints dangling around her left wrist.

  Sarah ran past them without a glance and turned left outside of the room.

  “You’re coming with us,” Jon said as he dropped the scissors and yanked Elle to her feet, the blanket like a giant scarf around her neck. She tried to run, but Jon squeezed her arms behind her back to control her and drove her into the hall in front of him.

  There must be a mistake… why would he take Lee?

  Sarah pushed through the emergency exit at the end of the corridor and Jon followed as fast as he could, driving Elle ahead of him.

  Why?

  “Mr. Young?” called a voice from the corridor behind him—he recognized it as one of the nurses. “Is something wrong? I just saw Mrs. Young run outside.”

  Jon resisted the urge to turn around, hoped the nurse couldn’t see Elle well enough to realize what was going on.

  “Mr. Young?”

  “Keep moving or you'll regret it,” Jon said in a low voice to Elle as he pushed the struggling, moaning woman faster. A moment later they made it to the emergency exit and Jon slammed open the door so hard with his foot that it rebounded off the wall, jarring his shoulder as they passed through. He ignored the pain, drove Elle down a short set of stairs to the asphalt below.