Forgive Me

by Kateri Stanley

  His words ached like a deep pain in her chest. But the way Isaac recoiled, she knew he didn't mean it. Stripe could’ve handled it by throwing a lamp or kicking him, but that wouldn't have been any use. She’d tried strangling him once, used all of her strength and he didn’t lose breath. Stripe stood up so she was on the same level. “Kaltheia became my business the second you drugged my coffee, the moment you pressed play on that cassette tape. If you’re being so protective, you shouldn’t’ve let me in to all of this. I had a baby with the man who killed my father. A man who has ripped my childhood to pieces. When I was at college, nobody wanted to know me, some of them were too frightened to even approach me.” She felt tears of anger wanting to erupt but she didn't want Isaac to see. “Yes, I know my dad was a monster to you, but he's still a part of my family. So excuse me for being a good reporter. We're the people who put the wrong things right and piece broken people back together.”

  She moved to distance herself but Isaac caught her, curling his arm around her waist. Her mouth was immediately smothered with his and she could taste his desperation. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t want you to dig. No good will come of it.”

  “I had to,” Stripe replied. “This is how I grieve. I have to know the truth.”

  “You won’t like it, Stripe.”

  “I don’t like it already.”

  “I’m sorry this is happening,” Isaac whispered. “I need you.”

  “I need you too.”

  Isaac pushed her down into the bed, her arms snaked around his neck. The passion between them mapped the same back at his house. Stripe wrapped her fingers into the back of his hair, pulling him to her. She pressed herself against him so much it hurt, so much she could feel his heartbeat trembling against her own.

  Isaac's lips moved subtly across her neck, his groans panting in her ear. Her cell phone rang and her body tensed. Isaac noticed, looking at her. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “My phone,” she said through hushed tones. “It’s probably work.”

  “Thanks for letting me know,” Stripe said, hanging up the phone. She couldn’t conceal the nerves in her voice.

  “What's the matter?” Isaac asked.

  “It was Carla. She said somebody came by the office asking for me. They wanted me to write a story for them. When they were informed of my absence, apparently, they insisted they only wanted me to write it. The guy came off really creepy and aggressive. Journalists have to stay safe. We tend to address subjects nobody wants to talk about. And when someone doesn’t like the horrid truth,” Stripe pointed to the phone, “this shit storm happens. I had a couple of death threats when I released the Charles Libby article, it might be nothing or some jerk trying to frighten me.”

  “What about the roses in your garden? This could be connected.”

  “Possibly, Charles did warn me. He said this type of thing could happen.”

  “Whatever it is. I don’t like it.”

  Stripe blanched. “I don’t like this either.”

  Isaac turned on the television, staring intently at the screen. Lorraine Thurman was dressed in a grey suit with sorrow shining in her eyes. “It's with great sadness that I’m here to report another regretful death. A body has been found. Police are at the scene, the only details we have so far is that the victim is a young male. We will keep you posted as we hear more. There’s a question going through my mind, who is causing this monstrosity? When will this chaos end?”

  “Just when things can’t get any worse,” Stripe sighed.

  “We need to get away from here,” Isaac whispered. “Now.”

  The hunter parked up outside the journalist's house. She was at home as her car was stationed on the driveway. It hadn’t budged for the past couple of days. He could’ve broken in, ripped her throat out, tore his head off, ripping at his flesh, limb from limb but like any other project, it had to be planned delicately. There was something or someone who broke the wonderful image whirling in his fractured mind like a prickle to the skin. “If you’re not going to say anything useful, then you shouldn’t be here,” he said through clenched teeth to the ghost in the passenger seat.

  “Why did you do it?” she asked, her voice was quiet. “You left him out there. He was a kid. Just like I was.”

  He tightened his grip on the wheel. “I told you why, Anna. I needed him, I have a plan.” She wiped strands of her blonde hair from her face, he wanted to touch her. She's so beautiful, even under the circumstances. “If I told you what happened to me, then perhaps you’d understand.”

  “I’m in your head, remember. I already know the truth. You got treated badly - and because of your past, we had to die too?”

  This needs to stop. Pain coursed down the centre of his head, then it burned in his abdomen.

  “You’ve ruined so many lives. My brother won’t be the same, he might be in therapy for the rest of his life.”

  The hunter pressed his hand to his hip, blood marked the cushions of his fingertips.

  “You’re bleeding,” the ghost said.

  “Yes, I know. I’m not in the mood to talk about this. You either say something else or go.” He leaned over, breathing through the aches. He pulled out a towel and a tiny box from the drawer. The hunter pressed the towel to the blood on his abdomen, pushing pressure onto the wound. It had reopened.

  “Why aren’t you healing?” she asked.

  “Shut up.” He opened the box, pulling out a needle and thread. The bastard fought hard, now my broken body is paying for it. He followed the thread through the needle eye, tying it off at the ends. He plunged the needle into his flesh, wincing from the pain, growling like a wolf, hissing between his teeth. This shouldn’t be hurting. I shouldn’t be bleeding. I’m meant to be something more. He peered to the side, noticing his companion was no longer in the passenger seat.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Fall 1988

  Latoya Fernandez hadn't felt nervous since her first audition for Angel Babes Productions. She’d got the part, playing a naughty nurse in Ready to Bust. It was a weak storyline, generic in its paving but the money she earned from it was enough for a deposit on an apartment.

  They'd met in a café; she was having some downtime from working and he was reading the newspaper sipping a cup of coffee. Dr Peter McLachlan was a gentleman. Their eyes met over the tables and they started talking. Initially, she thought he was just a dirty old man who was a fan of her movies, on the stalk. She'd been recognised in public before which was embarrassing. She'd be out with friends and see husbands with their families and their facial expressions bulged when they caught sight of her. It was even worse when some of them approached; a mixture of weirdos who’d hit on her assuming she was a randy character on screen and then she'd receive some lovely compliments about how her movies boosted their confidence with their partners. Those she appreciated.

  Peter didn't batter an eyelid when she mentioned her work in the adult entertainment industry. He didn't flinch or question it when she uttered the 'porn' word.

  “Well, we all have to start somewhere,” he replied.

  The barrier dissolved between them and they started chatting as if they were old friends who hadn't seen each other for years. He showed her a picture of his wife and daughter. They talked to each other for a good hour and she learned that he was a scientist working for a company called Kaltheia. He was looking for test subjects for his new project.

  “I must admit it's a little unorthodox,” he said.

  Latoya laughed. “Well, most people would consider my profession to be unorthodox too.”

  Peter’s eyes grew momentarily serious. “In my line of work, it’s following Ken Kesey's One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”

  “I've heard about the book. Never read it though. Loved the movie. Jack Nicholson nailed it as RP McMurphy.”

  “What I meant is Ken Kesey, the writer, signed up to be experimented on by taking psychotropic drugs. His product is the book.”

  Latoy
a was beginning to lose him. “Can you divulge more?”

  “I can’t. Not here.” Peter handed her his business card. “Call me, and we can make an appointment.”

  Her stomach dipped, this could’ve been a set-up, to jump her bones when nobody was around. She'd been in the porn industry long enough to know the signs; she knew plenty of sleazy guys, there was a salacious reason why it was called ‘the casting couch.’ Most of the time, the directors or producers were just a loser with a hard-on wanting to see naked women. Then after the audition process, they’d say the funding to their movie had crashed so it couldn’t be shot. A realistic get-out lie.

  “Don’t worry, Latoya,” he said. “I'm not setting you up for an unpleasant cliff-hanger, or anything seedy. I promise.”

  She nodded, taking the card from him still hesitant. “So you're leaving the ball in my court?”

  Peter smiled. “Of course. I don't want to waste your time if you're not interested.”

  He said his goodbyes and left the café. Latoya had to admit, she didn’t feel judged by him. He didn't give her the stink eye or make some kind of smutty remark.

  She sat on what he said for a couple of weeks, his words swirling around her brain and the card lived in the breast pocket of her jacket. This might be your ticket out of here.

  Before she knew it, she was in his office. Peter was pleasant and his colleague Sheila made her coffee to put her at ease. She had to sign a confidentiality statement, even if she wasn’t interested, she couldn't divulge the information to anyone. After his pitch, Latoya sat back in shock. She had to take a couple of minutes to assemble her thoughts.

  “So, what do you think?” Peter asked.

  “Well, you got unorthodox right.” Latoya laughed, in turn so did Peter. “I mean, it’s risky to work in porn but from what you said, the pay and the benefits are better.”

  Peter was offering her a job. It wasn't a typical nine till five office thing. It had its hazards. If she took it, she wouldn't have to worry about being harassed or stalked by fans. She wouldn't have to lie or abbreviate about her profession. There wouldn't be any more rigorous blood tests for HIV and hepatitis. No more late nights or long shifts filming. No more prolonged exhaustion of having to fuck someone when she wasn't in the mood or someone she didn't have the hots for. The money Peter was offering could potentially buy her a house, get her back into school, she’d finally get her diploma as she’d ran out on that dream a long time ago. A fresh start, Peter had said.

  Latoya asked about previous participants and Peter informed her that the prior test worker was a drug addict. She'd tried to climb her way to glitzy Hollywood to be an actress but she couldn’t kick the chemical habit. She joined the programme and it put her on the straight and narrow. Latoya noticed there was sadness in Peter’s gaze when he began to talk about the woman.

  “What do you think?” Peter asked again, leaning over his desk, joining his hands together. “Have I scared you?”

  Stay in the porn industry and forget about it or take the job and rebuild. Her mind was torn, Peter hadn’t painted the proposition beautifully, she'd go through the worse pain in her life. The job had a price to pay.

  Latoya sat waiting for the camera man to finish setting up. She whizzed through the scene. Sexy dancing, tit and ass work, blow job, finishing on a fast fuck, leaning over a chair as she got pounded from behind. She'd done the dance a million times. After she finished, the crew clapped a job well-done and she performed her comedic bow to everyone in the nude.

  After the shoot, she went to the local bar with her colleague, William. He offered to buy her dinner and she happily obliged. She’d known him for a couple of years. He was the only guy she enjoyed having sex with on camera. He was supportive, affectionate and sensitive. She knew she fancied him, from his way of thinking to his silky brown skin, his magnificent strength in his body and the bright shine in his eyes. He's quite beautiful.

  “God, why did us lost souls get into this business?” he asked, spinning the beer bottle in his hand. “Toya, you’re staring at me...”

  She returned a smile; she knew she was. She'd stared at him long enough on purpose, to get his pulse racing. Then she leaned over the table, pulling him into a kiss. After a couple of minutes, Will pulled back from her embrace. “T, what are you doing?”

  “I’ve been wanting to tell you for ages.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “I like you...”

  He smiled in relief. “I like you too...”

  Within no time, they burst into her motel room, lips and hands grabbing at each other. Latoya pushed him onto the bed and his back gently hit the mattress. They kissed like two crazy lovers and Will had to pry her off him as if she was a hungry lioness on the prowl.

  “Wait, I don’t have condoms,” he gasped, panting from the passion.

  “That's okay, baby,” she said. “I know my body.”

  Will smiled tiredly and he pulled her top over her head.

  Just dive in...

  When she announced she was leaving adult movies, Latoya couldn’t have been happier. The crew were downhearted about her departure but as she explained her reasons, they knew it was time for a new chapter. The secrecy of Peter’s project burned in the pits of her belly; she couldn’t tell her colleagues the true reason for her retirement.

  Will cupped her face in his hand when he found out. “I’m going to miss you, T.”

  Don’t tell him about the baby.

  Peter and the team were amazing and doting when she confirmed she was on board. A little miracle had happened. She watched Sheila lather her blooming belly in gel. She nearly cried when she saw the little nose, arms and legs.

  “It’s a boy,” Peter said. “Congratulations.”

  “What do you reckon you’ll call him?” Sheila asked, rubbing her shoulder.

  Latoya had thought about it. There was one name in particular. “I quite like Isaiah.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Summer 2017

  The hunter tried his best to sleep, but the mottled mattress he was lying on made him twitch and tumble. The lightning and heavy rain was startling, reminding him of a distant memory where a powerful current soared through his veins because he got a question wrong. He glanced to his abdomen, breathing a sigh of relief. He’d managed to stop the bleeding mid-stitching, and the skin had healed all on its own. The blood had caked on his clothes.

  “You look scared,” Anna whispered, perching on the edge of the driver’s seat.

  “I don’t like this weather,” he replied. “It feels angry.” He moved to the front of the van and peered through his binoculars. Calm down. His heartbeat relaxed immediately. They’re still in the house.

  “You’re losing your magical powers.”

  “I’m not magical, Anna. I can simply do things others can’t.”

  “So that makes you better than us?”

  “No, of course not. I didn’t say that. You’re putting words in my mouth. Stop it.”

  “I think this is a sign.”

  The hunter turned to her. “To signify what exactly?”

  “Danger is coming.”

  He smirked, his eyes marking the house. “It sure is for her and for him.”

  “I wasn't talking about them. I was talking about you.”

  There was a beat of silence and he turned to Anna, his beautiful ghost. “Things aren't going to end well for you Isaiah,” she uttered.

  His chest burned, something inside him snapped. “Don't say my name.”

  “Then why did you tell me before you killed me?”

  He got up from the passenger seat and paced to the back of the van. “I don't know, okay. I was in the moment.”

  Anna followed him, chuckling. “Yeah, in the moment of killing me.”

  “Please Anna stop this,” he whispered.

  “Tell me why you did it.”

  He wiped his forehead, staring back at Anna. The tension all around him was palpable. “I...I...”

&n
bsp; Anna grew closer, her hand trickled to his shoulder. This was new to him. “Come on. Just tell me...”

  Warmth stained his shirt when she touched him, fingers pulsing with life that wasn’t his. “Why are you so real?”

  She pressed her body up against his chest. “Because I am real to you.”

  “Anna. I...told you my name because I…I…”

  “Tell me.”

  “I w-wanted you...I still do...” He felt the shame leak from his heart. “I don’t know why you're here. I don't get why you'd be talking to me after what I did to you.”

  She touched the bottom of his chin. He exhaled, sensing her lips covering and smothering his and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her kiss suffocating him. “Wh-what is this?” he whispered. “What are you doing? What are you trying to do?”

  “I never experienced this before I died.” Anna shifted out of her dress. He saw her breasts, the way the lightning crackled outside made her skin shine in a beautiful blue light.

  He pressed his back up against the van wall. “You never experienced what?”

  “Sex.” Anna moved over and leant into his view. “Make me feel alive.”

  He stared at her, confused and heartbroken. You’re tricking me.

  No, I’m not, Anna’s voice replied, swirling around his mind. I know you wanted me when you broke into my house, to take me right there, on the floor of my hallway. I want you to take me, right now.

  He closed his eyes as her fingertips caressed his face. He grabbed her around the waist, pushing her onto the mattress beneath him. Anna looked up at him, with longing. He leaned, arching his back, kissing her neck. There is the heat of love, the pulsing rush of longing, the lover's whisper, irresistible, magic to make the sanest man go mad. Her whimpers shuddered in his ear and he pulled off the rest of her dress, snaking his fingers around her wrists.

  He pushed his body across hers, grinding himself against her pelvis. She feels so real.