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My back bumps up against the counter, my lungs burning, my anger making my hands shake. I know who the Butterfly Killer is. "Who is h...."
He looks down at the kitchen knife lodged in his gut, hands shaking as he steps backward from me. "You're just like everyone else. Pathetic." Gripping the handle, I yank it out, watching Kyler fall back onto his ass. My ears are ringing as I bend down to look into his face, "I didn't kill those girls." He looks like he doesn't believe me, body shifting backward in a weird crab walk as he tries to get away from me. "I didn't kill those girls!" I kick his legs, dropping down to stab my knife into his thigh. "You know what? You're just like them. All of them. You think I need those pills to be normal, that I can't function like a regular person without them? Well, you're wrong." Ripping my knife out, I slam my knife into his stomach. I do it again, and again, and again, using his body like the therapy, I never had. Until his torso is nothing but torn, bloody flesh, and my arms are shaking with exhaustion.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
"Put that down and come here, Hadley." My mother's voice calls from the doorway, the silver butterfly clips holding back the hair at her temples, glinting in the light of a candle on the shelf. I ignore her, shaking my head in silent defiance. "Be a good girl and come here."
Drip. Drip. Drip.
A good girl. I snort, lips twisting at my mother. That’s not possible; nothing I ever do is good enough for my parents. I am never good enough for them. My eyes land on my father's unblinking gaze from where I stand near his chair. It's a nice change to not hear him slinging around his insults and disappointment at my behavior. That's all he ever fucking does, all he ever has to say to me. I hear the floorboards creak as my mother takes a step into the room, and my attention turns back to her. Her hands are shaking despite the confident bite of her tone just moments ago. Is she scared? What the fuck could she possibly be scared for? I'm the one going to be punished, not her. "Why are you trembling?"
Drip. Drip. Drip.
She ignores my question, eyes flickering between my hand and my face. "Knock this off right now, young lady!" One of her hands is clutching a pleat in her long skirt, the other gripping the doorframe like she needs the support to keep from toppling over.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The crease in her brow lightens just a bit when I step forward in her direction, then quickly deepens when she realizes I'm not coming to her. My foot steps into something warm and wet when I pass my father's chair, toes sticking to the floor as I walk to the candle on the shelf. Letting the hammer I was holding slip through my fingers to my feet, I reach for it. The hot glass burns against my palms as I cradle it to my chest, but I don’t mind, taking a deep breath to inhale its scent. It smells like sugared donuts, far too pleasant to be in a hell hole like this. I look back at my father, his silent face staring back at me. "No."
I look at my mother, "Do you think I'm crazy?" She stutters, a drop of sweat dripping down her brow. "Do you think I'm crazy?!" I scream it at her, making her jump.
"Nnn..No. You're not crazy, Hadley."
My eyes narrow on her, the tremble in her hands growing. "Then why do you make me take pills? If you don't think I'm crazy, why did you, mother, have doctor Steven remove my uterus?!"
"You had a medical condition; we didn't have a choice." Her eyes keep going to my father, and I scoff.
"I heard you, mother. I heard you both. You couldn't bear the thought of me, your broken daughter having children." I'm still holding the candle in my hands, the skin burning the longer it sits. But I don't care, it grounds me.
"You are a vile, evil child, Hadley. You are sick. Your father and I knew you could never be allowed to reproduce. You are not normal, something is wrong with you!" She screams it at me, getting brave enough to step farther into the roomtoward my father.
"You created me, mother. What does that make you?" Her outburst stuns me silent, my hands trembling so hard the candle almost falls to the ground. I pinch it harder to keep from losing it.
Eyeing me a moment, she bolts at my father, and I let her, moving to take her place at the door. She trips on the hammer I dropped, the one I used to bust my way into his study, almost falling before she catches onto the arm of his chair. She frantically starts trying to untie him, her feet splashing in the gas that's dripping down from his body and the chair. She rips the binding from his mouth, and I meet his gaze over her shoulder, "No!"
I let the candle drop from my hands, the glass bouncing and rolling in the gasoline. It sparks up, a hot rapid path that zips straight to my parents. My mother screams, falling back on her ass as the flames eat her up, my father trying to break from his bines as he wales in agony. I reach into the room, grabbing onto the handle to shut the door. "I am normal."
"I am normal!" I scream it as his lifeless body, chest heaving as I stare down at him.
"Hadley."
I startle at the voice, eyes wide as they jump to Rhys standing before me. "It's not what it looks like, Butterfly."
My fingers tremble against the knife, blood pooling around my knees as his cornflower eyes sear through my flesh with his anger. "I think we know who the real butterfly is, don't we?"
I shake my head, dropping the knife as I stand in the pool of blood, slowly eating up my kitchen floor. "It's not like that. This was an accident."
He laughs, a cruel, loud sound that vibrates in my ears. "An accident? How the fuck do you stab someone that many fucking times and it be an accident? Fucking damn it, Hadley!" He steps into the blood, one of his sneakers kicking Kyler's body between us. His hand snaps out, grabbing my cheeks painfully in his hands. "What did I fucking tell you? Huh?" He throws my face away, and I stumble backward, catching myself on the counter. "What did I tell you at the diner?"
He pulls out his phone, angrily dialing while I watch. "If you lose it, we both do." He brings the phone to his ear, "77843 E Redburrow St. You’ll find the Butterfly Killer and the newest victim." He ends the call, tossing the phone onto the floor. Any minute now, my house will be swamped with every police officer in Rivercrest Landing.Part of me feels oddly relieved, while the other is screaming. Rhys's hands grab at his hair, eyes landing on me. I don't need to look at my ring to know he's disappointed. "I didn't kill those women."
His hand drops from his head, eyes narrowing on my face. "Then who did?"
I swallow, eyes falling to Kyler's body. "You."
He laughs again, and the sound bounces off the wall. "Bold, coming from the woman who just stabbed her casual fuck to death in her kitchen."
I wait until his eyes find mine, "Now what?" His gaze shifts over my head, and I look with him, red and blue lights reflecting off the trees outside of my bay window, signifying I've run out of time to figure this out.
He doesn't answer me.
My door is kicked down within a minute of seeing the lights, officers shouting to get on my knees and put my hands in clear sight. I drop down, my black denim soaking up the blood off the tile as I watch Rhys drop to his. His gaze meets mine for a mere second before officers are swarming me, making me lose sight of him.
My hands are slapped with cuffs, an officer in my ear barking so loudly I can't hear anything else. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you..."
I’m walked out of my house and toward a waiting patrol car. I try to look for Rhys as we move, my head swiveling, but I can't see him. I'm pushed down into the car, and my door is slammed shut. It's moving almost the second I get in, my eyes stuck on my house and the second patrol, thinking maybe that's where they put Rhys. I stare until it's out of sight, and I'm forced to face forward. My hands are still trembling; my mood stone a mix of blues. I don't know what to expect, and it's unnerving.
"Why'd you do it?"
My attention is drawn to the officer in the passenger seat. He’s facing me, waiting for me to answer. When I don't, he shakes his head, turning back around. I rest my head against the window, the glass cool against my head. I didn't answer him, because I don't even know. Why did I do it?
