The Butterfly Man
Copyright © T. Masters-Heinrichs 2007
Electronic edition © T. Masters-Heinrichs 2012
First Appeared in Print 2007
Voices, Journal of the Lake Winnipeg Writers' Group, Volume 7, Number 1, ISSN: 1710123-9
Cover Photo by Mike Adam Photography
www.mikeadamphotography.com
Cover Design & Layout by BKPublishing
https://bkpublishing.ca/
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ISBN: 978-0-98108-548-7
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The Butterfly Man
By T. Masters-Heinrichs
Outside, the Manitoba morning sky was an acrylic palette of blended hues, reds, oranges, and yellows, all highlighted by golden light. The morning sun lit a world filled with buds and shoots hungering for the caress of the fiery orb rising higher.
Steven sipped his coffee, his kitchen forgotten as he stared out of the picture window. It was best to start long days early, but to forget to stop and see the world was a sin he would no longer commit. Had not Julia accused him of such? The coffee was bitter without sugar. Only the kitchen clock broke the morning silence.
With a sigh he checked his watch. It was time to start. He threw back the last of the bitter aromatic liquid. The garbage bag waiting by the kitchen door brought another sigh. It was the little things you miss, he realized. Not the arguing or the yelling, not the long conversations, but the constant sense of another in the house. He missed the lingering scent in the washroom, flowers on the table, and the gentle touch of her hand as she passed him in the hall. Gone was the smell of bread, the sound of her breathing at night, her scent on the pillows…
Opening the door he swung the bag up and walked into his yard. It took his mind a moment to register the dark thing that appeared in front of him as a gun. Yes, it’s a gun, he told himself. He turned to the man holding it. Steven’s mouth opened but no words came out.
“Inside! Now!” The Man with the Gun hissed.
Steven stepped back, the bag falling from his hand. He tried to speak but no sounds came from his open mouth. Behind the Man with the Gun, two more shapes appeared huddled together. As Steven backed through the open door, they followed the Man into the house.
“Back up, Doc! Back!” The Gun rose higher, the barrel, a black hole.
“Ento, ent—bugs, bugs!” Steven tried to see around the event horizon, but the gun muzzle wouldn’t let go.
“What?” The voice behind the gun was louder as Steven fell into a dining room chair.
Steven was starting to hyperventilate. How did the Man get in here? This was a private community in Manitoba. Gated! What could the Man with the Gun want? Drugs? He must have seen the DR on my mail! “I don’t have any drugs! No drugs! Bugs! I work on bugs! I’m an entomologist. I work with bugs!”
“Stop lying.” The Man with the gun moved around him. “I know what you are and what you do.”
The other two shapes had huddled together through the door and now the smaller one collapsed into the chair opposite him. The taller, with dirty hands leaving stark prints, closed the door.
Steven jumped at the sound of the first bolt being driven home. He hadn’t noticed the sound locks being so loud, so final. As the dirty hands touched the last bolt, he watched the grimy fingers slide the shiny steel home.
The room was silent but for distant ticking and clicking from the family room that was now his lab. He could read the entire logo of the security company next to the locks.
He saw the shape opposite him now. Not something formless, but a person, a young person. He turned looking at the slumped figure.
“She’s hurt!” The Man with the Gun shoved Steven toward her.
A girl. Steven blinked, sliding to his knees. The girl pulled back a grimy sweatshirt. Dirty rags encrusted with dark stains encircled her forearm.
“I have a first aid kit.” Steven looked up at the Man with the Gun. “Under the sink. I’ll need it.”
The Man with the Gun motioned to the one who’d locked the door. Steven looked back at the girl. Under the filth and soiled hoodie she was what…fourteen, fifteen?
“Where?”
Steven looked over at the boy with the dirty hands now crouching by the sink. The doors were open showing boxes of cleaners, a container of pot scrubbers, and a box of garbage bags. The boy looked blankly at all the boxes, his eyes passing over the first aid kit which was attached to the door.
“Where?” the boy repeated. He started pounding the flooring, “Where! Where! Where!”
“David! Shut up!” the Man with the Gun snarled, the gun bouncing about Steven’s head as he watched the hand tighten its grip.
“Please! It’s the white box on the door.” Steven started to stand up.
“He’s not stupid!” The Man said in a soft voice, shoving Steven hard.
Steven went down, cracking his head on the table. He looked into dark eyes that glinted coldly.
“No, no!” Steven breathed as they locked onto him, dead centre on his chest. “No, he’s not stupid.”
“Here.” David put the box on the table. He seemed to lose interest as he strolled to the buffet and looked through the glass doors.
“Get up and help her. Now.” The Man with the Gun’s voice was very low, his mouth tight.
Steven got up and moved closer to the girl. He should have done something. He should have done something when the Man with the Gun was distracted. Steven motioned to the girl.
“You need to take that off. The bandages.” The girl looked down at her arm. Steven noticed how shiny her eyes were. Touching her hot skin he started chewing his lip. Undoing the rags released the odour of rot. He realized that much of the black on her hand wasn’t dirt. Peeling back the last of the rags he looked away. Steven covered his mouth and tried not to gag.
“It’s infected. Badly. She needs to go to a hospital.”
“Very funny, you’re a comedian. My medical insurance has expired.” The Man with the Gun leaned close. “I know who you are. Doctor Steven Peters.”
The pounding of Steven’s heart filled his ears. “I don’t understand. I don’t know you. I can’t help her.”
“University of Manitoba. I was in your graduating class of 2014, don’t you remember? I must have changed some over the years.” The Man with the Gun took a step back. “But you haven’t changed a bit. That gene therapy’s pretty expensive. How are you managing that?”
The Man with the Gun crossed his arms and tapped the gun against his face. “Haven’t seen that pretty wife of yours around, have we, David? Emily? No, not a trace. Not even at Services.”
Steven looked from the Man with the Gun to Emily. There was a resemblance there. His sister? His daughter?
&nb
sp; “So here’s the joke doc; tell if you’ve heard this one before, Emily was―”
A scream turned them all toward the hall. David let out a second cry as he ran into the kitchen and hugged the Man with the Gun.
“Butterflies! Butterflies!” He pointed toward the living room.
“Shh, David, shhh. The doctor is going to show us.” The Man with the Gun hugged the boy. He motioned Steven to get up and lead the way.
Steven tried to think, to remember. Class of 2014 seemed a lifetime ago. It was a lifetime ago. Had the Man with the Gun been watching him? His house? Where was the security he paid to keep him safe? The boy was obviously infected. Where was security?
They stepped into a short hall. To the right was once the family room, now his office and lab. The vaulted ceilings were high enough to accommodate the two octagonal mesh cages. Each cage was a micro environment running from floor to ceiling, encasing the vegetation requirements of each species of butterfly. But the largest housed only Monarch butterflies. The smaller aquariums and mesh cages around Steven’s desk showed grow frames and pupae. Every stage of development could be seen.
“Monarchs?” whispered the Man with the Gun. “Monarch butterflies!”
Wonder appeared on his face making the years drop away. Still, Steven couldn’t place him. As the Man with the Gun stepped closer, David hugged him again and tried to hold him back.
“David, these are real butterflies, real ones! They can’t hurt you