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18
I'm hauled out of the police car by my elbow, a hand pressing down the top of my head, so I don't hit the lip of the frame. Despite officers lining the outskirts of the building, news crews are lining every available corner, lights flashing, and people shouting questions I can't quite hear. A female detective steps in front of me and I look at the officer holding my cuffs briefly, before she meets my gaze over her shoulder, waving toward some other officers. They swarm around us, creating a barricade of bodies to block me out of sight.
Once inside, they split off, leaving me with my bodyguard and the detective once more. I'm brought into a bright room with ugly mint green walls, where I'm patted down by two female officers, stripped of my clothing, and handed a very drab tan uniform. Once changed, my fingerprints are stamped and pressed, my mouth swabbed for a DNA sample, and I'm stuck in front of the camera for mug shots. I'm then very unceremoniously dumped into an interrogation room and left to twiddle my thumbs. It's all unremarkably drab and unexciting.
The same detective as before steps into the room, smoothing out her crisp white button-up as she sits in the chair opposite me. "I'm Detective Porter. I've been following your case for some time, Hadley."
I don't say anything, just turn my face to stare at the one way mirror and my reflection looking back at me. I can feel their eyes on me, the other officers and detectives chomping at the bit to know more about the infamous Butterfly Killer.
"I have to say, we didn't expect the Butterfly Killer to be a woman."
My eyes flick to hers. "It's not."
Her lips part, head tilting ever so slightly with confusion. Her eyes dart between the mirror and me. "Are you not the Butterfly Killer?"
I lick my lips, raise my cuffed hands to brush away a stray hair that was tickling my cheek. "No."
Another quick glance toward the mirror and back. "Then who is? We know you were the one that killed Kyler, Hadley. We know you made the pho..."
"Rhys Elliot. He is the Butterfly Killer, and he called Kyler’s murder in."
She shakes her head, clearly confused with what I'm telling her. She must be dense. "You're trying to tell me that you did not kill the women that were murdered in Rivercrest Landing?"
I don't answer her, not right away, making her sit in my silence as I link my fingers over the table. "You're not going to get the answers you're looking for."
She lets out a loud breath, head ducking down for just a moment. "We don't have to be enemies here, Hadley. I just want to get to understand you. Why can't you answer me?"
I turn my face to look at my reflection once more. "Even if I wanted to tell you, Detective Porter, I can't."
"This is a safe space, Hadley. It's just you and me here. Help me, and I'll help you."
My eyes leave the one way mirror, falling over the detective sitting across from me. She's staring at me expectantly, wishing for an answer I'm not going to give her any time soon. Or ever. Her eyes drift toward the window, slowly coming back to land on me like she's unsure how to proceed.
"Why did you become a murderer, Hadley? Why did you decide to be the Butterfly serial killer?" Again with this tedious question.
"Do you know anything about Rabbits detective?" She shakes her head, but I'm already talking before she's finished. "If a mother rabbit is stressed, hungry, bored, scared, or really many other frivolous things..." I pause, swipe my tongue over my bottom lip to relieve some of the dryness. "She'll eat her babies."
"If you're going to continue to waste my time, I don't see a reason for this talk." She starts to scoot her chair back, and I lift my cuffed hands from the table, the metal clanking against it as I crook my finger at her in a come hither motion.
Brows tilted in confusion, she casts a quick glance at the other officers through the paned mirror. She slowly rises from her chair, palms flat along the steel surface of the table as she leans toward me. I stand, and she watches, the rise and fall of her chest quickening with the action. Her body instinctively knowing it should be wary as I lean forward, my cheek just skimmer hers as my lips brush along her ear, "Some people are just born Unsettled."
"Wha..."
Her voice is cut off as my hand clamps around her throat, fingers digging into her soft pale flesh with such force my nails draw blood. I feed off of her panic, squeeze harder as her hands grab at mine, fingernails scratching my skin as she yanks on my arms. They always do that. Panic. There's probably a hundred different ways she could get out of my hold, but when that dark inky fear sinks in, they always lose all rational thoughts in their pathetic little heads.
I hear the shoes squeaking outside of the door, the shouts before they come busting in, and I tighten my grip on the detective's throat, soaking up her terror for just a few seconds longer. The door bangs against the wall, and I'm quickly ripped from the table and thrown backward, my head smacking roughly against the brick at my back. But I don't feel it; all of my attention is on the detective and the bloom of pretty little bruises marring her creamy skin. So fucking beautiful, it makes me smile.
She would have made such a pretty, pretty butterfly.
The detective's eyes catch mine for just a moment, a brilliant shade of emerald green brimming with tears. She's coughing, her hand clutching her throat as she tries to regain composure. I told her she wouldn't get the answers she was looking for. She should have listened.
"Where's Rhys?" I ask it as I'm yanked to my feet by an officer at my side. I've already asked this, one hundred times even, but no one has yet to answer me. "Where's the man who called the police?"
I watch the rough swallow the detective pushes down, she nods to the officer checking on her. He backs up, and I'm shoved into my chair once more, this time, with an officer at my back. "If you mean the victim, Kyler... "
"I'm not talking about fucking Kyler! I'm talking about Rhys. Are you stupid? The man who called you guys. He was there when the officers came into my house." I don't have my rings anymore, but I know I'm getting angry, my hands trembling so that the metal of my cuffs ting against the tabletop.
"There wasn't another person there, a woma.."
