The Butterfly Killer

Chapter 12

12

Roman disappeared behind the curtain after making it clear that Marcus was going to cooperate. Marcus's side burned from where Roman had prodded him in the ribs. The tea had gone cold as he held it, not once taking a sip.

He sat it down when his wrist started to ache. He was careful to not make noise, a little too conscious of his own breathing and each little rustle he made as he tried to get comfortable in the bed.

He didn't feel like laying down though his body probably needed it. The dip in the bed—most definitely from when it broke during their “scuffle”—made his tailbone hurt, but he still refused to lay down.

Noises came from behind the curtain. He turned to watch Roman's shadow moving as he worked on something. The shear fabric only allowed Marcus to guess as to what Roman was doing. He seemed to like insects so maybe he was working with a beetle of some sort.

Marcus wrinkled his nose. Insects were not his idea of fun. He'd been a squeamish kid and when it came to bugs, he was the first one to go running. He didn't even care if it was a lone ant. He wasn't going to mess with it.

He quickly became bored with guessing what Roman was doing. He also didn't want to think about bugs anymore than he had to. His eyes wandered the small shack he was being held in. Most of it he'd already had the chance to look at, but he committed it to memory.

His fingers tapped the thin blanket without him realizing it. He hummed an old song in his head—one he hadn't heard in years since he was a child. He caught himself, stilling and eyes darting to the curtain. The thin fabric separating him from a killer might as well not be there.

The song didn't stop playing in his head. He looked away from the seemingly growing shadow of Roman's hunched form when it was confirmed Roman hadn't noticed anything.

The boredom clawed at Marcus's brain. Though he should have been more on edge—there was no doubt that he was—he was bubbling with this energy to do something. He needed to occupy his brain because though he couldn't escape in his current condition, he could do other things that might help him in the future.

He went back to looking around the room, searching for things that would be useful. He'd gone over the room achingly slow about five times when he noticed that with his and Roman's cup sat the book Roman had been reading.

His eyes flickered up to Roman's still figure again. His palms sweated as he looked at the book.

On the cover was a man spearing another man in what looked like a spaceship. Marcus had never seen the cover before or the picture on it. He immediately searched for the title which was at the top in a strangely tiny font.

Open Space , it read. The author's name was Daniel Clave. The letters of both the title and the author's name were faded.

Marcus wasn't a big reader in general. Science Fiction was the last genre he would pick up if he decided to pick up any book. Either way, he imagined this wasn't a famous book. It looked average—a throwaway novel that was mediocre at best.

Marcus checked once more that he was in the clear before he used his good hand to grab it. He struggled to squeeze it out from between his cup and Marcus's, but he made it without making a noise.

The frayed paper cover felt even more delicate than it looked. It was fragile to the point of almost disintegrating in his hands. He carefully lifted the flap and read the title page.

There was an inscription written in faded pencil.

To Emilia,

with love.

He didn't give much thought as to who Emilia was. She could have been Roman's mother or aunt, but Roman could have also just picked this up at a thrift store.

Marcus turned to the first page and began to read. The opening lines were of a gruesome overtaking by alien pirates. The scenes were so graphic he had to skim over some so he didn't upset his stomach.

He saw why someone like Roman would like this book. It was basically snuff.

He flicked through the chapters and found some more penciled in writing. It wasn't the same penmanship and it wasn't as faded. The blocky letters written along the margins must have been Roman's. He didn't know what about it that seemed so Roman-like, but Marcus just sort of knew.

SAL IS VINCE'S JUDAS

Marcus read the paragraph the note was taken on. In it, the character Vince is wounded and trying to get in touch with his wife. The other character Sal promises to get a hold of her.

Marcus was at a lost as to what the note could mean. He flipped to the end of the book and was about to read it when the scraping of chair legs on the wood floor alerted him.

He fumbled with the book and only managed to set it back down when Roman opened the curtain. He walked out without a pause or look thrown Marcus's way. He hadn't noticed Marcus had been messing with his things thankfully.

Roman threw on his coat and went straight out the front door. He slammed it behind him aggressively.

Marcus stared at the door, not knowing what had pissed the man off. It wasn't a few minutes later before Roman came back inside. His chest heaved and his eyes were crazed.

Marcus stayed as still as he could. His eyes met Roman's for a brief second and then Roman was darting behind the curtain. He knocked over things, glass shattered, and he was cursing under his breath as he seemed to search for something.

Then, it was calm. It was like after a storm except Marcus didn't feel like this was end of it. This felt like something more destructive was brewing on the horizon.

Roman lifted the curtain. He was calmer now though he didn't look better. There was an almost frantic look in his eyes. It was as if he was ready for something to happen, on edge, but he didn't know when it was going to happen. His anxiety transferred to Marcus. He felt on edge for something he didn't know he needed to be prepared for.

But Roman walked into the room as if he hadn't been on the verge of a panic attack.

His eyes spotted his book on the box. He grabbed it. "Are you hungry now?"

Marcus turned his gaze to the other side of the room.

"The silent treatment? Really?" Roman sat in the chair next to the bed. He kicked his feet up onto the mattress, too close to Marcus's feet.

Marcus resisted the urge to pull his feet away. His jaw clenched as the stared at the kitchen though he really wasn't looking at it.

Roman sighed. "Alright. Have it your way. But I'm sure you're going to get really bored after awhile."

"Have you?"

He regretted saying anything the second he did. A small smile broke out on Roman's lips.

"I'm used to it. The first few weeks of isolation are the worst. Be thankful you have me around."

Marcus scoffed. "Thankful? I'd kill you before I even thought about thanking you."

He glared at Roman. Roman held his book up to his face and tapped the corner to his chin. His eyes roamed Marcus's face which made Marcus's cheeks warm.

"What?" He wanted to snatch the book and rip it in half. Anything to hurt Roman even how petty it was.

Roman tossed his book onto his desk behind the curtain. He strode to the cabinets in the kitchen. He squatted in front of one and rustled through it. He pulled out a red box and brought it back to the bed. He tossed it next to Marcus so he could see the front clearly.

Though the cover image was faded with age, the dice on the front made it quite obvious what it was.

Marcus looked up at Roman with disbelief. He didn't know if the man was being serious or not.

Roman ignored the strange look Marcus gave him. He sat back down as if nothing was wrong and that it wasn't strange that a serial killer wanted to play a board game with his kidnap victim.

"This will help, I promise," Roman said. To his credit, he did sound sincere. Which only made Marcus more on guard.

He lifted the box and revealed a crumbled pad of paper, five dice, and a handful of pencils of carious colors and sizes. Roman picked up the short blue pencil without a thought. He pulled out the pad of paper and the dice as well.

He held out the box of pencil to Marcus and gave little nod. Marcus didn't move a fraction. When it became apparent he wasn't going to take one, Roman picked out the red one and pushed it into Marcus's fist.

Marcus snatched his hand back so hard he almost fell off the other side of the bed. The red pencil fell on the sheets between them.

Roman acted like nothing happened. He tore a sheet from the pad and tossed the pad on Marcus's lap. Marcus flinched as the pad of paper hit his thigh. The little jerk sent pain up his leg, reminding him he was currently hurt.

Roman noticed the flinch.

"Sorry," he murmured but left it at that.

He wasn't sorry. He didn't care that Marcus was hurt. He didn't give a shit about anyone.

Marcus grabbed the red pencil with a tightly clenched fist.

Roman wrote his name on his piece of paper, using the lid of the box as a surface. "Don't think about it."

Marcus didn't know what Roman was talking about until he realized he could use the pencil as a weapon. He hadn't been thinking about it but now he was.

After thinking about gouging out Roman's eyes, he threw the pencil back into the box.

"I'm not playing your stupid games." He grabbed the corner of the blanket and threw it over himself as he turned onto his side. The bed shook under his weight and the dice went flying.

"Fine. You'll get bored eventually," Roman said without an ounce of annoyance.

Marcus had a surge of violence go through him at Roman's calm words. He wanted so badly to make the man shut up and also understand how fucked up he was being.

To Marcus's annoyance, Roman picked the dice from the floor and rolled them into the bottom of the box.

"Hm. A four sequence already," he said to himself.

Marcus seethed under the blankets. It became increasingly hot though his lower body was freezing. His eyes burned and he closed them, but that only heightened his hearing. Roman wrote down his score as he played by himself. The pencil scratching against the paper was what drove Marcus mad.

He threw the blankets off again and turned over to face Roman. "What will it take for you to leave me alone if you're not going to kill me already?"

Roman rolled again with a single die. "I told you already. I'm not going to kill you."

There was a silent "not yet" tacked onto the end of that statement.

"Then why are you trying to drive me to death?" He was overtaken by fatigue he was getting so worked up. It was a combination of everything that was happening. The kidnapping, the discovery of another serial killer out for him, meeting the Butterfly Killer copycat, and being part of a plan for said man.

He was also tired from thinking so much. His somewhat obsession with finding the Butterfly Killer had always been tiring. Late nights, early mornings. He was always thinking about the man who'd destroyed his life. And now that deep focus was transferred to this man who was only inches away from him.

He wanted to know everything about Roman. What he ate, how he slept, why he liked that book, what made him tick. But he was caught in a cycle of being disgusted and shamed that he was more fascinated by the man than he was repulsed. He did want to make Roman suffer, but he wasn't the man he was after. The real Butterfly Killer was still out there.

In his anger and tiredness, he didn't notice how close he'd become to Roman until then. Their faces were only a few inches apart. Marcus was closer to the mattress, held up by his weak elbow. Roman tilted his head, his long hair falling off his shoulder.

Formaldehyde mixed with peppermint filled the air between them. Marcus breathed in deeper unconsciously.

Roman stared back at him, his eyes flickering between Marcus's eyes as if he wasn't sure which one held the answers to his questions. Marcus was sure Roman didn't care one way about Marcus. Just like the butterflies, other insects, and rodents behind the curtain, Marcus was just another scientific study. Worse than that, really. He was just a stepping stone for him to get what he wanted.

"I'll leave you alone then," Roman said. He put the game away and set it to the side.

As if Marcus would change his mind and would want to play later.

Roman didn't leave the chair. He put his feet up on the bed and folded his arms over his chest.

"What? Are you going to watch me now?" Marcus didn't know where the snark had come from. It was bubbling up and out of his mouth before he could think twice about the consequences.

Roman didn't look peeved by the attitude or affected by it at all. He did, however, turn up a corner of his mouth for a second. He was amused.

When Marcus got no answer, he turned over again. He tried to ignore the stare on his back and close his eyes to fall asleep. He was both tired and wide-awake.

What must have been half an hour later, Roman left the chair. Marcus relaxed under the covers and finally fell asleep.

Something was wrong. There was a weight crushing his chest. His throat was sealed tight. His eyes flew open, but he was greeted by darkness. A large figure stood above him.

"Breathe, Marcus."

The soft voice was that of an angel. Marcus knew better. It was actually a demon here to finish the job Roman had started.

Marcus flung his weak arms. They felt like cooked spaghetti. He didn't have much control of them as they flopped back down on the damp mattress. His whole body was covered in a layer of sweat.

"Don't touch me!" He thrashed as the figure grabbed his flailing arms and pushed them against the bed above his head.

He screamed and kicked his feet.

"Stop!" The figure yelled back. They struggled to keep him restrained. Their long hair fell down and into Marcus's face.

Marcus slammed his head forward to try and head butt the figure, but they pulled back in time to evade the attack. Marcus screamed once more, but then went still when his stomach twisted with sickness.

He groaned. "I'm going?—"

The figure quickly rolled Marcus onto his side. A bucket that smelled of rust was shoved under his mouth. He heaved and heaved until he threw up the contents of his stomach. He puked again until there was nothing left except stomach acid. He spat that out.

The figure who he now recognized as Roman rubbed gentle circles into his back.

He groaned again as another wave of sickness went through his shaky body. Roman continued to rub his back as he sat the bucket on the ground.

"Sit back," Roman ordered.

Marcus followed the direction, the fight in him snuffed once more. He was weakened in his limbs and his mind. He was already on the edge of sleep.

Roman got up to leave. Marcus grabbed his arm weakly. He wasn't strong enough to keep him by his side, but Roman stopped anyway.

"Don't leave me," Marcus begged with a cracked voice. The darkness had engulfed him completely. He couldn't make out anything in the dark and it frightened him more than the man standing in front of him.

Everything hurt. He felt the sickness all in him. He didn't want to believe he was on the edge of death. He didn't want to believe it was possible when he felt so young—when he was so young.

The only way he imagined himself dying was by his own hands. He never even imagined the Butterfly Killer would find him or that a copycat would. It had always been his own grief that haunted him more than the evil bastards walking amongst him.

Roman didn't pull away like Marcus thought he would. He stayed.

Marcus jolted when Roman brushed back his hair with gentle fingers.

"The toughest of men always beg." Roman's gentle touch turned from being nice to annoying.

Still, Marcus didn't pull away. He let the man touch him like he was a hurt stray animal he was saving more for the good-samaritan points rather than wanting to do it out of the goodness of his heart.

"I thought you would be different. A challenge," Roman continued. He ran his fingers through Marcus's damp hair as he spoke. "It doesn't matter what I think though. As long as you get his attention, you'll have served your purpose."

Marcus stared up at his savior and his abuser with wet eyes. The tears ran down his hot cheeks as he tried to think deeply about what Roman was saying. He didn't have the energy to decipher it all.

"Sleep, butterfly."

Roman forced Marcus's eyes closed with two spread fingers.