Chapter 9 The Specimen Butterfly

# Chapter 9: The Specimen Butterfly

Flames licked up the laboratory walls, consuming years of research and macabre specimens with indiscriminate hunger. The fire had started in the preservation fluid cabinet when Carl's wild shot struck a glass container, the combustible liquid igniting instantly and spreading with alarming speed. Now the entire basement was transforming into an inferno, smoke billowing through the once-sterile space, obscuring visibility and making each breath a struggle.

Andrea crawled on hands and knees toward the exit, the heavy wedding dress hampering her movements. Beside her, Carl lay stunned from their violent confrontation, blood seeping from the wound where she had struck him with a metal tray. The explosion from above—the cathedral's structural supports giving way—had knocked loose a storage cabinet, which now pinned Leland's wheelchair against the far wall.

"Andrea!" Leland called through the thickening smoke, his voice strained by the effort of breathing in the toxic air. "Get out now! The whole place is coming down!"

She changed direction, moving toward his voice instead of the exit. "I'm not leaving you!"

"You must!" Leland insisted, struggling to free himself from the wheelchair's confines. The cabinet had crushed one side of the chair, trapping his already weakened legs. "There's no time!"

The ceiling groaned ominously above them, small chunks of concrete raining down as the cathedral's foundation began to give way. Through gaps in the smoke, Andrea could see Leland clearly now—his face pale with pain and exertion, his hands pushing futilely against the metal cabinet.

Reaching his side, Andrea threw her weight against the cabinet, muscles straining. It shifted slightly but remained largely immovable.

"Go," Leland urged, grasping her hands to stop her efforts. "Please, Andrea. Save yourself."

"I'm not losing you again," she insisted, coughing as smoke filled her lungs.

Leland's expression softened, even as urgency underlined his words. "My brother is unconscious, not dead. If the fire reaches those preservation chemicals..." He didn't need to finish the thought. The resulting explosion would be catastrophic.

Andrea glanced back to where Carl lay unmoving. Despite everything he had done, everything he had planned to do, the thought of leaving him to burn alive sent a wave of revulsion through her. Monstrous as his actions had been, he was still human—still, in some warped way, family to the man she loved.

"Help me get him out," she said, making her decision. "Then I'll come back for you."

Leland shook his head vehemently. "There's no time for two trips. The structure is failing. You must take him and go—now."

"I can't leave you!" Tears streaked through the soot on Andrea's face.

"You can. You must." Leland's voice had taken on a commanding tone she rarely heard from him. "I've accepted my fate, Andrea. Perhaps it's fitting—the disease would have taken me eventually. This way, at least I die saving someone I love."

Another explosion rocked the laboratory as more chemicals ignited. The heat was becoming unbearable, the air nearly unbreathable.

"Go!" Leland shouted, pushing her away from him with what strength he had left. "Save him if you must, but save yourself!"

With a sob of frustration and grief, Andrea turned toward Carl's unconscious form. She grabbed his arms and began dragging him across the floor, her wedding dress catching fire at the hem. She beat out the flames with one hand while continuing to pull Carl's weight with the other, making agonizingly slow progress toward the exit.

Behind her, through the smoke and flames, she caught a glimpse of Leland. He had stopped struggling against his confinement and was watching her retreat with an expression of profound peace—almost a smile—on his face. Their eyes met one final time across the burning room, a lifetime of unspoken emotions condensed into a single glance.

Then the ceiling between them collapsed in a shower of concrete and metal, cutting off her view—and any possibility of return.

"No!" Andrea screamed, instinctively lunging back toward the collapse before another explosion forced her to retreat.

With renewed desperation, she dragged Carl the remaining distance to the exit tunnel, the narrow passageway that led up from the basement to the cathedral grounds. The air was marginally better here, though smoke continued to pour from the laboratory behind them.

Carl stirred as they reached the incline, his eyes fluttering open. "What... where..."

"Don't speak," Andrea ordered, continuing to pull him up the sloping passage. "Save your breath. We need to get out."

"Leland," Carl murmured, awareness returning to his gaze. "Where is Leland?"

Andrea couldn't bring herself to answer, focusing instead on the physical task of dragging his considerable weight up the tunnel. Behind them, the laboratory continued to burn, secondary explosions marking the destruction of Carl's life's work—his specimens, his research, his twisted vision of perfection.

As they neared the tunnel's exit, Carl became more fully conscious, pulling himself along with his arms to assist their progress. They emerged onto the cathedral grounds, where chaos reigned. Emergency vehicles surrounded the partially collapsed building, firefighters battling the blaze that had spread from the basement to the main structure. Wedding guests huddled in shocked groups at a safe distance, watched over by paramedics and police.

Andrea collapsed onto the grass, lungs burning, body exhausted. Carl lay beside her, his breathing labored but stabilizing. For several minutes, neither spoke, simply drawing in the cool night air in grateful silence.

Finally, Carl turned his head toward her. "You could have left me there."

Andrea met his gaze, finding it disturbingly clear and rational despite all that had transpired. "Yes."

"Why didn't you?"

She considered the question, surprised to find she didn't have a simple answer. "I don't know. Humanity. Decency. The kind of basic compassion you seem to lack."

Carl's laugh was bitter and ended in a cough. "Always so direct. So moral." He pushed himself up on one elbow, scanning the emergency scene around them. "Where is my brother?"

Andrea closed her eyes briefly against the surge of pain. "He didn't make it out. The cabinet that fell... he was trapped. He ordered me to save you instead of him."

Something complex crossed Carl's face—grief, disbelief, and perhaps a flicker of something else. "Impossible. Leland wouldn't sacrifice himself for me. Not after what I did."

"You didn't know him as well as you thought you did," Andrea replied, too exhausted for anger. "Despite everything, he was still your brother."

"Not by blood," Carl said quietly, almost to himself. "Never by blood."

This caught Andrea by surprise. "You knew? About your mother's letter?"

Carl's expression hardened. "I've always known I was adopted. Mother told me when I was twelve—the day before she killed herself." His gaze drifted to the burning cathedral. "Leland was never supposed to know. It was our secret, hers and mine."

"Then why—" Andrea began, struggling to understand the motivation behind his elaborate scheme.

"Why try to become him? To fuse our identities?" Carl's smile was terrible in its sadness. "Because blood is overrated, Andrea. True brotherhood transcends genetics. I didn't want to replace Leland—I wanted to complete him. To preserve what was best of both of us before the disease took him entirely."

Sirens wailed as more emergency vehicles arrived. In the distance, Andrea could see Detective Sharma directing officers to establish a wider perimeter around the collapsing structure.

"You poisoned him," Andrea said, finding strength to sit up despite her exhaustion. "You accelerated his disease deliberately."

"I hastened the inevitable," Carl corrected, as if the distinction mattered. "ALS is a death sentence—cruel and prolonged. I merely... condensed the timeline."

"For what? So you could take his place? Marry me in his stead? Turn us both into your sick experiments?"

Carl shook his head, wincing at the movement. "You still don't understand. The wedding was necessary for legal purposes—to secure the Montgomery assets, to establish continuity. But the true union was to be spiritual, physical, eternal." His eyes took on the familiar fanatical gleam. "Perfection doesn't die, Andrea. It transcends mortality."

Before she could respond, paramedics spotted them and rushed over, immediately beginning assessment and treatment. They were separated, Carl taken to one ambulance, Andrea to another. As they placed an oxygen mask over her face, Andrea caught a final glimpse of Carl being loaded into his vehicle. Their eyes met across the distance, and something passed between them—an acknowledgment, perhaps, of the strange bond they now shared as the only survivors of the basement laboratory.

The ambulance doors closed, cutting off her view, and Andrea surrendered to the care of the medical team, her thoughts returning to Leland—to his final moments, to the peace she had seen on his face as he made his choice. Tears streamed down her temples as grief finally overcame her, the enormity of her loss hitting with physical force.

---

Three days later, Andrea stood in the penthouse for what she had promised herself would be the last time. The police had finally released the residence after completing their investigation, though the basement remained sealed with official tape—a crime scene that would likely never be fully processed given the sensitive nature of what had been found there.

She moved through the living room, gathering the few personal items she had left behind when she had fled to her own apartment after the cathedral disaster. Most of Leland's things remained untouched—his books on the shelves, his reading glasses on the side table, his jacket still hanging by the door. The everyday artifacts of a life abruptly ended.

As she packed her belongings into a small suitcase, Andrea caught sight of something unexpected on the coffee table—a folded piece of paper with her name written on it in Leland's distinctive handwriting. Her heart raced as she picked it up, unfolding it with trembling fingers.

Inside was a brief note:

*Andrea,*

*If you're reading this, then events have unfolded as I feared they might. Know that whatever happened, my love for you was real and constant. The ring I gave you at the cathedral contains not just my grandmother's diamonds, but a small key hidden in the setting. It opens a safety deposit box at First National—account details enclosed. What you find there will explain everything I couldn't tell you in person.*

*I'm sorry I kept so much from you. I thought I was protecting you, but perhaps I was only protecting myself from having to share the darkest parts of my family's history.*

*Whatever you decide about your future, know that you carried light into what had been a shadowed life, and for that, I will be eternally grateful.*

*With all my love,*

*Leland*

Andrea sank onto the sofa, reading the note twice more before setting it aside. From her pocket, she removed the ring box Leland had pressed into her hand in the cathedral crypt—the one she had carried with her but hadn't yet found the courage to open.

Inside, as promised, was his grandmother's ring—a stunning antique piece with three diamonds in a platinum setting. She turned it over in her palm, examining it carefully until she found the hidden compartment in the band. A tiny key, no larger than a grain of rice, fell into her hand.

The enclosed account information directed her to a bank only a few blocks away. Despite her exhaustion, Andrea felt a surge of renewed purpose. Whatever Leland had left for her, whatever final truth he had wanted to share, she needed to know—needed that closure before she could begin to rebuild her shattered life.

At the bank, the safety deposit box yielded a slim USB drive and another handwritten note:

*The complete truth. View it alone. Decide for yourself what should happen next.*

Back in her apartment, Andrea plugged the drive into her laptop. It contained a single video file, dated three months earlier—around the time she had begun to notice the first subtle differences in "Leland's" behavior.

The video began playing, showing Leland seated in what appeared to be a hotel room. He looked tired but significantly healthier than he had at the cathedral, with none of the extreme emaciation Carl's poisoning had eventually produced.

"Andrea," the recorded Leland began, "if you're watching this, then my suspicions about Carl have proven correct, and I've either been unable to stop him or have become a casualty of whatever he's planning."

He paused, running a hand through his hair in the gesture she had always found endearing.

"I've recently discovered evidence that my brother has been tampering with my medication, introducing arsenic and other toxins to mimic accelerated ALS progression. What I don't yet understand is why. Our family history is... complicated, as you may now know. Carl was adopted as an infant, though raised as my biological brother. This deception, revealed to him by our mother shortly before her suicide, created a wound that never truly healed."

Leland leaned closer to the camera, his expression grave.

"But there's something else—something I discovered only recently while reviewing old family medical records. Carl and I share an extremely rare blood type and several genetic markers that should be statistically impossible in non-biological siblings. I've come to suspect that we may actually be biologically related after all—perhaps half-brothers through our father, or cousins somehow adopted into the family through circumstances I don't yet understand."

Andrea paused the video, her mind reeling from this new information. If Leland's suspicions were correct, the entire foundation of Carl's madness—his belief that he was an outsider in the family—might have been based on incomplete information.

She resumed playback.

"I've arranged for DNA testing to confirm my theory, but the results won't be available for several weeks. In the meantime, I'm taking precautions. I've begun secretly testing my food and medication, and I've established this secure record in case something happens to me."

Leland's expression softened, his eyes looking directly into the camera as if trying to connect with her across time and circumstance.

"Andrea, my love, if you're seeing this, please know that everything I felt for you was genuine. If Carl has somehow inserted himself into my place—which I fear may be his intention—know that any resemblance between us is surface-level only. The man I've known my brother to be is brilliant but damaged, capable of both extraordinary insight and profound moral blindness."

He paused again, seeming to struggle with his next words.

"I've left instructions with my attorney to provide for you regardless of what happens to me. The Montgomery estate is legally bound to honor my wishes in this regard. But more importantly, I've left you this record so you would know the truth—whatever that turns out to be."

The video ended with Leland simply looking into the camera, his eyes filled with the love and concern Andrea remembered so well. When the screen went dark, she found herself reaching out to touch it, as if she could somehow bridge the gap between them, between life and death.

The revelation about the brothers' possible biological connection explained so much—Carl's obsession with becoming Leland, his fixation on "unifying" their identities, perhaps even his twisted scientific experiments to create physical hybrids of their genetic material. If he had somehow discovered or suspected this connection before Leland did, it might have fueled both his madness and his methods.

A knock at her apartment door startled Andrea from her thoughts. Through the peephole, she was surprised to see Detective Sharma standing in the hallway.

"Ms. Blackwell," the detective greeted her when she opened the door. "I apologize for the unannounced visit, but there's been a development I thought you should hear in person."

Andrea invited her in, noting the unusual tension in the normally composed detective's demeanor.

"What's happened?" she asked, leading Sharma to the living room.

The detective declined the offered seat, remaining standing as if ready to depart quickly. "Carl Montgomery escaped from the secure hospital wing where he was being treated for smoke inhalation and minor injuries."

Andrea felt the blood drain from her face. "How? When?"

"Sometime during the night shift. He apparently convinced a nurse he needed to use the bathroom, then disappeared through a service corridor." Sharma's expression was grim. "He had help—someone left clothes and identification for him in a predetermined location."

"You think he planned this in advance," Andrea said, not a question but a realization.

"Mr. Montgomery appears to have contingency plans for his contingency plans," the detective confirmed. "We're checking all known properties associated with the family, as well as his known associates."

Andrea sank onto her sofa, the implications washing over her. "He'll come for me, won't he?"

Detective Sharma didn't sugarcoat her response. "I believe that's likely, yes. Which is why I'm here to offer police protection until he's apprehended."

"Do you think he'll be apprehended?" Andrea asked, already knowing the answer.

"Honestly? Carl Montgomery has resources, intelligence, and apparently a network we haven't fully mapped. His capture depends largely on whether he makes mistakes—which so far hasn't been his pattern."

Andrea nodded slowly, processing this new threat. "What about... what about Leland's body? Has it been recovered from the cathedral basement?"

Something uncomfortable flickered across the detective's face. "That's the other reason I'm here. The recovery team finally reached the area where you indicated Mr. Montgomery was trapped." She paused. "They found the wheelchair, heavily damaged by the collapsed cabinet and subsequent fire. But there was no body, Ms. Blackwell. No human remains whatsoever."

Andrea stared at her, uncomprehending. "That's impossible. I saw him trapped there. I tried to free him. The ceiling collapsed between us—there was no way out."

"I believe you saw what you described," Sharma said carefully. "But the physical evidence doesn't support the presence of a body in that location. Our forensic team is quite thorough."

"Then where is he?" Andrea demanded, rising to her feet. "If Leland wasn't in that basement when it collapsed, where did he go?"

The detective spread her hands in a gesture of uncertainty. "That's what we're trying to determine. The working theory is that he may have found another way out after you left with Carl—perhaps through a passage or exit you weren't aware of."

"And he just... what? Walked away from the scene? Without telling anyone? Without contacting me?" Andrea's voice rose with disbelief.

"We don't know," Sharma admitted. "But given what we've learned about the Montgomery brothers and their... complicated relationship, we can't rule out the possibility that Leland had his own contingency plans."

Andrea's mind raced through possibilities, each more unlikely than the last. Could Leland have escaped somehow? Had she been mistaken about the severity of his entrapment? Or was there a more sinister explanation—had Carl somehow removed the body during the chaos, for purposes she couldn't begin to imagine?

"I need to show you something," she said suddenly, retrieving her laptop with Leland's video still cued up. "This might help explain some of what's been happening."

Together they watched Leland's recorded message, the detective taking notes throughout. When it concluded, Sharma sat back, her professional demeanor giving way to genuine astonishment.

"So they might actually be biological relatives after all," she mused. "That adds yet another layer to this extraordinary case."

"Does it help you find either of them?" Andrea asked, the faint hope of Leland's survival beginning to take root despite her efforts to remain realistic.

"It gives us additional avenues to explore," Sharma allowed. "DNA testing facilities, medical records that might confirm or refute the theory." She closed her notebook. "In the meantime, I strongly recommend you accept protective custody, at least until we have a better understanding of Carl's whereabouts and intentions."

Andrea agreed, but requested time to pack essentials before the officers arrived to transport her to a safe location. After the detective departed, promising to return with a protection detail within the hour, Andrea moved through her apartment gathering what she would need for an indefinite absence.

As she packed clothing into a small duffel bag, her hand brushed something unexpected in the pocket of a jacket she rarely wore—a small, hard object that hadn't been there before. Withdrawing it, she found herself holding two airline tickets to Florence, Italy, dated for the day after tomorrow. The names on the tickets were startling: Carl and Andrea Montgomery.

A small note was attached, written in Carl's precise handwriting:

*Our journey was always meant to be shared. The butterfly emerges from its chrysalis transformed but recognizable. I'll be waiting where your heart first awakened to beauty—the Botticelli you stood before when Leland first saw you.*

*—C*

Andrea stared at the tickets, a chill running through her despite the warmth of her apartment. Florence—where she had been standing in the Uffizi Gallery, gazing at Botticelli's "Birth of Venus," when she first met Leland nearly two years ago. A detail she had shared with Leland, but never with Carl directly.

Yet here was proof that Carl knew—had perhaps always known—this intimate detail of their meeting. And now he was inviting her to return there, to complete whatever twisted cycle he believed they had begun.

Her first instinct was to call Detective Sharma immediately, to hand over this evidence of Carl's continued obsession and likely whereabouts. But something stopped her—a nagging question that had been growing since learning of Leland's missing body.

What if they were both alive? What if this macabre game between brothers was still unfolding, with her as both prize and pawn? What if the only way to truly understand what had happened—what was still happening—was to follow this grotesque invitation to its source?

Andrea slipped the tickets into her bag alongside her passport, making no immediate decision but preserving the option. Whatever choice she made would come with profound risks—and the potential for answers she wasn't sure she was prepared to face.

As she finished packing, her gaze fell on the ring Leland had given her in those final moments in the cathedral crypt. She slipped it onto her finger—not as a symbol of commitment to a future now shattered, but as a reminder of what had been lost, what might still be found, and the truth that remained elusive as a butterfly's wing, beautiful and fragile and impossible to hold.