Forgive Me

by Kateri Stanley

  “Get up brother,” I spit.

  I hope it hurts.

  He jumps back up, growling from the injury. He slams his fists into the side of my head, knocking me back and back, pounding his knuckles against my skull. He fights like a brawler, not a trained killer. I protect my head, shielding it with the poles of my arms. He steps back to punch me again and I grab the back of his neck, pushing it down so his nose connects with my kneecap and Isaiah flops in one single swift movement.

  I move to the wall, stamping the light off so he can’t see me.

  He begins to laugh, his neck tensing, clutching momentarily at his face. “You don’t scare me.”

  “You don’t scare me either.” I run my fingers along the walls, tracking his heartbeat. The punches and the kicking he'd received were beginning to show in purple blotches on his mahogany skin. “You’ve forgotten your training Isaiah, even the basics. Sheila would be so disappointed.”

  “Fuck you. I’ve been living the feral life. Scrapping what I can. I didn’t have a silver spoon handed to me.”

  “Neither did I.” I mould my voice so it sounds like Peter’s. “That’s no excuse. I suffered too and I worked hard to get where I am.”

  “Shut up!”

  “I went through the exact same experience and I coped.” The news reel from the past month is racing in a loop in my mind. I think about those young girls, Anna Crawford, the young boy, the others, how they were murdered, the violence they endured and the pain. “Where's my daughter?”

  He coughs, smearing blood on the back of his hand, he staggers to his feet clutching his injury. “She never stops...crying.” He winces again like before, and grasps his head between his hands. “No, quit it! Get out of my head!”

  I circle around him, moving closer, keeping my footing light. His heart is going into overdrive at whatever is tormenting him. Isaiah arches his back, shouting and thrashing, pleading at the entity to cease. I observe and watch his mannerisms. Something or someone is talking to him, but I can’t feel them. There’s nobody else here. Sensing his vulnerability, I bolt out of the darkness, shunting my foot into his face. “Tell me where my daughter is.”

  “Isaac stop,” you say from the door, light from outside streams into the room.

  Your voice takes me by surprise. I look up. “I told you to run!” Then I see you fully, against the back drop of my childhood. Sofia huddles against your chest, her little, tiny head rests against the well of your neck and shoulder. From head to toe, you are covered in blood.

  Your eyes are full of tears. “It doesn't matter, you were never going to let us go were you.”

  Isaiah shakes his head, a hideous grin slicing across his mouth. “Your baby was going to be the last one.”

  I punch him again, this time breaking his nose. The bones in his face crunch and the blood seeps between my knuckles. “You need to get help!” I bellow.

  “My mom's dead, Isaac and so are your parents.”

  This makes me stop. “What?”

  “He had them all hanged.”

  “I had to cover all exits in case you escaped,” he says. “Why should you have a happy ending? Why should you have a family? I never did. I never had a mom and dad, neither did the twins. Look at what your lover has done. You don't deserve it. None of you do.”

  I did and now he’s taken them from me.

  “But your mom didn’t want you,” you say. “Your mom was a porn star fucking her way through life and then she used you as her get-out-of-jail-free card.”

  He laughs painfully, wiping his bloody nose. “You're a liar, you fucking bitch. Your father stole me from my mother.”

  “She gave you away for money, just like Isaac’s mother did.”

  This is breaking my heart. I don’t want to hear any more of it.

  “Liar!” he yells. “Bitch. Say that to me again!”

  You step forward, with our daughter in your grasp. “Your whore mother didn’t love you, Izzie.”

  Isaiah screams and runs forward. I lunge, hooking him around his neck like a snake. Our bodies collide against the wall. I press hard on his throat, crushing it, my limbs are laced around his waist. I lock his arms into place, one hand positioned at the side of his head.

  I whisper in his ear. “I want them to be the last thing you ever see.”

  You stand watching, you’re still for a few moments.

  “Anna...” Isaiah utters as he stares at you and Sofia.

  I push his neck, twisting it with my other hand. The crack is loud, his body convulses in my arms and the room dips into silence. Tears fall down my face. I haven't cried like this in a very long time. I hold him in my arms and kiss the side of his head. I wish I'd known about him, and the twins. I wish I could’ve gone back and saved them, or ended their lives so they couldn't harm anyone else. Everything hurts until I hear a click, I look up.

  You're staring at me. I’m peering at the barrel of a handgun, its nose pointing straight at me. You're holding it. Where did you get it from?

  You whisper my name.

  What are you doing?

  “My mom. She, she was innocent,” you cry.

  No, Stripe. Please don’t do this.

  “So were my parents,” I reply. “It should’ve been me. Please don’t make this mistake. We can be a family now. It’s... all over. It’s finally over.”

  “How do you know that?” you ask. “I thought you were the only one and look what followed. What if my father had other labs? More children he experimented on?”

  I can’t answer your question because I don’t know. “I killed everyone who was involved with the project.”

  “These types of experiments need support from a backer, right? They need the money so it can go ahead in the first place. What if they’re still out there? My father could have a secondary source. A back up in case the primary didn't go to plan, just like you and Isaiah. You were the original test subject and he was the replacement. And those twins...”

  I don’t know what to say anymore. I don’t have the answers you seek. I want to embrace you, to take you in my arms.

  “Don’t move!” you shout.

  I raise my arms above my head slowly. “Think about this. If you kill me, Sofia won’t have a father.”

  “She'll never have grandparents because of you.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  The farmer was perched by the side of the stream. He couldn’t get a better experience than this. A cold beer on ice, Mother Nature for company and freshly caught fish. He’d been aching to get out of the house for a while.

  He knew his wife was having a hard time with her business, starting from the seeds up was a hard job and she needed the personal space to hash out her next move. To aid her with her new enterprise, he’d bag some fish and cook her supper, there was a bottle of sparkling white wine hiding discreetly in the cupboard.

  He heard the gunshot go off in the distance. It made him jump. The sound echoed, bouncing off the trees, causing a group of birds to fly off in a flourish. The farmer shrugged to its context. Wolves and bears roamed around the woods; it was probably someone reeling off a warning shot so the animals would retreat. He'd heard plenty of them before so it was nothing special.

  Part Four

  Sometimes even to live is an act of courage.

  ―Lucius Annaeus Seneca

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  The blinding light stung her eyes when she came around. Everything was too bright. It was the type of sting you have when you get a migraine. She sat up, squinting. She heard birds squawking and spots of green began to bleed through. She was outside, in the open air. Then a spread of familiarity began to run over her. The smell of the leaves, the musk of the bark and then she saw it...

  It was the cabin. The little home-from-home she visited as a child.

  It hadn’t aged a day. The paint on the woodwork hadn’t peeled, the fake doll house hadn’t chipped. It was preserved. An image from her memory. She hadn’t been back here since her father had d
ied.

  Stripe turned to the fence, running her fingers over the metallic lining. Then she saw the boy with the blood red hands, a young, demoralised Isaac fleeing from the chaos her father created. He was standing further back in the bushes, staring at her.

  He wasn’t alone, a younger boy crept out from the leaves, his eyes burning into hers. It was Isaiah, before the turmoil and insanity had affected him. One of his arms were marked with scars and plasters.

  Then two little bodies emerged from the clearing, holding onto someone else hidden by the shadows from the sun. They were identical in facial features and with the same caramel hair, a little boy and girl, probably toddlers. Isaiah had been right all along. The twins were once beautiful, angelic children. You killed them. She stared at the twins. But I had no choice. They were gonna kill me and my baby. I had to protect her.

  The twins looked up to an aged hand clutching onto them protectively. The figure moved. Stripe sucked in a breath. “Momma.”

  Beverley didn’t pay attention. Her back was arched as she led the twins up the path away from the fencing. Isaiah soon followed in tow, his penetrating gaze disappearing over his shoulder. He ushered the boy with the blood red hands to join, beckoning him with his hand. Young Isaac sighed, taking one final glance at Stripe and trudged up the path. The figures faded into the background, disappearing amongst the limbs of the trees.

  “Do you ever listen to a word I say?” a voice asked behind Stripe. “I’ve told you before, you shouldn’t venture out there. Monsters will get you.”

  She saw a ghost emerging from the front door of the cabin, locking up as he left.

  “Dad?”

  “You don’t look very happy to see me,” Peter said. “I’ve tried speaking to your mother but she doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

  “I’m not surprised. She’s disappointed. So am I.”

  “I'm sorry. For everything, Susan.”

  “You’re sorry? How can you say that?”

  “I know it sounds ridiculous coming from me.”

  “You led a double life, this whole time. You lied to mom, you lied to me. You’d rather torture children than spend time with your family...and for what? To create Superman? Who the fuck are you? What made you think you could play God?”

  Peter smiled faintly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “But it worked. Isaac Blair is the key, I realised that after he escaped. Isaiah Fernandez couldn’t cope with the experiments. His mind and body were too fragile. But Isaac truly is perfect.”

  “His blood is an infection. Look at what it did to those twins. What on earth is perfect about that?”

  “The cells in their DNA began to reject and attack each other. Their bodies weren’t suited for it.”

  “You disfigured them, scarred them for life.” Tension throbbed behind her glare. “And you’re okay with that?”

  Peter didn’t respond.

  “I guess when you set me little ‘tasks’ when I was a kid, it was just an experiment too. Was I a prelude for something bigger? It was, wasn’t it?”

  Peter didn’t respond again.

  “Answer me.”

  “You weren’t an experiment, Stripe. We were bonding. My work never touched my home life. Think about my concept for a minute. I know I was a terrible father, I admit it okay. I was an awful husband but I am one magnificent scientist. Think about what we could do with more resources. Imagine if our country was threatened, we could manufacture Isaac’s blood, create a whole line of soldiers.” His large green eyes shimmered wildly as he spoke, it reminded Stripe too much of herself. “We'd be fearless. We'd finally be safe from our enemies.”

  “I won’t let you. You’ve hurt so many people. Electrocuting a child as a corporal punishment is not the humane thing to do in order to change the world. Violence breeds violence, you taught them this. Wherever there’s an action, there’s a reaction.” She thought about her mother, an ache pulsed through her head. “Isaac should’ve killed you earlier, and your evil friends.” She saw the hurt in Peter’s gaze, it flickered through him like a flame. “I’m destroying Kaltheia, Dad. In my own way. This needs to end.”

  The urgency in his eyes grew still like stone. “And how are you going to do that?”

  She hated the edge of sarcasm in his voice. A searing weight burned by her chest pocket; her fingers ached as she pulled the object out from the fabric. The silver branded lighter sat in the middle of her palm, she flicked the mouth open, sparking it up. “I’ll figure it out,” Stripe said, observing the flame. “I always do.”

  “You don’t know what you’re dealing with. Isaac is capable of so much more than you know. He’s deadly.” Peter walked towards her; an instinct made her retreat, flicking the lighter back into her jacket pocket. He advanced, pressing his palm to her belly. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I would’ve loved being a grandfather.”

  “I know.”

  “I wish I’d been a better parent to you, and a better husband to your mother.”

  “My heart can’t deal with all of this,” she whispered. “I...I...I’ve lost so much and it’s not even my fault.”

  Except Mom.

  “Sofia is going to be such a strong young woman, and her brother will follow in her footsteps.” Her stomach muscles contracted under Peter’s fingers. He grabbed her around the waist, pulling her to his chest. “Remember everything you’ve seen, use what you’ve learned. Keep your family close.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Lorraine Thurman managed to keep hold of her iconic pearl necklace whilst the other hand gripped onto her helmet. She tensed all of the muscles in her legs hoping she wouldn’t pull a Bridget Jones; her career would be over in a matter of seconds and she'd be a laughing stock back at the news station. She'd done a couple of helicopter broadcasts before but her unusual profession mostly kept her feet safe on the ground, where she preferred it.

  “As you can see, the forest fire has reached an exceptional height at the Washington State Park,” she said to the camera. “It's been going on for hours and the fire department are doing an amazing job putting it out.”

  The camera panned across the landscape, highlighting the expanse of the subject matter. Clouds of grey and black smoke floated above the trees. It was so high; it could have reached a search team in the snow. Dots of glowing orbs were dispersed across the lands, where trees once stood, now were ghosts drenched in blankets of ash. The camera zoomed in on the fire fighters. They worked like an army putting out remnants of the fires.

  The cameraman signalled to Lorraine; the transmission was done. Lorraine coughed squinting from the hoarse thick air. She was glad to be reporting about something different, even a forest fire was better than those murders.

  Latoya Burnwood watched the broadcast from her sitting room, a forest burning. She wasn't anywhere near it but she couldn't help but sense something was wrong.

  “What's the matter, baby?” Terry Burnwood asked, stroking a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

  “Are the kids asleep?”

  “Like angels,” he whispered, his arms lacing around her waist. “Now, tell me what's on your mind?”

  Latoya closed her eyes, her heart racing. I can't tell you. She'd buried the secret of Isaiah forever. She’d made the locked decision when she handed him over into Peter's arms, bawling and kicking after her seventy-two hour labour.

  The money she’d been given had helped rebuild her life. With time and effort, bricks of knowledge stacked up as she moved through education and eventually into her own business of sport and leisure. It doesn’t distinguish the guilt. She felt it every day but deep down, Peter had warned her about it. Was it her punishment?

  My children don’t know they have an older brother, he’s out there somewhere. She'd been regretting giving up Isaiah ever since the Night Scrawler had snubbed Peter and his colleagues. What happened to my baby? Did they take care of him? Where is he now?

  He'd finally finished the
story about the Princess and the Pea. It was Serene’s favourite. She couldn't drop off without the hint of a fairy tale. Laurie Harrison picked up his sleeping granddaughter and carried her into the bedroom. He nestled her down between the toys. She was obsessed with the movie Frozen and the funny little yellow minions from Despicable Me. She’d been blurting out catchphrases all day; it had been driving him loopy so he was thankful his little cherub was finally asleep

  Laurie covered Serene in the purple and teal blanket his wife had made. With intricate care, Rosa had managed to stitch Serene’s name in plump salmon pink letters. He closed the door ajar and walked back to the living room. He chuckled to himself as Rosa had fallen asleep in the armchair. Whisky and cola were her favourite tipple on counting sheep.

  He took the newspaper from his wife’s lap. It was falling onto the floor anyway, she wouldn’t notice. He relaxed onto the sofa, pulling his feet up. He loved being a grandparent, but today had completely wiped him out. He hadn't felt this tired since his Louise was in diapers or when he pulled a double shift at Kaltheia.

  He opened up the paper nearly choking on his whiskey. A blast from the past stared back. He observed the dark hair and pale skin of Isaac Payne, the founder of the website, Virtisan. He’d seen his eyes before and couldn't help but sink into the distant rooms of his memory. A dark space for himself when he was truly alone.

  Tell me I’m beautiful. Her words whirled around his mind. He remembered how Heather felt on top of him, how her feline body squeezed him so much the joints in his knees ached. He never saw her again after the fateful night. He never got over the humiliation after he woke up in the staff room to find his wallet and car keys missing. The police never found his car. She must have needed it, he knew she was running away from something but, he didn’t understand why she’d made love to him in the manner she did, with such desperation and emotion. Had he taken advantage of a damaged woman by letting her fuck him?