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already grotesque now took on even further nightmarish proportions. The wasp was closely followed by a band of its brothers, in the insect equivalent of the movie Alien . The stunned caterpillar gradually collapsed in a lifeless heap, having been turned into nothing more than a shell.
    A rush of chills swept over me—and the debauchery still wasn’t done. Having eaten their host alive, the little murderers now turned and stared at me with large buggy eyes, as though I might very well be their next victim. I stood up and backed away in revulsion.
    “Yeah, I hate when that happens too. Kinda makes you wonder about God’s sense of humor, doesn’t it?” Aikens asked and slammed his fist down hard on each wasp. “Die you miserable little bastards,” he intoned, grinding away until they were nothing but a smudge of dust. “I don’t like to kill any of God’s creatures, but nobody screws with my babies.”
    Then he wiped his hands clean on his pants.
    “All aboard for the next stop,” he said and motioned for me to follow.
    We journeyed over to a large aquarium that held adult butterflies flaunting their wings in full glory.
    “So, then you do keep some of them alive,” I murmured, feeling slightly relieved.
    “Yeah, just a choice few—until they mate and lay their eggs. Then it’s off to the freezer with them. What the hell. They only live for a few weeks, anyway.”
    I kept my tongue in check, knowing that Aikens’s head would soon enough be rolling.
    “Here’s something you’ll find interesting. These in here are all males,” he pointed out.
    “How can you tell the difference?”
    “I was hoping you’d ask. It’s because females are wider on the bottom, of course.” Aikens guffawed and slapped his thigh. “Nah, I’m just joshing with you. The easiest way to tell is by color difference. Males are usually brighter. Has anyone ever told you how they actually mate?”
    I shook my head.
    “Well, males search for a female just emerging from chrysalis, so that she’s still limp. Her wings will be wet and are folded around her body. That’s when he grabs his opportunity and quickly moves in. He flutters his wings and blows pheromones her way, hoping to seduce the little beauty. Then he presses up against her, belly-to-belly. Now she’s his prey. A set of claspers pops out from his sides, which allows him to latch onto the female’s body and open her wide. Then he has his way.”
    I found myself looking at male butterflies in a whole different light. “That sounds rather like date rape to me.”
    “Exactly,” Aikens cheerfully agreed. “There’s none of this take-me-to-dinner-and-a-movie-first crap. They just cut to the chase, the way it should be.”
    Aikens was turning out to be quite the charmer. No wonder the cheesy tattoo on his arm was his main gal pal.
    “There’s just a few more things for you to see.”
    He opened the door to a walk-in closet and turned on the light. Large cardboard boxes, all filled with transparent glassine envelopes, sat stacked on the floor. Each envelope contained its own perfectly preserved butterfly.
    “I call this my stock room.” Aikens smirked.
    There had to be well over a thousand flawless little cadavers, all with wings stretched wide, as though waiting to take flight. Some were as exquisitely fragile as captive rays of light, while others resembled gaudy silver spangles on a woman’s fancy gown. Then there were those black as night but for a brilliant burst of fireworks on the tips of their wings. Each competed for my attention while waiting to be added to someone’s collection. It was a true testament to the fact that butterflies don’t have an easy life. Rather it struck me as violent, hauntingly brief, and beset by a cycle of constant change.
    “And here are my up-and-comers.”
    Aikens gestured toward a half dozen disposable paint buckets. All were lined with paper toweling and contained a number of twigs. However, it was the egg-shaped objects