Forgive Me

by Kateri Stanley

  Anna pushed her head up, kissing him again. The hunter groaned rolling his tongue into her mouth. Anna began to pull his shirt off, throwing it to the dirty floor. He pinned her down, fingers slotting through hers, kissing her neck until she started to moan loudly. Just dive in.

  Stripe watched Isaac throw heaps of her clothes into bags. “Think about what you’re doing. Where are we going to run to?”

  “We can go to my house,” he said. “We’ll be safer and I’ll have a better chance at protecting you and Sofia there. We can hide this out.”

  Stripe hadn't been to his house since he'd kidnapped her. It was where their daughter was conceived, where the truth was shoved right in her face. A part of me still resents him for it. “And what about our jobs? Our families?”

  “I can tell my folks to leave town for a while. They go on vacation all the time. And I’m the CEO of my business, I can work wherever I want.”

  “Not all of us are CEOs. I have to travel for my job.”

  “You’re on maternity leave.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Whatever this is, running is not the answer. Moving too fast isn’t good.”

  “Escaping was the best thing I ever did.”

  “For that particular situation yes, but on the other hand, you ended up being fearful. This is not the same. Rushing into a decision straight away is not the way to go. We need to plan this out properly, think strategically. It’s the same with my assignments. I don’t publish the first write up of an article, I have to create several drafts to make sure it’s correct.”

  His eyes caught hers. “Not when our loved ones are at risk.”

  Something inside her slowed down. “You think it’s coming for my mom?”

  “No, not for sure. But the victims are getting nearer, this young man, Anna, the couple, those girls and coincidentally someone shows up at your work giving off bad vibes? It doesn’t feel right. I know this feeling all too well. Hiding in plain sight is our best bet for now. Conceal the ones we love until we know what’s really going on here.” His gaze held her to the spot. “Leave your digging skills at the door for now. You can seek the truth out later. Please, Stripe.”

  She hadn't seen him agitated before, it felt unnatural. She didn’t want to think her mother was in potential danger, that was the last thing she needed. Beverley had been through a tidal wave dealing with her father’s death. She had to identify his mutilated body and deal with a jackass journalist who’d decided to use their full legal names in the news so everyone, stranger or foe knew who they were. In a dark sense, Isaac had caused all of this misery but since the discovery, Stripe understood why it happened. She’d crashed against a war of words in her conscience about Isaac and the whole situation. Should she have spared him or speared the whole thing to a Titan News reader?

  The guy’s got a point. I know you don’t want to admit this, but what choice have you got now?

  With reluctance, Stripe rang her mother.

  “Hi, Mom,” she said, feeling her skin begin to boil over. “How are you?”

  “I'm fine. What's the matter?”

  Rip it off like a band aid. “Mom, this isn't a good way to put it but...I need you to leave town for a few days.”

  She heard Beverley laugh. “Where’s this come from? I can't just pack up and leave! I have commitments and appointments!”

  “Mom, I'm being serious.”

  “Okay, what's going on?” Beverley pulled on her strict teacher voice. “Are you and Sofia okay?”

  “I don’t want to alarm you, but you know I wrote that article about Charles Libby a while back?”

  “Yes…”

  “Well, I've received a threatening letter from the group he belonged to. It didn’t come with a stamp. There was no return address. It was hand delivered.”

  “It's a prank.”

  “Mom, please listen to me. These people are fucked up. They are violent and dangerous. Why do you think Charles wanted me to tell his story? Why do you think I wrote about them? I’m going to take Sofia to a friend’s house and stay with him for a while. I need you to get out of town.”

  Beverley breathed heavily. “Stripe, this is ludicrous.”

  “I wouldn’t do this if I wasn’t being serious. You know I face a problem full on but this is worse. Go and stay at Barbara’s, and I’ll call you when I leave the house.”

  “You shouldn’t let those idiots intimidate you.”

  “Normally, I wouldn’t but this is stepping over a major grey area. When I call you, I want you to have made tracks. Got it?”

  She hung up on Beverley feeling like she was going to cry and began to pack Sofia's belongings, chucking clothes, wipes and pacifiers into a backpack. The sound of the thunder storms and heavy rain was probably going to wake her sleeping daughter. Stripe grabbed the photograph she found back at Kaltheia. She ignored the way Isaac watched her when she placed it with her belongings. She didn't care. It was going with her no matter what, no matter where it came from.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  For the first time in his life, Isaiah had slept without any nightmares plaguing his corrupted mind. He wasn’t haunted with the memories of being sprayed with ice cold water, having to go for days without food because he'd failed a regulation test and he didn't have to listen to their cold callous voices. He awoke with Anna's head resting on his chest. Her blonde hair was spread across him like a lake. He watched with fascination; her pink lips quivered as she slept. He wanted to kiss them all over again. He thought about the sounds that had escaped from both of them, secret and intimate. He replayed how he’d kissed her breasts, how she trembled under his touch, how she bit down on her lip when his voice got louder, how her shoulders rounded when she rode him, how good it felt to be inside her.

  I killed you, he thought. What are you? Why are you making me feel this way?

  He pressed his fingers to her forehead, running them along her slender jawline and cheekbones. Blood rushed under the skin; veins vibrated with a blue pulse. She was warm and he couldn't fathom why. Anna's arms tightened around him, making his ribs hurt. She wouldn’t touch you in real life. Isaiah winced from the pain as his abdomen burned. You don’t deserve her.

  He was going to prove his point and make the ultimate move. But he had to make a good impression first. Today will be an iconic shift in history. You can’t rush something good, Peter used to say this over and over again.

  Isaiah changed his clothes, keeping his gaze off Anna who shrugged back into her nightdress. She’s so beautiful. Tension filled the van; they hadn't spoken since she woke up.

  Isaiah dressed into his dark blue boiler suit, if anyone stopped him, he’d casually say he was a maintenance man. Hiding in plain sight, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He polished his gas mask, sharpened his machete and made his way outside.

  “Don’t come with me,” he whispered.

  Anna shivered. “Are you going to hurt the baby?”

  Isaiah’s heart dropped as he saw the car in the driveway was gone. “No,” he gasped. “No, no, no, no. This isn't the plan!” He raced up the driveway, peering through the windows. “Fuck!”

  He walked around to the back of the house. It wasn’t very secure. I can’t see anyone. Nobody’s home. Where have they gone, Titan News offices? He didn’t want to go back there; the receptionist had seen his face and there were security cameras in the lobby.

  “Maybe this is a sign you should leave them alone,” Anna whispered.

  Anger vexed at his fists. He could’ve ripped the walls down. “This is a sign that I was too slow. I fucked up!”

  He was silenced as she rushed him, her gentle fingers stroking his lips. “Please don’t do this, Isaiah. Let it go. Please.”

  “I can’t,” he replied softly. “I wish I could. I’m sorry I can’t be the man you want me to be. I’ve come too far now. Done too much.”

  He shivered as she kissed him, something sharp pulled at his chest. His fingers roamed up her back, stroking along her hips, gripping
at her dress.

  “Run away with me,” she whispered against his lips.

  Isaiah pulled back from the kiss. “What did you say?”

  Run away with me…

  There was a screeching sound at the front of the house. Isaiah grabbed the machete that was hiding in his boiler suit. A car he didn't recognise parked up outside the house.

  The highway raced past in washes of colour. Stripe glanced over her shoulder; Sofia was occupied, playing with her rattler, staring occasionally at the man driving her mother’s car. She peered out at the windows, blinking at the birds, pointing with her tiny finger. At least she’s enjoying herself. Somebody should.

  Stripe pulled out her phone, dialling her mother's cell again. She kept receiving her whimsical voice informing the caller to leave a message after the beep. “Hi Mom. It’s me. I’m away with Sofia. I'm assuming you’re on your way to Barbara’s. Can you please ring me as soon as you get this? Love you.” Stripe hung up when she felt toasty fingers slide along her skin.

  “Please try and relax, Stripe. I’m sure she's fine,” Isaac said gently.

  She watched him, tension aching in her chest. “I’m sorry. It’s just, she practically lives on her phone with the number of friends she has and the groups she’s involved with. She’s like a teenager. She loves social media, she’s always going on about the latest Twitter and Instagram scandals. You’d think after everything she’s faced she’d want to cut herself off from all of it. There’s no reason why she wouldn't answer.”

  “She’s probably driving to her friend’s place right now. Maybe she doesn’t have hands-free. She’ll ring you back. Just relax.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Beverley McLachlan wasn't always a bitch. She never had to look over her shoulder to see if anyone was following or sleep with a baseball bat by her bed - the summer of nineteen ninety-seven took all of the glory, the cause for her extra protective behaviour. The awful night had permanently tattooed her reputation. To some she was just the non-dimensional widow of Dr Peter McLachlan, one of the victims of the Night Scrawler - the murderer the feds failed to catch. Wearing the title felt like a burden that would never fade.

  When a reporter leaked her name to the papers, people were coming up to her on the street, saying how sorry they were, interrupting her day when she was trying to get through the basic daily duties like food shopping. She’d receive letters from people asking for an interview about her ‘experiences.’

  Experiences? Beverley wanted to say. What experiences? This isn’t a holiday or trying a brand new ride that’s just come out at a theme park. Losing your husband to a missing fugitive is not an experience. It’s a personal Hell.

  It was awful when the police interviewed her as a possible suspect. She knew there were women who’d murdered their husbands from domestic violence to gold digging. She told them the truth about their marriage, it was a loving one and it had its bumps. No relationship was perfect. They wanted to know why she wasn’t at the house at the time of Peter’s death. Beverley was honest, she was fed up with the loneliness of her husband’s career and wanted to stay at her sister’s. Stripe was at the prom and she stayed the night after it finished, Beverley didn’t want her in the house on her own. She was glad of the decision or her one and only child would’ve been butchered too. The police cross referenced her statements, questioned her sister and Stripe and they let her free.

  Beverley’s privacy had been completely stripped away. She nearly changed her name at one point, traversing back to Beverley Collins but Stripe talked her out of it after she listened to one of her passionate speeches. It reminded her too much of Peter. Her husband and daughter were so similar in personality and appearance. They both got excited about things, they both got angry over similar issues like events in the news, they both got determined, inspired for change.

  She remembered when Sheila and Gerald had been killed. She’d sat glued to the television, her heart in her mouth. She couldn’t understand why anyone would hurt them. They were friendly people; she’d met them at a couple of parties, Sheila was confident and chatty, Gerald was quiet but not unpleasant. She hadn’t met Paul and Victoria but Peter spoke highly of their skills and personalities.

  The only problem Beverley had with Peter’s job was that sometimes, she was left without a husband. She hated spending evenings and weekends by herself. He’d get calls in the middle of the night, disappear for days at a time. He even left during their vacation at the cabins, testing and processing blood samples was certainly a demanding role. Beverley was immensely pissed. Peter bought her a casket of wine and three barrels of chocolate truffles to bury the hatchet for that one. It wasn’t all the time but she’d get little niggling worries, was Peter really leaving for work? Was he fleeing to have a secret romance? Was it with Sheila, or Victoria?

  She never got to ask him those questions in the end.

  Stripe, Sofia, teaching and her friends were the only anchors keeping her from running down pathways she was terrified of. Her sister had been tremendous support after Peter’s murder. Tricia was the one who shouted at the press while they camped outside the house, clawing at the now-widow to make a statement. She was the one who kept the wheel turning when Beverley couldn’t function in the early days. Sadly, Tricia was no longer with them, the big c had ripped her from the world, with no partner or children in her stead.

  When she returned to her job, Beverley received bouquets of flowers and cards from students and their families. She remembered crying like a baby when she saw the mountain of love piled high on her desk.

  There were times when Beverley would wake up and feel Peter's presence. His eyes peering from the corner of the room. Her friends told her to move on and she tried, speed dating, blind dating, even corporate - but nobody could hold a candle to her husband. It was even more painful when she'd tell aspiring suitors who she was, they'd flush and run for the hills. Was that what drove her daughter's love of journalism? Was Peter’s death why she wanted to disturb the past rather than leave it to rest?

  Peter was like this too. Stripe had inherited her passion of investigation from him. When they first started dating, Peter talked science the way William Shakespeare expressed a sonnet. Stripe did this when she informed her of the Charles Libby assignment. Stripe was so enthusiastic about exploring a Satanist cult group, to Beverley it was nothing but bad karma and danger. You don't disturb the past. Let it die and move on. No matter how many times she advised her, Peter's stubbornness managed to shine out, especially through her emerald eyes.

  Beverley remembered crying when Stripe pitched the idea of investigating her father's murder. “It might give us answers Mom,” Stripe had said.

  “Please don't do it,” Beverley replied. “I beg you. I have enough with the documentarians out there. I don't want to know. I've managed to get myself together. I don't want to fall apart again.”

  Then she remembered Stripe announcing that she was finally going to be a grandmother. Beverley recalled the moment she first saw Sofia, her beloved grandchild, she fell in love instantly - Cupid's bow really got her good. She was entranced with her tuffs of dark hair and her hypnotic blue eyes. She didn't inherit them from her mother. Stripe never spoke of Sofia's father, Beverley didn't want to judge her, maybe it was something which didn't end successfully. Maybe he was a married man or a one-night stand, or a sperm donor. She didn't want to pry but she couldn't help but think, who and where was he?

  Then the deaths started to happen again, those girls, and poor Anna Crawford. She knew her parents and she couldn’t begin to describe how frightened she was. Stripe’s sudden phone call had given her goose bumps, sending jets of anxiety along the channels of her mind. She had to know if her family were okay.

  From the drawer, she found her handgun and placed it in her bag. Since she'd retired, she visited the range twice a week to get some decent practice and according to Ricardo, the owner of the shop, she wasn't that bad of a shot.

  Beverley walked up the
driveway of Stripe’s home. The blinds were closed, it was odd for her one and only child. Normally when she visited, Stripe was typing like crazy on her laptop or she'd be nursing Sofia.

  “Can I help you?” a voice called out.

  Beverley turned to the source of the question. A young, tall man stood by the tree in her daughter’s front garden. The stranger had mahogany skin, dark brown eyes with a buzz cut. He was probably in his late twenties, he appeared rough around the edges, like he hadn't slept for years.

  “I'm looking for my daughter,” Beverley replied.

  “Stripe isn't here.”

  Beverley folded her arms over her chest, building a barrier, a quick tip from self-defence class. “Are you a neighbour? I’ve never seen you before.”

  The young man smiled, taking a step towards her.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  As much as she tried, Stripe wasn’t relaxing, and her imagination was firing off missiles. She didn’t know how long they’d been driving for; she couldn’t remember what song was playing on the radio, she’d left so many messages for Beverley but there was no response. She glanced in the rear-view mirror; Sofia had fallen asleep.

  She nearly screamed when her phone rattled on her lap, breathing a sigh of relief when her mother’s name flashed on the screen. “Oh thank fuck!” Stripe looked over at Isaac who smiled in reassurance. “Sorry for all of the calls. Are you okay?”

  There was no response on the line.

  “Mom. Mom. Are you okay?”

  She heard someone breathe and then a voice which filled her with cold dread:

  “Hi Stripe,” he said, his voice was deep and guttural. “Sorry, I’m not your mommy.”

  Nausea ached in her throat. “You're the one who was asking for me at the offices. You're the Night Scrawler, or shall I call you something else?” How about Freak instead?

  Isaac's head snapped to hers and she saw the fear on his face. “Night Scrawler’s fine.” I'm not the real one though.” His voice didn’t sound familiar and she couldn’t pinpoint if she’d heard it before. “I'm better than the original actually.”