Page 120 of Butterfly

He shoved Ollie towards the edge of the scaffolding.

Pichard was using him to hurt Teddy, to torture him, and Teddy had been hurt enough.

Ollie couldn’t let that happen.

“When I get him alone, I will tell him how I pushed you. I’ll tell him that you begged me not to. I’ll tell him you were scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Ollie shouted, gripping Pichard’s coat. He yanked him down, and one of the buttons popped off, bouncing off the planks before dropping over the edge. Pichard floundered, his chin smeared across the blood coming from Ollie’s nose.

“What the fuck—” Pichard lifted himself off Ollie’s chest, but Ollie didn’t let him go.

He spat blood on Pichard’s face.

Pichard flinched, wiping his gloved hand over his cheek. “You disgusting little shit.”

Ollie shifted violently, turning onto his side, trapping Pichard’s leg beneath him. A low moan of pain escaped Pichard as he reached for his trapped thigh.

There was a darkness in Ollie, one that had grown because of his father. He only let it out once—that night. He’d done so to protect Leo, to make sure their dad couldn’t hurt him again.

Ollie found that darkness again.

It wasn’t even to save his own life; it was to save Teddy’s.

“You’ve got my blood on your face. It’s in your hair.”

“I’ll just wash it off.”

“It’s evidence, see, so when they find your body, it looks like self-defence.”

“Wha—”

“When really…it’s just plain murder,” Ollie whispered.

He shoved his forearms at Pichard’s chest, using the momentum to roll away and simultaneously release Pichard’s leg. Pichard’s eyes widened, and he clawed at the planks but couldn’t get a grip with his gloves.

He fell.

He dropped out of sight.

Ollie scrunched his eyes up tight as he heard Pichard’s body smack against jutting sections of the scaffolding on the way down.

The chime of metal rang through the air, followed by a thud as he hit the ground.

Ollie lay on his back, panting up at the night sky. He reached for his neck, patting around the jacket until he found the needle sticking out of the fabric. He pulled it out, held it up in front of his face and saw the needle was empty. Pichard had injected it, but he didn’t feel a scratch or a burn in his skin. The contents had been soaked up by Rory’s jacket.

“Rory,” he whispered.

The fire had been meant for him.

Pichard had thought it was him all alone in the house.

“Please be okay,” Ollie pleaded. “Please.”

“Ollie!”

He froze at Captain’s shout. It could only be him with the authority in his voice, the way it travelled through the air and made Ollie want to spring to his feet and stand to attention.

“Jesus,” Captain said just loud enough for Ollie to hear.

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