The Blood Red Butterfly

The small dagger like hand of the pocket watch struck ten: twenty-four minutes to the departure of train number six, leaving from Rostov, Russia to Paris, France. A quick and peculiarly giant finger snapped the little tarnished brass watch shut. The little brass pocket watch sat in the enormous palm while a thumb, thick with a knotty knuckle and pale white skin, slowly traced the intricate engravings on the cover. The hand brought the little pocket watch closer to the owner’s face, reflecting an eerie red glow from looked like eyes. A small sigh came forth and the pocket watch was promptly and smoothly tucked away into the inside of a large coat. A single thought passed through the pocket watch owner’s mind in that small moment and he let it pass. She was late he thought peacefully. Having the rest of eternity had a funny way of granting someone eternal patience.

It was the 25th of February in the year 1917, a date that would, in earlier decades or in Vladimir’s case centuries, have otherwise passed with little care, it was just another number to pass, another day to watch end. Yet, on this day in the Rostov Imperial Train Station, Vladimir could have not felt more dread in the oncoming twenty four minutes that awaited him in this pathetic edifice. He peered from underneath the brim of his stone gray cap, his eyes faintly glowing a ghostly red. The train station itself looked hideous. Gone were the days that it shone in the summer sun with its fine red brick, impressive newness of its trains and statues that decorated the walls, and the cheer it once had in its lively novelty. Back then the station was alive with imperial splendor and awe; everything was open and curious to what lay beyond the exits.

Five years later, the Rostov Imperial Train Station stood a lifeless shell, a dead soulless construction that served no other function than the one assigned to it. The once towering and intimidating brick walls and supports were cracked from the bitter winters, wobbling on the edge of collapsing the entire building in just one small crack in a bottom brick. It was as though the pillar Vladimir leaned against would buckle if he were to move. The gloriously perfect giant windows that faced out onto the miles of tracks leading out of Russia were shattered and never replaced, leaving them to stand like jagged mouths of rain making, winter wind blowing, ice monsters with insides of a stormy dark gray. The platforms and stairs were littered with trash and the remnants of toppled marble statues and crowded with the swarming flood of human bodies. The trains, once lively with brand new iron magnificence, waited like weary beasts of burden in their frozen rust, spewing steam and choking smoke into the air from their faintly glowing furnaces. Long platforms were flooded with a turbulent sea of people, their panicked voices and screams deafening the air, pushing and pulling in desperation to escape, hands outstretched in fear and their wasted and pitiful hot breaths rising up into a massive cloud in the high ceilings. Vladimir felt the old station sigh breathlessly and with as much sympathy as one with an unbeating heart can muster, he nodded in agreement.

He heard another click of his pocket watch as clear as a bell amid the sea of screaming panic. Twenty minutes till the departure of train number six. Vladimir, remembering his assignment, stood straight from his leaning, stuck his hands inside his heavy military coat and began to walk swiftly through the crowds. His gigantic size and form allowed his wide graceful gait through the congested platforms, blowing past everyone in his way breathing in and exhaling cold air search for a scent. His face was stern as stone, calm and collected, but inside Vladimir was torn about what was about to take place in twenty minutes at platform six. Tick. Nineteen minutes.

His mind quickly flashed to the echoing event he had with the Council before he felt this morning.

“Vladimir, you pledged your service to this Order nearly seven centuries ago and now is the time to prove your loyalty to your masters whom you have sworn to obey. We of the Council have agreed to assign you a task that is simple and requires only your capable stead hand.
…
We require that you exterminate the girl at Rostov, in the train station. Do it swiftly, and without notice.
Understand?
…
This is the only way to redeem yourself.”

Vladimir continued on silently. Just a few weeks ago, he would have been able to do this assignment without much thought or care like he had always done. When his masters said kill, he killed, regardless of the reason. Vladimir was the angel of death, unmoving, and indifferent to the screams and contorted faces, coming swiftly and going quickly, leaving nothing behind but a lifeless body. Killing was his second nature and with heightened abilities and sense to do it effortlessly, he though little of it. Time had stripped him of all pesky feelings of remorse and left him a stone cold, machine. It was only his function. It was only his duty and he did it so well. Vladimir could go on forever like this, just being a tool.

But somehow, something was beginning to stir inside him, something that he forgotten about long ago. He was beginning to change. He was undergoing a metamorphosis. It frightened him and he cringed almost every time he had thought about it until this point. Yet he could not but help to agree with it. The endless cycle of order, execution, order, and execution began to make him uneasy. He was restless and thought more and more about it. And in one act of rebellion against the cycle of which he was accustomed to, he was condemned to kill that something that inspired the whole fiasco.

A sharp scent filled his nostrils and made him stop dead in his tracks. It was sweetly familiar and it was the scent he was searching for. His target was very close and his mission was coming slowly to its end. Vladimir steered onward, plowing through people following the scent. In a matter of seconds he reached his destination and target. It was platform six with train six waiting, the waves of people crashing up against it threaten to drown it while the train stood emotionless. He heard another tick from his watch: seventeen minutes to go. He waited for his target to appear, eyes wide and searching and ears open to the smallest sound, she was after all late. He stared to build his wall inside himself, wrapping his being with a protective cocoon to await the final changes.

“Vladimir!” said a small voice behind him.

He turned around and there she was, his target. Vladimir hardened his face, his eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched as he peered down on the girl. But when he did he could not stop his face from softening. Bright ice blue eyes stared unafraid back into his and a smile soon followed.

“Sorry if I’m late,” the girl said quietly, knowing full well he could hear, “There are just so many people here to day.”

Another surge of people came to break onto train number six; Vladimir pulled the girl towards the front of the train where it was surprisingly calm. She followed obediently under his stone cold grip. He let go and without out thinking brushed the dirt from her coat. She muttered a cheery thanks and looked back up to him waiting. Silence enveloped them both. Vladimir looked at the girl taking in her features for want would be the last time. Short black hair hung messily in her face, although it failed to mask her dazzling smile or her vivid blue eyes. A worn and patched oversized black coat hung from her small frame reaching down passed her knees and the sleeves went over her hands. A shoulder bag was strapped on her carrying nothing but broken watches and other useless trinkets that she deemed worthy to haul around. She was so different from Vladimir, her so full and him so hollow.  

Another tick from his pocket watch; fourteen minutes until the departure of train six. Vladimir had remembered something. He reached inside his coat.“Ai?” his deep, even voice asked. She looked up and Vladimir roughly handed her a package. Ai looked up at him once and opened the package. Inside was a red scarf, four army rations, leather bound sketchbook and a leather case of drawing graphite. She smiled up at him. Her smile quickly faded as sadness came to the surface.

“I’m really leaving, aren’t I Vladimir?” she said in a whisper.
He nodded silently.

“I’m really going to Paris, aren’t I Vladimir?” she whispered again her voice starting to crack.

He nodded again.

“So why I’m I going without you?”

Vladimir looked at her straight in her eyes and she looked straight into his. “You know why.” he said slowly. “You are marked for death for knowing too much about a secret society. You are not safe within the country of Russia. You must leave the Order’s jurisdiction, therefore you must leave Russia. I am a slave of the Order and therefore I must stay in Russia. There is no other way to save you.” They both looked away not wanting to accept the truth of it. Things were at their worst and it was almost too much to bear.

He heard another tick from his pocket watch; twelve minutes until departure.

Vladimir inhaled and a pungent scent hit him like a brick. There were others here, others like him. Beings sent by the Order whose hearts had not beat in years and whose blood had turned to dust like his. Vladimir’s jaw clenched again. They were here to observe and to supervise. They were here to make sure he would complete the assignment and if he did not, complete the assignment and eliminate the defective tool.

Vladimir looked to Ai again. She was looking away again, staring on at the end of the platform clutching the contents of Vladimir’s gift. Her fair skinned was blushing red at the biting winter wind and her eyes were watery. She looked beautiful as she always did no matter what the circumstances. Vladimir had grown fond of her over the short period of time they had known each other, yet he felt that somehow it went deeper than a simple liking. Somehow she knew what he was thinking at all times without even knowing it herself. He was bewildered at that fact as he stared on.

“Do you think they will accept me in Paris, at the art school academy I mean?” Ai asked, still staring ahead.  “I mean, I am not professionally trained or anything.” She was staring down at the tattered leather sketch book she held in her hands.

“You draw beautifully. Your sketches of wildlife are especially interesting. You seem very intrigued by butterflies.” Vladimir said earnestly in reply. Ai smiled at the compliment. “Yeah, I love butterflies. They’re so delicate and intricate, they fascinate me. But I never got to see this one kind of butterfly.”

Vladimir stepped closer intrigued “What kind?”

“In Russia there is supposed to be this very special kind of butterfly. Its wings are a pure blood red and it only shows up in the dead of winter. I heard that it is supposed to be the soul of lost soul trying to find its way home. I never got to see one.” Ai trailed off and turned back to the platform. “I don’t think I’ll ever get to see one now or ever.” She turned back to him, her angelic face contorted and her eyes glistening with tears. “But the worst part is I’ll never see you again will I?”

Vladimir just stared down at the beautiful girl, his dead heart was beginning to tremble with guilt. He kneeled down and grabbed her shoulders firmly and pulled her close to his cold chest in a sincere embrace. He did not care if the others were watching, he just did care. Let them sneer in disgust at such a worthless emotion and let their eyes burn in his back. Ai’s arms wrapped around his waist, burying her face into his shoulder as he rubbed her back carefully. As the warmth from her body gently seeped into his cold lifeless one, Vladimir could not help but wonder how easily he could tighten his arms around her and snap her in half or how he could break her neck with his thumb and forefinger without the slightest of hesitations. His instincts urged him to do so, to get it over with quickly but he made no move to. He just could not do it. Not now. He closed his eyes and inhaled her scent in deep breaths, wishing he could just make it all go away. But he could not and all he had were the last precious minutes of them being together.
Crisis  

Another tick sounded from Vladimir’s pocket watch and it was now four minutes to departure. The conductor yelled from the cars for all passengers to come aboard. The train roared to life fresh steam spewing from its smokestack. Time was almost up. Vladimir had to fulfill his duty and he started to empty himself of all thought and emotion in order to do. It would be painful, but the quicker he did it and the less emotions that he did it with would lessen the pain. Besides since when did monster have hearts any way?

Vladimir began to pull away reluctantly when Ai broke the silence with a startling question. “Vladimir, what does dying feel like?”He stood there stunned, fear washing over him like cold water. Had she read his mind did she know what was going to happen in the next four minutes of her life? He had first hand experience with the subject and was still walking around, existing but not living. He swallowed hard and answered simply. “It’s like falling asleep but you never wake up. You just go numb and just slip away.”

Ai replied in a small whisper as she pulled away and looked up at him. “Yep, that’s what I’m feeling right now,” she cracked a sorrowful grin, “I’m dying without you Vladimir. Heh, figure that, the Order wants to kill me and here I’m dying from a broken heart.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. Another tick from the pocket watch and there was just three minutes to go. Vladimir’s façade was beginning to crack; the shell was staring to break. His true colors were going to show and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He felt the others’ presences closing in around him; the moment of truth was drawing near. He looked at Ai once more, wiping the tears away from her eyes. The tear drops froze on his fingertips as he did. He said nothing as he stood up from his knee He bent down and kissed her persuasively on the fore head. “This will all just be a dream.” He promised her. “This will all just be one bad dream. I promise.” Ai nodded, flashing a quick smile. She believed him and this was just what he needed.

Another tick from the pocket watch: two minutes to go. Ai picked up her meager belongings and headed slowly towards the train without looking back. Vladimir looked on as she boarded the train. He lost sight her for a split second and then saw her in the window of one of the cars. It was a perfectly clear shot for a perfectly clean shot. It was just what he needed. He felt the others drawing in closer and the moment of truth was upon him like the fiery gates of hell.


Vladimir emptied himself of everything, his thoughts, his emotions, and his will. He was committed to his goal. He heard the minute hand tick once more from his pocket watch. One minute to go. He saw Ai, her face drenched in sadness, press her hands up against the window. She lifted one of her hands and she waved a slow goodbye. The train’s whistle blew and its wheels began to turn. It was gaining momentum as it slowly started to creep out of the station. Vladimir exhaled slowly. In a fluid motion as he had down so many times before he reached inside his coat, grabbing a black revolver, cocking the hammer as he brought it down, the barrel pointing straight at the middle of Ai’s forehead. The train was nearly out of the station gaining more speed as it went. His finger moved to the trigger, his eyes narrowed in determination and grief. He mouthed his simple apology, steadied the revolver once more aiming at his true target, and pulled the trigger.

It was just as Vladimir had said. He did not hear the gun blast as it went off under his jaw, but he felt a strange sensation. His head felt like a fountain spurting out cold wetness in a violent burst and felt it gushing down his head. He fell to the ground in a dull thunk that he did not hear. He had seen Ai’s shocked face, her perfect blues gushing out tears and he felt sorry for that. He felt his eye lids close and his whole body go numb as it did before over seven centuries ago. He felt the cold wetness pool around his head like a strange pillow. It was a bright red and in the oddest moment Vladimir smiled with his jaw clenched in an unusual manner. And then everything faded away.

The others were upon him immediately. They swarmed around his body, ignoring the cries and horrified onlookers. They seized him, unsurprised by his all ready icy skin, their glowing red eyes scrutinizing him. Vladimir’s eyes were no longer their glowing red, but now a dull gray. His body was limp and unanimated. And when they turned to catch the train it was all ready gone. The girl was beyond their jurisdiction. The others snarled in anger until they noticed that something was moving in the dead giant’s mouth. One of them wrenched his jaw open and a gust of dust burst forward. The others drew back in fright fearing a curse. But all that came out was a butterfly. A butterfly with blood red wings soared high in the air and fluttered slowly out of the train station heading in the direction of train number six. It was heading for France, Paris to be exact. It would take a long time for the little blood red butterfly to reach its destination, but then again eternity grants eternal patience.