Come back...
Chapter Seventeen
It was like a cold kiss when the wind touched her face. She could smell the acid in the air and the mud squelched under her feet.
“Help!” Stripe shrieked.
She heard the echo of her voice bouncing off the trees and the birds singing in the distance. She ran to her car, yanking at the door handle but it wouldn't budge. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” She bashed her elbow into the window. The pain sent tremors shuddering along her arm, her attempt didn’t even make a crack. “FUCK!”
She ran towards the road where she arrived at the house. The twigs and branches stung under her bare feet. She ran until her legs were scorching and she had to stop as her lungs were beginning to cave in.
“Stripe!” Isaac shouted.
She turned in horror. How did he...? She'd given him a good blow in his nether regions, the way he’d crumbled – it wouldn’t’ve been an easy recovery. “Get away from me!”
“I'm not going to hurt you!”
“You chained me up, you freak!” Stripe raced into the forest, hysterical and frightened.
“Don't go in there, Stripe! You don't know where you're going!” He sounded just as hysterical as her SOS callings did, fragile as if he was breaking.
Keep going. Keep moving and you'll lose him. She jumped over streams and bushes. The sharp cuts in her feet were intense. But she had to carry on and tell her story, nobody else would have to go through this. No other schmuck would get drawn in by a tasteful character and a zesty subplot.
The surroundings zipped past her. Her body was getting tired and the barrier was breaking under the wave. She replayed the tape in her mind, analysing every crook and cranny, seeing her father’s doppelganger performing atrocious acts. It wasn’t my dad. He was a good man, my mom adored him. He was there for me when I needed him. He wouldn't’ve hurt anybody. Pain throbbed in her belly and thighs. There wouldn’t be enough soap to cleanse her skin, not enough hot water to scrape all of the lies and deception.
The tremors in her legs were beginning as the adrenaline was wearing her out. Tiredness was overlapping her speed. Her run slowed, turning into a hasty walk. She used the arms of the trees to help her climb over the bumps and pools in the ground. But I can’t ignore the tape, the letter, and what I witnessed...
Her thoughts came to a halt when she saw him. She lost her footing and fell to the ground. The muddy grass was wet, bleeding moisture through and into her clothes. Isaac stood, panting lightly with his hands balled at his side. Stripe had run the fastest she’d ever done in her whole life yet her kidnapper had beaten her to it and he hadn't even broken a sweat. She’d kicked him in the balls and he wasn't wincing in pain.
Did she have a chance at escaping? How would her death happen? Would it be gloriously gory like something from a Thomas Harris novel? Like Rinaldo Pazzi’s public disembowelling before he was thrown over a balcony?
If he was going to kill her, he needed to get on with it but she wasn’t leaving this world without a fight. “Leave me alone. You're gonna kill me, aren’t you?”
Isaac shook his head, waving his arms in surrender. “I won’t hurt you. Please understand. I know I kept a chain on you but I won’t do it again. I promise.”
Said the psycho. “W-What do you want from me?” She began to cry again, the tears streaming all over her skin.
“I...” Isaac stared at her, holding a depressed look of defeat. “I just wanted to see you. Since high school, I’ve missed you so much. It’s been eating at me for years.”
Stripe grabbed a large jagged rock that was lying next to her. “Stay away from me! Don’t fucking move!” She hit the body of the tree as she scurried backwards. She hurled the rock; making sure it was a good swing.
Isaac caught it in his right hand. There was a crack and the sounds grew and multiplied. Then she watched it disintegrate like powder falling between his fingers. Isaac dashed the leavings of the rock to the ground and he wiped his hand against his trouser leg. “It’s not something I wanted you to see...”
Stripe examined each and every line of his skin. She took in the shape of his lips, the curves of his cheekbones and the warmth in his ice blue eyes. She’d previously noted his physicality as statuesque, but this time, it appeared to be more athletic, tensing with strength, there wasn’t a hint of fat on his body. “Hold up your hand.”
Isaac reacted as she commanded. The rock she'd thrown was sharp, her captor didn't have a single scratch on his skin. Stripe grabbed another rock and threw it; this one was even bigger than its predecessor. Isaac moved fast and caught it like a goalie at a football match. He hugged the rock to his chest and performed the same action. The rock cracked like an egg. Stripe watched in fascination as he wiped the powdered shards from his clothes.
“What are you?” she asked, pressing her body even more up the tree.
“I'm...perfect,” he said softly.
“What do you mean?”
Isaac stepped forward, his shoulders slouching anxiously as he approached her. “It’s better if I showed you.” He held out his hand. “You’ll understand why, I promise.”
After minutes of pleading, they returned to the house. Stripe ordered Isaac to walk in front of her so she could keep an eye on him. She got cleaned up from the mud and grass, borrowing some sweat pants of Isaac’s. To understand why, Isaac explained that they’d need to drive. Stripe voiced her opinion. “Am I going in the trunk or will I be allowed to have a seat?”
Isaac handed her a knife from the kitchen. “I won’t put you in the trunk, Stripe.”
“You chained me to your bed,” she said, glancing at the weapon. “What the hell is this?”
“Yes, I did but that was a precaution, I won’t do it again, I told you. You can use the knife to protect yourself if you think I’ll hurt you.”
Oh-kay, this is completely fucked up. Stripe frowned taking it from him. “But you’re strong. You could wrestle this from me and squeeze me like a bottle of mayonnaise.”
Isaac smirked, then he nodded quizzically. He marched back to the kitchen and began to search through the drawers from top to bottom. After a while, he brought out a pair of handcuffs.
Stripe crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you insane? You’re not using them on me. BDSM isn’t my style.”
Isaac laughed, shaking his head. “They aren't for you. They’re for me.”
“Explain please.”
“When we get to the location, you can cuff me.”
“But you could just pull them apart or squeeze them into powder like you did to those rocks.”
He shrugged. “These are the only ideas I've got sadly. I can’t think of anything else to make you feel less anxious about it. I don't blame you though.”
Stripe snatched the cuffs and pushed them into the sweatpants pocket. The knife was loose in her other hand but not completely. “Okay, let's get a move on.”
Isaac hesitated before handing over her jacket. Stripe checked the pockets immediately; her cell phone, car and house keys were in there. “What kind of kidnapper are you?”
“The nice kind, if there is one.”
“You're putting Thomas Harris to shame.”
They made their way out of the house. Stripe saw her car parked on the gravel road. You could just run and leave this bullshit behind.
Isaac moved in front of her, blocking her view. “Stripe, are you sure you want to do this?” He stepped backwards. “You don't have to. If you want to leave, I won't stop you...”
This moment reminded her of the scene in The Matrix where Morpheus propositioned Neo. Swallowing a blue pill, leading to a normal mundane safe life or a red pill for an intriguing, dangerous but freeing adventure. Stripe knew if she was ever in that situation, choosing the red pill was a no-brainer. It’s what drove her in the journalistic field, what made her confront Cameron Storms in the first place.
She watched the lush tall trees zip past the window, listening to the soft tones of a piano melody.
She swore she still felt the cool steely fingers of the chain around her ankle. Stripe turned her attention to her kidnapper and first love. She feasted on the silence; the music became a distraction from the noise inside her head. Isaac occasionally observed her as he drove; he wasn't talking either but the way his jaw tightened, she knew he was trying to think of something worthwhile to say. Well, you are armed with a knife. She saw the blade sleeping on her knee, she could plunge it into his neck, the car would curb off the road, smashing into a tree. It would hurt, possibly severely injuring her but she would be free.
“Did… you know about The Lumberjack story?” Stripe asked.
“Yeah, Peter used to tell me stories before I went to sleep,” Isaac replied. “The lumberjack came up a few times.”
“So you lied to me? You already knew about it.”
“I had to back then. I told you, I was hiding.”
“Was anything you said as Cameron true?”
“Yes, pretty much. If I swung that way, I would fuck Brian from The Breakfast Club.”
“Cameron never told me she played the guitar or that she’d gotten tattoos. Her arms were always covered up.”
“I didn’t want anyone seeing my past.”
“Why don’t you want to kill me?” she asked, the question floating.
“Because you haven't done anything wrong. Look, if I felt anything like you’re implying then Cameron wouldn't have, I wouldn't have done any of those things with you.”
“You could’ve called me,” Stripe replied, turning back to the window. “Not done this. It’s like I’m stuck in a surreal David Lynch drama.”
“I guess, maybe I didn’t think this through enough.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Before this, when you were interviewing me – I felt you opened up to me, about your life, your background. What made you do that?”
She had to think about it before she formulated a decent answer. “I guess I…liked you. In a perverse fashion, you reminded me of someone, and now I know why. You were shy, cute, kinda weird, you had your serious moments, just like she did. I was in love with Cameron Storms. Thought I was gay in college, tried dating a couple of girls who seemed friendly but none of them matched up to Cam. I realised it was just that one-time thing so I tried the boys out.” She started to laugh. “You were her all along. Cameron was a guy. I mean, she was butch for a girl, you spoke perfectly, you even had boobs! I thought I’d lost my virginity to a girl. This whole fucking time, it was you, a fucking guy.”
“I worked hard to play her. I had to survive.”
“You lied to everybody!” Stripe said. “Don’t you care?”
“Of course, I do. Why do you think I’ve been so nervous around you?”
Stripe watched him. “I thought you fancied me…”
Isaac's jaw tightened and he swung the car into a dirt road. “We're here.” He unlocked the door and handed her a flashlight. “You'll need this.”
Stripe took it from him and got out of the car. She stood before a huddle of trees leading onto a park. There were more roads and from the markings on the ground, cars and trucks and hikers must’ve moved through the space.
Isaac placed his hands behind his back. “You can cuff me now.”
Stripe giggled nervously. “I thought you were joking about this.”
“I don't joke, Stripe.”
“I can see that.” She brought out the handcuffs from her pocket. She hadn't been this close to him since her strangulation attempt. Isaac was really tall, she only came up to his shoulder. Maybe, it was her but Stripe swore she felt something, a wave, a sensitivity running off him. He jolted when she touched him and she took her time, the skin of her fingers running around his wrist as she locked them together.
“Follow me,” he whispered.
It was a peculiar image; a lanky pale man handcuffed walking along a dirt road with a blonde woman behind him carrying a knife, as if the situation had been planted from a corny horror movie.
Isaac turned off the road and led her down a pathway, she had to be careful as she didn't want to lose her footing. Plus, she wanted to stay purposely behind her kidnapper. They walked and walked until they reached a peak in the path.
“Can you pull those weeds out for me?” Isaac asked.
She did as instructed, yanking a curtain of vines and weeds. When the foliage was stripped back, it revealed a door. The vegetation had smothered the metal, Stripe felt trembles when she stared at a set of two doors, old and rusty with age. There was something on the door, when she looked closer, scrutinizing the texture, she realised they were letters:
Kal...theia.
Isaac kicked the heavy doors open. Stripe jumped back, she was shocked that it didn't break and he hadn’t pulled a muscle or broke an ankle. She clicked on the flashlight and shone it around the murky darkness. The light showed a dark dank corridor. The smell of the dampness was overwhelming. She covered her mouth and nose. “What is this place?” she asked, her voice slightly muffled.
“Kaltheia labs. Where I was made,” Isaac replied.
A shiver shot through her spine and she coughed huskily from the stony aroma. Isaac’s voice was louder than hers. It echoed down the corridor and she swore his voice crept up, stroking her ear. Stripe watched Isaac ahead; walking with his hands clasped behind his back. Her palms were perspiring on the handle of the knife. She tightened her grip so hard it was making her bones ache. Stripe shone the light on the walls, grey paint peeled, remnants had fallen on the floor, time turning them to dust. She had to cough several times from the stench, breathing in deeply through her nose, suffering an endless cycle. This place hadn’t been blessed with a gulp of fresh air for a very long time.
“Are you okay?” Isaac asked.
“The smell,” Stripe muttered.
“You’ll get used to it. Back when this place was active, it was like the waiting room of a dentist.”
“Mmmm minty clinical smell. I’d rather have that than this.”
The corridor scissored into two opposing junctions, splitting off into different directions. Stripe met Isaac's gaze and she watched him.
“Are you scared?” he asked intimately.
Her stomach bubbled at his question. “Why? Is there something here? Will it hurt me?”
“No, you’re staring at the walking definition of deadly.” He walked to the corridor leading off to the right.
“Sounds threatening.” Stripe followed him. The tightness on her knife was more painful than ever. “What happened here?” She shone the flashlight on the walls. Faded posters with slogans and graphs that may have held possible answers had rotted away.
Isaac stopped at a door on the left-hand side of the corridor and he propped it open with his foot. He moved inside; Stripe followed. She stopped at the sight of the chair in the middle of the room. The light brown lining had faded out, there were rips in the cushion with holes gnawed at the edges from hungry moths.
“Do you recognise this room?” Isaac asked.
“Yes, from the video tape.” She pressed her palm into the cushion, the words of the frightened young boy melting through her memory. Isaac's footsteps got louder. Stripe turned to him, she shone the flashlight and Isaac squinted against the haze. “How did you get the tape in the first place?”
“I broke into one of the offices down here. Snuck it in my rucksack when I escaped. I thought about leaking it.”
“What stopped you?”
“I wanted a normal life.”
And it caused you to draw a slogan above my dad’s head. In his own blood. “Why didn’t you tell the police about all of this? You escaped from here, right? Why didn't you tell someone about what happened? What did they want from you?”
Isaac stared at her silently. “Give me the knife. I want to show you something.”
Stripe backed up, her legs hitting the lip of the chair. “What are you going to do?”
“No,” Stripe said boldly.
Isaac rolled his eyes. “Okay then. Cut me and you’ll see.”
“What?”
“Cut. Me.”
“Why?”
“You’ll get the answers to your questions.” He glanced to his chest. “Unbutton my shirt.”
Stripe stepped forward, her hand tingling. She reached up, fingers trembling as they touched the fabric. She weaved the buttons through, revealing pale porcelain skin.
“Do it. Across my chest, over the vein,” Isaac said, staring down at her.
Stripe let the coolness of the blade rest on his skin. The knife pulsed over his heart. “What if I kill you?”
“You won’t.”
“Are you sure?”
Isaac smiled, and for a moment, she liked it. “I promise.”
“This is fucking crazy,” Stripe sighed.
“You’re telling me…”
She stuck the knife in his chest, between his pectoral muscles. Isaac grunted when the squelch of the blade penetrated his skin. Blood began to seep from the crevice. Her heart revved up in pace and she thought the worst. Isaac breathed in and out, his eyes darkening into hers. “Pull it out. Watch for yourself.”
Stripe did so, the last remaining droplets of blood stained the floor. She kept watch when she saw something, a crack in the natural order of things. The blood stopped bleeding from the wound. The skin that had been cut began to shift. It was as if invisible threads were pulling the strands of flesh back together, weaving the skin into one like a quilt. Within a couple of minutes, the wound had completely healed. There wasn’t a sign he’d been sliced at all.
“Can you see why I couldn’t tell the police?” Isaac asked. “My parents didn’t believe me either. I stabbed myself in the hand with a knife to prove it. The blade went all the way through to the other side and I showed them the tape. They started taking me seriously afterwards.” There was a beat of silence. “I wasn’t meant to be this way, they engineered me into the-”
“The perfect weapon,” Stripe uttered. “It all makes sense now. Your strength, your tolerance to pain, the way you move.” She felt sick. “The perfect soldier.”
Forgive Me Page 11