Forgive Me

by Kateri Stanley

  He’d thought about tracking her down but there were millions of Heathers in the world and he never found out what her surname was. Where would he have started?

  Laurie frowned at another name in the article. Stripe McLachlan. He wondered if they were related to Peter McLachlan. When one department got wiped out, all of the lab staff including Laurie were given a pay cheque and told to piss off, not literally but it definitely felt that way. It was the end of Kaltheia. He suspected foul play or bankruptcy; it wasn't the first time a business had done the dirty to make a buck. Some corporate companies were rife for corruption. It was a truly frightening time back then; a mystery cloaked figure had taken out one particular team of scientists who tested blood. Maybe they’d fired someone who couldn’t swallow the bitter pill of rejection. People killed others over stupid things all the time. There was a stabbing at his local supermarket over an argument about a car parking space. The punk thought it was feasible to knife the other guy over it. People are fucking dumb.

  Having to start his career all over again and going back to his parents was humiliating but in the long run, he wouldn't have met Rosa, and his beautiful Louise and his granddaughter, his gorgeous Serene wouldn't exist.

  Before she'd fallen asleep, Rosa had talked about the Isaac Payne guy in the paper who apparently possessed his lankiness and broad shoulders. She’s not wrong, but I’ve only seen blue eyes like that once before.

  Laurie looked over at Rosa who moved in her sleep. He placed the newspaper on the carpet, downing his whiskey in one mighty gulp. He sat back, relaxing into the sofa before his eyes closed. He transported himself back into the old Kaltheia staff room, Heather's beautiful face moved out from the darkness. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

  “I know,” she replied softly.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you too.”

  “Why did you leave me like that? Why did you steal from me? It was so embarrassing. I had to lie to my boss, said my car was stolen because I forgot to lock it.”

  “I’m sorry, Laurie.”

  “Who are you? You said you needed me…”

  “It doesn’t matter now, so many things have changed.”

  “You said you loved me…I guess that was a lie.”

  “It wasn’t,” Heather replied. “I really liked you.”

  “Then who are you?”

  “I’m nobody. I meant what I said before, I wish I’d met you somewhere else.” Heather held her hand out. “Come here. I've been waiting for you, for years.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Winter 2019

  Jace Bloom listened to the humming of her daughter’s chest. She patted her back, her inherited red curls spilling over her shoulder. She stood swaying on the spot; her eyes glued to the familiar face on the television.

  “You’ve been through a lot,” Lorraine said.

  Stripe smiled incredulously. “That’s an understatement.”

  Jace couldn't believe her old friend was on the television talking about her life. Stripe sat opposite Lorraine Thurman, the veteran journalist. Her old friend’s long blonde hair swaying along her back. She was wearing a dark sea blue blouse, opposed to Lorraine in her black Donna Karan suit with her white pearls sitting conspicuously on her chest.

  “I sat down with investigative journalist, Stripe McLachlan at her home in Washington where she lives with her partner and their two children.” Lorraine’s strong voice leaked over the camera footage. “She was nervous speaking to me, seeing as she’s used to being in the interviewer seat. Before we started filming, she told me she was a big fan of my work.”

  Lorraine patted her knee, smiling brightly. “How are you feeling?”

  Stripe smirked. “Pretty weirded out. It’s odd not having a notepad and pen in my lap or a voice recorder in my hand.”

  “What made you want to write a memoir after what happened?” Lorraine asked.

  Stripe stroked a strand of blonde hair away, Jace saw a glimpse of an engagement ring on her wedding finger. “To put some ghosts to sleep and close this chapter.”

  “Holy shit,” Zippo said, wrapping his arms around Jace.

  “Language,” she shot back, indicating to their daughter. “I want to watch this.”

  “It normally takes years for a memoir to be written but you chose to do it straightaway. Why is that?”

  “I had to get it out of my system while everything was still fresh in my head.”

  Lorraine's voiceover seeped over the interview again. “If you're wondering, Stripe's father and mother were murdered by the Night Scrawler in the same time frame of a decade. Her book is a harrowing account of frustration, pain and loss. It is part memoir, part advice about journalism, one which struck a chord with me personally.” Lorraine smiled warmly, tapping the book on her lap. “I noticed you dedicated your book to your auntie, Tricia Collins. Why not to your parents?”

  “Aunt Tricia was a God send when my dad died. She helped my mom and I get our lives back together. Tric drove me to college, she helped mom put her clothes on in the morning when she didn’t want to get out of bed. She even had a couple of run-ins with the media who were camped outside the house.”

  “She sounds like an amazing woman.”

  “She was. She died six years ago from cancer.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. There’s something interesting about the way you write. It has a seriousness, sometimes I didn't feel I was reading a journalist’s work. To me, it was from behind the eyes of a private investigator.”

  “You’re not the first person to mention this. It was investigating, just like a detective as you said. It’s helped me grieve.”

  “What's made you go public with your story?”

  “I'm not the only person who lost family. My partner lost his parents too.”

  “Stripe’s partner is Isaac Payne, a computer engineer and CEO of artistic platform Virtisan. They met when Isaac contacted Stripe after reading one of her articles. Recently, his company went viral after Claudia Crow, a young aspiring actress showcased her talent on the website and from her internet fame, she managed to bag her first acting role. We approached him for comments but he declined. During the filming of this interview, he was standing quietly off camera with their lawyer,” the voice over said.

  “We asked Isaac for comments but he said he had nothing to say,” Lorraine responded, then she laughed. “He said you can handle this on your own.”

  “He’s right. I was trained for this type of work, Isaac’s not.” Stripe shrugged, smiling again, her eyes flicking to the side of the camera for a moment. “He’s not the type who wants to be in the limelight.”

  “As you talked about your first love in the memoir, it wasn’t a man, but a girl,” Lorraine said. “Do you consider yourself to be bisexual?”

  Stripe began to laugh, her cheeks throbbing red. She was staring off camera again, probably at her fiancé. “I used to, I tried dating girls when I was in college but it didn’t feel the same when I was with my-then girlfriend.”

  Jace glanced at Zippo. “I guess being a lesbian was a phase for her,” she uttered.

  “There’s a section in your book which peaked my interest about our love of entertainment in the crime and justice system. Do you think it’s something we’re all guilty of?” Lorraine asked.

  Stripe pursed her lips pensively. “I wouldn’t say we’re guilty of it. As a society, we all seem to have a fascination with serial killers because it doesn’t touch our everyday working lives. Okay, think of a famous serial killer...”

  “Richard Ramirez,” Lorraine replied. “The Night Stalker.”

  “See? Our minds don’t immediately race to the victims he killed, it’s the murderer who has the spotlight. It doesn’t mean we aren’t sympathetic; our fascination is with the serial killer. There were groups of young women who turned up at Ted Bundy’s trials (and Richard’s) because there was something, they found entrancing about him. It was a horror movie playing in thei
r own back yard. It didn’t make sense that this handsome, well-dressed man conducted such awful crimes. Realistically, these groupies would’ve been tools and prey to Ted.”

  “I agree. I also noticed that you talked about the internet and it’s tactful relationship with crime, when fights and attacks are uploaded online.” Lorraine peered down, opening up the book and began to read from the page. “You said and I quote: If I was lying in the sidewalk with blood pouring from my head and someone passing by decided to film me, rather than calling an ambulance, that person is culpable. They are just as guilty as the person who shoved me down into the sidewalk in the first place.” Lorraine looked up, leaning forward with intrigue. “What made you write this?”

  “It’s related to what I said before about our love of crime,” Stripe replied. “There were three people who were beaten and robbed in Los Angeles a couple of years back. It was filmed live and uploaded to Instagram. One of the victims was on the floor, their head cracked open like an egg and the person filming did nothing to help, they didn’t call the authorities, they just stood there, laughing, mocking the situation. The victim could’ve been dying. And in the end, the person filming didn’t get sent down or even fined. If you were being mugged and I was watching and recording you without calling nine-one-one, are you telling me you wouldn’t be angry?”

  “I’d want you to help me.”

  “Exactly. What frightens me about our generation now is when a fight breaks out, rather than help, people whip out their phones and publicize, as if the fight is some sort of entertainment. This goes back centuries and centuries when gladiators fought and killed each other to entertain the Roman citizens. It’s the same with those talent shows on the TV, they pick of group of individuals who can’t sing or dance and they broadcast it for our entertainment, to make them look foolish. I’m no angel, I’ve laughed at those individuals too, but it shows that we truly do have a fascination for violence, ridicule and evil. It’s something I want to teach my children to be mindful of.”

  “But what if your kids want to audition for those types of shows?”

  “If they do,” Stripe started, “there’s nothing I can do to stop them. It’s their choice, but I want them to think carefully, consider the pros and cons before they make a decision.”

  “Again, I couldn’t agree more,” Lorraine smiled. “Is there any particular message you want to project to your readers?”

  “Yes, I do,” Stripe replied. “You… can come back from anything. I hope my book offers some sort of closure for anyone who has come in contact with the Night Scrawler, or from any type of trauma in general. If not, some solace. You’re not alone out there. We can help.”

  Lorraine nodded with sympathy and understanding.

  Jace felt immediately guilty. They'd lost contact with her and Doug after high school, their lives separated by the desire of their studies. According to Facebook, Doug was running his own law firm in New York and he’d married a gorgeous business woman. He'd done well for himself, Jace was too scared to message him because time had moved in a rapid pace.

  Tears spilled down her cheeks when Stripe began to talk about her parents. She'd met Beverley a couple of times, always a welcoming loving person. She couldn't remember Peter very well, from what Stripe had said in the past, he wasn't at home much. She remembered attending the graduation after his death, her arm had been lashed around Stripe as she sat with her head bent forward, even Zippo was stumped to produce a joke.

  Her husband wiped a tear from her cheek. “What's the matter, hun?”

  “I should’ve been there for her,” Jace replied. “We should’ve tried harder.”

  “Baby, we didn't know. We were kids, what could we have done?”

  “Write, call, email. Done more.” They used MSN Messenger back in the day, except Jace and Zippo stayed in touch. After that night at the prom when they danced, she became a Bloom in no time after she received her fashion degree.

  Zippo caressed her waist. “I think it's so adorable you feel this way J but, you can't be there for everyone. What happened to Stripe was awful. She was the quietest and shyest one out of the group and look at her now, she's coped with it.”

  Jace nodded, kissing his knuckles. In a way, she knew her husband was right.

  Chapter Fifty

  I breathe in the lake air, enjoying the sensation of sunlight on my skin. I catch the glimmering smile on your face. You’re beautiful like this. Your skin practically glows.

  “You’re a feisty one,” you whisper to our son.

  Samuel wiggles as I push the stroller. He’s over six months now. His little arms stretch out, his tiny hands ball into fists, Sam loves fluffy toys, rolling around on his belly making car noises. He is an exact replica of his sister.

  “Momma!” Sofia shouts, clutching onto Daisy’s hand.

  Daisy, our Nanny had flown through a gruelling recruitment process with flashing colours. She’s been a brilliant addition to our household supporting during the weekdays. She’s a no-bullshit type of person with a degree in Childhood Education, it isn't a permanent post, but it’s good for now while the kids are young.

  “Wook, I found a wish!” Sofia exclaims.

  You smile. “And what are you going to do with it?”

  We watch our little raven-haired beauty scoop up the tiny fish from the water. Her hair is tied up in a ballerina bun courtesy of Daisy. Sofia is delicate with handling the little creature as if it is made of precious china. She turns to me; her smile still scares me now and then. “Daddy, help me!”

  I walk up to her, you automatically swoop in, taking over and push Sam’s stroller. I bounce Sofia into my arms, lifting her little size off the ground. She likes how tall I am, being able to see up high in the sky. Adapting to fatherhood has been a different experience every day. The first time you gave her to me when she was crying, I thought I was going to faint but as you’d said, she had to get used to me. When Sofia warmed to my presence, she fell asleep, her fingers clung onto my shirt as I put her to bed. I know I’m not the best dad in the world, but I like to think I’m trying.

  Sofia hands the fish to me, watching with quiet eagerness. I don’t like the way the fish convulses, wet and squidgy in my palm. I feel momentarily uncomfortable.

  “All you need to do is put it back in.” I throw the fish and it plonks into the lake. The fish jolts to life, swirling in the water. “See? He’s fine now.”

  Sofia leans over, gazing down. “He won’t die, will he?”

  “No, he’s fine honey.”

  The past few months have been crazy, events have whooshed past in a blur. Work and life have gone head to head. Virtisan sky rocketed since Claudia Crow, the young teenager who uploaded monologues from movies and plays. I’ve travelled and so have you, it was one of the reasons why we hired Daisy. We’re in a period where things are mad, I’m hoping they’ll calm down soon.

  You wanted to quit Titan News, to go freelance but Carla dug her heels in deep, offering a raise in salary. You received enough writing requests and with luck had a relatively good relationship with your boss so you agreed to stay. Then you got an offer from a publishing house to write a book and you took it. After what happened, you wouldn't stop writing. I was concerned for a while as you'd nurse Sofia, with your notepad propped up on your thriving belly, scribbling with creative madness. It was like a lust in your body.

  Samuel’s arrival into the world was a surprise to us both. I enjoyed watching your body transition in the stages of pregnancy. I made sure I attended every appointment and ultra sound scan. I don’t know what it was but seeing your body transform turned me on. You held this powerful beauty and yes, your swelling breasts was an added bonus. You kept telling me to shut up every time I told you how beautiful you looked, you dismissed my words and started comparing yourself to a pregnant hippopotamus, especially on the bad days when you wrestled with nausea and back pain. You were adorable, and so cute, sex was interesting, it took some time but we both enjoyed ourselves. Tow
ards the end of your pregnancy, Sofia asked curious questions about why you walked like a penguin. I remembered feeling helpless when you plummeted into the agony of labour. I remember the concerned look on the maternity assistant’s face when you were squeezing my hand and I wasn’t flinching with pain. I must admit, I felt like collapsing when I held my new-born son in my arms.

  We’ve had some intriguing visitors, one of them was Charles Libby. He wasn’t how I pictured him at all. He reminded me of a druid, he was lanky with long grey hair strapped back in a ponytail and an ashen beard, looking like a wizard. He was a very kind person; he spoke in a sweet gentle manner.

  “So this is the tall glass of milk you’ve been talking about?” Charles quipped to you when you introduced us. I liked his sense of humour and his clean-cut Queens accent. He loved my tattoos. I enjoyed seeing you two interact, there was something fatherly about him. Sofia adored him too, she thought he was Santa Claus at first.

  Another visit was by an elderly lady called Mary Summers. She’d helped you with the investigation of Heather Blair. I owed this woman so much. I didn’t want her to know I was the mystery baby, but she looked pretty freaked out when she saw me, even more when she held Sam in her arms. When I bent down to hug her, she cupped my cheek, gazing into my eyes. Now and then, I wonder if she figured it out or not.

  “Guess who facebooked me yesterday?” you ask as we walk, disturbing me from my thoughts.

  I shrug as I cuddle our daughter. “Who?”

  “Jace from high school.”

  I remember her, not like you did. “Oh cool. Is she okay?”

  “Yeah, she’s doing really well. She married Zippo and they have kids! Didn’t think there was anything going on between them back then, I must have missed something. I guess I was too in love with Cameron Storms.”