The Butterfly Thieves

Chapter Five

I had thrown the plate hard. I saw it on the floor, cracked and shattered. It was teasing me, having it too far away from me. I gathered enough energy to crawl over to the plate, picking up one of the sharper pieces, and hiding it under the mattress.

For a while, I was debating either Thomas was going to come back and try to kill me. He said that's he's done this before, and I wasn't the first person, so maybe I wouldn't be the first person to kill either. What would stop him? He didn't cover his face, he told me his name.

He already told me about Mikey being on the run. It's not like he didn't have a good story to go on. Or maybe he had made it all up so I wouldn't run away from him. Perhaps that's what he was doing. Maybe a part of me didn't really want to try to get away, perhaps a part of me was okay with the undeniable facts that he was going to murder me and bury my lifeless, soulless body in the woods soon. Maybe he was answering my suicide calls. Maybe he was God . . . or Satan. Perhaps I didn't mind that he had taken me, but I think I did mind waiting around.

Around an hour later, he came back into my room. I felt fear struck me down as I saw an ice-pack on his head. He just frowned at me, yet I could tell that he was trying to smile, to keep it together as a parent would.

He sat down on the office chair and just kept nodding. "Okay . . . I want to say that I am sorry for what I said."

My mouth hung open, my heart dropped, my eyes grew. "What?"

"I shouldn't have said what I did. It wasn't right, and it's my job to keep it together, to not be biased, and I lost it. I wanted to say I am sorry."

"I threw a plate at you."

He smiled. "I would have too."

"It broke! On your face!"

"Yep, that happens."

"Aren't you mad?"

He laughed. "I can't say I'm happy, but I understand why you did what you did."

I just shook my head. I was distraught with his reaction, I didn't want to but I instead he screams, hurt me, and something I was familiar with. I was used to it, I knew what to do, I knew how to block that out. I didn't know what to do with this.

"I need to go to the bathroom," I said.

He just nodded. "I figured so, been a while. Plus, you need to walk around." He untied my feet, and I wanted to run, to spring out of bed and move as fast as possible, to get away from him, but gravity had been cruel to my legs, and barely let me moved them. "Slow and easy, okay?"

One step in front of the other, I was getting to where I needed, getting my blood going again. When I got the bathroom, it was the same as last time.

He stood out the door, waiting for me. I remembered about the locked door, and I had to wonder if it was like that for a lot of the house.

I looked to throw the drawers for something sharp, something I could use. I could only find a toothbrush. It wasn't much, but it was going to have to do. I put it up in my sleeves, hiding it like a dirty little secret.

When I got opened the door, he was staring off into space. He didn't notice me until I took a few steps. "You want to walk around the house? Get your legs going?"

"Aren't you scared I'll run?"

He shook his head. "Not my first time. I know how to get runaways back."

"Gross," I wrinkled my nose. "Also, sounds racist. Are you a racist?"

"No, I'm not racist." He just rolled his eyes and headed for the stairs. When he didn't notice I was moving with him, he stopped and turned around on the staircase. "You coming?"

"Are you going to hurt me?"

"Nope. No reason to. I'll show you around. I'll show you the therapist room, the kitchen, the garden. Everything. There is no need to be scared. This is the place where you are going to be healed."

"Why do I need to be healed?"

"Everyone needs to be healed. Question is who deserves it?"

I raised an eyebrow. He held out his hand for me to take, making me feel that I really didn't have a choice. I didn't want to play along with his little game, I didn't want to be a pawn in this. His hands were misleading looking. I thought they would be warm, but they were cold, freezing.

He wouldn't let go till we got to the end of the staircase. When we got to the bottom, it all looked normal. No chains, no skulls, no guns, no torture equipment being held. It looked like a family could have been raised it in. Books were covering the whole wall that had French doors going out to the garden. Outside, it was sunny, and nice looking, like the fresh air was welcoming.

"You read much?" I joked.

He smiled proudly. "Maybe a little too much. Though, when I move, I'm going to get rid of a bunch. But, I've been talking to a butterfly and may give these books to the library in Earnest Town. It's still a thriving place, still growing."

"When are you moving?"

"When you're cured."

"When will that be?"

He laughed. "It's never safe to put time limits on that type of stuff. Not a good thing to do. Speaking of which, that door next to the French doors, there will be our therapy room. Just an hour a day, remember?"

I thought about the rules that he told me before I threw a plate at him. "Yeah."

"And out there in the garden. Not right now, but soon you and I can go out there and water, pull weeds-"

"Why?"

"It's relaxing."

"To who?"

"Me. Hopefully, you'll like it too after you get some Vitim D. Suppose to help."

"Sure."

"It is 12 in the afternoon. Did you want some lunch? Something simple?"

"Like what?"

"Anything? Grill cheese sandwich?"

I shrugged. "Sure, I guess," I said as he took me to the kitchen and made me sit down at the table. I wasn't allowed to move, he told me that I was still being watched, but soon, I wouldn't have to be because I would want to stay and not fight him. According to him. Watching him cook was a bit of unusual sight. As he cooked, he went on about the area, and how we were the only ones for miles, and that when he moves, he's going to sell the land and donate the money to Earnest town.

After he was done cooking, he served me lunch, on a paper plate this time, and sat across from me. "So, what time did you want to start therapy sessions? We should get them started."

"I don't care."

He was staring at the therapy room he pointed out earlier. I looked over my shoulder, watching the shut red door. It was mocking me.

"What about after you finish lunch?"

I looked back to him, I couldn't get myself to say anything to him, to come up with a smartass reply, to mock him, to hurt him. I just stared at him, with a blank face. Though, I felt fear inside, I tried not to show it too much. But it was hard. I just kept eating.

When I was done, he took my plate to the trash, and told me, "Gave me a second." He walked over to the therapy room, unlocking the door with a key from his pocket, and going inside. I didn't know what he was doing, what his plans were. I didn't know what therapy meant with him, was it a cruel prank? A joke to him? But he acted so serious, but crazy.

My mind was racing a million miles per hour. I stood up from the table, feeling like everything around me was moving so slowly. I took small steps to the room, feeling myself shrink as I got closer to it. He popped his head back out and smiled at me.

"Are you ready, Milly?"