We held hands for a suspended moment, almost like forlorn lovers who have struggled a lifetime to share a fragment of unity, of togetherness. I brushed the hair off her forehead; the coal black strands clinging to her skin from the perspiration beading on the follicles, swept the hair from her face right before I began strangling her. A second's lucid peace turned into furious flailing rage then, my tips of fingers burying themselves into the soft white tenderness of her throat. Thumbs pressed inwards, searching for her fragile windpipe, and upon finding it they squeezed, completely cutting off the passage, destroying the tunnel inside of her, no more air, she gasped as she fought to fill her lungs but nothing found its way down the tubes. Her eyes bulged, a shocked look projecting utter confusion and bewilderment that this was happening to her, of all people. I could see a thousand cells explode in the panic valves of her brain circuits, now oozing with adrenaline and a myriad of chemicals: she could feel the death in the room, and it had its hands around her throat. The veins in her face pulsed heavy to the surface with a rich blue cast; robot bodily functions coming to grips with an approaching end.
She got one last burst of energy, some deep-seated survival drive that hit my chest and forearms with weakening swings. It was an animal fit that propelled her to fight, to struggle, but alas, she was no match to my strength and my preparation for this moment; like that animal, she was caught, in a crack of surprise, of vulnerability.
This went on for too long, for my tastes. I didn't mean for her to suffer this much, for the end to drag on for too many eternal minutes for the shock and fear to register. I twisted her neck quickly, snapping it sideways to break her neck and put her out of her misery. No need for her to have to experience all of this firsthand. She was innocent, throughout it all.
All she had to give was her flesh, and I took it all so greedily. Such a glutton, I am. But I serve a higher power.
I let go of her neck and let her fall to the ground. She stared up at me, death frozen into her exposed eyeballs. Heavy purple bruises in the shape of my hands like a tight permanent necklace wrapped under her chin. She was gone.
The butterflies made their awaited appearance, the three of them fluttered into the kitchen where I stood. They hovered over the body, inspecting my damage to their goods.
"Very nice work, not so much abuse to the body as last time, wouldn't you say?" the (I assumed) female butterfly said, the disembodied words bouncing off linoleum. I often wondered if I heard them telepathically, as if they were tuned into one of my brain channels to smuggle in their voices. They sounded much larger than their small wings and bodies would have me believe.
"Very pretty girl. Where'd you find her?"
"Some bar downtown," I responded. "Meat market. She said she'd just been dumped by her old man. On the rebound. Easy prey."
"I like how you choked this one to death," the smallest butterfly, the weakest one of the group said to me as it hovered over her neck wounds. "We don't particularly care for all that blood and mess, as you know. While it's occasionally understandable-"
"Given certain circumstances," the other interrupted.
"We tend to favor specimens such as this one. Intact, as little outside damage as possible."
"I do my best," I said.
"Do you ever think of poisoning them?" the one who I assumed was the leader asked.
"Well, I'm not so good at regulating the dosage. I've found that sometimes you don't give 'em enough and they freak out and then it takes a lot to finally put them down. I like being in control of the situation. Less accidents and mishaps that way."
They danced light trails over her still face as it began to turn blue. They examined her closely, inspecting every inch of the dead flesh.
"Over here, Hamilton," one of them called to me. "Take off her clothes. We need to see all of her." I obliged, tugging off her jeans and panties, then pulling her shirt up over her head. She was still limber enough as to make for easy removal of her clothing, although I could feel the beginnings of rigor mortis creeping into her limbs. Naked now, lying on the floor, the butterflies traveled to other locations upon her.
My hands started to tremble a little, so I padded into the bathroom to fetch a Xanax. Need to take the edge off the moment, come down a little. The pill dissolved under my tongue, as the tranquil fingers massaged my thoughts and soothing the nervous rage I kept bottled up inside me.
When I came back into the kitchen, I saw that the butterflies had already begun working. They flapped down, nestling into the dead woman's various orifices, shitting out bulging egg sacs into her nostrils and ears, pushing the parcels deep inside the caverns with their delicate wings.
"Open her mouth," one asked me. "Spread her legs, also. We need to plant in there as well."
That was our arrangement; they rescued me from the institution, gave me a cover and a way out of that hellhole, and in exchange I provided incubators for them, to continue their particular species. Watching them drop their eggs had a calming effect upon my nerves. That, combined with the tranquilizer, I began to feel a pleasant numbness spreading over the folds of brain tissue deep inside my skull. I wandered into the living room and sunk into the couch, in touch with a calming peace I'm sure few others have ever known.
Some time later after I'd nodded off, I heard them calling for me. "We are finished with her," the leader said as he waved his mottled wings in the still air.
"Everything go OK for you?" I asked, half-conscious.
"Yes, indeed. She is full of our progeny now."
"See how they already move about under her skin? They are feeding, becoming stronger." Sure enough, I could see the small lumps in her face working back and forth over the bone structure.
"They seem happy," I said.
"Yes, their emergence from their cocoons shall be in tribute to the continuation of our race," the female said proudly. He drifted up, closer to my face. "Tell me, Hamilton, does it ever worry you to think about our coming reign, when all of your kind shall serve as incubators for our young, when we enslave mankind and take our rightful, deserved place as rulers of this world?"
"I don't mind, really," I said. "It's about time something else takes the reins."
"You are a true comrade in these times of clandestine upheaval," it said to me.
"Don't mention it," I told it.
"Take her to the crawlspace," one of the others said. "Place her with the rest of the dead. Our children need time to feed and grow." They formed a single file line in the empty space as I dragged her by the feet down the stairs, leading into the garage. It was beginning to reek of decay with the other six or so bodies rotting like so much slaughtered beef left out in the sun. I opened up the crawlspace, and shoved her in.
"Getting full in here," I said to the butterflies.
"Don't worry," they said collectively. "Soon, all of our offspring will be ready to leave their cocoons, and join us. Then you will be able to dispose of these empty shells."
"Fine by me. Just hope I can find some place to dump them all." I closed the door to the crawlspace. "Listen, guys, I need to get some rest. Can you keep yourselves busy for a while?"
"Certainly," the leader said. "There is much work to be done in organizing our revolution. How do you say it, setting the wheels in motion?" They shared a group chuckle, a light moment after much hard work.
"However, there's one more thing. All of the specimens that you have collected for us have been female."
"Yeah, so what? A body's a body to you guys, right?"
"Well," the leader answered, phrasing the words carefully, "perhaps a male body could be used as well. Different chemicals for the offspring to feed from. We want to observe the results. This won't inconvenience you, will it?"
"Um, I don't know. I've never thought it before.It was so much easier luring the women into my lair, as there was always the pretense of sex involved that I could capture them with (made much easier for a man of my average appearance by the pheromones supplied by the butterflies). I couldn't see myself going down to some gay bar and hustling a man, I don't think I'd know what to do. Still, I didn't want to betray them or let them down. "I guess I could give it a shot," I said, my brain stumbling for a solution.
xcellent. See yourself to sleep, Hamilton. We will be ready tomorrow evening."
Went to my room and lay down in my bed. I could hear them conversing in the next room, a low buzz like the flutter of their wings. My night was marred by fitful sleep, dreams where I was captured by giant assailants, who crucified me to a wall, long spikes driven through my hands and feet, spread apart like a snow angel. Wasn't nearly as messianic as it sounds, really. I awoke breathlessly from each episode of the dream, vowing never to sleep again. The sheets were soaked with my sweat. I thought I could smell the bodies down in the crawlspace, fermenting away, their insides crawling with baby monsters, fighting to break through the toughened skin.
I heard my phone ring in the kitchen, the distant noise disturbing my slumber. It was light out, judging from the sun pouring through the windows. As I came into the kitchen, I saw no sign of the butterflies. Did they sleep as well?
"Yeah?"
"Hamilton?" someone asked unsurely.
"Who's this?"
"Man, it's Pete." His once familiar voice seemed so foreign to me now. I couldn't even remember what he looked like. He used to be a good friend.
"Oh, hi Pete, how's things?" I struggled to sound casual, relaxed.
"Same old shit, Hamilton. Where in the hell have you been? I haven't seen or heard from ya in almost a month. What gives?"
"Well, you know, I've been workin' a lot and stuff..."
"Bullshit, man," he said. "I talked to Bobby Collins, he said you quit showin' up at the factory two weeks ago. You got some shit goin' on that you wanna talk about?" He sounded concerned, but I knew that he would never understand what I was going through. I looked through the kitchen cabinets for some air freshener or something. Maybe a citronella candle.
"Nah, Pete. I've been all right. That fuckin' factory was getting' to me, you know all I could think about was that machinery taking off one of my fingers or somethin' like that...it was killing me, Pete. I had to get out."
"I hear that, buddy. I hear that. I'm about to murder everyone here at the office. You got any tips?" He laughed loudly into my ear, and I couldn't resist responding, even though I found more humor in the irony of his statement, of which he was unaware. "But seriously, Hamilton, what the fuck is going on? Some sweet young thing takin' up all your free time, now you're too good for your old college buddy?"
"No, nothin' like that, either."
"Than what the fuck is up man?"
The truth, perhaps? Or should I put one of the butterflies on the phone and let them explain? "No reason, really, I guess."
"Listen, man," he said, "I'm a little worried about you. Ever since you, well, you know," he stammered for the appropriate language.
"My breakdown, Pete?"
"Yeah, man. I guess I want to make sure you're all right. Katie's worried about you too. Don't forget, Amanda misses her godfather coming over to play with her." Kate was Pete's wife. Amanda his daughter. They were your typical, perfect, sickening family unit. I won't deny that I was more than a little jealous of what Pete had.
"We'll get together soon, Pete. I miss you guys." Reminders of a life once familiar. Now I don't know who the fuck these people are.
"Well, hey Hamilton, I'm gonna be in your neighborhood later this evening, after I leave the office. You feel like some company?"
"What will you be doin' down here, slumming?"
"Very funny. Your neighborhood's not that bad. No crackhouses in the area, right?"
"None that I'm aware of."
"OK, I'll be by around seven or so. That all right with you?"
"Maybe not Pete I don't know if I'll be 'round-"
"Sure you will. Don't worry about cleaning your place up or anything. Give us a chance to talk, we'll catch up. Sound good?"
"Whatever you say, Pete."
"Great. See you later." He left the line empty. The smell from downstairs was really over-powering. He's sure to notice it. Maybe there's some incense in the drawer.
"Who cares if he notices the smell?" I heard from across the room. It was the butterflies, hovering in the doorway.
"You don't think he'll be in the least bit suspicious?" I asked them.
"Not if he becomes a part of the stench."
"Put two and two together, Hamilton. We know you're brighter than that."
I instantly protested. "No way. I'm not killing Pete. Me and him's been buddies since we were in college. He's got a family. There's no fucking way I could do anything to him."
"Ah, but it would be so easy for you. If he's the right specimen for us, perhaps he'll be the last one we'll need."
The butterfly in the middle floated up higher than the other two. "The matter is settled. You will murder him. Your loyalty is with us, not some human for whom you think you have feelings."
"I'm very sorry," I said, despondent. "I do whatever you all ask of me but I can't do it."
The leader assumed an air of superiority. "Remember where we saved you from," he said. "We could just as easily pack you off back there." The thought of that awful place, the way they treated me, the memories made me shudder.
The more female came closer to me, casting a light wind in my direction from the beating of her thin wings. "We can understand that he means something to you, Hamilton. Although we can't comprehend this human expression known as friendship, we are able to recognize it. But really, what has he ever done for you? He's the one with the perfect life; what do you have? Where was he when you had your nervous breakdown? Did he take your calls from the hospital when all you needed was for someone to understand? Where was he then?"
I was surprised. "How do you what he did?"
"Honestly, Hamilton," she responded. "We're in this a lot deeper than you could ever imagine. Admit it, you're jealous of what he has. You were never given the opportunities that he received and took for granted. He's taken the easy road his whole life, while you struggled through the dirt. Don't even do it for us, Hamilton. If it makes it easier, know that you'll be doing it for yourself." Her wings brushed past my cheek in a seductive trail. I could practically taste her coercion. Sadly though, it all made much too much sense to me. I did resent Pete, with his superior attitude when I interacted with him. We'd met in college and stayed friends ever since, but I could always tell he thought he was better than me. While I stringed along a series of fucked-up, failed relationships, he married a wonderful woman and had a perfect child. He made big money uptown while I slowly committed suicide in dead-end jobs. He had no right to be happy when I existed in misery. The butterfly was right about him avoiding me when I got committed. Messages to him floated freely, unanswered. He never came and saw me when I was in hell for two and a half months. Not a card. No flowers. No interest in his psychotic friend's life. The son of a bitch didn't give a shit about me, plain and simple. Killing him seemed more and more logical as I sat there and fumed.
"OK," I finally said to the three of them. "I'll take care of him for you. He'll be here tonight." I still wasn't sure if this was the right thing to do, but I was the perfect slave: ready to obey my master's command.
"Excellent," one of them said. "Will you strangle him, like the others?"
"How about you all disappear for a while. I've got to clean the place up." I really needed another Xanax.
I felt no passage of time but sometime later I heard a knock at the door. I went down and let him inside.
"Hey Hamilton, how's it goin'?" he said, as he tried to embrace me. I ducked away from his grasp and looked at him like I would a stranger who'd attempt such an intimate maneuver. "Hi, Pete. Come on in."
"Love what you've done with the place," he said sarcastically, ducking a low-hanging cobweb. "Ever think about investing in some lamps? Light won't kill you. Or has my buddy turned into a vampire?"
"Funny, Pete. You want something to drink?"
"What do you got?"
"Some vodka, I think. Maybe a few beers."
"Heineken?"
"More like Milwaukee's Best."
"I'll take a glass of vodka, if you wouldn't mind. With some ice."
"Sure, have a seat," I pointed him towards the couch.
In the kitchen, I poured the bottle of vodka with unsteady hands. The sheer reality of the situation at hand was beginning to unnerve me. Do I got the balls to kill him? What if he fights me off, and calls the cops? It'll be real easy to explain all the bodies in the basement and my butterfly friends to them. Real easy.
"Hey Hamilton?"
"Yes, Pete?" I call back.
"What in the hell is that smell?" I froze, with the bottle in mid-pour. Shit.
"Seriously, man," he said as he walked into the room and took the glass from me before I overfilled it. He took a solid drink, and then crinkled up his nose. "Jesus, you got dead people under the floorboards or somethin'? It stinks to high heaven in here." He pulled open the fridge door, looking for rotting meat, something to explain the stench. Apparently I had gotten used to it, but the fresh scent sent his senses reeling. "Any ideas, buddy? That don't smell too healthy."
I tried to feign ignorance as I stumbled for a lie. "Gee, Pete, I don't know really, do you think it smells that bad?"
"Is there something wrong with your sense of smell? It's like you got a dead raccoon behind the fridge." He led himself over to the door leading to the basement, to the crawlspace. He couldn't go down there. "You know what, Hamilton? It's like it's coming from down here. Mind if I take a look? You could have a wild animal down there, rotting away, I bet you could get a disease or something..." His hand reached for the knob as I ran to him and forced myself between him and the door.
"Oh yeah, now I know what the smell is, I got a freezer down there, full of meat. It must've got unplugged or something, goddamnit all that meat's gone bad." Tried to appear casual, but the expression all over his face registered confusion and a screaming sense of my half-assed cover-up.
"Hamilton, maybe we need to have a talk, cause you're acting real screwy right now. Just let me take a look at that freezer, maybe we can salvage some of the stuff in it." He effortlessly pushed me aside, and opened the door. The aroma of the putrefying corpses hit him like a shotgun blast to his nostrils. He put his hand to his face, as if he could block out a smell one could almost see. "Jesus fucking Christ Hamilton, it smells like..." Despite my nervousness and utter dread, I quit hearing him when I saw the butterflies drift into the room. Perhaps the essence of death drew them out. Pete looked down the dark stairwell in vain, trying to catch a glimpse of the offending perpetrator.
"Go away!" I whispered through my teeth at the butterflies. "He'll see you!"
"Do it, Hamilton," they cried out at once. "He's ours!"
"Look, man," Pete began to say, "Get me a garbage bag cause we gotta clean that up-" he wasn't ready for me shoving him down the stairwell. One hard push, and he rolled headfirst, down to the bottom, landing with a thud I felt in my temples. The butterflies cheered at my action. It was rare for them to provide me with the cheerleader service. I sprinted down after Pete, taking two stairs at a time. By the time I reached the floor, however, he was already up from his tumble, and swung wildly at me. A fist connected to the side of my head, knocking me to the cold cement. In the darkness he kicked like a wildman, trying to meet my prostrate body. He hit more than he missed, and I cried out with every blow to my torso as I tried to squirm away from him.
"You son of a bitch Hamilton what the fuck are you trying to prove?" He quit beating me for a moment as he searched for a light in the black. It gave me a chance to flee to the other side of the room, and since it was my house, I found the circuit breaker, and threw switches off to prevent the light from coming on, to keep him from illuminating the basement by pulling the cord that dangled above his head. As he flailed about, I ran towards the murky shape and tackled him around the waist, sending both of us to the floor in a tangle of limbs. My hands crept over his frame, looking for his throat so I could deliver my coup de grace, so I could be done with all the carnage, all the death, all the servitude.
"Sorry, Pete," was all I could muster.
Tasting his own death in the back of his throat, he surged his hips from beneath my weight, sending me over his shoulders, hitting my head against the corner of the bottom wooden step. It was much more of a vicious blow than the last, as I curled up tightly into a fetal position to blot out the pain. Pete seized the opportunity to run away, up the stairs.
"This is it, Hamilton," he shouted, "I'm calling the fucking police. They shouldn't have committed you last time; they should have put you out of your misery. You've had it, sicko!" I could hear the back door slam, as he fled, as I imagined him dialing up 911 on his cell phone. I didn't have a fucking cell phone. I didn't have anything.
After several moments on the floor, I collected myself and went upstairs. The butterflies were waiting for me.
"What happened down there?" the leader asked me.
"Things got messed up. He got away." I paused for a moment. "The police will be here any moment. What should we do?"
"Who cares about the police?" he answered. "We need to lay our eggs before we spill them on the floor. They're ready to be inserted into an incubator."
"Didn't you fucking see Pete run out the goddamn door? You don't have a fucking incubator." I went over to the window, looked for cruisers.
"But we do," they said.
"Do what?"
"Have an incubator." Now I knew. Apparently my loyalty hadn't meant shit to the little fuckers. All they cared about was their offspring.
Options raced through my frazzled mind. Cops would come and pick me up, I'd never see the outside world after they find my cache downstairs. I knew I didn't want to be confined again, not like before. How bad could it be to be an incubator? "All right," I said to them after I made up my mind, "let me go get ready."
"You are a fine servant to our cause, Hamilton," one cooed.
"Yes, a true ally." They followed me to the bathroom, where I took the bottle of Xanax out of the medicine cabinet. Nine left. Should be enough to let me drift over to the other side, right? I washed them down with a cold drink of water from the tap, my face in the splashing spray.
"What do you need me to do?" I asked them.
"Open your mouth and hold still," I felt the airy wings beat themselves steady against my cheeks as they squirted streams of tiny eggs onto my tongue, leaving a slimy residue. It was hard not to gag against the bitter sting, but I stayed tranquil. Thought about how I never really thought about what would happen to me when I died. Strange, really.
More slick trails found their ways into my ear canals, the sludge gathering at the eardrums. I could almost feel the tiny heartbeats as the children struggled to awaken. The grease oozed down my cheeks.
"Take off your clothes," one of them commanded. I eased off my shirt and pants, as I felt the pills begin to kick in. Everything was coloured with a heavy shade of mellow and none of this seemed in the least bit odd to me.
"Bend over and spread your cheeks," I heard, and obliged. Hot flash up inside my rectum, slight burn and squish as my ass eased back together. I collapsed into the nearest chair, ready to incubate.
"No, Hamilton, not here."
"Where then?"
"Downstairs, with the rest of them."
"I don't think I can." I realized I wasn't talking, because my mouth was sealed with the harsh tasting wax, but I could still hear my voice answering them. I must have been on their telepathic wavelength.
"We must keep the progeny together. Ideal birthing location."
"If we must," I said/thought.
The walk down stairs felt like a two month journey through still water. Air clung to my ankles, dragging me down. I followed the smell to the crawlspace, and opened the door. There she was, my last victim, skin shriveled to the bone as if they had been sucking out all the nutrients from her cold body. Her death's complexion was stone gray, hair smeared in stringy locks upon the floor. I crawled into her dead arms, wrapping myself in limbs, clinging to her icy bosom like a hungry infant. We would go through eternity together. All the other bodies in here grew jealous.
"Goodnight, Hamilton," I heard the whisper of butterfly wings eased the crawlspace closed. I felt the sleep of a multitude of corpses beckoning me.
