Forgive Me

by Kateri Stanley

  “Most sequels are bad.”

  “What's it like to have a baby with a murderer? Kinda fucked up if you ask me, that's like some Ted Bundy shit right there.”

  “Ted Bundy impregnated someone who was under his thrall. He was a mass manipulator,” Stripe said. “What have you done with my mom? I swear if you've hurt her, I'm going to fucking kill you!”

  She heard Freak giggle. “I’d recommend you tread carefully with how you speak to me, Stripe. You don't want another dead parent, do you?”

  How did he know? Stripe covered her mouth as her stomach lurched. She swallowed down hard and pressed the phone speaker hard against her ear. “Okay, what do you want?”

  “I want... you,” he said.

  “What do you want with me?” Isaac was motioning her to hang up and she shook her head at him. “What is this?”

  “If you come and meet me, I’ll let your mom go. I want to tell you a story. I feel with your skills you could give it the justice it deserves. I'm a big fan of your work.” The line crackled briefly for a time. She wondered where he was, he had Beverley’s phone, he must have been near. “Loved the Charles Libby article!”

  “Where are you?”

  She heard him breathe on the other end. “Your lover wasn’t the only one born at Kaltheia.”

  “Kaltheia?” Stripe breathed, her eyes flooding to Isaac’s. “I’ll meet you. I'm coming right now. Please don't hurt her.”

  “I won’t, as long as you keep your promise. But if you call the cops, I’ll butcher her and send her limbs to you by post, piece by piece.” She heard him stop for a moment. “Do you understand, sweetheart?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Good.”

  The phone line went dead and the surroundings slowed around her. She was meant to keep Beverley safe; she was on the run from an unknown crazed killer with a baby in toe, she’d failed both of them. I can’t hold it back, not this time. Stripe burst into tears, waking up her daughter.

  Beverley awoke with a vile taste in her mouth. Her head felt like it was ten times too big, as if she’d chugged back ten glasses of prosecco. She squinted through the darkness. If only I’d pulled the trigger. She was a good shot too.

  She knew there was something off about the young man outside her daughter's house. She wondered if he was a desperate junkie searching for his next hit, he had the appearance for it. There seemed to be an underlining sense of trouble, there was anguish and pain in his eyes. What was his story and why kidnap her? What was the purpose of her being here?

  She was a retired teacher, a widow to a butchered husband with a serious social media and Netflix addiction. She wasn't rich, she didn’t own any businesses, have any real estate or investments. She wasn’t the best ransom hostage. Perhaps he really is one of those Charles Libby lunatics Stripe spoke about. Beverley felt bad for swaying off her concerns, she’d said the cult he’d belonged to had several devoted followers who were still walking about. When the story went public, some of them wanted Stripe's blood. Why? What are they hiding?

  When the stranger let his guard down, she went to pull out her handgun but he was too clever, he was one step ahead of her. The last thing she remembered was a yellow cloth closing over her mouth and nose. She remembered the tree outside Stripe's house before she passed out. Now, she understood. She was being punished. She should’ve listened, why did the unlucky McLachlan curse follow her around? Did she do something bad in a former life?

  Beverley just didn’t know. “Is somebody there?”

  The air changed and her mind raced to the present situation. Her fingers hovered through the darkness. She let out a piercing scream when a cold slithery sweaty hand grabbed her. Two ghoulish faces seeped into view, Beverley jumped backwards out of fright. It was a man and a woman, probably around the same age as her, they looked just as scared as she felt.

  “Who, who are you?” she barked.

  “Grace Payne,” the woman replied, her hand falling away from hers.

  I know that name. “And you?”

  “Ted Payne,” he said.

  “Where am I?”

  “We don't know.”

  Beverley traced her fingers along the cold wall, feeling the ridges and bumps in the concrete. Her fingers found the handle and she pulled at it several times but the door wouldn’t budge.

  “We've tried that,” Ted said. “It's locked. We can't get out.”

  “Why am I here?” Beverley barked again.

  “We don’t know why.” The couple looked at each other, the wife stepped forwards. “A man showed up outside our house, said he was gonna fix our plumbing. That was a lie, then we woke up in this God forsaken place.”

  “There was a man outside my daughter’s house too.”

  “Are you Stripe McLachlan's mother?”

  “Yes.” Beverley stared them out, her heart skipping. “Why? Why do you look so familiar? Do you know anything about Charles Libby?”

  Grace glanced at Ted. “No, we don’t but we did read her article. Isaac told us they had a little affair a while ago, we didn’t know anything about it, or that she was pregnant. I guess it makes us grandparents. In-laws, in a funny kinda way.”

  I wish I had my gun. “How do you know about Sofia?”

  Ted wrapped his arms around Grace. “The Night Scrawler told us.”

  “What did you say?” Beverley whispered.

  There was a bang at the door and it made them twitch to attention.

  “Not again!” Grace began to cry as the banging became louder and louder.

  Sounds like rough fingernails were being scratched down the door in a rampant primal hunger. There was a roaring noise, like someone shouting but their mouths couldn’t contort into feasible words. Beverley prayed the door would be able to take the weight of the booming violence on the other side. First, the Night Scrawler takes my Peter and now, he's finally come for me.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  My heart races as I drive. My plan was to get you and our daughter to safety. Now it’s quickly crumbling like sand in the breeze right before me. “I’m not letting you near that sicko,” I say.

  “He has my mom. I don't have a choice!” The tears trickle down your face. “If I don’t meet him, he’ll kill her!”

  “And he’ll kill you. I can’t lose you.”

  “All of this started because of what you did.”

  Your words slice through like a knife. I know I deserve it deep down. Falling in love with you wasn't meant to happen. I really tried not to. I’m sorry for killing your father, for tearing your family apart. I knew you’d never be the same after I turned your world upside down.

  “Stripe, please...” I pull over to the side of the road, keeping my eye on Sofia who sobs quietly in the backseat. I want you to look at me. “Listen to me.”

  Your fingers grip my hand, a shiver shoots up my spine. “Isaac, I love you. But I love my mom too. I have to do this. You can take Sofia back to your house where she’ll be safe. She’s paramount here.”

  “That's, that's the first time you said you love me.” There is a beat of silence. “I can’t let you go now. What if he hurts you?”

  You shrug carelessly, options dwindling. “I don’t care as long as my mom is alive.”

  How can you act this way? You're willing to die, but I, I need you. I can't live without you. The struggle is pulling at me. I don’t know which road to choose.

  I glance in the rear-view mirror; our daughter's vivid blue eyes stare back. I just wish my reflexes had been quicker. They should’ve been. I didn't notice the van coming from the corner of my eye. The vibrations from the engine are loud and angry.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The manic smile on Isaiah’s face didn't move, even when he slammed the stalled car off the road. There was nobody on the highway, nobody would ask questions and if they did, he'd silence them. He was the deadliest troop in the world right now.

  Isaiah strolled down the tiny hill meeting the car, it had skidde
d to the grass below before it met the opening of the wood. His machete swung in one hand, the other filled with a chloroform sodden towel. He reached the vehicle; the front window was broken in and the two people in the front slumped forward. The man in the driver's seat was out cold. And for good reason. He knew what he was capable of. Isaiah’s heart thumped in his chest as he walked to the passenger side, he'd never been this close before.

  Isaiah leaned in to check. The vile creature was so near. Her green eyes opened electrifying him. His eyes. His hand shot out, clasping the towel across her mouth and nose. She struggled, fighting, her strength angered him. She looked so much like Anna. He added pressure to the towel, pushing against her mouth. She kept her gaze on him when the solution made her eyes roll back into her head until she passed out.

  It was a hard job heaving the bodies into his van. He was surprised he managed to get the vehicle down the hill without the wheels slipping. Then the little brat in the back seat began to make a racket. She wasn't scathed like her parents, that was interesting. He didn’t expect the little cretin to survive the crash. He couldn’t leave her out here, he wanted to but if anyone saw the car, the baby would act as a beacon, the beginning of a trail.

  “Shut up!” Isaiah shouted, hauling the carrier out of the car.

  The little thing jolted in fear and began to cry even more. I didn’t want to be a babysitter. He huffed, buckling her into the passenger seat of his van. “You think you’re having a hard time?” He stared at the child, shaking his head, scowling at the little monster. “You'd shudder if you knew what your grandfather did to me.”

  He pulled the van into reverse, following the dirt path into the wood, driving back to Kaltheia in a happy frenzy. The little child must have passed out from crying. Isaiah had to crank up the volume of his radio to drown out her wails.

  Everything had been leading up to this, all of those nights staying up devising and stalking, following and calculating and now it was finally happening. He couldn't wait for the next stage in his plan. However, he noticed that his beloved car companion wasn't with him, after he'd brought the Beverley bitch back to Kaltheia, she wasn't anywhere to be found. He didn't want to admit it, but he was beginning to miss his pale blonde-haired ghost.

  Chapter Forty

  Spring 2016

  Detective Pamela Gagnon placed the box on the desk. She pulled out a faded yellow card file and slipped her fingers between the papers, flipping to the correct page.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss McLachlan,” she replied. “I had to get these from our record department. It can be quite the jaunt. Roger said you’re researching a cold case for an article?”

  “Yes, I am. It’s more of a personal project, not sure if I want to publish just yet. You can call me Stripe or Susan. I hope I’m not taking too much of your time.”

  “Not at all. You can call me Pam. Anyway, it’s nice having a break here and there.” Pam picked up her pen, twisting her red stoned ring on her forefinger. “You’re the daughter of Peter, the fifth victim.”

  The Stripe woman nodded as she pushed the stroller back and forth. The baby was sleeping peacefully, wrapped up in blankets. “Yes, I am.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, it must have been hard to deal with especially for a kid.”

  Stripe shrugged. “I coped. College toughened me up.”

  “Do you feel comfortable going ahead with this?”

  “Don’t worry, I can do this.”

  “As long as you’re sure. This is still an open case, I can’t tell you anything confidential such as the location of the crime or provide you with access to witness testimonies.”

  “I understand, detective. I wanted to ask about the fourth Night Scrawler victim, Gerald Blair?”

  “Yes, I was there at the crime scene. I was an officer back then; went by Sevigny. My maiden name before I got married. It was a homicide case. The assailant broke into his home, gaining access to the house via the back door. Mr Blair was murdered as he slept.” She slid the file towards Stripe who began to delve through the pages. “Have a look for yourself, you don’t want to hear me prattling on. According to the forensics team, the intruder used an axe to kill Gerald, similar to the devices firemen use.”

  Stripe’s eyes scanned the pages, Pam realised she must’ve been a quick reader, she used to whiz through novels when she was younger. The moment she became a parent, her love of reading had simmered. Now, her son was a proud teenager and her house was cramped with WWE toy figures.

  “Is it true that the Night Scrawler wrote words on the wall?”

  “Yes, he did. In Gerald’s blood after he died. It was: Liar. It’s a sight I won’t forget.”

  “I’m not surprised. My dad had Monster.”

  Yeesh, Pam thought. Poor kid.

  “Do you ever wonder why the killer wrote such obscene words on the walls?”

  “I’m not sure. It could be because they wanted to antagonise us, or simply, the killer wanted to do it.”

  “Kinda reminds me of the Zodiac killings as he sent letters to the cops and the press.”

  “I know, I read about the case.” Another one which didn’t have an ending.

  “Did you find anything peculiar about the crime scene?” Stripe asked. “As it says in the file, no belongings were taken.”

  Pam had to think about it. “Yes, I did actually. There were no signs of a struggle. Forensics found footprints leading from the backdoor up to Gerald’s room, and then back out the same way. It seemed more like a-”

  “Execution?”

  “I was going to say more like an assassination. All of the victims knew each other because they’d worked together in the same department.”

  Stripe glanced up at her. “Can you tell me more?”

  “They worked for a company called Kaltheia which specialised in blood testing and they provided diagnostics for other external clients such as private hospitals, clinical centers and so forth. The company went into liquidation and all five victims parted, going their separate ways. Gerald then found employment in a pharmaceutical role and worked there till his demise.”

  “Do you think your assassination theory could be linked to their deaths?”

  “Maybe, but without hard evidence I can’t say that’s for sure. I’ve worked on many cases where a death had been premeditated, negotiated and arranged. A murder-for-hire. Might’ve been a jealous spouse, or someone trying to bump off their loved one to get the insurance money. Normally, the assailants kill quietly, they use poison or they try to make it look like an accident. Staging a burglary gone-wrong is a common one.”

  “There was nothing stolen at my father’s crime scene or any signs of a fight. These seem to match the previous three murders.”

  “It would seem so.”

  “Can you think of a reason why someone would want to kill Gerald?”

  “I can’t really answer I’m afraid without proof, which I sadly don’t have. We interviewed his friends, colleagues even his ex-wife. They were married for a long time then they divorced over irreconcilable differences. They all said the same thing; he was a quiet hard-working man. He wasn’t someone who enjoyed being the centre of attention. Gerald had a daughter, but we were unable to contact her.”

  That was when Stripe stopped reading. “Really? How come?”

  “She died in hospital fifteen years or so before from child birth.”

  “Can you tell me her name?”

  “Heather Blair.” Pam snapped on a pair of latex gloves, passing a pair to Stripe who rolled them on with ease. She seems pretty clinical for a journalist. Pam pulled out two photo frames and handed them to Stripe. “We found these in Gerald’s bedroom. His ex-wife didn’t want them, said she’d rather we kept hold of them in case we got a lead.”

  “Heather’s very beautiful. Amazing eyes,” Stripe said, glancing at her daughter, studying the child momentarily.

  “We all thought that too when we first saw the picture.”

  “My father’s
in this other picture, and Sheila and the other two who died. They really did know each other. Did you contact the other workers in this photo?”

  “We tried but there were no personnel files of anyone who worked there, the company had closed a while ago plus they would’ve been confidential.”

  “But if you had a warrant, surely you could’ve gained access?”

  “Not when the company no longer exists.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  Pam was worried she may have upset her but facts were facts, they couldn’t create something out of thin air purely to give a loved one a metaphorical hug. “I’m sorry, Stripe. We’re not magicians, I wish we were that powerful, it would make interrogation so much easier that’s for sure.” She noticed Stripe smiled at her remark. “I’d do anything to help find your father’s killer and bring them to justice.”

  “Thank you, Pam. It’s nice to hear someone out there still cares, especially for the right reasons. Normally, I receive emails from filmmakers trying to make a quick buck off my father’s death, hoping it will get optioned by a network, for a series or something.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. I must admit, I’m shocked a movie hasn’t been made about the Night Scrawler yet.”

  “Me too. I guess it’s too mysterious, not enough leads-”

  “And there’s no ending.” Pam knew there were corrupt people in the justice system. She’d read about detectives and police officers who’d signed contracts for book and movie deals about certain high-profile cases. When they got caught, they were fired or forced to resign and conduct the walk of shame. She reckoned their professional careers were in tatters, practically unrecoverable. You take an oath for a purpose. The Aileen Wuornos case was notorious for police bribery. It made Pam think of her old boss, Rick Plastery, a fantastic detective who had the brass courage to voice his strong cemented opinions. They didn’t always land on popular and welcoming ears, thankfully he’d retired, she reckoned he wouldn’t have survived in the politically correct world nowadays.