Black Butterfly

Summary: In 2000, Richard Myers, a single father raising two children, was murdered, along with his 16-year old son, Zack. 7-year old Gwen was the only survivor. The killer was never captured, and Gwen eventually grew up and moved on... That is, until the killer resurfaces to finish what they started 9 years ago...

Plot Note: In case you haven't figured it out yet, this is an AU (alternate reality) fic. Gwen, of course, will make an appearance, as will a number of characters from Total Drama. Who, I cannot say at the moment.

Rating Note: At the moment, this fic is rated T. However, the rating may very likely go up to M in future chapters.

Enjoy...

Prologue: The Fall Hills Massacre

Date: June 8th, 2000. Location: The Myers household at 128 Candle St., in the town on Fall Hills, Ontario. Time: 10:28 P.M.

Sheriff Andrew Rhynhal prepared for the worst as he walked through the opened doorway of the Myers house. Behind him, several police cars had formed a perimeter around the two story, suburban house. One officer was unrolling police tape around the home, while several officers were urging neighbors that had been awakened by police sirens to return to their homes, and that there was nothing wrong.

This, of course, wasn't the case. Something was very wrong indeed.

There was nothing out of place in the living room. No overturned tables, no blood on the floor or furniture, no signs of a struggle anywhere. Clearly, this wasn't the crime scene.

An officer stood near the hallway, pointing down the corridor without a word. Nodding, Andrew turned and made his way down said hallway, passing by a bathroom and a closet. Again, nothing out of the ordinary.

But up ahead were two opened doors, one on each side of the hall. The left one had blood spattered on the door. Andrew gulped and continued walking. When he reached the open door, he took a deep breath and looked inside.

Thirty-eight year old Richard Myers - teacher, soccer coach, respected member of the community - lay dead in his bed. His throat and jugular vain were slashed open, soaking the pillow and mattress with blood. His nightshirt and pants were riddled with rips and tears, a bloody stab wound accompanying each of them. His groin region in particular suffered heavy damage. Two officers stood over him. One was setting down markers to indicate where things were, and the other was taking pictures of the crime scene.

On the floor was his sixteen year old son, Zachary. He was clad in only his boxers, the way most teenage boys sleep. His throat was slashed and jugular vain were also slashed, same as his father. Also like his father, his body was riddled with stab wounds, his groin had taken the most damage.

In his twelve years as sheriff, Andrew Rhynhal had never seen such a horrible sight in the small, normally peaceful town of Fall Hills. As such, seeing this made the sheriff feel faint, and he put a hand to the wall for support. "Great God in Heaven," he muttered out of shock.

The officer with the camera, Officer Thomas Jacks, one of the two officers that Rhynhal had sent in response to the frantic 911 call about a disturbance at the Myers house, noticed how the color seemed to drain from his boss's face. "Sir, are you okay?" he asked. Andrew had to take a deep breath to keep his dinner down before speaking again.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he took another deep breath, not taking his eyes off the dead men. "This how you found 'em?"

"Yessir," Tom snapped another photo. He pointed to Richard. "My guess is that the father was asleep when his throat and artery were sliced. Poor guy probably barely opened his eyes before he bled out," he pointed to Zach. "The kid probably heard the commotion and came in, only to be killed next," he snapped another photo. "At least, that's how I think it went down."

The other officer, Officer Mickey Wilks, one of the multiple officers who Rhynhal had dispatched when he received a call from Tom about what had been discovered, bent down and placed a marker next to a pair of bloody scissors. "It looks like these scissors were the murder weapon," he said with a scowl. "Neighbor called it in, and we didn't find any signs of forced entry."

Andrew nodded, then asked the question that had been plaguing him since he first saw the blood on the door. "Where's Gwen?"

"Richard's daughter?" Tom asked, before shaking his head. "We don't know. By the looks of it, she and Zach shared that room across the hall. We didn't find her in there, and Stu's combing the house for her."

Just then, the radio on Tom's belt chirped. "Tom, you there?" It was Stuart Booth, Tom's partner and the other cop that was first on the scene. Tom quickley put the radio to his ear, pressing his thumb on the "talk" button.

"I'm right here, Stu. You find Gwen?"

"Yeah, I'm in the basement. You guys better take a look at this."

Tom put the radio back on his belt and turned back to Andrew, but he was already turning to leave.

"I'll go," he said, not bothering to look back at the other two officers. "You two keep documenting the crime scene."

"Yessir," Tom and Mickey replied.

Andrew made his was down the hallway, past the other officer, and into the kitchen, where the basement door was. He made his way down the stairs and into the basement. Past the pool table and couch stood Officer Stu, looking into the back room that housed the boiler, washing machine, and dryer. He turned his head and saw Sheriff Andrew.

"She's over here, sir," Stu said, looking mortified. He turned back to look into the other room. "I gotta warn you; it isn't pretty."

Fearing the worst, Andrew practically ran over to where Stu was and looked through the arched doorway.

Seven year old Gwendolyn Myers was curled up on the floor in the fetal position, in the space between the dryer and the wall. She held a stuffed, snow-white bunny to her chest. Her pink feety pajamas, pale face, and red hair were covered in blood. Whimpering, she rocked back and forth, staring up at the ceiling with wide, unblinking eyes. Her young face was frozen with a look of pure horror. On the wall behind her, two words were written in blood;

Black Butterfly.

To Be Continued...

Thus ends the first chapter of my first TDI horror fic. Kinda short, but not bad, if I do say so myself. Let me know what you guys think, and feel free to be brutal.

Next chapter, we'll flash forward nine years, and meet sixteen year old Gwen. We'll also learn a little bit more of this brutal crime.

Oh, and fans of TDI: Get Your Game On; the story has not been abandoned, it's just taking a while to write the next chapter.

Till next time...

-BlizzardOfOzz