Forgive Me

by Kateri Stanley

  I smile at you warmly.

  Someone approaches us. I advance, my curiosity not at a kind level. The man holds a book and his smile was so big, his mouth could've cut someone. I see it in bold writing:

  The Night Scrawler Chronicles, a memoir by Stripe McLachlan.

  “I haven’t been able to put it down,” the guy responds.

  Your cheeks blush a rosy pink. You still aren’t used to the compliments since the book release and the Lorraine Thurman interview. You should be proud of what you've achieved but I know you don't want it to go to your head.

  The guy turns to me and his eyes grow like saucers. “Holy crap, you're Isaac Payne! I love your website! My friend’s managed to get some art work commissioned from publishing her paintings on there.”

  “Thank you,” I reply. Inside I’m so happy my work has managed to help someone. “Congratulations to your friend. That was the whole point I started it in the first place.”

  “Can I get a picture with the two of you?” he asks.

  You look at me with silent worry.

  “That's fine,” I say. “We don't want our children in the picture.”

  “No, of course not.”

  Daisy heads to the park café, she’ll meet us later and whisks off with Sofia clutching her hand and Sam in the stroller. The man turns to his companion who takes a photo on their phone. My arm is around your waist, pulling you against me. I make sure I’m positioned next to him instead of you. Strangers aren’t your biggest love right now. They aren’t mine either.

  Evening times is when I worry about you the most. I check on our children as the nights tumble into darkness. Sofia is already asleep, clutching her little teddy bear, sucking on her pacifier. Sam is resting peacefully in his cot.

  You stare at the trees outside, your hands framing your belly protectively. There are so many questions I want to ask but I stop myself, I have to shake the thought of your expression staring down the barrel of that gun, heaving the crate of petrol.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask, walking towards you.

  “Am I a good person?”

  I’m taken back by your words. “Of course you are.”

  “Am I?” You laugh, a deep snigger under your breath. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

  “What’s brought this on?”

  “I don’t like the silence.”

  “Stripe, you need it once in a while. I know busyness is a good distraction but-”

  “She’s in my head, Isaac,” you say, cutting me off. “She won’t stop.”

  “Who’s in your head?”

  “My mom.”

  I hold your beautiful face in my hands. “Hey, it wasn’t your fault.”

  Your eyes grow cloudy. “But I could have stopped it. If only I'd listened. Now, she's on her own, lying in the ground. Alone. So are Ted and Grace.”

  “Stripe,” I whisper. I don't want to think about my parents, not right now. I have enough guilt floating around me till the day I die.

  “Help me forget,” you whisper so intimately. Your clothes fall to the ground and you lean forward, kissing me ferociously. “Fuck me, please. She keeps talking to me.”

  I lie you in our bed, the one where we conceived Sofia, where you discovered the truth about me. I don't want to be too rough. You have enough bruises and scars.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Stripe was drenched in sweat when she woke up. Her joints ached with sexual pain and she swung her legs off the bed. After all the lovemaking, Beverley still managed to squeeze through the cracks in her subconscious, spewing accusations about her father and the blame for not saving her from the dreadful Isaiah. She still had cuts and internal injuries from his attacks.

  Stripe pulled on one of Isaac's shirts and moved to the cot by their bedside, her legs wobbling slightly. Sam stirred in his sleep, gripping his little feet. He'd inherited the same dark hair and ice blue eyes of his father. She wondered if he was going to look like Isaac when he was fully grown.

  She moved to her daughter’s room who’d kicked off her blanket, her pacifier had popped out but Stripe wasn't worried and placed it back in her mouth.

  She walked to the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water. She'd grown more comfortable in Isaac's home, even with those tall trees looming outside. Sometimes, late at night she'd mistake them for giants. The heat radiating from her skin was stifling but the nightmare was ten times worse.

  “Your father is such a disappointment,” Beverley’s voice edged into the room.

  Stripe turned, dropping the glass. “Momma?”

  Beverley sat in the corner chair, shadows hiding her face. “Your father is a disgrace. He keeps wanting to talk to me, to explain about why he was such a secretive bastard. He doesn’t get the God damn hint, I don’t want to be around him. Those children are petrified if they even catch a glimpse of his face. He’s completely lost his mind. I swear Stripe, if I’d known back then, I would’ve divorced him in a heartbeat. I would’ve moved us miles away, from all of it.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Stripe whispered. “I’m the one to blame.”

  “Stripe, don’t…”

  The wind blew outside making her turn. Stripe saw a shadow creeping out from Sofia's bedroom window. She pried the knife from the guard box, her knuckles tightening around the handle. She kept her tread light. Everything was quiet, until she saw the stranger outside her house. “You. I've been dreaming about you for a very long time.”

  The lumberjack was tall as her father had promised.

  Stripe threatened him with the knife. “Are you protecting my family? You didn’t do a good job before.”

  He cocked his head, thinking. He propped the axe by the wall, raising his hands above his shoulders.

  You’re half asleep. I won't hurt you. I love you, his voice was so intimate. The way it danced, caressing her ear. He removed his mask, she stepped back in shock.

  Her fingers framed his face. “Your eyes are so beautiful.”

  Stripe opened her shirt, dropping the knife to the leafy ground, an offering to him. The lumberjack gazed at her naked skin, a keen hunger rising. He looked at her, shaking his head and he closed her shirt. He stared for the longest time, before he pressed his lips to her forehead.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Little Sofia Payne pulled her teddy towards her chest and munched on her pacifier. They'd been to the park for the day and she was tired from running and playing. She missed Dolly, her cute purple haired princess, a gift from her sitter, Daisy. She wasn’t sure what had happened to her beloved toy, her tiny head had caved in under her palm after she’d combed her hair. Her mommy explained that toys only had a small shelf life and they broke, especially if they were played with for hours. Sofia had been gentle with brushing Dolly’s hair and she’d only been playing with her for a couple of weeks. Did she crush Dolly?

  Sofia saw her friend standing outside her window. He always came to see her at night, just for a few minutes. He was very tall, taller than her daddy. He wore black and his face was covered in a mask. He constantly watched over her; she wasn't frightened of him, not like that other monster from before.

  The twins crawled out from the bushes outside, they weren’t scared of him either. They lived in the woods; they were never clean and they didn’t have names. Sometimes she saw her grandmother outside her window, telling her to go to sleep, the twins hugged her legs as if they were scared of something. They wanted to play hide and seek, but it was sleepy time. They pressed their hands to the window in a loving gesture.

  Sofia climbed out of her cot, swinging her teddy bear. They really took a shine to her fluffy toy. Sofia placed her hand against the glass, smiling back at the twins, her palm over theirs. She loved her two best friends. She wanted to introduce them to her brother but he was too small for playing, he couldn’t walk yet.

  Sofia told them to come back in the morning, blowing them a kiss. They blew one back and scurried into the bushes. She felt a pinch in her hand and inspected he
r palm, noticing a tiny red line. She didn’t know where it had come from.

  She retreated back to bed, hugging Teddy, whispering about playtime for the next day. She inspected her hand again; the little red line had vanished.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  “What are you doing here?” I ask the intruder.

  She stands by Sam’s cot, her blue eyes peering down, her long dark hair falling over her pale skin. Her arms are dotted with hideous purple bruises, she’s a mere shadow of what she once was, she looks so different than she did in the headshot.

  My son twists in his sleep, his feet getting caught in the blanket. Her fingers hover to touch his shoulder, then she hears the sudden threatening click of my knuckles as my hands ball into fists.

  “I just wanted to…” Heather whispers. She’s frightened of me, and I hope she’s scared. “I just wanted to see my grandchild. He looks so much like my baby.”

  “You mean the one you abandoned?” I stand up, walking towards her, towering over her fragile figure. I’m older than her now. “The one you sold for money?”

  “I didn’t want to abandon you, Isaac. I couldn’t look after you in my state.” Heather begins to scratch her arms. She can’t look me in the eye. “I couldn’t be the mother you needed.”

  “You never were,” I reply. “Grace Payne was my real mother, and she didn’t deserve to die.”

  “No, she didn’t. I know you’re disappointed in me, you have every right to be.”

  A surge wants to erupt behind my eyes, I hate that I share the same colour eyes and hair of this woman. “Disappointed is not even the word.”

  “Please, Isaac. I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

  An ache erupts in my chest. “Get out of my sight. If you come back here again, I’ll kill you…even if you are dead.”

  Heather’s sorrowful pleading voice sends a shiver down my spine and the sound of glass shatters from the kitchen. I glance to the bed, you’re not there and I think the worst. I check on Sam and Sofia, they’re fine, swimming in slumber land.

  My senses grow with instinct as I see the kitchen knife has disappeared and the shards of glass sprinkled along the floor. The door to the drive way is open and my mind races with possibilities and outcomes. I rush out of the door, keeping in mind of the precious cargo inside the house. I utter your name as I see you.

  “You,” you whisper. “I’ve been dreaming about you for a very long time.”

  My heart breaks, I hate seeing you like this. I hate your suffering yet I know I created this darkness. I’m responsible for your demons and I wish I can save you.

  The knife is loose in your hand, you poke the blade at me. “Are you protecting my family? You didn’t do a good job before.”

  I am your family. So is Sofia and Sam. I edge towards you, keeping my hands above my head so you can see I won’t hurt you.

  “You’re half asleep. I won’t hurt you,” I utter softly. “I love you.”

  I step closer yet you walk backwards, not from fear, but from realisation. I drop to my knees, looking up at you. Searching for the truth has come at a price.

  A tiny smile flames at your lips and your hands cradle my face. “Your eyes are so beautiful.” You begin to open your shirt and the knife falls from your hand. What are you doing?

  I touch your cheek, shaking my head. Then I see it, you realise what’s just happened. Your illusion breaks.

  “Isaac,” you whisper. “I…I…”

  I kiss your forehead, hugging you to me. “Don’t be scared.”

  You don’t have to explain. We’re both fucked up in our own little way, except I have a lot more to work through. I hold you until you begin to cry. I pull you into my arms, picking you up off the ground. We need to get back inside.

  I hear the leaves rustle behind me. My back shivers and my muscles harden. I glance over my shoulder and I see them. The ghosts from my past.

  Peter, Gerald, Sheila, Victoria, Paul, the green cloaked guard from the forest…

  They stare at me, frozen in the moment, blood caking their skin, time eating at their flesh. I head inside the house. I can feel their eyes burning into my skin. I swallow my grief and pity. They don’t want it. They want blood. My blood.

  I’m sorry.

  Please.

  Forgive me.

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