Henry Morrison. Wanted for various murders across the Louisiana city of Livonia. His motives are not known. What he has done to his victims is unforgivable. All that is known, other than his crimes, is that he is one heck of a photographer. Photographs of his "work," faces of his victims before they are slaughtered, the victims during dissections, people committing suicide, and many other photos that disturb most of earth’s population. This. All of this was Henry's drive, his passion! This corruption was the art that he practiced, and he enjoyed every second of it. His motive was his art, and no one else understood it. No one sufficiently questioned it.

     A young boy walking home from middle school was stopped at a curb staring at a rather large butterfly. He noticed it was a blue Lycaenidae with an impressively large wingspan. "Wow," gasped the boy, "you usually don't see these here. Such beautiful." He liked to use incorrect grammar in his excited tones of voices. He pulled out a cassette recorder his mother gave him just the day before, quickly placed a blank tape inside, and pressed the record button. "Elijah Balister here," he began, "this is my first attempt at recording on a cassette! It's September 14, 2017, and you can't see it but, I found a Lycaenidae! A blue one too! Now apparently they are considered pretty standard, but not down here. Not in Livonia, Louisiana. They say that one flap of a butterfly's wings can cause a hurricane. It is extraordinary how people come up with these theories." Elijah's ginger hair fell in front of his eyes as he was recording and brushed it out of his eyes with his free hand. A tall silhouette caught his eye, and he immediately pressed stop on his recorder. "Hello?" Elijah called to the figure just about twenty feet away from him. The figure stared at Elijah in an unsettling stance, their eyes cold and baleful. 

     Elijah backed away slowly, dropping his book bag immediately. The man who masqueraded as the silhouette that caught Elijah's attention, was now staring menacingly into Elijah's green eyes. He wanted so badly to run home, to be safe in his house, but he could not his legs to act. The man began to move toward Elijah, and the small boy began to run faster than he ever had to in his life. Elijah was the lead runner in a cross country meet, the man, Henry, was the competition. Henry easily caught up to Elijah, seeing as how he did not build much strength in his legs. Henry ran next to him, scooped him up and tore down an alleyway. Henry took all the right turns and streets he knew did not have security cameras. He eventually hopped over a locked gate with a "DO NOT TRESPASS" sign on each of the gate's sides, which was an entrance to some very thick woods. Elijah was kicking and screaming his lungs off, trying to escape the murderer's grasp, even though he knew his attempts were fruitless. As soon as Henry reached the bottom of the hill out of sight of anyone outside the woods, he quickly tied and gagged Elijah. He slapped him across the face, "Shut it you maggot!" Henry barked, "You are making my job even more challenging than it already is! You are lucky I don't kill you right now!" Elijah's eyes widened in fear of who was standing in front of him. Henry exhaled and pulled out a bottle of a clear liquid and poured it on a rag. Henry pulled off the gag he had put on Elijah and quickly pressed the cloth up against Elijah's nose and mouth. Elijah squirmed and thrashed himself around until his eyelids began to droop, and he finally shut his green eyes.

   Elijah woke up sometime later, pain resonating on the side of his head. It took him a while to remember what had happened before his awakening. Once he did, he began to panic. Elijah struggled to sit up or even move. His surroundings were pitch black, and there was no light illuminating the room. "Hello?" Elijah called out into the nothingness, noticing the lack of echo in the closet like room. Bright lights flashed on and gave its surroundings the lack of light displayed earlier. Elijah looked to his left and saw quite a lot of jars filled with popsicle sticks, cotton balls, Q-tips, and boxes of tissue paper. The entire room was white, including the countertops, drawers, and the cabinets above a stainless steel sink. Stainless wasn't a word Elijah would use, however. The sink, covered with old stained blood, and the rims of the counter around the sink were also stained. Elijah eyed the wash rag of many surgical tools drying next to the sink. Elijah turned his head to the right, but two hands held Elijah's head still and propped it over a curved metal band that stretched across the perimeter of the torture table and the man, Henry, strapped a leather strap across the circumference of Elijah's head. "No peeking," Henry's familiar voice hissed, "it's a surprise." Elijah whimpered as Henry stood in front of him with what appeared to be a polarized camera. "Smile," Henry said, and Elijah gave a confused look, "Come on. One for me and one for Ma and Pa. Did you think I was that narcissistic?" Elijah gave a small smile. "A little more, as if you had a fun day. My laughing gas concoction is not something you wanna breathe." Elijah smiled wider, not wanting to disobey and anger the suspect in front of him. Henry quickly snapped two photos, "Perfect," he grinned, "now what to do, what to do." He scanned Elijah and concluded on his research. "Cook," Henry said, "You like to cook." Elijah nodded.
"I do."
"What have you made that you were proud of?"
"Ch-chicken piccata." Elijah whimpered.
"My favorite. If the dish were not time-consuming, I would have had you make some for me."
"Really?"
"Sure," Henry said, pulling out a rather large cork board filled with the photos he takes that made others cringe and feel unpleasant. "All in chronological order from my first project. Call me girly, but I love my art. I love it so much. Death in all of its forms, makes me feel so alive. Ironic, is it not?" Elijah started to sob, "I wanna go home." He whimpered, "Why? What did I do to upset you? I didn't mean to if I did. Please let me go. I won't-" "If I had a dime for every time, I heard that." Henry interrupted. "I would not be here that's for sure." Henry walked over to his tools, and his imagination sparked. "I'm going to be playing pretend. I will be the orthodontist, and you will be the patient." Henry held up a pair of pliers and grinned a terrifying grin that sent chills down Elijah's spine.

   Henry pulled up a chair to the table Elijah was strapped to and shoved a bite block in Elijah's mouth to make sure it did not close. Then, Henry took his pliers and began to rip out Elijah's front rows of teeth. Elijah screamed and writhed, the pain felt unbearable, but it was just a little worse than pulling out a loose tooth. "Dramatic much?" Henry snickered. "I'll show you what pain is. Just wait until we become chefs." Elijah was crying, his tears hitting the open wounds in his mouth, flinching at the small stinging in his gums. Henry rubbed his chin and stared at Elijah's tongue, and an idea sparked. "Of course!" Henry shrieked, "a tongue piercing. You look too much like a teacher's pet. You need a makeover."  Henry pulled out a sewing needle and stabbed Elijah's tongue causing it to bleed, and the needle had gone right through. "First try!" Henry applauded. He hummed a tune thinking of what to do next. Henry muttered different hobbies and jobs he could use for some photos and the fun they would have together. He needed something he had not done before. Something that was not on Henry's board. "Well," Henry started, "you're lucky you are so skinny because we are going to be playing surgeon."

   Elijah whimpered, and Henry pulled out the bite block that held open the patient's mouth. Henry took some fabric scissors and began cutting Elijah's shirt to reveal his bare chest. He then took a scalpel and cut two horizontal lines, one above his chest and the other just above his pelvis. After that, he began to carve a separate vertical line interconnecting the two horizontal. Elijah lost it, screaming and thrashing himself around, the pain truly was unbearable, and he could not stop crying.  Henry opened the double doors he had created and exposed Elijah's organs. He quickly grabbed his camera and snapped some photos. He was fortunate he snapped the pictures because Elijah had threw up due to the exposed organs. "You see them in books, and you don't vomit. Why in real circumstances do you get sick?" Elijah did not answer. "I think it's because they're just illustrations and this is just too realistic for you." Henry pulled out a glass bowl and a spoon. "Remember when I said we were going to be chefs?" Henry asked and took out an empty syringe. He used the syringe to put blood from the body to the bowl he place on the counter. Henry scooped some of the "soup" with his spoon and began feeding Elijah. Elijah was tired and started to fade, wanting this all to just end. "Just kill me." Elijah whispered hoarsely, "I don't care anymore, just stop this." Henry sat back in his chair and folded his arms. He looked crossed but felt guilt over him noticing he was starting to fade. "Any last words for Ma and Pa?" Henry asked. He rarely asked this question, but that was because it always slipped his mind while he was working. "I love you guys so much," Elijah started, "and I thank Mr. Morrison for helping me end my suffering. I was bullied, I was tormented, I was assaulted. I contemplated suicide, but I never knew how to do it. I wish could've spent one last day with you guys. I love you." Henry's heart sank, I helped him?, He thought. "Henry," Elijah said, "Thank you. I know our time together was short so I have a request for you." Henry's eyes lit up, "Make sure those ‘friends of mine’ endure more pain than they could ever imagine." Elijah said. Henry looked determined, "Don't worry," he said, "I will." Henry stood over Elijah, scalpel in hand and punctured Elijah's heart, and the poor boy was no more.

   Henry spent the rest of his evening mopping up the blood on the floor and the table. He decided that the blood should not be thrown out, but should be placed somewhere more respectful. He thought about the Greenoaks Funeral Home he would pass by in all the times he was on Florida Boulevard. Henry poured the blood into a large bucket, sealed it with a lid, and placed it in the back of his car. He drove all the way to Baton Rouge and found the funeral home. From there, Henry removed the lid of the bucket and found a nice spot where the grass was separated by a concrete curb and poured the blood, allowing it to seep onto the road. "Much better." Henry said and walked to his car, turned the key and drove back to Livonia.

   The next day, news and social media got word of the blood around the back of the funeral home. "How coincidental," Henry said, "a blood leak from the tanks. I guess butterflies flapping their wings are an omen."