Mysteries and Lies
Chapter 3: Butters
written by Margaret Delancy - illustrated by phunthyme and SalemNeko
-SalemNeko-
"...I guess you were lost when I met you. Still there were tears in your eyes. So out of trust, and I knew no more than mysteries and lies—"
I awoke to the jingle blaring from my phone at an unnecessarily high level, and frantically scrambled to silence the darn thing before it gave me a heart attack.
"Butters? Butters, goddammit, I know you're there, you asshole!" Eric's angry tone snapped me out of my thoughts, and I stared down at the phone in my hand for a minute before pressing it to my ear.
"Well hey there, Eric." He sounded irritated; I wasn't really awake and functioning enough to deal with Eric when he was in one of his moods.
"What the fuck are you doing? I was on the phone for like, ten minutes waiting for you to answer, prick! You know what—just get your fucking ass down here now. Ike says he's got something for you." Eric didn't give me a chance to respond before hanging up with a terse, "now."
I yawned, blinking up at the ceiling and feeling that something just didn't feel right in the world. Aside from the whole visiting a nameless city, getting chased by strange reptile creatures, and somehow ending up back in my own bed, of course.
Except that this wasn't my bed. Not anymore, at least. I was back at my parents' house of all places.
Let me clarify something here. Since I came back to South Park, I have been renting a small, one bedroom apartment on the other side of town so that I don't run the risk of happening upon my parents on the street by accident. To end up in their house was more than I was ready to handle at the moment.
Everything in the room was the same as I'd left it, surprisingly. I had expected them to get rid of any trace that I existed after our last fight. My favorite purple curtains were still hanging in the window, and the collection of pictures I'd accumulated over the years were still tacked on the bulletin board next to the desk.
A wave of nostalgia washed over me. What I wouldn't give to be a kid again; to have nothing more to worry about in the world except what mom is making for dinner and what hair-brained scheme Eric had planned for us next.
I pulled a couple of pictures off the board, flipping through them absently as I contemplated an escape route. One of Ike and I back in high school, studying for some test, if the books and papers scattered around us was any indication.
The next picture was Dougie and I as kids—we'd lost touch shortly after I left South Park, and now I wondered if he ever got out of town like he had always wanted. Dougie had always been a great sidekick and an even better friend.
The last one was Stan, Kyle, Eric, Kenny and I at one of the boys' birthday parties. We looked pretty young—and judging from the way Kenny's hand was on my shoulder in a friendly way, this had been before our freshman year of high school. Before he decided that I wasn't worth the effort any longer.
I had to get out of here.
My mother could have been downstairs that very second, and I didn't think she'd take kindly to her disowned child running rampant through her house without her knowledge or approval. Not that I'd ever been very good about getting her approval in the first place.
I gathered up a few of my possessions; mostly the things on my desk, and pulled open the door on my closet to see what else I could find. It was full of boxes, some mine, but mostly things that had been packed away after I'd left.
Hidden between a couple of boxes in the corner of the closet was a glimmer of familiar silver. I looked around the room self-consciously—as if anyone was there to see me, anyway—and shoved the boxes out of my way. There on the floor was my helmet—Professor Chaos' helmet. Honestly, I was surprised it was still here. I hadn't touched the darn thing since 6th grade, when I hit my first growth spurt and outgrew the rest of my costume. Looking a bit closer I spotted my gloves and cape on the floor too. I scooped them up, adding them to my growing pile on the bed. Might as well take them with me for nostalgia's sake, right?
With everything I wanted gathered, I shoved it into the old backpack I'd found in the closet and slung it over my shoulder. Briefly I considered the option of climbing out the window and shimmying down the drainpipe—but I would have to face my parents sooner or later; might as well get it over with.
I sucked in a shaky breath as I opened the bedroom door and began my unsteady decent down the stairs. There was definitely someone down there; I could hear shuffling in the kitchen. Judging from the overall quietness and the time of day, I'd bet all of my meager savings that it was my mother.
Sweet smells from the kitchen wafted to my nose as I reached the bottom of the staircase. A couple of steps into the living room and I could make out my mother's thin frame bustling around the kitchen. I watched her for a couple of seconds, running through in my mind just how this conversation was sure to go. At least my father wasn't at home.
"...Mom?" That tiny voice couldn't have been my own, could it?
"Butters?" She asked, astonishment coloring her tone. I cringed automatically, unable to even look her in the eye as I stood before her. Oh hamburgers, I thought we were past this.
"What are you doing here? How did you get in?" She demanded. I finally looked up, into her face, her eyes. She only seemed mildly irritated rather than furious like she had been last time; but I supposed that two years was enough time for even her to cool off.
"Hi, mom," I floundered under her cool stare. "I was just—just comin' by to pick some stuff up." I shifted the bag on my back, before continuing. "A-and I still have my set of keys, remember?"
"What are you doing here," she repeated, her voice rising slightly. It suddenly occurred to me that she would have no reason to have known that I was even back in town to begin with.
"Didn't you hear? I-I finished my degree; Tweek's parents—they gave me a job working at their coffee shop."
"Well isn't that lovely. 40,000 dollars and all you've got to show for it is a job in a coffee shop." Her condescending tone was more than I could handle at the moment.
"Look, mom. I'm sorry that I lied to you and dad about school. I'm sorry. B-but if I was honest with you, you wouldn't have let me go, and I'd still be here, miserable. I don't regret that."
She didn't say anything. I watched the slender column of her throat as she swallowed, the yellow-blonde of her hair as she ran her hands through it raggedly. She sighed—the tiniest breath of air—and held out her palm.
"Give me the key."
Slowly, I did as she asked and pulled out my set of keys, hoping all the while hoping that she would stop me. Of course she didn't; my mother could be one stubborn woman when it came down to getting what she wanted. I pressed the small piece of metal into her hand and turned to the door.
"You say you're so miserable here, Butters. Then what are you doing back?"
"I'm not so sure anymore." I opened the door, stepping out of my mother's life for the last time.
It wasn't worth the effort to bother fighting with Eric about what time I was supposed to head over to his house, so I made my way over without taking a shower, bag still slung over my shoulder and feeling pretty bad overall.
The only thing keeping me from simply blowing Eric off was Ike—I still hadn't seen him since I'd been home, and I was really missing the kid. Sure, we'd talked while I was away at school; he'd even helped me with my American history homework a couple of times—but that just wasn't the same. I wondered how much he'd grown since I'd seen him last. Probably sprouted up like a bean stock; the last time I'd seen anyone from South Park was two years ago, before my parents decided that they were better off without me. Ike had just been hitting that age where boys grew a foot almost overnight when it had happened.
"Good morning, Butters!" Liane greeted me cheerfully as she answered the door. She pulled me into a one armed hug as she asked, "So how's my favorite little man? Eric tells me you've finished up at that fancy culinary arts school of yours? We'll have to swap recipes; I know how much Eric loves your peanut butter cookies."
Eric's mother had always been supportive of my decision to go into a culinary career; even going so far as trying to convince my parents of that fact when they found out that I'd been lying to them about attending USC Marshall. She—and Eric—were the ones who'd convinced me that my baking was good enough to go on to become a pastry chef.
I hadn't realized quite how important she'd been to me over the past couple of years until that moment, and it was like something inside of me snapped. All the hurt I'd been holding in because of my parents' abandonment, and all the warm feelings I was feeling for Liane Cartman were suddenly spilling out. My arms were around her back, and I was burying my face in the crook of her neck with a quiet sniffle. And she accepted me without question, wrapping both her arms around me and stroking my hair in that way that only a mother can.
"Thank you." I mumbled into her blouse.
"Anything for my baby," She responded, holding me at arm's length and giving me a once-over. I felt my cheeks heating up under her scrutiny, and I knew that she was seeing the real me; the one that my own mother refused to acknowledge.
"Dude! I can't fucking believe you!" I jumped at the sudden noise of Ike, as he came barreling towards me. Liane smiled and stepped out of the way just as Ike came flying into my arms, sending us both to the floor.
"I-Ike!"
"I'll go make you boys some lemonade and cookies, okay?" Liane daintily stepped over our forms, winking at me before disappearing into the kitchen.
"Ike, what are you—"
"Oh, so you do remember me, then?" His tone was dripping with sarcasm. I suppose hanging out with Kyle and Eric for so long could do that to a guy, though. "I was sure you'd forgotten about your hapless underage friend. Considering that you only seem to come to me when you're in need of homework advice."
"Now how could I forget about you? Just look at how big you've gotten since I've seen you last!" It was true; Ike was definitely taller than me now, and he was beginning to look more like an adult with his dark hair trimmed nicely and acne finally clearing up. Puberty had been pretty rough on the poor kid, and being a certified genius hadn't exactly done Ike any favors in the popularity contest that was Park County High School. Of course, Eric was never one to let an opportunity pass him by, and right around our sophomore year he took Ike under his wing, much to Kyle's dismay.
He seemed to be doing better than when I left town, at least.
"So how have things since you've been back?" Ike asked. I knew what he was fishing for, but I was not in the mood to relay my family issues to anyone right now. And I still wasn't sure about whatever had gone down in that alternate dimension—if it had even happened at all. Ike stood, holding out a hand to help me up as well. "Eric says he's got you on Testaburger and the Tweaks?"
"Yeah—but what's this all about? Eric has told me next to nothin' about what's goin' on." I wondered if Eric had anything to do with the ring stuck on my hand, or the alternate dimension that Kenny seemed to know all too much about.
Ike glanced around the room, as if Eric had the place on surveillance or something equally ridiculous. "You know I can't discuss the details with you unless I have Eric's permission." He responded with his voice lowered.
"I know, I know." I huffed. Eric was always so secretive about his plans.
Speaking of Eric, only a second later he was shouting for us. "Get your asses down here!" I locked eyes with Ike—and he smiled at me in that strangely friendly Canadian manner of his before grabbing my bag off the floor and leading me down into Eric's lair.
Eric's office was really just his mom's basement, converted from our days of playing superheroes into a truly terrifying place to be. Granted, whenever the other boys in town would let me play with them, it usually involved me being locked in some sort of small space for an undetermined period of time. The cage they'd locked me in when we played superheroes was still tucked in the corner of the room, along with a bunch of boxes—I could only hope that Eric wasn't still using that cage to lock his victims in.
Eric's desk was on one side of the room, and Ike's on the other. I glanced back at him for some sort of cue—a hint as to what I'd done to irritate Eric—something; but Ike just shrugged, offering me an apologetic look.
"Butters. Have a seat." That was never a good sign when it came to Eric; but I did as he asked anyway, sitting in the chair in front of his desk. He was all dressed up today, wearing a full suit and tie, his hair slicked back like some kind of half-baked businessman. "We had a deal, did we not?"
"E-Eric, I don't understand—"
"Wendy!" He shouted, pounding a fist on the desk. "You were supposed to talk to her yesterday. You were given explicit instructions, Butters!"
"O-oh, jeez. Something came up yesterday! I'm sorry!"
"You mean Kenny McCormick?" I felt the air rushing out of my lungs. He knew? Eric leaned closer, narrowing his eyes at me. "Stay away from that asshole. He's been nothing but trouble for us, and you'd do better not to go running around with white trash like him."
"Y-you heard about that?!" I sputtered. It must have been Stan and Kyle; Kenny was wrong, they had been looking for us!
"Of course I did. You don't think I would look after you, Butters? I'm insulted." Eric let out a sharp laugh. I felt Ike place a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "I have to make sure my two best employees are taken care of, don't I?"
"W-well, I suppo—"
"Just get it done."
"R-right. Okay." I couldn't bring myself to look up into Eric's face. Not when he was making that angry expression at me.
"Damn it, Eric. He hasn't even been home a month and you're already scaring the living shit out of him?" Ike cut in. Eric paused at that, turning his narrowed eyes at Ike. To his credit, Ike frowned back just as fiercely.
"Don't call me Eric."
Ike broke out into a grin. "Alright."
This sort of thing probably happened more often than not between the two of them, considering how easily Ike brushed Eric's ferocity off.
"Let's get out of here, dude." Ike squeezed my shoulder before releasing it and stepping back. "Eric has better things to do than deal with us. Like figure out just how much he needs to come up with to pay off the Smaldones?" This last comment was directed to Eric, who simply scowled in response and shooed us out of his office.
I wanted to ask Ike just what the heck he was talking about, but now just wasn't the time. Maybe I could get some answers out of him when we made it back to my place.
Or maybe I wouldn't get any answers at all.
Ike was especially tight-lipped about Eric's plans, which was worrying me. Ike was never one to keep secrets from me, no matter what Eric may have told him. But we had spent the past hour and a half in my apartment, frosting pastries and chatting about anything and everything except Eric's scheme.
The coffee shop was quiet that morning, and the jingle of the bell above the door seemed extra loud as I pushed the door open with one hip.
"Hey, Tweek!" I called into the seemingly empty shop, slipping behind the counter and setting my armfuls of pastries down. Tweek's head popped out from around the corner, looking entirely too grateful to see company.
"H-hey!" He exclaimed. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to show up!"
"Oh, jeez. Am I late? I told Ike to stop pesterin' me and let me get the rest of my pastries frosted..."
"No!" Tweek shouted. I jumped at the sound, and he glanced over apologetically. "No, you aren't—late, I mean. I just thought that maybe something happened to you, you know? There have been rumors going around town of mobsters hanging around South Park. South Park! Can you believe it?!"
"Now who have you been hearing that nonsense from? It wasn't Craig again, was it? You know how he likes to get you all sorts of riled up—"
"It wasn't Craig! Stan was in the other day—h-he says he heard it from one of the goth kids, who saw them on the other side of town. I hope they don't show up here!" Tweek, who was cleaning one of the machines as we were talking, flung coffee grounds in all directions. I imagined some big Italian mobsters sitting in our little place; eating tiny cakes and sipping coffee as they listened to Craig perform on poetry night.
I couldn't help it—the thought made me laugh. Tweek jumped at the noise, letting out a shriek.
"I'm sure we've got nothin' to worry about." I reassured him. "I can't imagine any mob boss comin' in here!"
"W-what's so funny about that?! I don't want to get my neck snapped in two, or end up at the bottom of Starks Pond in cement shoes! Ahh!" The couple of customers that were hanging around were watching Tweek incredulously, and I rushed to quiet him.
"Tweek, come try this, will you?" I held out a tiny cake, waving the pastry at him enticingly.
"Why? What did you do to it?" He asked hesitantly.
"Nothing, I promise! Tell me what you think of the new recipe?" He accepted the cake with a frown, staring down at it.
"Jesus! You're expecting too much from me! W-what makes you think I know anything about cooking?!"
"Baking." I corrected him with a smile. He rolled his eyes and nibbled on the pastry I'd handed him.
"It's actually good!" He smiled back at me. "I mean—you know."
"Well I certainly hope so! I did get myself into some serious debt learnin' how to bake 'em!" I began setting up my things in the case that Tweek's parents had set aside just for me, taking the extra boxes to the back room.
"D-dude." Tweek began when I reentered the storefront. "I'm sorry we can't pay you more, but you know how it is around here..." He sounded genuinely upset; that was one thing I'd always liked about Tweek. He'd never play games with me like Eric and Ike were so fond of doing. I felt bad for upsetting him over something as trivial as money.
"Hey, now! Don't you worry one bit about me! I'm just grateful your folks passed the job along to me when they did." Tweek watched me carefully, more carefully than I'd seen him do anything in a long time.
The bell above the door twinkled and drew both of our gazes away.
From the second Wendy stomped into Tweek Bros. I knew that Eric's plan was a lost cause. She was usually pretty good about keeping her calm when it came to Eric's shenanigans, but this time it looked like he'd gone too far.
"Butters," Wendy said sternly, in a tone that made me think that I was getting scolded by my mother. "Please tell me you haven't been in cahoots with Cartman again." She was standing at the counter now, hands on her hips and her cheeks flushed—from the chill outside or anger, I wasn't sure which. I looked down at the counter, unable to take the way her eyebrows were raised expectantly at me for any longer.
"Well—"
"Damn it! I knew that scheming bastard was going to suck you right back in the second you stepped into town!" She shouted, drawing the attention of an elderly couple sitting at one of the nearby booths. "Why would you do this to me, Butters? You know how much I hate that fat ass—he's got the entire city hall rigged, you know that?" I opened my mouth to respond, but she glared, as if daring me to talk over her. I quickly snapped my mouth shut again.
"Jesus Christ! What did I tell you?!" Tweek exclaimed, and Wendy seemed to snap out of her angry trance long enough to look over at him with a cordial smile.
"That... that bastard," She leaned over the counter, lowering her voice, "Got the mayor fired, just so that he could put one of his men in the position." I wanted to tell her that she sounded ridiculous—like Eric had his own private following or something. Who did she think he was, some kind of cult leader? "He's got the whole thing set up so that he can take over as mayor by age thirty." As if to prove the point, she poked a finger at my chest definitively.
"Wendy," I grabbed the hand that she'd shoved in my personal space, and looked at her with as much sincerity as I could muster. "You know that's just not true. Why—you sound just as bad as he does, goin' on about all sorts of crazy things. Have you ever considered the idea that maybe you've got a... a thing for him, or somethin'?"
For a second she was quiet, and I was sure I'd hit the nail right on the head—but her mouth twisted into a smile, and a second later she was laughing, nearly doubling over on herself with the effort. I flushed, looking over at the customers in the store, but they only returned my glance with a little sincerity mixed with some amusement of their own.
"A—a thing for Cartman?" Wendy clutched at the counter top as she looked up at me. She looked much prettier with her cheeks so rosy and a cheerful gleam in her eyes than she had with that angry expression on her face a second ago. "You know I love you, hun, but that's just stupid. Eric Cartman is the worst sort of man—if one could even call him a man. I can't even begin to list the reasons why I hate his guts; we'd be here for the next year and a half."
"But," I started. A distinct memory had wormed its way inside my head—one of Wendy and Eric together, cuddling on Eric's couch and enjoying each other's company.
"No."
"Wends, please."
"I hate him, Butters. Just drop it." That angry look was back on her face, and I wished I'd dropped it earlier, if only to keep the smile on her face. Wendy hardly ever smiled anymore.
"Can I get my usual, Tweek?" Wendy asked, turning her attention to Tweek, who was attempting to clean out one of the machines and doing a terrible job of eavesdropping in the process.
"O-of course, just a second." Tweek set to work on Wendy's drink, and she pulled out her wallet, placing a couple dollars on the counter in front of me.
"I'm sorry." I told her, knowing that it wouldn't be enough at the moment to get back into her good graces. I picked up her cash and put it in the register, dropping the change into her waiting hand. She crossed her arms with a sigh.
"I know. It's really not your fault. I'd just hoped that you of all people would have been smart enough not to come back."
"H-here you go, Wendy." Tweek handed her the travel cup and she accepted it with a smile. "Have a good day!" He called after her as she turned on her heel, her long black hair waving like a banner behind her.
"You, too." My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I glanced down in time to miss the disapproving look that I was sure Wendy was directing my way.
Hey it's kenny. We need to talk.
Just the sight of his name sent chills down my spine. I wasn't sure if it was me or the ring that was causing it, but I suddenly didn't feel like I could handle this on my own. Any of it. I leaned against the counter as I typed out a response. As if he knew exactly what I was going to reply with, Kenny answered my text before I'd even gotten a chance to send it.
Tonight at starks pond. 7, and come alone.
As if the thought to bring anyone with me had even crossed my mind. I scoffed, sending him a confirmation text.
Of course I'll come alone. I'm not stupid.
Well if you were smart you wouldn't show up at all.
My cheeks heated in anger and embarrassment, and I shoved my phone back in my pocket, determined to focus on work until this evening when I could finally get some answers.
Time seemed to slow down just to spite me. It felt like days before my quiet shift ended, and another month before six thirty rolled around, and I decided that it was alright if I left just a little bit early. The walk from my apartment was calming on my frazzled nerves, and I sucked in a couple of deep breaths when I approached Stark's Pond and the figure sitting on the bench along the bank.
"I knew you'd show up early." Kenny said, a mysterious grin lighting his features. He stood up, shoving both hands into the pockets of his thick jacket. I suddenly felt out of place in comparison.
"W-what do you want?" I wish I could've blamed my stutter on the cold, but I knew it was just my nervous habit kicking back up again.
"Right to the point, then." He said to himself, looking up with a drawn-out sigh. "Butters." His gaze locked onto mine, and for the second time that afternoon Kenny took my breath away. His eyes were dark, angry. Suddenly what Eric told me about keeping away from Kenny didn't seem like such a hard rule to follow, after all. "You need to forget about what happened yesterday. It was a fluke; nothing's going to happen to you after this, as long as you stay away."
"What?" I couldn't have heard him right. Eric's reasoning for staying away from Kenny made perfect sense—but Kenny's?
"Stay out of my business. If you want that fucking ring off your finger, if you want to keep on living your pathetic little life here in South Park—" He spat the last bit, as if just the thought of this city was disgusting to him. "You'll stay the fuck out of my way, you hear me?"
I was stunned into silence. Kenny must have taken my response as an affirmative, because he flipped his hood up and stormed past me, ending the conversation.
He paused momentarily, not looking back as he added, "I would hate to see you get killed." Kenny's calm attitude toward death sent a chill down my spine.
So that was it. No explanation. Not even a promise to explain it all to me someday.
I stood rooted to the spot long after the crunching of Kenny's footsteps through the snow disappeared.