The Butterfly Killer

Chapter 9

9

Marcus’s mouth was dry, his lips slimy from the peeling skin, and his head throbbed from where he’d been slammed into the hood of the car. He clenched his already closed eyes as the pain became worse the more awake he became. If his body had been in a world of hurt before, it was in pure hell now. He let out a strangled whimper as he moved his legs and attempted to sit up.

His arms were tied tightly above his head. He took a deep breath and forced his eyes open though he wanted to stay in the darkness a little longer because it gave him false hope that this was all a horrible nightmare.

This time when he awoke, he wasn’t in some shed. He was lying in a bed, in a…room? It was small, but there was a sink and stove to his left and a curtain made out of different fabrics to his right. His skin was clammy and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was coming down with a fever or if it was just hot in the little room. The ceiling fan whined and groaned as it spun, swaying in a way that made him nervous it would fall on top of him.

He struggled some more to turn on his side. He was confused why it was so hard for him to move his legs and why they felt kind of numb—that was until he looked down.

He let out a strangled and horrified sound. His legs were forced to spread eagle and his feet were tied to the bedposts with more rope. Both of his ankles were swollen and his toes looked like they’d been beaten with a cleaver.

His chest heaved as he no longer could control his rapidly increasing breaths. His rising anxiety made him panic. He struggled harder than before to get up which did nothing for him except make the intense pain all over his body increase times ten.

The curtain pulled back, the metal clips dragging across the rusted pole keeping it up. Marcus went still as a tall man was revealed from behind the curtain.

His eyes winced as a bright light from behind the curtain blinded him. The man leaned over and shut it off. When he did, his face was no longer hidden behind the shadows and Marcus could see him more clearly.

He was taken back by the man’s ethereal beauty. His dark brown wavy hair fell over his shoulders, his mouth was wide, but symmetrical to his face. His dark eyes gazed back at Marcus with no inherent expression.

Marcus’s eyes fell over the man’s body. He wore a black t-shirt stained and torn in some places, jeans that looked in just as bad shape, and tan boots that made his tall frame even larger.

Marcus sucked in a breath as the man took a step toward him.

“Help! Help!” Marcus started screaming his head off, tugging at the ropes binding his hands.

The man quickly crossed the small space between them and slapped his hand over Marcus’s mouth. Marcus whipped his head to the side, freeing his mouth for a second before the man grabbed a cloth from the crate by the side of the bed and stuffed it into his mouth.

His teeth clamped down on the material. He gagged as the fibers got stuck on his tongue and gathered his spit, making his mouth dry in a couple of seconds. He thrashed his head, pushing at the cloth with his tongue to try and expel it from mouth. The cloth was trapped behind his teeth though and his tongue wasn’t strong enough to push it out.

He stopped with his head turned to the side, facing away from the man. He panted against the cloth then changed to panting from his nose. He took in long ragged breaths. They weren’t deep enough for him to fight off the rising anxiety. His lungs felt as if the little amount of air in them was being wrung out.

His fingers twisted around the ropes that tied his hands to the headboard. Even though sharp pain jolted through him each time, he continued to yank.

The man watched him, looming over the side of the bed. Marcus halted when he realized the man had taken even more interest now that he was fighting as hard as he could to get out of the restraints.

His body went rigid, but his hands went slack as they grabbled at the headboard for whatever purchase they could find. His breaths were even more labored as he felt the man’s eyes slowly look down the expanse of his body.

He couldn’t control the quakes and little trembles that went through him. Time slowed and the pounding in his ears got louder the longer the tension filled silence was let to go on longer.

He flinched when the man’s boots clomped on the floor. The man wasn’t stepping that hard, but Marcus couldn’t get himself to stop focusing on that sound.

Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.

And then he stopped.

Marcus couldn’t fucking focus. He couldn’t tell if the man had gotten closer or if he was just walking back and forth to make Marcus more antsy. If that was what he was trying to do, then he was doing a good damn job of it. Marcus loathed to even feel like he was about to piss his pants. He chalked it up to having a full bladder and for being knocked out for however long he was.

Panic swelled inside when it dawned on him that he didn’t know where he was and how long he’d been kept here. He vaguely remembered being shoved into a car. The man could have driven for hours, taking him over state lines, and that wouldn’t bode well for the search party that might or might not be after him.

He cursed himself for being such an idiot and going to his sister’s house. This was what this man had wanted. He’d wanted Marcus and now he had him.

Marcus almost gagged on his own fear, but still forced himself to slowly turn his head toward the man. His head gave little jerks as he fought with himself, trying to look away and look at the same time. His body was still fully in flight mode, but he and his mind were slowly being doused in fiery anger. He already knew his temper was going to get him in a lot of trouble.

He couldn’t promise himself he’d be smart about his next decision.

His fearful eyes adjusted, his vision becoming clear as he forced the blurriness away. The man grabbed the edge of the curtain, a patchwork of fabric precisely sewn together though it looked to be by hand. The metal rings dragged against the metal shower rod drilled into the walls on either side of the small room. Marcus clenched his teeth at the metal on metal sound.

Behind the curtain was a long desk crudely made from an old kitchen counter and beams of wood for the legs. It looked sturdy enough. There were piles of fabric, bottles of chemicals, wooden pieces, and an array of other things littering the desk. They were piled in groups so they were at least a little organized.

Above the desk and on the wall were shelves and racks. Bottles and jars of different sizes were lined up neatly, spaced out at the same width.

Marcus made a keening noise in the back of his throat as he took in what was in the jars and bottles.

Rats, lizards, kittens…there were also bugs, spiders, and other things he couldn’t make out. The animals were fully intact, their fur and flesh still on, were encased in liquid—to preserve them he assumed. The bugs and other things were lumped together, piles of each thing like ladybugs and wasps, in smaller jars.

And hanging on the walls were shadow boxes housing at least over a hundred different species of butterfly.

Marcus’s eyes didn’t know where to look. He was overwhelmed by all the colors and all the information he was taking in. The smell of formaldehyde made a lot more sense.

The man grabbed the back of the wooden chair pushed into the desk and pulled it out. He slowly sat in it, no longer paying attention to Marcus at all.

Marcus was both unnerved by the brush off and also relieved. He couldn’t relax though. His muscles twitched with how tense he was, but he couldn’t get himself to even unclench his fists that ached from the rope digging into his wrists.

The man picked up the last thing he’d presumably been working on. He picked up a small bone from a tray with a pair of tweezer’s and brushed on a thin layer of glue. He pressed the bone into place against the already put together skeleton in front of him.

Marcus held his breath as he watched the man methodically work. The light hanging from the ceiling was bright enough to burn his retinas, but he didn’t dare to look away.

He waited for the man to get back up and do something. The anticipation made his chest ache and his stomach twisted to the point he thought he was going to throw up. His hands had gone completely numb now. Still, he couldn’t get his fists to unclench. He hadn’t blinked for the longest time and his eyes were dry. They stung when he finally forced himself to blink so he didn’t permanently damage his eyes.

The chair creaked as the man leaned back. He looked down at his project, hands hovering as if to immediately fix a problem when he saw it. He straightened a piece of bone until it was to his liking.

He slowly sat down the tweezer’s.

Marcus hadn’t noticed his shoulders had relaxed some. But he definitely noticed when they locked up again.

The man stood. He reached up to the bright light and switched it up.

Marcus started to struggle again when the man turned around. Marcus’s heart skipped when he met the man’s grey soulless eyes. He wasn’t even really a man. He was a phantom, a ghost, merely lost in this world.

He didn’t look at all like what Marcus thought he would. He’d imagined someone more rugged, with a permanent smirk on their face, and someone that looked like they’d killed.

This man didn’t fit that false imagery Marcus had made up in his head. He looked too…too much like an angel.

Marcus kicked his feet and yanked his hands against the rope. He screamed against the cloth, thrashing to the point his joints ached alongside his hands.

The man’s eyes narrowed, a darkness appearing in them that overshadowed the gray. His mouth turned down into a deep frown.

“Stop,” he said, moving toward Marcus to make him if he didn’t listen.

Marcus only paused out of shock for a second before he went back to trying to escape. The man’s voice had been fried, bordering a croak, as if he wasn’t used to speaking.

He screamed as much as could. His head was pounding from how hard he was whipping his head back and forth, but though his body was in intense pain, he couldn’t get himself to calm down. He needed to get out of here. He knew what was coming next.

Flashes of the murder victims, the flayed flesh, and the artful way this man had positioned their corpses as if that was all they were good for appeared in Marcus’s memory. The panic had bled and morphed into intense terror that made his skin clammy and his stomach twist in a sickness that felt like it would never leave him be.

The bed shook from the force as which he used. Liquid ran down his arms, trailing down to his elbows. His vision went fuzzy at the corners, black spots disappearing and reappearing.

“I said stop!” The man jumped onto the bed, jostling the thin mattress. The metal bed frame squeaked under their combined weight. The man slammed his hands down on Marcus’s arms and pinned them down beside his head.

Marcus continued to kick his free legs. He wiggled like a worm, bucking his hips up at the man to throw him off. He wasn’t strong enough and the awkward position just made his neck and back strain. The man was heavy, resting his full weight on Marcus’s chest, pinning him even more than he already was to the bed.

He let out a sob when he realized he truly was dead this time. He’d escaped death by chance, but he’d ran into the hands of another killer. His bad luck was impeccable.

He stilled. His thoughts were running a millions miles per second. There were flashes of his sad life, memories he’d buried down deep to smother the pain of his mother’s death. He couldn’t fight them off now when he could feel his time coming to an end.

Except, when he met the man’s eyes, the eyes of the person who was going to kill him, all fear dissipated. It was replaced with a feeling so strong his numb body parts came alive again. His ears rang and his mouth went dry. The feeling was too great to put a name to it—an emotion that transited higher than any sort of wrath he’d had in his life.

He held on tight to that burning feeling. His lips pulled back into a snarl.

He slammed his head as hard as he could into the man’s face.

The man let out a muffled scream, scrambling down the bed and away from Marcus. He covered his bloody face with his hands, letting out a small whimper that reminded Marcus of a puppy being stomped on.

For a second, Marcus felt sorry, but then he remembered this was psychopathic killer who currently had him tied to a bed. The only thing he should be feeling for the cowering man was rage and disgust.

Those forgotten emotions swelled inside him. He twisted his body. The rope on his left hand had come loose with his struggles, but he still had to strain to get it out. He looked up at his almost free hand and inwardly gasped when he saw blood.

It was covering his arm. He’d rubbed his skin so raw with the rope he’d taken off layers, opening a nasty wound that only now registered to his brain. He squeezed his hand through the rope and then immediately went to work on his right hand which was just in bad shape as his left.

The numbness in his hands was gone, leaving sharp pain that had him hissing as he grappled at the side of the bed, trying to stand up.

The man shook his head—probably still reeling from the surprise attack. He squinted as if his vision had gone hazy for a moment. Marcus barely had any time to crawl out of the bed before the man grabbed him. He screamed around the rag still in his mouth as he was yanked down. He fell on top of the man. The frame of the bed snapped and the mattress sagged in the middle.

The man groaned as Marcus’s full weight fell on him. Marcus jabbed his elbow hard into the man’s ribs, relishing only for a second at the grunt the man made.

It was a struggle to get back up. His feet were jello. Sharp pain went up them and it was only then he remembered the other psychopath, Micheal, had done a number on him. His adrenaline ran high enough he could stomach the pain in his legs as he limped toward the door.

He pulled the rag out of his mouth at the same time his other hand grabbed the door handle. Relief flooded him as the door creaked open. The tears swelled up as fresh air hit his face.

But he frowned when he realized the air was extremely cold—the kind of cold that felt like shards of glass or needles piercing skin.

Another blinding light—shining, reflecting off the silky white surface that covered every inch of the ground before him. He gaped at what he saw.

Snow. So much snow it looked like the world had been consumed by it.

A hand grabbed the back of his shirt. The door slammed shut and the man bolted it shut from the inside. He pulled down a blanket Marcus had seen before so it covered the door. It was hung by two nails, the fabric torn from where the nails had probably been there for a while.

Marcus stumbled back. “W-Where?—”

The man stood eerily with both hands on the door, crouched over and his head downward. Marcus held his breath as he watched the man slowly turn. The man’s wavy hair hung in his face, covering one eye. The eye that wasn’t covered glared, sending a dagger through Marcus’s heart.

A bead of blood slid down the cupid’s bow of his upper lip.

Marcus took a step back. The back of his legs hit the bed frame. He toppled over, scrambling back without looking away from the man. There were no words. He couldn’t even get himself to scream again. There was no point. He’d seen what was on the otherside of the door.

A blizzard. For miles. He wouldn’t survive out there for longer than an hour. How did he end up here? And why here?

The man crept closer. He stood at the end of the bed. He wiped away the blood, smearing it across his cheek. A rising fury swirled in his eyes, something manic that took Marcus’s breath away, but he still couldn’t look away.

“Where?” The man’s scratchy voice sent a shiver down Marcus’s spine. His chest heaved.

The man grasped the bed frame and leaned over, the ends of his strands of hair brushing over Marcus’s thighs.

“This is where you’ll die.”

Marcus, overwhelmed with terror and his body overtaken with pain, passed out—the last thing he saw being the man’s lips twitching with a hint of an evil grin.