Forgive Me

by Kateri Stanley

  Freak leaned down, their noses nearly butterfly kissing. “You should know better, brother. I thought the chair would bring back happy memories. He always made us play in this room when we’d done something bad.”

  Stripe watched Isaac’s expression crumble with realisation. “We can play,” she said, pressing her stare into Isaac’s skull, his cheek twitched as he looked at her. Be with me. We have to stay alive.

  Freak stared at them, taking a step back from Isaac. “Great. Then I’ll start with the fresher question. Are you a journalist?”

  “Yes,” Stripe replied.

  Freak clapped jovially; her eyes raced up to the screens every few seconds. “Now, that wasn't so hard was it. Now it's your turn, lover boy. What is your real name?”

  “Isaac Payne.”

  “Wrong!” Freak sung. “That is incorrect, lover boy. This is what happens for being a liar.” He pointed the device at Stripe.

  “No!” Isaac shouted.

  She didn't know what was happening at first until the pain shot through her. Her muscles spasmed, it burned circles around her wrists and ankles.

  “Leave her alone!”

  The pain was turned off like a tap and Stripe heard her heartbeat pulsing in her ears. Dad used to electrocute them. How could he do this?

  “You’ve got your father to blame. It was his invention,” Freak said. “He used to love strapping me into this chair.” He spat at her feet. “Disgusting!”

  “I’m, I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Anger flamed in Freak’s eyes. “You’re sorry? No, I don’t think so. You don’t get to talk, you don’t get to apologise. We’re playing my game.” He taunted her with the remote in his hand. “We’re doing what I want, unless you want me to cut your mommy’s throat. Do you want that?”

  “No. Please.”

  “So I’ll ask your lover boy again. What is your real name?”

  Isaac's lips trembled as if he was holding back poison from spilling out. “I-I-Isaac, Blair.”

  “Very good.” Freak smirked, staring at Stripe. “Question two, was your father a good man?”

  The question hurt more than the electricity did. She'd been wrestling with this question for the past year and a half. Answer, or they'll die. Her lips trembled as her throat tightened. “No...”

  “Did he deserve to die?” Freak pressed.

  Stripe glanced back at Isaac; he shook his head. Don’t answer.

  “Yes,” she replied, not taking her eyes off him.

  Freak smirked. “Wow, I'm shocked you answered so honestly. I was expecting to give your boyfriend a few zaps to get that out of you.” He moved over to Isaac and dropped to one knee, to a stranger it could’ve been seen as a caring gesture. “Why did they make us like this?”

  “They wanted to create a stronger, faster, invisible, lethal soldier.”

  “But I can’t be. Not anymore.” Freak pulled up his shirt, revealing his abdomen, a section by his hip was covered by a bandage, it was weeping yellow with rose red stains. “I’m losing it. I can’t heal like I used to. What’s wrong with me?”

  “I don’t know,” Isaac replied. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know? What are we?”

  “We’re, we’re perfect.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  My heart is screaming out for him and the rage I feel for this creature is dark and twisted. He thinks the threat of an electric current will break me. My hands work on the bounds, he's gotten me good. He must know how strong I am, but these restraints won't keep me imprisoned forever. I haven't felt darkness like this in me since I stared over the bed of your father with my axe in hand, the mask over my face. The spirit of the lumberjack webbing in every fibre of my being.

  After I escaped, your father must have felt Kaltheia and the hidden mission still had some heartbeat left. Playing a simple game of Truth was a way to break us down, make us submit to him. Beating a child senseless, starving and torturing them was fine for round two and he roped this poor child in to replace me. I can see the hurt in his eyes, he was innocent at one point and now - look at him. I could’ve fallen, tumbled into his dark and lonely tunnel if I'd swam in it any longer.

  I don't like the way he's staring at you. It's too familiar. I can feel the hatred in him yet it's aimed at the wrong person. He should be angry with me, I took Kaltheia out so they couldn't hurt anyone else. If I'd kept a couple of them alive, Victoria or Paul perhaps, destroying them would’ve saved him.

  Some of my fingers are free now and I watch how he shouts. I can't do anything as he points the remote. The rage in me bubbles when you scream from the electric chair. He stands exactly like your father, pointing the remote in a similar fashion, even muttering utterances the way Peter did. You try to plead with him and he slaps you again. I shout out instinctively. His attention snaps, his gaze turns to me. I hold him, pulling him away and he follows the unconscious command.

  “Please don't do this.” My hands dance behind my back. “It’s unfair. Stripe’s not strong enough for it.”

  I glance over to see your head is hanging, I can see the light in your eyes fading. The flame I fell in love with is losing. Don’t give up on me now. Please, Stripe. Stay with me. Fight this. You have to.

  He stares at me quizzically. “You’re right, it’s not fair. But when was it fair for me? Where was the justice for my suffering?”

  “It wasn’t fair, there was no justice because they never told anyone what they were doing. We were secret scientific experiments. I understand why you’re angry, I am too but Stripe, her mom, my parents are not the ones to blame for this. You’ve got this entire situation wired wrong.”

  “Have I?” He quips and slashes his fingernails against my cheek. My skin breaks open from the impact, warm blood seeps from the cuts. He watches and begins to smile as my skin regenerates, closing up as good as new. “How did it feel to get rid of them?”

  You look at me when he speaks. I don't want to answer, but he's getting nearer to you. I have to try the best I can. For us.

  “It felt good, but I hurt so many other people in the aftermath. They all had families, children, and I wiped their loved ones from the Earth.”

  “But they deserved it,” he says harshly. Something in his stare changes. “I liked Sheila though. She was kind to me. Sheila and Peter called me Izzie, the others only addressed me as Isaiah. Keeping things as formal as possible.”

  “Sheila must have grown a conscience after I escaped.”

  “She introduced me to the works of Homer.”

  “Me too.”

  “What’s your favourite quote?”

  “Light is the task-”

  “where many share the toil.” He grins manically. “That’s a good one.” His gaze drops with sadness, I can hear the heartbreak in his voice. “I was never as good as you. Everything I did was always second best. They’d pump me full of your blood, grill me with tests and equations. I did what they ordered, all I wanted was their approval. I was never good enough!”

  I knew how it felt. “I'm sorry.”

  He laughs sarcastically. “Well, it's too late pal!”

  “Isaiah, why did you kill all of those people?”

  He holds his arm out to me as if he is addressing a speaker in a conference. “I was just following in your amazing footsteps, it’s what any sibling would do for their big brother. I thought it would get your attention,” he scowls at you, disgust in his face, “and hers.”

  I shake my head. “But you killed innocent people.”

  “They weren’t that innocent,” he scoffs and then his head whips to the corner of the room. His eyes wince from something. I can’t sense another heartbeat, but he is reacting as if someone else is here. “The human race is such a disappointment. Evil lies in all of us. Our ancestors only killed for survival, hunting animals. Now, we’re recording attacks on our phones and uploading it to YouTube so others can enjoy the pain. It happened to us too, we’re the victi
ms, before the internet generation could get a whiff of it.”

  “The scars on your arms,” you say, coughing through the fire aches in your body, “it all came from the blood. Isaac’s blood. It changed you, made you like him. Perfect, indestructible.”

  “I was,” he replies, turning back to you. “I’m not anymore.”

  We were engineered, created from torture and pain. Our bodies pushed to the ultimate limit. If I’d known they were going to infect others, I would’ve escaped sooner. Heather Blair should’ve killed me at birth, punched me in the womb, bled me out into nothing.

  He peers into my face. “Can you imagine what they would’ve done to you if you’d stayed?”

  “Yes, I’d be locked in a cage, made to kill for them, they’d harvest me like a battery chicken,” I reply.

  “I’d rather have that life, then this hollow frightful one,” he says.

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “And look how you ended up. The home, the successful entrepreneur with a loving family to go with it…”

  I swallow bitterly. “I know, I do have a better life than you. I should’ve let you kill Peter.”

  I see your gaze flood to mine. I know you're hurt by it. I'm sorry because I know you loved him. But would you have loved the man I knew?

  His stare darkens and for a moment, I regret it. His eyes glaze over me, his jaw tightens. “Yes, you fucking should’ve. I wouldn't be what I am... and Anna would still be...” His voice trails off. I see a flash of clarity in his face. I know what he’s feeling.

  “You…you loved Anna, didn’t you?” I say.

  His lips tighten. I know this. I feel it all too much when you’re around me.

  “Yes,” he utters, sadness bleeding out. “I-I loved her, but I hate them more. But none of that matters now.” He turns back to you. “Seeing as I’m feeling generous, I’d like to help you with your article, Miss McLachlan. They say writers create from real life. I think it’d be good for you to get a dose of what it was like for me and your lover boy. You’ll gather a better perspective when you put it together.”

  “I don’t understand,” you utter.

  I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. Not one iota.

  He rips the electric cords from the chair and restraints. “Get up, soldier.”

  “No, Isaiah. She’s not strong enough!”

  You rise timidly. “I…I thought we were playing a game of Truth?”

  “Done that. I’m bored of it now.”

  He's playing with us. I need to get free. Tension is filling the room. He kicks you behind the knees and you stumble to the ground. He picks something up from the table by the wall, where your father's interrogation tools used to sleep. “A soldier is strong and they must be able to cope with any situation before them,” he says calmy.

  My heart is racing, I know what's coming. I've heard these words before. You look so lost. Run, please, leave. Stripe, get out. Get Sofia and get out of here. Now. He throws a knife at your feet. I yell at you to run and hide.

  “Shut up!” he shouts, pointing the remote. The electric current shudders through me. I can't speak for a few beats.

  “Try and hurt me,” he says, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  You move forward, the knife in your hand. I can tell you don't know what’s coming, you know you won't win. “I don't want to fight you, Isaiah. I’m not strong enough, Isaac’s right.”

  “Then you're not a soldier. You really shouldn't take everything I say as gospel. I made that mistake with your father,” he says before he launches himself at you.

  The electricity stops. My wrist clicks as I dislocate it so one hand is free. I don’t feel anything. I begin to work overtime on the other restraint.

  He knocks you to the ground and begins to throttle you, laughing and cackling. I scream, my ribs ache from the exertion. Sofia’s cries vibrate in my ears. She knows you’re in danger. I can't lose you, not now. Not ever. Fight him, Stripe. Fight him with all of your soul. I can't lose you. Please, please. Fight him. As much as you can. He pushes on your windpipe with his palm and I scream louder. I pray even more. I know you can do this.

  I hear you growl and then the knife whips out slashing him across the face. The blood sprays, he yells, eyes livid and fiery, clutching at his new wound. You scurry, picking yourself up. He wipes the blood, it drips marking his chest, he was right, he’s not healing. “You fucking cunt!” he shouts. “You're so fucking dead.”

  With the remote still in hand, he pushes a button and another door in darkness swings open. Two bodies emerge, arms and legs contort. Rather than human speech, wolf barks and cat like clicks slither from their inhumane mouths. I can’t hear their heartbeats, they might as well be ghosts in this room.

  Isaiah glares at me, blood is dripping down his arm. “You don't recognise your other siblings, do you brother?” I've never seen them before. “We weren't the only creations. Meet the twins. Look at what your blood has done to them.”

  Their faces are deformed, their eyes are hollow. The shock pinches at my skin, tears begin to fall, for the first time as an adult. I haven’t cried since I was a little boy.

  “When Paul and Victoria died,” he begins to speak, “they burnt everything, destroying all of their data. They fired the staff and then they threw me out like garbage. I had to fend for myself. The twins had nothing, we had nothing. I couldn’t leave them out here, they wouldn’t survive. I had to look after them, nobody else would. Peter was an evil man. How can someone be so heartless and do this to two innocent children?”

  Where life once was, the twins no longer possess it. I see the outline of a potentially feminine feature; straggly hair hangs and the curve of an Adam’s apple. Their minds are no longer their own, the functions of prey and predator is all that is left. Your father must have hidden them from the world. I can't even begin to imagine what they must have gone through; I don't want to picture it.

  “I...I...I didn't know about this,” you say, you begin to cry again. “I'm so sorry.”

  The female twin barks angrily, glaring at you. Animalistic hatred grating her vocal cords.

  Isaiah smiles. “Apologies won't save you anymore, Stripe. They enjoyed scaring your mom for a while, I was tempted to let them have her but I thought it was best for you to see them first. I want you to think about how afraid you are right now, then think about how it must have been for them. They were children. Innocent brown eyed angels, so beautiful and sweet before your vile creature of a father got to work on them. We never got a chance at this life. Your father and his friends stole it from us.” He turns to the twins. “Kill the baby.”

  Your eyes race to mine. In fear.

  “Go,” I say. “Run.”

  You swivel on your heel and disappear out the door, the twins hiss rapidly.

  “Well, don’t keep her waiting,” he says.

  The twins wait for a few moments, scoping out their tactics and then they hurry out charging behind you. My heart dances a double beat as my wrists are free behind my back. He turns to me, his smile fading to rage when he realises I'm free. He must have heard the snap of the rope.

  “Try and hurt me,” I say, clicking my dislocated wrist back into place.

  He screams, rushing towards me. He's forgotten, I can play this game too.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Stripe nearly fell over when she found herself in the infamous corridor, the place which had changed everything. Her limbs shook from the remnants of the electric shocks. Her mind was attacked with momentous nostalgia and pain. What are those things?

  She screamed for Beverley and Sofia, her throat burning. She heard the twins rushing behind her, her baby crying, her mother wailing, accompanied by two other banshee screams.

  Stripe ran up the corridor, Beverley’s muffled voice getting clear as she drew nearer. It was the exact room where she'd found the photograph. Stripe burst through the door, nearly ripping it off its hinges. Her heart froze when she saw her.

  Beve
rley stood on the balls of her feet like a ballerina. Rope was lashed around her neck. She was tied to a wooden beam on the ceiling. The camera blinked three times and the sheer terror in her face shone brightly.

  “Momma...” Stripe whispered.

  She heard three clear clicks and Beverley dropped from the platform, the rope wrenched around her neck, breaking it immediately. Ted and Grace soon fell like a pack of cards in the exact same fashion. There must have been a catch on the door linked to a mechanism, to be triggered when opened. At that moment, she understood why Beverley was wailing, she must have been telling her not to come into the room. Now she was left staring at the hanging and swinging bodies of her mother and Ted and Grace Payne.

  No...

  Stripe raced forward, pulling Beverley from the rope. “Mommy...Mommy wake up!”

  Beverley said nothing. Stripe ripped her blouse open and began to perform CPR. She remembered receiving some basic training in college. She folded her hands over the centre of Beverley’s chest. Push. Fire erupted in her injured arm, she had to ignore it. Push. Push. Push. Push. Push.

  Nothing.

  Stripe pinched Beverley’s nose, breathing heavily, pushing air into her mouth. She repeated the same procedure over and over again but Beverley still didn't stir. “No...” she whispered, pain spreading out like spider webs across her chest. The light had already faded from Beverley's eyes. Stripe looked over at Ted and Grace, their spirits had gone. Their hands intertwined with each other, leaving the world as one.

  The knife was still in her hand when she heard the twins, they were approaching. Stripe glanced over her shoulder, rising to her feet. She needed to find Sofia. The twins clicked their tongues. Her fingers gripped the handle of the knife. She breathed in and out. Don't be afraid. She stepped forwards.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  I crash into Isaiah, sending him to his knees. My fist hammers down at the side of his head. Again and again. I haven't felt this way for a very long time. I stagger to my feet. Adrenaline pumps through me as I slam my foot into his stomach, revealing his bandaged wound. He falls onto his back, letting out a wail of pain.