The Butterfly Killer

Chapter 7

7

Marcus startled awake from behind the steering wheel of his car.

A man tapped his window.

His brows furrowed as he looked at his surroundings. He was parked in front of his sister’s house. The sun was high in the sky so it had to be noon or later. The man standing outside his window look angry as fuck—to the point of snarling. He was older, his hair white and his face wrinkled with age.

Marcus thought to himself if he wanted to ignore the man until he left or if he wanted to engage with him. The man angrily knocked on his window again and yelled something that sounded like “Get off the street! Be homeless somewhere else!”.

Marcus rolled down the window even though he wanted to open the door and slam it into the old man’s bony knee-caps. He could just faintly hear the sound of cracking bones in the near distance.

“I’m going to call the police if you don’t move your car.”

Marcus gave the man a dull look. “My sister lives here. I’ve been traveling for awhile. I just fell asleep.”

The man seemed to get angrier at the explanation. “Don’t lie to me. I know this family. Lily doesn’t have any family.”

Marcus felt gut-wrenched. He shouldn’t have been surprised Lily didn’t care to talk about her family. But to be wiped completely…it seemed like everyone wished he didn’t exist.

Marcus stepped out of the car. “Call the police if you want.”

He locked the car and started toward the house. The old man followed after him.

He ignored the man’s nonsense ramblings. He crossed the sidewalk when he noticed a man jogging towards them. The man slowed as he got closer to the two of them. He pulled his headphones out of his ears.

“Hey, Peter. What’s going on?”

Marcus stalled at the attractive man who stopped beside them. The man’s eyes flickered over Marcus once before he gave the old man his full attention.

“This man is trying to break into the Cliffton’s!”

Marcus rolled his eyes. “I’m Lilianna’s brother. She and her husband went on vacation and they wanted me to look after the house for them.”

He pulled out his set of keys. “I even have keys. Now, excuse me, but I want to get some sleep.”

“Wait a second?—”

The old man came after Marcus, but the jogging man stopped him. He wrapped his arm around the old man’s shoulders and steered him away.

The man grinned at Marcus. “Sorry about him.”

The old man tried to fight the other man off, but the man started talking to the old man to calm him down. Marcus was confused as hell as he watched the two head in the opposite direction the man had been jogging in. He watched them walk away for a minute before he shook his head.

Dealing with people was more frustrating and more work than dealing with serial killers. He almost wished a serial killer was all he had to deal with somedays.

He unlocked the front door with the key Lily had given him years ago. He almost feared she’d changed the locks and he would have to break in. However, his fears were soothed when the door unlocked and he went inside.

It was no surprise Lily had made a good life for herself. She’d married a wealthy man who came from a completely normal and loving family. She had two kids who didn’t know the life she’d come from and didn’t even care to know what it is their mom was running away from.

Marcus wondered if his niece and nephew would ever question about why their mom didn’t have any photos of her family or why she never spoke about where she grew up. But Marcus found that content people didn’t ask questions. They didn’t search for answers.

The house reflected the life Lily had built. It was a two story house with modern flooring and clean walls. The outside said there was money in this family and the inside said they had plenty to spare.

He walked into the living room. The large flat screen TV in front of the L-shaped couch and recliner showed Marcus’s reflection. He imagined Daniel watched Sunday football while the kids were out at their friends’ house. Twins were a handful, but Lily loved them. Marcus didn’t need to hear it to know it.

He moved to the kitchen and through the dining room. Each room made him feel more alienated than the next. Nothing of it resembled anything he was used to. The pictures on the walls were of Lily’s new family—her kids and Daniel.

The ones that made him feel more like shit were the ones of Lily smiling with Daniel’s family. There were pictures of her and Daniel with friends.

She looked happy. She was happy.

And she didn’t need him.

He turned away from the photos. If he looked at them any longer he might actually break down.

The house was warm and cozy. He thought it might seem cold in the house—not family-like. But it was. That made him feel more like an outsider. Unlike the welcoming home he now stood in the center of, his apartment was barely livable. There was trash strewn all on the floors, many take-out containers because he was a horrible cook, and the personal possessions he had were in his wallet.

The picture of him, his sister, and their mom. Nothing else mattered enough to him to have been bought. He didn’t care much about possessions. They all seemed trivial. What did they matter when he died?

He stood in the hallway for a few minutes. He didn’t dare go into any of the bedrooms. That felt like he’d be trespassing. It wasn’t for him to go in there—that wasn’t his right.

He moved back toward the living room and sat on the couch. He pulled out his phone and checked his email. He’d asked Lily to forward the emails she’d received. They were sitting in his mailbox. Three of them.

The headlines were gut-punching. They were vile in a way he didn’t know he could describe to anyone else.

Butterfly Killer…first victim…connection…revival…new killing spree…

The words popped out from the page. His phone beeped as he got a text message.

Unknown Number

we’re safe. Check under the bathroom sink.

Marcus didn’t respond. He put his phone back into his pocket and went to the bathroom.

The magazine was there too. He stared at it for the longest time. He didn’t want to grab it. He didn’t want touch it or even look at it.

He turned his face away, scrunching his eyes closed as he took deep breaths. He pushed against his rising anxiety and grabbed the damn thing. It was a fucking magazine. It wasn’t going to kill him to look at it.

Even still, his gut twisted and it felt like he was going to throw up as he looked at the front cover.

It was just as Lily had described. It was nothing more than a fan-made magazine all about the Butterfly Killer. Plastered on the cover was a pinned butterfly. Underneath it was “behind the mastermind” and “get inside the head of the infamous killer”.

He made a disgusted sound. He almost ripped the pages as he roughly opened the distasteful thing open. He flipped through, his heartbeat rising higher and higher as he saw more and more of the same. The people who put this thing together didn’t care about the victims. They loved this killer. They worshipped the ground he walked on.

He threw the magazine back under the sink.

So the copycat wanted Marcus know people were going to love him more.

Anger surged inside of him. He thought about throwing a punch at the mirror, but he stopped himself. He wasn’t going to trash his sister’s house and have to explain himself when this was over.

If this was ever going to be over because what he didn’t want to contemplate was that they might not catch this guy—not until it was too late to save Lilianna or even Marcus.

He sagged onto the toilet. He clenched his hair in his fists and yanked at the strands.

The tears stung his eyes. He couldn’t tell if they were from sadness or if it was his anger getting the best of his emotions. He refused to let them fall. He didn’t care if he was in private and no one could see him—he wasn’t going to let this asshole have the satisfaction of making him cry.

He held the tears back. He abruptly stood up from the toilet and strode out of the house. He didn’t know where he was going. He just needed to get out. He made sure to lock the door and have the key with him. He should have gone to sleep or boarded himself up in the house to stake the killer out, but he couldn’t.

He was so blinded by his thoughts he didn’t see the guy from before walking in front of him until he was running into him.

“I’m so sorry!”

Marcus snapped out of his narrowed sighted mood and took a hard look at the man in front of him.

He’d changed out of his running gear and was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. He gave Marcus a wide smile, bringing out the dimples in his cheeks. His hair was semi-wet, still drying, but even still, it looked styled. He looked like a model or a poster boy.

“Uh…” Marcus blinked a couple times. “It’s alright. I should have been looking where I was going.”

He stood there awkwardly, not knowing if he should keep walking or say something to the man. He didn’t feel like doing either. He actually wanted to run back to the house and lock himself inside.

The man sensed the awkwardness and put his hand out. “I’m Micheal. I live down the street. I’m really sorry about that and also for Peter. His house was broken in a couple years ago and he’s been really vigilant about strangers being in the neighborhood.”

Marcus tried to be polite. A snark remark about Peter most likely not liking the homeless on the tip of his tongue.

“That’s understandable,” he said behind a tight-lip smile. “I actually have to get going. Thanks for—uh—stopping him from calling the cops on me.”

He started back toward the house. Michael didn’t seem to catch the hint that he wanted to be alone. The guy started walking alongside him on the sidewalk.

“So I heard you’re house sitting for the Clifftons.”

Marcus didn’t like that this guy was trying to get so close to him. He didn’t know if the guy was just being friendly or if it was malicious in a way. With his anti-social personality, it was hard to tell the difference.

“Yeah. I am,” he said, not looking at Michael. The spurt of energy he had died and he felt like he was going to hit the ground.

“Do you know when they’re coming back?”

Marcus shot Michael a strange look. Michael laughed it off.

“Sorry. That sounded strange. I’m a little too curious for my own good. I just find it strange that they left in the middle of April. Daniel doesn’t like taking vacations.”

Marcus abruptly stopped. “Why do you know so much about them?”

Michael raised a brow. “Daniel works in the same office. He’s always boasting about how much he loves his job and doesn’t want to be away from it.”

Marcus looked at the man in a new way. His eyes wandered down Michael’s body. He was tall but average. He struck Marcus as being popular—he didn’t seem like the type who would have trouble with women or men. He was well groomed and seemed charming on the outside (though Marcus wasn’t good at gauging that kind of thing).

Marcus tried to picture Michael in the place of the killer in his mind. When he saw Michael crouched by any of the bodies, looking up at Marcus as he entered the room, it didn’t feel right. This guy didn’t have anything to prove. He wasn’t the kind of person who needed to best someone—he was too used to winning in his life to have the urge to seek that kind of validation.

Marcus started walking again. He thought Michael would catch the hint, but the guy followed him like a tick in his side.

“I wanted to ask if you’d like to stop by my house. To give you a more warm welcome to the street.”

Marcus stopped again. “Look, I’m not trying to be rude or anything, but I don’t want to be bothered. I came here to housesit. That’s it.”

He was making a promise now to not step out of the house again. God, no wonder he hated people.

Michael’s friendly smile dropped. “Oh…sure. I get it.”

Marcus almost ran the rest of the way to the house. He locked the door behind him and sagged against it.

This was what Lilianna ran away to? No wonder she didn’t want to involve him in her new life. He’d make everyone on the block an enemy.

Once Marcus’s nerves had settled, he pulled a chair to the living room window and stared out it. He watched as people walked their dogs, mowed their lawns, and Michael jogged. That man jogged way too much. He said he had a job, but it didn’t seem like it.

The days of the week bled together. He was a zombie. He slept, he ate, and he sat in front of the window, waiting for the copycat to come to the door.

He didn’t answer his phone. Lily never messaged him and she was the only person he cared to listen for. Also Agent Mercer. He’d tell Marcus if they’d got the bastard—either one of them. The copycat or the real Butterfly Killer. Marcus just wanted someone to be caught, someone to pay for the crimes they’d committed.

He tapped the arm of the chair as he stared out the window. The hours passed with no change. His focus waned and there were many times he had to shake himself awake. In those moments, he doubted himself. He doubted what he thought about the killer, if there even was a copycat, and if he’d scared his sister for no reason.

But no. Those emails and that magazine had been real. Though, as Agent Mercer had pointed out, they could have been pranks. But Lilianna had been so good at cutting herself off from her old life. Practically nobody even knew she was connected to the Butterfly Killer at all.

Somewhere in the midst of waiting for the copycat to show up, Marcus had fallen asleep. He was suddenly woken by a knock on the door.

He uncurled himself from the chair and looked outside to see that it was dark.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. He got up from the chair and went to the door. He looked out to see no one.

His heart skipped. Even though he didn’t want to, he grabbed his gun off the shelf he’d placed it on and held it at the ready. He put his hand on the handle of the door. His eyes flickered over the empty street. The street lights were bright enough he could see there was no one on the porch, but he flipped the porch light on just in case.

There was no one. He didn’t see anyone running, not a shadow anywhere to be seen. He took deep careful breaths as he unlocked the door and opened it.

His gun was steady in his hand. His finger was ready to pull the trigger, but he didn’t want to be too hasty. He would not be the guy who shot an innocent person because of paranoia.

When no one jumped out at him, he wondered if he’d even heard a knock at all. He stood there for a moment, wishing the killer was there. He felt so stupid and much like the freak people said he was behind his back.

He lowered his gun and shut the door.

He sat his gun back on the shelf and turned around.

An arm shot around his neck and pulled him back against a chest. He thrashed as he was thrown against the wall. The arm tightened, crushing his windpipe. He gasped as his air was cut off.

He reached for his gun on the shelf. His fingers grazed the barrel, but before he could grab it, he was pulled back and thrown up against the wall again.

His head cracked on a mirror. The glass shattered, the pieces raining down on the ground. For a second, he saw their fighting forms on what was left of the mirror. He caught a glimpse of the man’s face, but before he could even think about what he’d seen, his vision went black.

He passed out.