The Butterfly Man (4)
David Godden

 


Rebecca went to bed that night with a feeling like a great weight had been lifted off of her. It was not her fault after all. She knew really deep down that it had been her need for love from her cold and emotionless parents that had been the reason she hurt herself. She just never wanted to admit it. She figured it was because if she did, then they would find out and would become even more distant from her, then where would she be? The only course open to her then would be to kill herself. She felt that if she hurt herself, then they would take her in their arms and tell her it was alright, that they did love her and that she was going to be safe. It just never worked out like that. That was the reason the doctors were lost when they asked her why she did it. She told them it wasn’t her it was someone else. In her own mind, it was someone else. To admit it was her, would drive her parents further away.

But now Art had managed to get her to see that it was not her fault and that regardless of what she did, it would have made no difference.

Rebecca felt she was now closer to reconciling her emotions than ever before. And to think, just the other day she had been so desperate that she had given herself over to yet another doctor to try and find out what was wrong with her. Now she knew she could cancel her next appointment and never need to make another one.

Art sat at the kitchen table in stunned silence. The portable tape recorder sat between himself and the detective, the motor still turning the tape around, though now all it played was the static hiss of blank tape.

“Please play it again detective, I am not sure that I can fully take in what it is you are trying to tell me here.” Detective Muir pressed the buttons to rewind the tape and then he hit the play button.

They both heard the voice of Mister Peterson, the hypnotherapist asking Rebecca to confirm that she had signed the waiver form.

Then they heard Peterson talking Rebecca down into a trance state. They heard his soft voice bringing her back to the moment where they had been the day before, talking about Mister Morris.

They heard Rebecca telling her story of the escaping butterflies and of how he had embraced her, of how she liked the way he touched her. They heard her tell of how she loved him because he was so nice to her. Her voice came over clear on the tape as she talked about their secret that no one else will ever know about. Then the tape stopped and Muir pressed the stop button.

Art sat with his head hung down, he did not know what to say.

Muir spoke first.

“You see Mister Morris, Rebecca is a very disturbed lady. She was a very disturbed child back then, that’s why she spent so much time in hospital. What I want to know Mister Morris, is what part did you play in all this?

What ways did you touch her that she liked so much? What was this big secret that no one else would ever know? You see Mister Morris, this leaves a very bad taste in my mouth for several reasons. Firstly, a paedophile is a disgusting creature and it is my job, no, it is my duty, not only as a police officer, but also as a parent and a human being to ensure that such people are not allowed to harm other children once they have been identified. I think you would agree with that Mister Morris. I know that your own daughter left home at eighteen to go live in Europe. That’s a long way to go when you are eighteen Mister Morris. I wonder why she left home in such a god-awful hurry?
Secondly, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth, because it is highly unlikely that Miss Miles will ever be able to bring herself to face you across a Court Room and denounce you for the scum that you are. I cannot do anything about you legally, because Miss Miles signed a waiver, which only allows the practitioner to tape her treatment and not for him to make it public. The information I have against you would not stand up in court. So, I have to make a choice. Do I try and convince a very sick, mentally disturbed lady to testify against you, or do I try a more subtle approach and make your stinking life a living hell until you either confess or do the decent thing and kill yourself. I assure you that had I the gumption, I would put a bullet through your filthy perverted head right now. But why should I suffer for what you have done?

I am going now, but rest assured we will be seeing a great deal of each other in the months to come. I will be everywhere you are. I will be waiting for you to screw up and if you touch another child again, then I promise you this. I will go back on my word and I will kill you myself.”

Art knew there was no point in protesting his innocence. The evidence, however distorted the way they chose to look at it, was there on the tape. He knew what she had been saying, he knew she was speaking of a time when she was a child and that she had been thinking as a child would think, and speaking as child would speak when she said what she did. He knew she was not condemning him, he knew that all she was talking of was a simple gesture of affection that she craved so badly that it had nearly overwhelmed her when it had happened. She was an innocent, as he was innocent of any crime.

He did not try and defend himself from this man, he knew it would only anger him and give him an excuse to do violence to him. He knew that all he could do now was to suffer in silence and then leave as soon as he could. Just get away, there was nothing here for him anymore really. No Susanna, no Jean. Just the town and the Church that had taken the two people he loved the most away from him.

Muir left him alone in the kitchen and Art heard the door slam shut as he left the house.

***

Rebecca spent her day cleaning the house, trying to remove traces of her parents from it. She knew now that she had finally come to terms with at least the cause of the problem, if not the whole problem in total. She felt a whole new life beginning, one in which she would go back to school and get an education. She would finally be able to look people in the eye and say, “I am not sick. I am normal, it is you who are the sick ones.”

She felt great. Tonight she would go over to Art’s and cook him a meal and they would talk long into the night. She wanted to be with him now, but she had a lot to do. He was so wise and she needed to have him tell her again that it was not her fault. That all this had happened because of what someone else had done to her, that she was not a bad person at all, like she had been made to believe for most of her miserable life. Art knew her. He knew all about her and that was also a first. Understanding.
As evening came around she got ready and set out up the hill for Art’s house. She was in a buoyant mood. For the first time I her life, she actually felt like she really wanted to talk about her problems and Art would listen to her.

She got to his house and went up the path. There were no lights on and she felt this to be strange. He was expecting her after all. She rang the bell, but there was no answer. She tried again. Still no answer.

She was a little concerned now. Had he changed his mind? Did he realise what he had let himself in for with her? Had he decided he did not want her problems as well as his own? Confusion and inadequacy were pilling up in her mind again. She had found a friend and now he had deserted her.

She stood on the doorstep not knowing what to do, when a voice from behind her called out.

“Can I help you Miss? You looking for Arthur?” She turned to see a middle aged lady walking her dog.

“Yes, have you seen him today?” she said hopefully.

“I saw him, yes. He packed up his truck and left town a few hours ago. I asked him where he was off to and he told me to mind my own business. Said he was leaving and not coming back. I think he might have been telling the truth, as he took all those damn butterflies with him. Best rid of the old fool if you ask me,” she said.

Rebecca was close to panic now. “He didn’t say where he was going?” she asked the woman.

“No, but I guess he will head off for his place in the woods. He has a cabin a few miles the other side of Carlton, next town over. I don’t know the address, but I am sure you could ask around town. They are sure to know where he is.” She turned and walked off almost dragging the dog along behind her.

Art sat in his cabin and played the tape back time and time again. He still could not believe what had happened. How they had persecuted him for this, without even confirming with anyone what the truth was. All he knew was that Muir would hound him to the day he died if he went back home again. He supposed he could not blame him, but it didn’t make it any the easier to accept. He was bitter about it, but more so the fact that he had let Rebecca down. How would she feel when she found out he had vanished like that? He imagined that she would probably blame herself again. He just hoped that she did not take it so bad as to hurt herself again, but now all he could do was to look after himself and keep the hell out of Muir’s way.

He lit a fire and played the tape again.

He sat and reflected on everything and decided that overall, he was best off out of it. Rebecca was in need of help, that much was true, but he now doubted he was the one capable of giving it to her. He rationalised things to suite himself. He had to or his sense of grief would have overcome him.

The knock at the door jarred him from his thoughts and he had a moment of panic when he thought that maybe Muir had found out he had gone and had come to hound him here as well. But the knocking had been soft, almost apologetic not the vicious knocking of a cop with a vengeance for child molesters. He got up and opened the door.

Rebecca stood there, looking at him with accusing eyes. Had they got to her as well? Had they managed to convince her that she had been the victim of some terrible crime he had committed, that she had blocked out for all these years? They stood and looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity until Rebecca fell into his arms and hugged him like the world would end if she were to stop. She clung to him like a limpet, afraid to let go in case he should leave her again. It was then that Arthur knew everything would be alright.

Behind him, content and safe from predators, his butterflies flitted happily around their cages.



























 

     












 

 

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Copyright © 2001 David Godden
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"