Soul of the Butterfly Read online

  The noises had risen from the floor above, growing louder, more imminent, giving way to an increased pace, but they had been too slow, too careful. The sound ripped forth, squeezes and breaks growing to a roar, the wound showing, wood, debris, and burnt furniture pouring out like so much strange viscera, blocking the front door.

  “Fire,” Zoe breathes, the comment almost a question, and both realize they now have a much more critical situation to resolve.

  Footsteps from above announce the continued presence of others, seeming to indicate fleeing if not possible fighting. Yelling pitches out further signs, panic as well as challenge. The two Hunters exchange another look, turning to head to the staircase. Going up in a burning building may prove a bad idea, but they wish to confront whatever is causing this as well as save as many people as they can.

  The heat intensifies halfway up, flickers of light indicating the flames. They must hurry. Further noises guide them as well as merely navigating the obvious path away from the fire, and they find three people cowering in a room. One man looks out the window, likely gauging it as a possible escape route, while the other stands guard over the third, a woman. He holds a piece of wood in his hand, what looks like the polished and curved leg of a chair. He starts when the two Hunters enter, legs flexing, his hand going up to brandish the makeshift weapon. The other man turns from the window, bracing his back against it.

  “We’re here to help,” Lilja says, gun again averted, free hand held up in a warding gesture.

  Zoe immediately scans the room, taking a few steps in, eyes briefly noticing the occupants before taking a position that allows her to cover the door.

  “I saw you two earlier. You’re not guests,” the man says, his notice finding their weapons as he continues to hold up his own. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Lilja, and this is Zoe. We’re Special Investigators, sent here exactly because of this situation.”

  “The fire?” the woman pitches.

  An awkward silence takes the moment.

  “You going to put out the fire with that?” Zoe grates out.

  The man glances at the piece of wood in his hand.

  “There’s more going on here than a fire,” Lilja says, trying to gain better control of the situation. “Everyone calm down, and, sir, put the weapon down.”

  A tense few moments arise as the man contemplates compliance. Lilja and Zoe stand ready, too far for him to be any seeming threat. They have handguns to back up their force, but Lilja knows this may merely add to their perceived danger. Seeming with little choice, the man drops the wood, backing away, though he remains in a position of protection near the other woman.

  Lilja casts her eyes on them for a quick moment then moves to the window. The man steps back as she peers out, not taking her full attention away from those in the room.

  “Can we get out that way?” Zoe asks.

  “It’s risky. Someone would get hurt.”

  “Did you kill those people?”

  Lilja turns her eyes to the man by the window, noticing the insistent fright that has crept over him.

  “What people? What happened?” Lilja asks.

  “Two people,” the man who had lately been armed replies. “I don’t even remember their names. One … she had her throat cut, and the guy-” He takes in a deep breath. “His head was twisted around.”

  “We didn’t do that,” Lilja speaks quickly, though calmly, on the heels of the man’s announcement.

  “Janice,” comes a whisper, and everyone looks to the woman, her makeup smeared from tears. “That was her name. I- I don’t know the man’s name.” She swallows, tension showing in her throat, seeming to have to force the words. “Bu- … but her name was Janice.”

  Lilja nods, no more eulogy given.

  “Do any of you know this house well, or where Mrs. Barrington might be?” she asks. “We need to get everyone and find a way out. The front door is blocked, but we can all get down the stairs and out another way. We need to get moving.”

  The three just look back, reluctance and fear showing itself. Lilja realizes they likely did not know the front door is blocked, and yet even with the fire, they were hiding away up here in this room.

  “I know you’re afraid, but we-” and she halts her words at a crisp shush from Zoe, looking over.

  The Huntress stares ahead at nothing, merely listening, moving very slowly toward the open doorway. Lilja hears it, too, then, though she knows her senses are not as sharp as Zoe’s preternatural abilities. Rapidly approaching footsteps resound from the hallway.

  The other three hear it, eyes going wide with alarm, and just as Lilja commands, “Get back!” the figure bursts into the room.

  It is a large man, his suit jacket open, clothing showing disheveled, torn, bloodstained, and if the darkly-coated butcher knife in his fist were not sign enough, his eyes bleed out with a strange, red hue. Those orbs see Lilja, and he roars, eating a few precious seconds before he launches himself at his prey.

  During that short time, Lilja not only sizes him up, but she sees something, something within him, like cracks, tiny fractures in the foundation likely long forgotten yet not gone, and now they seep with the damage of a red flood. Contemplation, though, is not a luxury, and she strikes out with a pressing front kick to the man’s knee, causing it to buckle and bend the wrong way. He seems to hardly register what ought to be shooting pain, though it does slow his advance, but his momentum proves unstoppable. Lilja raises her arms into an A-block, protecting her head from the attack, feeling the collision of the man’s arm as he tries to stab her, his force bringing them both to the ground, the Glock knocked out of her hand.

  The attacks come in a savage fury, and she is tied up with using both hands to try to stop or mitigate the blows. Lilja feels the scratch of the blade a few times, knowing these are superficial wounds, but her attacker seems unwilling to let up, huffing and heaving with the enraging passion that fills him. He comes down with a two-handed stab directly at her face, putting all his body weight behind it. She resists, summoning all her strength, and then in that instant, it stops.

  The knife falls free, and she feels the weight from the man increase. Zoe is there, having given the assailant a knock to the base of the skull with her gun, and the two of them shove him over. Heavy breathing and a certain look from Lilja’s eyes suffices for thanks, acknowledged by the single nod from Zoe. The redhead looks about, seeing her sidearm none too far away, retrieving it.

  “We have to restrain him,” she manages between gulps of air, noticing the man’s tie.

  It seems much less worse for wear than the rest of his suit, and as she grabs it, she feels that it is silk. Good. It provides a suitable binding for his wrists, and she turns to see the man who had lately held the makeshift weapon of wood handing over his leather belt to help. She uses it to bind the ankles, then stands.

  “What just happened?” the other man asks, voice full of shock. “Why would Ronald attack us like that?”

  “We-we’re not going to leave him here, are we?” the woman adds.

  Lilja looks about, noting the continued promise of the growing flames, hungry flickers of light from down the hall. Then she sees another type of movement.

  “Zoe,” she gives out a quick word, eyes moving from the girl to the open doorway.

  They make themselves ready, but this does not prove a similar sort of attack, instead the lady of the house comes into the room, seeming to still hold some of her stately poise. Lilja takes a step nearer, hoping the woman is alright, but she is halted by a gaze that holds as much flame as the encroaching blaze.

  “You!”

  She does not point, but the steel of her unblinking gaze suffices, her body gone rigid.

  “Mrs. Barrington-” Lilja begins, her voice coated in soft, soothing tones.

  “Do not address me,” the woman clips Lilja’s words, “you have done this.”

  A quick scan shows both hands held in front, and though the aged fingers curl as tho
ugh the beginning of claws, she is unarmed. Lilja does not think the woman would be much of a threat, but she is clearly agitated.

  “Calm do-” she begins, and again, is quickly interrupted.

  “You did this! You brought this here. You are the curse.”

  “Charlotte? What are you talking about?”

  Lilja notices as the once-armed man steps forward. She moves away a bit, watching closely.

  “The stories,” the hostess replies. “We’ve all heard those damnable tales. I’ve endured them for the sake of my husband and home, but look.” She gazes about, the carnage evident and mounting, and it seems a crack begins in her controlled exterior.

  Lilja stares, trying to use her own sense to detect if something worse is about to happen, something similar to the motive force that once possessed the large, bound man. “We have to get out of this house,” she says.

  This seems to fuel Mrs. Barrington, her composure returning, eyes narrowing as they pinpoint on the speaker.

  “What good will that do?” she challenges. “You’ve already brought ruin here. This is your fault!”

  Lilja remains calm, though urgency still claws at them. She can hardly believe what she hears, but as she casts her eyes over, she notices that the others have moved away. “How could I possibly-”

  “Look around you,” Mrs. Barrington interrupts. “My beautiful home. My party. People are dead. This is no coincidence. You are unwanted here. Look what you’ve done.”

  “Why are you two here exactly?”

  Lilja turns to the man, the one who seems more possessed of will and courage than the other.

  “We’re Special Investigators-” she manages before he cuts her off.

  “Investigating what? What agency are you with?”

  “We don’t have time for-”

  “You!” Mrs. Barrington points, looking ready to come unhinged, “You’ve brought ruin unto me.”

  Another glance shows the other woman has moved further away, tucking herself against the wall, even giving glances to the door as though she may flee.

  “I did not cause this,” Lilja says, retaining her calm, even tone, “I’m here to help.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to do anything you say,” the man speaks.

  Mrs. Barrington gives a curt nod, moving closer to Lilja, puffing out her chest a bit. “This is my house, and I will-”

  Zoe steps forward. “Look, lady, the fucking house is burning down around us, and people are dying. We’re in deep shit, and we’re here to help you out of it. Your legs aren’t broken, so use them and let’s get out while we still can.”

  The moment lengthens. Zoe glares at the older woman, and she cowers. It’s subtle but noticeable. No one else does anything until Lilja speaks.

  “Mrs. Barrington, the front door is blocked. We need another way out of the house.” She is pleased, at least, that this time she was not interrupted.

  “What about Ronald?” one of the others asks.

  “I am not leaving someone in a burning house. Phones are not working in here. We need to get out. We can call for help from our car,” Lilja states, giving a brief pause to let it all sink in as she sets her eyes on each person. “Now, let’s get moving.”

  Heading to the doorway, giving a cautious peer into the hall, she feels more heat from the fire, a passing moment given to wondering of its cause. Lilja steps out, moving more quickly, checking the stairway. When she looks back, the others are trailing, Zoe in the rear.

  “Mrs. Barrington,” she summons, standing close to the woman, “you’ll take them downstairs and out another way than the front door.”

  “I know my own house,” the woman clips, eyes still holding anger, preparing to head down.

  “Mrs. Barrington?” Lilja halts her, and the woman turns, reluctant, seething. “There have to be more people in here. Do you have any idea where they are?”

  “The ones that aren’t dead?” she challenges, and the redhead merely stares back. “Try the third floor.” She gives a dismissive shake of the head, then turns and moves downwards.

  Zoe stops after the others have gotten on the staircase, looking at Lilja. “You want me to go with them?”

  “Yes. Make sure they get out, and call emergency services.”

  She gives a single nod, then sets forth.

  Fire, darkness, and ash hold sway now. Lilja wipes at her brow with the sleeve of her light jacket, then takes hold of her pistol with both hands, moving out to check what she can of this floor and find the stairway leading up.

  She keeps a wary eye. She knows something odd happened in the basement, even if it did not seem like a familiar sort of demonic attack. Ronald’s possession had been textbook, and thinking of this makes Lilja realize she needs to hurry. She had hoped the man would regain consciousness rather quickly.

  She stumbles on more remains before finding any access to the topmost floor. Three corpses, all showing signs of death by physical trauma as opposed to the fire, blood spewed about in further evidence. She wonders if these are more of Ronald’s kills and frowns a bit, thinking of the horrible path lying ahead for the poor man, if he even survives.

  She hears a crashing in the distance, sounding like more of the third floor giving way. She has already discerned the part of the house most consumed by the raging fire. It’s quite possible the stairs to the third floor are already gone. Lilja pauses, then, holding place, listening. She thought she heard a scream coming on the tail of the crash. She doesn’t hear anything else, but she moves off in that direction.

  She finds a room, the door ajar. She peeks in, slowly opening it further, trying to gain more vantage on the chamber. It seems relatively intact, except for the gaping hole in the far wall that opens into an adjoining room. She spies flames beyond that as she steps further inside. Then she hears it- whimpering.

  She follows, finding a small, dark figure huddled in a corner, rocking in place. It proves to be a woman, one of the staff, judging by her clothing.

  “Hey,” Lilja calls out, gaining a quick rise of a head, as though a fidgety bird on the lookout for predators. “It’s okay. I’m here to help.”

  “Oh, god.” The woman turns wide, teary eyes on Lilja. “I thought everyone else was dead. I saw them,” she continues, scooting back a bit, bumping against the exterior wall. “Their faces were melting from the heat,” she speaks through a hitching breath, “from the fire, and then … Why do you have a gun?”

  Lilja averts the barrel further, somewhat obscuring the weapon aside her hip, holding up her other hand, displaying its emptiness. “I’m a Special Investigator. My name is Lilja. I’m here to help.”

  “You’re a cop?”

  “I’m …” She inhales, feeling the tinge of heat in it. “Something like that, yes. Let’s get out of here. Come on.”

  The woman does not move, somehow finding a way to mash more of herself against the wall. “But … the fire, and the … the people. Everyone’s going crazy,” she says, and Lilja hears that threat of unhinging in the woman’s voice.

  “Calm down,” she soothes, moving closer. “I can get you out of here, okay? Okay?”

  The woman finally gives a jittery nod.

  “I’m Lilja,” she repeats, “what’s your name?”

  “Vicki.”

  “You work here, right, Vicki?”

  “Y-yes, for the party.”

  “You know the house, then? You can help us find a way out?”

  “W-what?” she replies, seeming stymied even as Lilja uses the conversation to try to further soothe the woman, holding out her hand now as bid to take it and rise.

  Showing on the verge of such, her hand held up somewhat, Lilja takes the opportunity to grab the woman and pull her to her feet.

  “The front door is blocked because of the fire. We’ll need another way out.”

  “Oh.” Vicki seems somewhat lost, then she nods. “There are other doors. I know of other doors.”

  “Okay. Let’s go, but we ne
ed to check for others first. How do we get upstairs?”

  “No!” Vicki jerks her hand free, moving back to the wall.

  Lilja furrows her brow.

  “The- the- no!” She rapidly shakes her head. “The fire. The stairs are gone. Everyone up there is dead. I saw. I saw.”

  “Okay, okay,” Lilja calms. “Let’s get out of here while we still can, okay?”

  Vicki gives a rapid nod. “There’s a service entrance, or that’s what Mrs. Barrington called it,” Vicki explains once they make it back to the ground floor, “maybe we can use that.”

  “Which way?”

  Seeming to have regained some of her composure, Vicki makes to step forward, but Lilja halts her with a light hand to her arm.

  “I’ll lead. Just tell me which way.”

  Vicki nods, seeming to understand, and she points, giving a few directions. Lilja recalls her and Zoe’s earlier accidental walk into the kitchen area. It would make sense to have a door there leading outside.

  The heat seems thankfully abated here, giving more credence to the supposition that it started above. Lilja knows, though, they haven’t much time. She hopes Zoe and the others made it out safe and that emergency services rush even now to get here. Her thoughts snap back to sharper focus when she hears the sounds of struggling.

  “Wait,” she commands Vicki, then creeps forward to the kitchen.

  The place shows its own expected amount of disarray, though this seems more chaos than fire, as if someone merely went through all the cabinets and drawers and caused a whirlwind. She thinks she knows the culprit.

  “He’s choking!” comes the voice behind her, and it seems Vicki’s curiosity has given her to not exactly wait. “It’s smoke from the fire!”

  The fire has not crept this far, but Lilja understands why the other woman might make this assessment. She sees the figure of a man on the ground, struggling for breath, but she also sees what Vicki does not – the dark, indistinct shape of a demon atop him.

  It sits there, perched on his chest, diabolical weight no doubt hindering the man’s lungs. It holds a globular form, seeming more a heavy bag of thick fluid. It does possess appendages though, like a many-armed spider. Those limbs work to keep the victim restrained, skeletal thin with stretched flesh barely containing them, ending in all too human-looking hands. As if this were not enough, it is bent over, its own face, if it even possesses such a thing, attached to that of the man, sucking the life away.