Page 41 of The Butterfly Killer

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Roman disappearedbehind the curtain after making it clear that Marcus was going to cooperate. Marcus's side burned from where Roman had prodded him in the ribs. The tea had gone cold as he held it, not once taking a sip.

He sat it down when his wrist started to ache. He was careful to not make noise, a little too conscious of his own breathing and each little rustle he made as he tried to get comfortable in the bed.

He didn't feel like laying down though his body probably needed it. The dip in the bed—most definitely from when it broke during their “scuffle”—made his tailbone hurt, but he still refused to lay down.

Noises came from behind the curtain. He turned to watch Roman's shadow moving as he worked on something. The shear fabric only allowed Marcus to guess as to what Roman was doing. He seemed to like insects so maybe he was working with a beetle of some sort.

Marcus wrinkled his nose. Insects were not his idea of fun. He'd been a squeamish kid and when it came to bugs, he was thefirst one to go running. He didn't even care if it was a lone ant. He wasn't going to mess with it.

He quickly became bored with guessing what Roman was doing. He also didn't want to think about bugs anymore than he had to. His eyes wandered the small shack he was being held in. Most of it he'd already had the chance to look at, but he committed it to memory.

His fingers tapped the thin blanket without him realizing it. He hummed an old song in his head—one he hadn't heard in years since he was a child. He caught himself, stilling and eyes darting to the curtain. The thin fabric separating him from a killer might as well not be there.

The song didn't stop playing in his head. He looked away from the seemingly growing shadow of Roman's hunched form when it was confirmed Roman hadn't noticed anything.

The boredom clawed at Marcus's brain. Though he should have been more on edge—there was no doubt that he was—he was bubbling with this energy to do something. He needed to occupy his brain because though he couldn't escape in his current condition, he could do other things that might help him in the future.

He went back to looking around the room, searching for things that would be useful. He'd gone over the room achingly slow about five times when he noticed that with his and Roman's cup sat the book Roman had been reading.

His eyes flickered up to Roman's still figure again. His palms sweated as he looked at the book.

On the cover was a man spearing another man in what looked like a spaceship. Marcus had never seen the cover before or the picture on it. He immediately searched for the title which was at the top in a strangely tiny font.

Open Space, it read. The author's name was Daniel Clave. The letters of both the title and the author's name were faded.

Marcus wasn't a big reader in general. Science Fiction was the last genre he would pick up if he decided to pick up any book. Either way, he imagined this wasn't a famous book. It looked average—a throwaway novel that was mediocre at best.

Marcus checked once more that he was in the clear before he used his good hand to grab it. He struggled to squeeze it out from between his cup and Marcus's, but he made it without making a noise.

The frayed paper cover felt even more delicate than it looked. It was fragile to the point of almost disintegrating in his hands. He carefully lifted the flap and read the title page.

There was an inscription written in faded pencil.

To Emilia,

with love.

He didn't give much thought as to who Emilia was. She could have been Roman's mother or aunt, but Roman could have also just picked this up at a thrift store.

Marcus turned to the first page and began to read. The opening lines were of a gruesome overtaking by alien pirates. The scenes were so graphic he had to skim over some so he didn't upset his stomach.

He saw why someone like Roman would like this book. It was basically snuff.

He flicked through the chapters and found some more penciled in writing. It wasn't the same penmanship and it wasn't as faded. The blocky letters written along the margins must have been Roman's. He didn't know what about it that seemed so Roman-like, but Marcus just sort of knew.

SAL IS VINCE'S JUDAS

Marcus read the paragraph the note was taken on. In it, the character Vince is wounded and trying to get in touch with his wife. The other character Sal promises to get a hold of her.

Marcus was at a lost as to what the note could mean. He flipped to the end of the book and was about to read it when the scraping of chair legs on the wood floor alerted him.

He fumbled with the book and only managed to set it back down when Roman opened the curtain. He walked out without a pause or look thrown Marcus's way. He hadn't noticed Marcus had been messing with his things thankfully.

Roman threw on his coat and went straight out the front door. He slammed it behind him aggressively.

Marcus stared at the door, not knowing what had pissed the man off. It wasn't a few minutes later before Roman came back inside. His chest heaved and his eyes were crazed.

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