1:09 AM | 
Posted by
Jezzi
The Butterfly Killer 001
This is a very long entry, I'm sure. But I'm uploading what I have so far. Updates to this story will now be sporadic and much shorter, I'm sure.
Alan Briton groaned as he brought his Honda to a stop behind the growing line of cars. The salesman had promised him the cabin was soundproof, yet he heard the scream of horns echoing from every direction. Next time he’d buy domestic. The sun started to bake through the windshield and he clicked the air conditioning on as he felt the first beads of sweat pop up across his forhead. Next to him in the passenger seat his wife, Elizabeth, looked out the window. No doubt she was trying to discover what horrors had stopped their ride home. Without shifting her eyes from the traffic she reached over and turned the air conditioning back off.
“You’re wasting gas. Just roll down the window.” She said, craning her neck to try and get a better view. “I hope no one is hurt!” Alan rolled his eyes at her worry. In Baltimore people clogged the highway because they’d heard there may have been a cop within ten miles of the highway three hours before. Personally he’d much rather just shoulder a speeding ticket. In any case he seriously doubted an accident. Eventually they’d edge past a car stopped on the side of the road, a state trooper lecturing some poor soul about the dangers of reckless driving. He felt for whoever it was. But he’d never tell Lizzie that her worry was misplaced. God knows she’d never forgive him the one time it did turn out to be an accident. He sighed and rolled down his window, gagging as a wave of exhaust scented heat flooded the car. Yes, this was certainly just as good as the frigid air that was just pumping through his vents. His eyes rolled again.
Almost half an hour later he gave a little noise of relief as the brake lights on the truck in front of him went out, and it rolled forward several yards. It was by no means sixty miles an hour but it was movement. Beside him Lizzie had fallen asleep, her grey hair falling across her eyes. There was a harsh red flush to her arms, remnants of the cruise they’d just been on. But other than that she looked amazing for her fifty-five years of life, the only things seperating her from their daughter being her hair, and a good deal more experience behind her eyes. He smiled as the traffic began to move again, and they passed a state trooper walking back to his cruiser from a little red sports car. With a shake of his head, he drove on towards home.
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Shopping bags grated against Elizabeth's skin like tiny razors, irritating and inflaming her sunburn. She hissed through her teeth and blew a tendril of hair from her eyes to better see her husband as he fumbled for keys. What seemed like hours later, he picked their house key from the jumble and there was a tiny metallic scrape as it slid into the lock. Cold air billowed out from the dark interior of the house, into the oppressive Baltimore summer heat. Without warning she shoved past him, forcing her way into the air conditioning and dropping the bags to the plush living room carpet. With an apologetic glance over her shoulder she chose a bag from the pile and rummaged through it, picking out a bright yellow sun dress with the black silhouette of hibiscus flowers exploding from the bottom hem. She rose to hold the dress in front of her, inspecting it for any imperfections. A smile crept over her face, thinking of her daughter wearing the dress, knowing it would complement her sunshine colored hair and blue eyes. She turned to her husband, who stood at the island in their kitchen with a glass of water.
"Do you think she'll like this, Alan?", she murmured, glancing down the hallway towards the closed door that led to her daughter Anna's room. Behind her, Alan shifted and she heard the glass clink against the porcelain counter top as he set down his drink. He walked up behind her and kissed her shoulder fondly, ruffling her hair as he'd done their entire marriage. He looked over her head at the door down the hall and his eyes narrowed at an uneasy feeling. Ignoring it he turned back to her and smiled.
"She'll love it. Just like she'll love every ring, necklace, flip flop, barrette, set of earrings, key chain, and the kitchen sink I'm sure you got her too." He bent to pick up another bag and as he turned to put it on the island he glanced back at the shut door. After a couple moments he looked back towards Elizabeth. "Lizzie, didn't we see Anna's car out front? Could you check?" His eyes went back to the door as she poked a finger through the blinds, peering out at their daughter's tiny blue car sitting in the driveway.
"Yeah, she's home. Why?", She looked at Alan and then followed his gaze down the hall. "She's probably taking a nap Alan. Teens take naps." But her own eyes were stuck to the door now, and at the same moment both of them placed the uneasy feeling. The house was quiet, the kind of smothering silence that makes a person turn on music when they intend to read, that makes people hustle down staircases in a misplaced sense of fear. The kind of silence that every parent gives up when they have a child. Alan walked around her and moved down the hall towards the empty door. He looked over his shoulder at his wife and she smiled encouragingly, although a ball of terror was settling in her stomach.
Halfway down the hall Alan froze, as if a wall had been erected in front of him. Every cell in his body was propelling him forward but he couldn't bring his legs to move. He felt his wife pad down the hall and as she came up beside him she glanced up, her eyes pleading. He looked down at her, tears pricking his eyes, and then back at the door, which had become too large, too heavy to imagine opening.
Elizabeth continued on, pausing when she reached the door, her hand on the doorknob. Sucking in her breath, she pushed it open, and then the air whooshed from her lungs. Her legs gave out beneath her and she sank to the floor, her eyes glued to her daughter's bed. The smell wafted out around her, until now hemmed in by the closed door and the plush carpet that rose to meet it. The window was open and curtains fluttered in the humid air, the room was easily 30 degrees hotter than the rest of the house. Her stomach heaved and she quelled the urge, tried and failed to stand. She hugged herself and dug her nails unfeelingly into her sunburned arms, beginning to rock slightly on her heels. Behind her, her husband found the strength to move and came up to her side, his eyes on her, his hand falling to her shoulder. She didn't look up at him, she couldn't. Her eyes could see nothing but the bed, with its warm yellow comforter, Anna's favorite color. Finally her husband raised his eyes to the room and saw their daughter, and as he screamed, an inhuman sound that hurt her ears, Elizabeth's stomach heaved once more and she found herself unable to stop the wave.
Anna Briton lay stretched across her bed in an almost casual pose. Her hair flared across the pillows in a golden wave and her right hand was beside her head, palm upward, fingers lightly curled. Her legs were bent at the knee, and her left arm lay over her abdomen, her hand resting on her right side. And here the calm ended. Violent angry wounds covered her stomach and chest, gaping gashes filled with clotted blood and dotted with flies. Her sunny cover was marred by a massive pool of dark red, and it had flowed to the edge and over, forming a puddle on the floor at the edge of her bed. Beside her, on a white nightstand piled high with books and music, a single blue butterfly fluttered lethargically in a clear glass mason jar.
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