Forgive Me

by Kateri Stanley

  A slight smile washed across his dazed face and her hand tightened around the hammer. When he uttered her name, she unclenched her fingers from the handle. Something shivered along her back when he spoke.

  I’ve missed his voice.

  Chapter Twenty

  A cold draft snakes up around my bound hands and ankles when I regain consciousness. My gut twists as my mind rises out of the darkness from fragments of the past, from a time I don’t want to be swimming in. Your footsteps drift down the steps. I wince and try to push my feet forwards but I can't move. I must say, I’m impressed by this. I can’t believe you managed to lug my heavy mass. How did you do it?

  You say my name and I stare at you. Your scent drifts, tempting, engulfing me. I smell the remnants of blood where you knocked me out. I ignore the throbbing memory of pain in my head.

  You hold me to the spot. Your hair is long and sleek, shimmering against the single light above. I see the look you're giving me. You're so beautiful, even when you're angry and sleep deprived. We've been here before, when I let all my barriers down to be honest with you. When I put my career and everything I’d worked hard for on the line just to see you again, to tell you secrets I couldn't conceal any longer. You can’t say this isn’t commitment, or that I don’t care or love you.

  We connect for a little while and I utter your name. You blink and quake. Your heartbeat rises, you’re remembering what I am, what we shared. You’re bothered by me and you don’t want to be. I must confess, I feel a glow of happiness warming up in my core. You must still think about it…

  “Why?” You ask, I can’t ignore the raw pain in your voice.

  It brings me back to reality. I’m trapped in this basement under lock and key, in another prison, with a different master this time.

  “Why? Why did you do it?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The woman stared at the photograph of the family on her desk. The people in the frame, their fixed smiles, the lies bubbling underneath and the blissful ignorance they were swimming in. Her stomach tumbled as images rushed through her mind. They’d been lied to, for so many years. If only we’d known, would everything be different? Would I be a better person?

  The phone rang before her thoughts could trundle down a murky road. She snatched the phone from the cradle.

  “Switch on the news,” the voice said.

  “Mom. What’s wrong?” the woman asked.

  “Just watch.”

  Lorraine Thurman’s worried expression burst onto the screen. The woman noticed a house perched in the background, with blue flowers painted on the door. The woman had been there before.

  “This comes with a heavy heart,” Lorraine announced.

  Oh God…

  “The body of a young girl has been found early this morning. Police have not disclosed full details at this time. However, they have confirmed the victim was about to celebrate her eighteenth birthday and graduate high school.”

  Her heart ached when she heard the words. “It's Anna, isn't it?”

  She heard her mother sobbing. “It's happening again.”

  She paced around her bedroom, her finger in her mouth, constantly twitching. A particular plan had been brewing ever since the phone call, but she wasn’t sure whether to go ahead with it. I must be fucking crazy. Another voice slithered, answering for her. He's your only shot. You know that and don’t fucking deny it. She needs him too. You need protection. The monster in your basement is the only one who can.

  She checked on her daughter and drifted to the kitchen. Here goes. She slid the knife from the work block and unlocked the basement door. It was more threatening than a hammer.

  “You look like you’ve had a nightmare,” her hostage said, staring at her with concern.

  “I’m fine.”

  “What’s happened? Is it bad?”

  “Anna was a kid, just like those girls. She had her whole life ahead of her and... someone or something out there cut her down.”

  “It wasn’t me. How could I kill her when I’m locked in here?”

  She pursed her lips, biting on the inside of her mouth. Say it. “I know it’s not you.” She noticed his surprise and her cheeks bloomed with warmth. Then she was disgusted with herself. “I admit it now. This is getting too close and I’m frightened. My mom said Anna had a great deal of respect for me, as if I was some sort of mentor to her. She was gonna study journalism at college. Now she’s lying in a cold morgue.”

  “I can help.”

  “How? Why are you here?”

  “To protect you. Look, I know I've done terrible things that I can't take back. But I didn't kill those girls, that couple, Anna or the Roths. I'm telling you the truth.”

  “Then who did?”

  “Some other monstrosity.”

  “Why are they labelling it as the Night Scrawler? That’s your old name.”

  “Because the media like to put things in boxes. It's their forte. And the crimes were never solved.”

  Yes, they were. They were solved the moment I put a knife in your chest. She glared at him, nuzzling the baby monitor. “I think you should tread carefully. Remember who you're speaking to.”

  He smiled. “Oh, I remember. You don't need to worry.”

  She watched him slowly. “So you’re here to protect me. Why?”

  “Because you left me without a word after we made love, or have you forgotten?” Her heart ached when he spoke. “And I need to look out for you and for her. Is she okay?”

  “She's fine, gotta cold, she’s getting over it now.” She held the monitor against her chest, hearing the soft faint sounds of her baby sleeping. “I want you to prove it to me, show me who you really are.”

  “I’ve shown you before.”

  “That was then.” She waved the monitor. “This is now. There’s more at stake.”

  “I will. Are you going to hurt me, Stripe?”

  In a crude sense, it was funny. How things change. He’d taken her at a time, tied her up, and shoved information in her face, data she didn’t ask for. It was a story she didn’t want to read; entwined with details she wouldn’t have dreamt of – setting the scale. It changed the tide, challenging her skills. Her imagination could plunge to some pretty dark places. His story on the other hand plummeted deeper, drowning in the areas after the lights disappeared.

  She walked behind him, watching his shoulders shake. Did he like being caged against his will? Was he cold, or was he actually scared of her? How did it feel? Did it trigger any memories?

  She slid the blade between the knots, yanking it so the rope broke apart with a loud snap. He clicked his knuckles when she began to pry the tight lines from his wrists. After he was free, he rubbed his skin, stroking the tender burns. He stood to his feet, towering over her.

  I can’t believe we’re here again. She looked into his eyes, placing the knife on the chair. She edged towards him like a curious cat. “I don’t want us to fight, Isaac.” She stepped on her tip toes. “We need your help.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Your kiss freezes me. I stand, not knowing what to do. I’m surprised by your change of heart; you were threatening me merely moments ago. Your touch is frightening, but it awakens the longing I’d missed since you ran out on me. I close my eyes, returning the kiss. Before I can enjoy it, you prize me off and I want to scream. Where is this going? What are you doing? What’s going on in your head?

  You take me by the hand, leading me upstairs. You don't speak. Fear creeps up on me, you’re not normally quiet, you’re full of probing questions. I know, it sounds silly. Me, of all people, a monster, being scared.

  We waltz past our daughter's room and enter your bedroom. It looks so much better from the inside. I see the photograph on your desk from before and it brings back those memories of when you left me without a word. I want you to speak but you rush me again and your mouth covers mine, pushing me onto the bed.

  This isn’t right. I feel like I’m taking advantage. I want you
the right way. You tell me to be quiet and your lips are all over mine, suffocating my words. Your mouth works on my skin, noises roll from my throat. I rip at your arms and legs. I groan, tension falling and disintegrating. Your lips and skin are ravaging me. You whisper in my ear, your breath on my neck makes my back shudder. You tell me to relax and like a command, my heart quietens along with my fear. I peel the clothes from your back until you are entirely disrobed. I get lost in you, pulling you closer. My hands frame around your face as I kiss you. I know from this point, I’m home when we become one.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The hunter watched with a growing sense of envy. He saw them from the window, balancing on the arm of the tree just outside her house. Their bodies interlaced; their lips dancing as their hearts raced in unison. She was twirled onto her front, fingers slipping up the bed frame, holding on as her body was being pounded from behind.

  The cold sniped at the hunter’s skin like a vindictive lover. He watched as the man pulled her hair back, wrapping the strands around his knuckles. He whispered into her ear, the words making her eyes close tentatively. He sunk his teeth into her neck, grasping her breast in his other hand. The hunter thought about the girl from before and his jealousy transformed into rotten rage. He saw her blonde hair and the shade of her green eyes.

  His eyes, he thought.

  The flashbacks were painful like lightning zapping down the middle of his skull.

  You stole my future from me...

  Part Three

  Before you embark on your journey of revenge, dig two graves.

  -Confucius

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Fall 1994

  “Without a sign, his sword the brave man draws, and asks no omen, but his country’s cause,” the little boy recited, hugging his teddy bear to his chest. “There is a time for many words, and there is also a time for sleep.” He held the toy, one of his button eyes had gone missing. “I think this place is haunted, Teddy. I hear sounds, voices at night. What do you think?” He pushed the head forwards, making the neck flop up and down. “Phew, then I’m not the only one. I knew you could hear them too.”

  The boy walked along the corridors. Monday to Fridays consisted of pain, injections and trials with the occasional hours of school depending on the schedules of the staff. Weekends were his favourite. Everything around him was quiet. Normally life in this place was like a hive - swarming and buzzing with activity, people in white coats pacing back and forth clutching clipboards, others in black and green brandishing guns and wearing masks. Maybe they’d seen the ghost. They must have known the place was haunted too which was why they were so guarded.

  The boy walked past the conservatory, one of his favourite places to wander. He enjoyed looking at the trees, gazing up at the foamy clouds in the sky, wondering if they felt like cotton wool. He wasn’t able to go outside unaccompanied, one of the people in black and green had to be with him at all times. He noticed the top of the fences outside had doubled with the amount of curled barbed wire, he didn’t understand the rising security measures in this place. Were there monsters outside? Was the lumberjack not patrolling? Was he protecting them?

  “A small rock holds back a great wave,” the boy uttered.

  Homer was one of his favourite writers, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what the sentences meant, but they sounded pretty and intelligent to say out loud. It was on their agenda, so he had to know them off by heart.

  He continued up the corridor and stopped outside the office. Peter was leaning over his desk, scribbling on his notepad. Now and then, he’d wipe his glasses with a dark blue hand towel. He always kept it in the right pocket. Sometimes he’d speak into a small black rectangular device, the boy wondered about its function. He preferred it when Sheila was here on the weekends, she’d let him stroll, as long as it wasn’t everywhere. Gerald didn’t say much, he shuffled around, keeping his eyes to the ground. The boy hated Paul and Victoria, they never had time for him, sneering through their noses as if he was a scuttling bug. The boy learned to stay in his room, read his books and watch movies, keeping clear out of their way, or he’d receive a slap or punch for breaking protocol.

  The boy swung his teddy bear by the arm, continuing his walk down the corridor. He ignored some doors; he didn’t want to spend his free time daunting over the upcoming week. He was about to head back to his room when he heard something.

  “The ghost!” He puppeted the bear’s head. “You heard it too, Teddy!”

  The boy ran to the source of the noise, it was getting louder, one voice grew into two, the other lighter than the other. Was somebody else here? He thought he heard the sounds of a child. He pushed a door open, dropping his toy on the ground.

  He hadn’t seen this room before. It was colourful, bright and wonderful. Rainbow stripes painted across the walls with toy giraffes and elephants hanging from the ceiling. He stared at two children; their youthful gazes filled with curiosity. A little boy and girl stood in a crib in the centre of the room. They were so small; they wouldn’t have been able to climb out without help. Big identical brown eyes peered through the wooden panelling, each of their hands reaching out for him, babbling about his fallen teddy bear. The boy didn’t know what to do, an instinct wanted to reach forward and touch their tiny hands. He wanted to know their names.

  The boy heard Peter calling; his body was pulled backwards; his feet dragged across the shiny floor. An arm reached over his nose, pulling the door shut so he couldn’t see the young boy and girl. Peter said his name angrily again, shaking him by the shoulders.

  “You’re not supposed to be in there,” Peter leered. “You know this.”

  “I thought they were ghosts,” the boy said. “But they’re real, just like me. They don’t carry chains or hide in white blankets. Who are they?”

  “None of your business.”

  “But-”

  “You don’t ask what you don’t understand, Izzie. You’re not old enough yet. Do I make myself clear?”

  “I’m sorry,” the boy uttered.

  “No, it’s - I’m sorry, what?”

  He hated calling him that, it didn’t feel natural. Peter was never dressed like a military officer. He didn’t have medals either. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

  “Go back to your room.”

  “I need Teddy. I can’t sleep without him.”

  Peter retrieved his toy, hushing the little boy and girl inside. “Izzie, go back to your room. Now. You don’t come out until I tell you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.” The boy wrapped his toy bear to his chest and ran.

  He watched Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, curled up in the covers. He envied the characters on screen. He looked at his arm, noticing the red marks, some of them were covered in plasters. Robin Hood and his merry men got to roam the forests, breathe in the natural air, fighting the bad men, helping the needy. He wanted to do that too, maybe when Peter and the others were finished with their tests, they’d release him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Summer 2017

  It always started off the same way. Her heartbeat was so relaxing to him, just watching her sleep was a pleasure in itself but that wasn't why he was here. He approached the bed, the axe in hand. She moved in her dreams, tumbling, restlessly sighing as she did so. He couldn't control his thoughts watching her like this. He wanted her limbs wrapped around his waist; his hand clutched around her throat whilst his hips pounded into her body. He leaned over the bed, slowly raising his axe. Her eyes snapped open. The jolt made him drop his weapon.

  “You’re the lumberjack,” she said softly.

  “You called me,” he replied. “Your pain is something I can’t ignore.”

  “Really?” She reached up grabbing at his gas mask, ripping it free. “You're not him. You’re the Night Scrawler.”

  “I’m, I'm sorry. I...”

  “You’re pathetic.” She glared at the true face of her assailant. She pushed herself into his space, mashing
her lips against his. She grabbed his shoulders manoeuvring his body, pinning him underneath. A smile danced across her mouth as she watched his expression glide between fear and desire. She pinched him and he winced in pain, pleading at her to stop. She walloped him across the face - he deserved a million of them.

  You’re a bad person.

  She told him to stop fighting her and doled out another slap. When he resisted, she slid down onto him. Their legs wrapped around each other like a contorted spider. A laugh echoed from her throat, she moved back and forth along his body, the pleasure glowing and growing in her belly. She swatted his greedy fingers as they tried grasping at her buttocks. He squirmed in shame, trying to suppress his moans.

  You’re a sick twisted fuck.

  Her fingers were intertwined with his as she rode him, never breaking her gaze. She laughed lightly between growls, shoving all of her hate and spite into him, hoping her movements would knock the lock in his conscience. She picked up the pace, her thighs slapping against his belly. His free hand slipped up her body, grabbing her breast. She shoved him deeper into the bed, grinding with all her might. He was beginning to convulse and shake inside her.

  He took your father away…how could you do this?

  As their bodies tightened, she felt that falling sensation, darkness pooled beneath her feet when she was ripped from her dream.