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It's six months before he comes for her. The local news reports that he had almost flatlined on the way to the hospital. One week later The Butcher escaped custody. Having picked the lock on his bed.
Char barely sleeps. Patrolling past their house and streets over and over. Their mother is borderline hysterical. She wants to move across the country. Nyla and Josh go with her everywhere. Millie is never alone.
But as the days turn into weeks turn into months, everyone eventually relaxes. Perhaps he had moved on to a different town. Lying low. Or maybe The Butcher succumbed to his wounds out in the woods without any medical care.
Either way, it's quieted down. Millie and Booker are going steady. Graduation is approaching. She isn't bullied anymore. Having escaped the Butcher she's a bit of a celebrity. Josh thinks she should capitalize and write a book.
"Just think! You're the one that got away! You could call it 'Final Girl!'"
Millie laughed. "We all got away, Josh. And you know I hate writing essays. I'd never be able to sit down and do it."
"Yeah and what if he's still out there somewhere?" Nyla asked. "A book would only provoke him."
Char doesn't really believe the body switch explanation, but she keeps quiet nonetheless about her friends seemingly teaming up with a killer. Even with the four of them backing up the same story, her sister can't quite wrap her head around it. Millie lets her believe her own version. Perhaps she thinks they were all just master mindedly manipulated through drug use.
Six months.
The back door has been left open. A cold breeze brushes past her locks sending a chill over her.
"Mom?" She calls out behind her. "I think you left the door open again."
Millie goes to close it.
-
She'd hesitated. Not because she did not want to hurt him, but because she's never hurt anyone before. Well...not in this body. As a giant she'd barreled her way through several people. It hadn't exactly felt bad per se. Power felt kinda good. Who knew?
The Butcher knocks the knife out of her hand and then everything goes black. When she opens her eyes she doesn't know where she is. But it's hot and humid. Somewhere south. The room itself seems nice. But there wasn't any furniture anywhere.
He leaves her tied up for the first few days. Letting her scream herself hoarse. Millie yells all kinds of things. Threats. Insults. Begging for her life. Until she can't scream anymore.
It's only after The Butcher finally brings her out and sits her down at a table that's seen better days, that she realizes he'd been serious about what he'd said right before he'd kidnapped her.
("You're weak." His gentle voice slides over her ears as his hands stroke her face. "But that's okay. We can fix that.")
She looks at the textbooks in disbelief. There's a self defense manual, an anatomy book, and a black notebook.
"Did you raid the library?" She asks sarcastically.
"Yes."
Millie doesn't know how to respond to that. She tests the ropes on her wrists. Still tight. She sighs. At least her legs were finally free. But she knew better than to run. He was faster than her.
The Butcher--Butch?--flips open the anatomy book to a page of a man. All the muscles are labeled along the page. Butch points at three different areas.
"The head, the stomach, and the goin are the weakest areas of the human body. On the head you have the eyes, nose, and throat. All vulnerable. You should always start with--"
His voice drains away. The disbelief has started to fade and now she's just bored. This was torture on a whole other level.
Millie looks around the kitchen. Taking in more of the house. It was just as nice as the bedroom. But all the furniture looked like it had been found in a junkyard or the side of the street. If she had to take a wild guess this house was brand new. Probably one of those pop-up neighborhoods. Sitting empty and waiting for somebody to claim it.
"Millie!"
Her head snaps back. Butch glares at her. His face is dark and threatening.
"Are you listening?"
She really shouldn't provoke him. She shouldn't.
"No."
Butch slams the textbook shut. She jumps at the sound. He leans forward into her space. She contemplates running again.
"Your body is pathetic. You can't hit, you can't kick, you can't even run properly. I'm trying to help you."
"I don't want your help!"
Something seethes underneath Butch's sueface. "I saw you walking around in me you know." He says deceptively soft. "You liked it. Didn't you? All that muscle? All that power?"
No.
She...she didn't.
Butch leans away back in his chair. He drums his fingers on the tabletop. Millie thinks this is the part where he threatens her. Like he's gonna rip off a fingernail everytime she refuses to listen.
But he doesn't. Instead he puts her back in her room (it's really just a mattress on the floor) and locks the door. Maybe he was trying to psyche her out? Well fat chance of that!
Millie tugs insistently on her ropes. Thank god he didn't hog tie her nightly. The most he did was tie her wrists together. But that was probably because even if she did get free, the room had no window. And she wasn't strong enough to kick down the door. He'd definitely hear it if she tried.
Frustrated and tired, she rolls over and goes to sleep.
The following few days take a strange turn. It starts that morning when she wakes to the smell of bacon wafting from the kitchen. Since when did Butch get pots and pans?
When Butch comes for her, she quietly follows him out and sits down at the table. There's a whole slew of food. She can't quite believe it. Was this...a bribe? Millie snorts. Like she could be bought for so cheap.
Butch pulls out a bowl and sets it in front of her. Millie looks at it. Plain oatmeal. Confused, she looks back up. On his side of the table Butch has bacon, waffles, and eggs.
He gestures to her bowl. "Eat your breakfast."
At dinner he comes back with McDonald's. He eats two burgers, a chicken sandwich, and a mcflurry. Millie gets a small packet of cold fries.
Two days later Butch presents her with some clothes. She's sad to admit (if only to herself) that they're actually quite cute. It amazes her how he's a 6 foot neanderthal who likes to kill people and yet he still knows more about fashion than her.
"You can have these when you pass your first test."
Millie almost loses it then and there. She's been stuck here for weeks. Sleeping with no blanket and tied up every night. Her food is always plain or cold. She's been unable to take a shower this entire time and she smells like a trash can. Looks like one too.
It's three more days before she breaks.
"If you let me take a shower I'll learn your stupid killing methods."
"Self defense techniques." He corrects her. "You're not advanced enough to go on the offense yet."
Millie grumbles. "Whatever! Now lemme wash my hair!" She wiggles in her restraints. Despite almost always having them on, she still isn't used to them.
"Fine. But with a few restrictions."
She thought he was going to cuff her ankle to something and leave her in the bathroom. Or even stand in the doorway while she showered behind the curtain. But apparently he didn't trust her enough for that. (She wouldn't either.)
Instead, he fills up the kitchen sink and has her bend over to put her head under the faucet. Millie stands still as he wets her hair. While he works she takes the chance to rub at her free wrists.
"You should've been a hairdresser in another life." She mumbles.
He doesn't rise to the bait. Only pinching the skin on her neck and making her yelp. The position is uncomfortable, but the hands in her hair are not. She had said it as a joke, but as she stands there letting him wash her, she finds he actually wasn't all that bad. His hands are gentle. They cradle her head and thread through her locks almost like a massage.
When he's finished, he squeezes out the water and then dries it with a towel. She feels out of place. Taken apart. Like she is looking at her life at a distance.
Butch guides her to the couch where she sits in front of him between his legs. He is quiet as he methodically brushes her hair. Careful not to pull too hard.
"What are the three main points of attack?"
She racks her brain. "Head, stomach, and ankles. Groin if it's a man."
"Good."
The brush runs up and down. Up and down.
"If someone runs at you with a knife what do you do?"
"Disarm with a sidestep. Never head on."
He hums in approval.
It's not content that pools in her stomach. But it feels close enough.
-
The door creaks open. Millie sits up, groggy from her nap. A head pokes through. It's not Butch.
Someone has found her.
He appears to be a homeless man. Probably with the same idea as Butch had. Squatting in a vacant home outside the neighborhood. It was a good spot.
"Help! Help! He's got me chained up here! The Blissfield Butcher!"
The homeless man blinks. He tilts his head then grins. "Oh shit! Carl, get in here!"
Another man appears. They stand over the mattress looking down at her with twin expressions of excitement. In that moment Millie realizes two things. One, they weren't homeless. Just dirty junkies. Two, they had no intention of helping her.
Carl looks her up and down. A spark in his eyes. Millie screams louder at them.
"Listen to me assholes! The Butcher is literally going to be back any time now! We have to go to the police!"
"The Butcher you say? Damn I see why he keeps you around honey!"
Terror closes in. They don't believe her. Of course they don't. Carl leans down and kneels on the mattress in front of her. It's been awhile since she's been this afraid. With Butch they'd fallen into a sort of truce. She no longer feared for her life daily. But as the men grab at her limbs and clothes, she feels a different part of horror.
She's only had sex once. With Booker. It had been lovely… Okay fine it'd been awkward. But it was still nice. Booker was extremely attentive and she loved him so much.
Millie tries to float back to that memory. A hand squeezes her breasts. Laughter fills the room. She tries to breathe. Let the present fade away.
A finger pushes inside her and a sob escapes her throat.
"God she feels so good."
"Shit yeah! Hurry up! I want a turn!"
Millie refuses to look. She can hear a zipper and some shuffling. Then something is pressed against her entrance.
She wants to scream. But for who? Her mother and sister were not there. Her friends are far away. There was no one. She is alone.
Someone gasps. Quick and sharp. Followed by a wet crunch.
"The fuck??"
Millie's eyes snap open. Across the room the other man falls to the floor in a crumpled heap. A knife sticking out of his head. Beside her, Carl shouts in fear. He scrambles away from her as Butch thunders forward. Bloodied and hulking like an old god.
"Oh my God! Y-you're the Butcher! Holy shit! Holy shit!"
Butch grapples with Carl. He makes quick work of him as he breaks his right leg. Carl's screams pierce through the air as a bone pierces through the meat of his leg.
As Carl lay sobbing and shouting, Butch turns to her. Millie tenses as he reaches down to untie her. As soon as she's free she hastily pulls on her clothes. She wipes her tears away unable to look Butch in the eye. She wants to disappear.
Butch grabs her arm and helps her stand. He presses something into her hand before letting go. Millie looks down and startles at the knife. Confused, she looks back up.
"Would you like to do the honors?"
The honors? As in kill him? But she…
"He's dying either way tonight."
Millie looks between Butch and Carl. She wants to throw up. She wants to go home. She wants to slide under her covers where no one can find her and sleep for forever.
"Hey…" a bloodied knuckle tucks under her chin and tilts her head up. "You can say no. But don't hide yourself away like that. You are more than what they make you."
His voice is softer than she's ever heard. It's almost frightening.
He…
He actually cared.
All this time. In his own fucked up way he had been completely sincere about helping her come out of her shell. About taking no shit from other people and fucking up anyone who tried to undermine her.
She swallows thickly. Without meaning to, her fingers close around the hilt and she takes the knife. Millie looks at Carl again. A would be rapist. Or maybe he already was one. Who knows if he'd done this before? Followed some woman home and attacked her in a dark alleyway.
He was despicable. Disgusting. And people like him slipped through the system all the time.
"Bad people are everywhere. This is an indisputable fact. "
Millie nods and pretends to be taking notes. Butch tended to rant during their lessons. His favorite topic to ramble on about was Society in general. She'd learned the hard way that if she let him, he would literally go on for the rest of the day about conspiracy theories and how the government spied on people and that's why he decided to live off the grid.
"Horrible things happen every day. And people do nothing. The police only care if it's a catastrophe."
The knife plunges into his stomach. Again and again and again. She doesn't know if she's yelling. She can't quite see past all the blood.
Her hand burns where it grips the handle. Her face and neck and stomach burn. Her whole body is on fire. The spark within her has turned into a raging inferno. It scares her. This monstrous thing.
Millie stares at the shredded body of Carl and steps back. She collides into Butch's chest and nearly falls. Will she ever be able to douze this fire within and return to normal? Or will it end up setting all of her ablaze? Consume her until she's ash?
-
He didn't look at her with any sort of lust. There was merely fondness. And Millie wondered if her eyes ever reflected the same.
She did not know if there was a name for this. It wasn't Stockholm. It wasn't Lima. But they were connected. An unspoken bond that neither of them knew what to do with. Each unwilling to strengthen or break it completely.
So he continued to teach her. And as she grew she became less afraid. But never less cautious. Millie is positive she'll either escape or kill him. She knows he wants the same. For her to kill him. Butch has told her that he'd intended for his latest killing spree to be his last. Go out with a bang. Now that Millie is here all he wants is her tiny hand taking the final plunge.
The more she learns about him the more morbidly fascinated she is. What Millie, and every other person in her town, had thought was a one dimensional serial killer was far more complex than anyone could ever realize.
"Strength isn't real power." Butch growls. Off topic onve again during a lesson. "It's a tool. Real power is through lies and manipulation. The government, the police, the media, that's true power. Control what the people think and you control the world."
If Millie doesn't want to be stuck here until sundown. She needs to change the subject and she needs to do it fast.
"Hey, how did you know about the whole body switching thing anyway?"
Butch blinks. Brain catching up with the non sequitur.
"You know with the knife? How did you figure out the effects were only going to last for a day?
He looks almost disappointed. "The internet?"
"But it was inscribed in spanish!"
"Luckily," he says sarcastically, "I know Spanish."
She squints at him.
"What? I'm not allowed to know spanish?"
Millie shrugs. "Dunno, just...you don't seem the type."
"Oh so I'm only supposed to go around skewering people in my spare time? I'm not allowed to have hobbies? Even Hitler painted."
Millie sputters. "Well sorry! I seem to remember waking up in a murder factory when I was in your body! Or was that just your collection of antique mannequins?"
"I was living off the grid!" He snaps. "And over the years I've found that the creepier your place is, the less likely you'll get robbed or some homeless guy will wander in and piss all over your sheets!"
Oh.
Millie hums. That actually made a lot of sense.
"...did your sheets really get pissed on?"
"Yes." Butch grumbles.
Millie laughs. Butch's lips twitch up.
"Sooo, what else do you like to do? Other than home decor of course."
Butch leans in his chair. "I like reading."
"Lemme guess, true crime?"
Butch snorts. "Bit of everything. History. Fantasy. Thriller. Autobiographies."
Millie only read teen romance novels. But she doesn't tell him that. He'll only judge her and her tastes.
"Enough chit chat. Back to the lesson."
Millie groans.
-
The first time it happens it feels disjointed. She is lying in agony on the mattress. Butch had stolen some tampons and midol for her earlier. She remembers how other girls would complain about how horny they got on their periods. But Millie never really felt that way. Most of the time she was just hungry and tired.
But today is different. Today she feels it. A need. A pulse between her thighs. Everything crashes inside her and she needs a release.
Angry, she gets up. Her back peels off the mattress with sweat. God she felt disgusting. She was only in her bra and panties yet still she was so fucking hot. She needed a shower. She needed her dildo. And preferably a lot of chocolate.
She wanders into the living room where Butch is coloring in an adult coloring book. He looks up as she moves to the kitchen for some water. It was tap water but still good. She preferred bottled. Yes yes, bad for the environment and all, but she liked the taste.
Millie grips the sink as a particularly bad cramp overtakes her. She breathes heavily.
She hears movement behind her. "You want a massage?"
Fuck yes she wanted a massage.
Millie nods. Butch leads her back to the old mattress and she lies down. He starts at her shoulders and works into the meat.
"Lower."
His hands move to her back. Down over her ass. Yesss. Right there. Right there was good. Millie closes her eyes and sighs. It was funny. Whenever she was on her period Booker would get uncomfortable. He'd buy her chocolates and offer words of encouragement, but mostly he just stayed away until it had passed. It had frustrated her but she never called him out on it. Boys were just like that. Women's bodies were sexy until they suddenly started bleeding. Then they were just gross.
A hand wraps around her thigh and rubs it. Millie spreads her legs further. Butch massages her thighs and down her legs and back up again. She felt a lot better. But it still wasn't enough. Another bout of hunger sweeps through her.
"Hey Butch."
"Yeah?"
"Can you...can you…?"
Embarrassed, she stops. She was never like this before. She's not even entirely sure why she even wants to ask. Sure it would feel good, but it wasn't unbearable.
The hands on her pause. A soft squeeze, and then they're gone. Millie pushes her head into the pillow. Fuck she's ruined everything. She's made it weird. Butch is a serial killer but Millie is the one that made it uncomfortable.
Then she feels cool air on her cheeks as Butch slides her panties down. She feels him take hold of the tampon string and gently tug it. Slowly, it pops out. Wildly, she thinks they should get a towel. But the mattress was old anyway so who cared?
Two fingers slide in and Millie sighs. Her empty uterus, screaming to be filled, finally silent. He thrusts into her, creating a rhythm. Then he adds a third. Millie bites her lip. She feels Butch move behind her for better access. She spreads herself as far as she can.
It's not long before it feels like it's not enough.
"Please," Millie gasps. She doesn't want to say it. Hoping he'll understand.
He does.
-
The sex isn't about attraction. They are already coiled within one another. They've shared each other's bodies. Shared each breath and beat of their hearts.
They never talk about it. How they both long for a closeness neither can reach anymore. So he pushes inside her and she grips him tight. No matter how deep he goes, it's never enough. Frustration overwhelms her as he coaxes her into climax.
She wishes to understand him. To know him better than anyone else. She hates him. She wants to tear into his stomach and pull out his steaming guts.
At night she'll insist on climbing atop him on the couch. (He let's her.)
-
"What are you doing?" It's supposed to be a growl but comes off a soft shade of annoyance.
"I've had your body. I know what milk does to you." Millie takes his milk and replaces it with orange juice. "Don't you know you can buy Lactaid?"
"What's that?"
She refrains from rolling her eyes. Biting the "boomer" comment off before it can form. "It's milk for people who are lactose intolerant."
Butch actually does roll his eyes. He munches on his waffles indignantly. "I'm not gonna live that long anyway. What's the point in watching my figure?"
The silence takes an uncomfortable turn. Angrily, she finishes her own breakfast and gets up.
-
She doesn't know how many months she spends with him. It could have been 3. Or 7. Or a year. Millie trains both mentally and physically every day. Butch had brought back weights and she exercised until she wanted to kill herself. Strengthening her muscles. Strengthening her mind.
Until one day Butch comes home and his face is pale.
"We need to run."
They don't get far. There's a blockade at the end of the road. Butch and Millie get out of the car. She flinches as he grabs her, forcing her bare neck back. She feels the familiar tip of a blade pressed against her.
It's over. They're going to arrest him and take Millie back to her family. She knows with everything inside her that he's not going to let her go. Butch won't a single cop touch a hair on her head. Let Millie slip back into the cogs of society and back into her form fitting shell.
Millie thrusts backwards, hitting his crotch. Butch drops his knife. She turns, hand out and palm up, and breaks his nose. Butch yells, falling backwards.
Behind her, the officers shout. They immediately start to move in towards them. Millie doesn't run for safety. She doesn't move from her spot, standing between Butch and the rest of the world.
Butch lays on the ground looking up at her. Blood gushing down over his chin and face. His eyes are shining. He's proud.
-
Six months.
It's six months before she comes to visit him.