Forgive Me Page 12

  “If the police knew about this, they’d lock me up in another lab and dissect my body for studies and more experimentation.”

  Stripe stepped back, shining the light in his face. “Who else knows?”

  “You and my parents. Nobody else.”

  Stripe shined the light on the wall where the camera had probably been positioned. “But how could this happen in the first place? How would they get the authority?”

  “I don’t know. Power is destructive and dangerous, Stripe.”

  She saw a desk behind Isaac and she edged nearer to examine it. She saw something which made her heart freeze. It’s been years but it still hurts. Propped on the desk was a wooden photo frame of a woman and a young girl. Stripe recognised the figures all too well. Her mother's auburn locks and her beautiful hazel eyes. She saw the child she once was, young and innocent, fascinated with the fictional creatures of the night. She remembered when this photo had been taken. It was before Christmas; they’d gone to the mall for present buying and her dad had promised a visit to Santa’s Grotto. He lied. She never got to see the big jelly man in his red suit with his sponge white beard or his little elf helpers. She remembered being sad in the car during the drive home. That was a long time ago.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “You didn’t think I was telling the truth did you,” Isaac said quietly.

  Stripe observed the photograph in her hands.

  “Even after the tape?” Isaac continued.

  Stripe shook her head; her mouth began to tremble. “I-I admired my dad. I strived to be accepted by him. He loved science like I love journalism. There were times when he wasn’t there. He’d leave our holidays early, vanish out of the house at three in the morning in his pyjamas. I’d go to school and he still wasn’t there. My mom says now and then that I remind her of him sometimes, same eye colour, apparently our personalities matched. Now, I don’t know what to think anymore…”

  “I’m sorry, Stripe.” Isaac knew what it was like to strive for somebody’s affection and acceptance. He knew the bitter taste of resignation when the opposing person was never going to reciprocate or appreciate him for who he was. “I’m sorry this is hurting you.”

  The sight of her getting upset was breaking his heart. The pink colour in her cheeks had drained, pain sunk, biting into her voice. She knows the truth now. She’d seen her old man for who he really was.

  Even in his stature, he wasn't quick enough to catch her fleeing. Isaac saw the knife clatter to the ground with frantic feet hurrying. He took off after her, shouting her name, pleading for her to come back but he couldn’t hear anything as if the slow shock had infected his hearing.

  He tracked her footpath as she disappeared from the dreadful cocoon of his shattered childhood. He saw the swishing of the flashlight. the double doors crashing open. Her figure melted into the light outside. Isaac shouted again, there was still no sound, just fire throbbing in his throat. He launched into a run with his hands bound behind his back. It was difficult but he followed, trailing her scent.

  Isaac honed in on her footing. He saw the outline of her sneakers; she was moving back towards his car. Her heartbeat pulsed in his ears. It was as if she was sending tremors and vibrations transmitting her disgust and despair. But she had to know. She had to. She couldn’t live the rest of her life in a lie.

  He followed the pulses until he identified another presence. Its heartbeat was deep and unshaken. He traced the intention it yearned for and he heard it, a pure and raw scream.

  Isaac bolted, Stripe had made it down the gulley, her back was up against a tree and in front of her growling was a shabby grey tatty wolf. It was an omega hunting on its own, cut off, kicked out from its pack. Isaac knew from its scarred face that he was hunting to get approval. It was an outcast, just like he’d been.

  The wolf clocked his presence, baring its sharp teeth. Isaac ran forwards. The wolf charged knocking the wind out of Isaac, pressing and pushing on his chest, sinking its claws into his skin. Isaac moved his hips trying to barge the wolf out of the way. It snapped its jaws, grazing his skin. As his hands were bound, he pulled his knees up wiggling and crashing against the animal. Isaac saw Stripe over its curled shoulder and she hit the snarling animal with a large branch.

  The wolf staggered from him, dazed and angry giving Isaac enough time to loop his hands under his knees and over his feet. The wolf lunged at Stripe, baring spit from its dripping fangs. Isaac snatched it from the air in mid leap, he wrapped his arms around its neck and tensed his muscles and began to squeeze. Isaac saw Stripe watch in horror as the wolf pushed out a cry of pain and fear. It didn’t want to die, it just needed to survive. Isaac didn’t want to do it but he had no choice. I’m sorry. Isaac shunted the wolf’s neck and he heard the bone snap. The body dropped into his arms, the fur tickled his palm and he threw the lifeless corpse to the ground.

  Stripe got to her feet, her hands were shaking. “You killed it.”

  “Because if I hadn't, it would’ve hurt you.”

  Stripe’s stomach reacted, spewing vomit onto the grass, she was still gripping the photo frame. Isaac tensed the muscles in his chest and pulled the handcuffs apart. The metal shattered as they disintegrated. Stripe began to cry again, the veins in her neck tensing with her stomach convulsions. Isaac knelt beside her; pulling her blonde hair as she retched. Look what you’ve done to her. He watched how the truth had poisoned her body. He whispered her name with pain shining in her eyes. I’m sorry, Stripe. He hooked his arms underneath her legs lifting her up. Stripe's head rocked against his chest and he threw her into his arms. The stench of her wasn't pleasant but he’d been around worse.

  He took her back to his car lying her in the back seat and fetched a bottle of water from the drawer. “Drink Stripe,” he said.

  After he watched several gulps go down, Isaac hitched into the driving seat and drove back to the house. Isaac watched her in the rear-view mirror crying in the backseat. I shouldn’t have shown her. She was gripping onto the photograph like it was a life ring. But, she had to know.

  It had begun to rain again and even the wipers weren't doing a good job to drown out her cries. By the time, they'd got back to his house. Stripe had fallen asleep with the photograph bound across her chest like a tomb statue.

  “Stripe,” he whispered gently. “Stripe, wake up.”

  Isaac carried her inside. He peeled off the vomit-soaked jumper. He helped her to the stool in the kitchen and switched on his coffee machine. The awkward silence was agonising. He had to do something.

  “I’m sorry you had to see those things,” he whispered. “If you want to leave, I understand.” He indicated to the front door. “You're free to go.”

  “What if I called the cops?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t but you can if you want. I can't stop you.”

  “I could ruin your life.”

  “I know but I’d rather you not be here, especially if you're frightened or repulsed by me. I’ve caused you enough distress as it is…”

  “I'm not scared or disgusted.”

  “You’re not?”

  “I don’t know what to think anymore. Everything’s so different now.”

  “Do you want something to eat?” he asked. “You probably should. You’re body’s crashing. I can tell.”

  “Sure,” Stripe uttered nervously.

  Isaac moved around to the cupboards and sizzled a couple of eggs and strips of bacon in a pan. They didn’t speak to each other as they ate. Isaac sipped his coffee between gulps. Stripe stared out at the windows but her mind was elsewhere.

  “What do you reckon you’d be doing if you hadn’t escaped?” she finally asked.

  He’d had several nightmares about his potential alternative future, encouraging his body to sweat like he was vacating in the Bahamas. “I’ve thought about it. Killing probably.”

  Her stare hardened. “You’ve done plenty of that already.”

  Her words sliced through him. Peter was the last
one.

  “I’d use you for assassination…” Stripe said. “Get you to bump people off quietly, make it look like an accident.”

  Isaac saw an electricity in her quizzical stare, it unnerved him, she wasn’t scared, or angry. She was curious. “Probably. I was a mindless drone to annihilate a target at the first command.”

  “How did you cope?”

  “I had no choice. It was either that or give up. It took a long time for me to be comfortable with people touching me again. I haven’t cried since I escaped, there’s just something in my body that won’t let me…”

  Stripe nodded as she listened. “Because crying was a weakness?”

  Isaac smiled sadly; he didn’t need to say anything.

  Stripe placed the photo frame up against the wall, Isaac felt cornered as she got up from the stool, walking towards him. Her eyes weren't singing with tears or pain, but something urgent and primal.

  “Stripe,” he whispered.

  Her lips found his, suffocating him, their breath mingling. Isaac’s heart raced when his mind was cast back to high school, he’d missed the feel of her in his arms, he could hear Prince’s voice, singing those bittersweet words. He cradled her, supporting the back of her head as they kissed. Her taste hadn’t soured, she’d grown and ripened. She was taking control.

  Isaac fell back against the kitchen counter, tasting her, his fingers delving and gripping her hair. He picked her up as she clawed at his back. The desire was building up. He carried her to the bedroom, the one he’d chained her to. They fell onto the bed, lost in each other's touch, their mouths dancing. An instinct began to pull at her top. He yanked it off, throwing it to the floor. This can’t be happening.

  Stripe groaned lovingly as Isaac bent down and began to plant ceremonious kisses along her subtle neck and stomach. He revelled every time her body responded, every time she gasped and groaned into his ear. Isaac pulled off her pants. He stared as she lay before him, unwrapped like a present. Her naked body was more beautiful in real life than it was in his imagination.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

  She nodded and he unbuttoned his pants, casting his clothes to the floor. He felt his insecurities flood his mind as Stripe watched him, observing his physique. She ran her fingers up along his tattooed arm, caressing the bumps and scars hidden by painted trees and streams. A tribute to the motherly comfort of the forests, his first home after he escaped.

  Isaac moved timidly, lying over her like a blanket, their lips uniting once again. He hooked her leg over his hip. He laid a trail of kisses along her neck and grabbed her breast as she squirmed in pleasure. He kissed her between her legs, tasting the sweet nectar. He smiled in triumph as she moaned, her fingers wrapping deep into the bed sheets.

  “Are you really sure you want to do this?” Isaac asked softly. “It's okay if you don't.”

  Stripe nodded again and Isaac kissed her lips. He ran his fingers through her hair and his other hand entwined in her fingers, pushing her deeper into the bed. She gasped as he entered her but it wasn't from pain. The sensations were overwhelming. Isaac let himself become lost in her skin, in her love, in her everything.

  The sound of the rain shook her awake, the Night Scrawler and Peter fogging into pale mist. Stripe turned over, feeling a body by her side and watched Isaac sleep. His breathing was mild and steady, there was a reflection of peace on his face. As if their recent actions had melted secret tortures and fears he’d been trying to supress. It was bizarre, only the day before, she'd been chained to this bed she was now sharing with her kidnapper and her high school sweetheart.

  She moved off the bed, Isaac didn't stir and she kept her treading light. She slid into her clothes that were strewn from their passion. The stench of the vomit from before made her heave but she pushed past the smell and crept out of the bedroom. Something in her gut twisted. Snap out of it. And move your ass. She listened to the voice and found her keys and the photo from the bunker, tucking it under her arm. She opened the front door, watching it swing open without effort. She glanced back at the bedroom, there was no figure watching her, only silence

  Stripe stepped over the threshold, the trees around the house were dripping with rainwater. She was leaving all of her equipment behind; she couldn’t bring it with her or else he’d wake up. She’d tell Carla they broke whilst she was interviewing Isaac, by the time she got home to write, the damage had been done. She’d pencil something when she was safe, tapping out a couple of pages, she had plenty of material in her mind to wrap something together. Stripe got to her car and threw the photo on the backseat. Her phone screen was crowded with worried texts from Beverley and Carla. She’d phone to reassure them when she had distance in her favour. Stripe put the key in the ignition, wrapping her aching fingers around the steering wheel. Breathe. She took a final look at the house. I’m sorry, Isaac. She started the car and drove away.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Summer 2017

  Anna Crawford stooped over her research paper. She was driving herself crazy with headings, indexes, formatting, word counts and there was probably some other important academic bravado she needed to add. Her head was beginning to fog, pulsing with a dull ache. Her eyes twitched, switching between the computer screen and her text books. High school could not end sooner. She needed a mental health break. If she kept on working, she’d have to deal with a monster of a migraine. She heard the popping sounds from the kitchen and went to retrieve her popcorn, hoping the salty buttered goodness would inspire some relief and encouragement.

  Her parents had gone out to a glitzy charity soiree. She was home alone, again. Anna loved the freedom; she was eager to experience the college life, to have the ability to explore and do things without the consent of her parents. Her brother Patrick used to go on all sorts of trips across the country and she envied him. She didn't want to be cooped up in a little town to be destined for some rich executive. Safety and salary were a valuable thing to her parents.

  Anna grabbed her snack. The phone rattled from the wall in the hallway noisily. It made her jump. Her friend pretended to do the scary phone voice from the movie, Scream.

  “That's not funny, Tammy,” she replied. “You do realise there's an active serial killer out there.”

  Even though her parents were trying their best to shield her from the hideousness of the real world, they couldn't cage every detail from slipping through the cracks. News had gone viral now. Kids talked to each other, kids used technology, infiltrating the power of the big blue internet. At the touch of a screen, kids could find things out. Three school girls, similar age to Anna had been murdered during a sleepover. They all attended a school not too far from her home.

  “Damon said the girls were hacked to pieces,” Tammy said. “The killer wrote words on the wall in their blood!”

  Anna’s stomach performed an acrobatic flip. “Do we really have to talk about it? I’m trying to finish my paper.”

  “Have you not heard the news?” Tammy asked, slightly perplexed.

  “No, why?”

  “There’s been another murder, another couple like the Craigs.”

  They chatted for a little while longer, mostly Anna listening to Tammy gushing about Damon Wiggins, from his tongue piercing to his red and black motorcycle. She wasn’t sure if he was a suitable companion for her friend. She heard he dabbled in the occasional illegal drug, smoking certain green plants she couldn’t say out loud and he knew how to hack Facebook accounts. He was a fraper, according to Tammy. He took over profiles and wrote obscene messages on their statuses conjuring up false stories like an apparent coming out of the closet or a drunken pregnancy gone wrong. It wasn’t something Anna found admiring at all.

  After they said their goodbyes, Anna hung up fast and sharp so the conversation couldn’t continue. She carried her bowl of popcorn back to the hallway, muttering about Damon. She ascended the stairs, stopping when she saw the door to the back garden was open.

  “Ann
a...”

  The voice was soft, but she didn’t recognise it. The bowl slipped from her grasp; popcorn spilling across the steps. Standing at the top like it was a throne was a figure. He was clad in black, breathing heavy through a gas mask, an axe shining and swinging in his right hand.

  Anna ran for the back door when her body was lifted off the floor and his biceps began to crush her ribcage. The intruder ripped off his gas mask and grabbed the back of her head. Anna's hollow screams were suddenly silenced as the intruder pressed his lips against hers. She heard his voice faint in her ear:

  “So... beautiful.”

  Not another, the woman thought. Her stomach plummeted as she watched the news:

  “The bodies of Valerie Walker and Duncan Gregory have been found early this morning. They were on their third date, had dinner at Bella Italia and saw a horror movie. They weren't answering their phones and their families found it bizarre neither returned home. In the early hours of the morning, Melvin Leachman, a retired train engineer was walking his dog when he found Gregory's car and two bodies. We are unable to comment if this has anything to do with the Night Scrawler at this time.”

  She changed the channel in disgust, glancing at her baby sleeping on her chest. She swayed from side to side, rocking her to keep her snoozing.

  The Night Scrawler. She moved into the hallway, listening for the movements of her new house guest. He'll enjoy this. It gives him a purpose. Fucking media. We always know how to cater to the criminally insane.

  She went upstairs and put her daughter in her crib, touching the side of her head. “I love you, little one,” she whispered.

  The woman retrieved the baby monitor from her bedside table and locked the door. Since she'd heard about the murders, her paranoia had inspired her to buy a lock for her bedroom.

  She kept her composure as she edged downstairs. The door to the basement was cold and eerie and she made sure the hammer she had was adequate to hide up her sleeve or behind her back. As she entered, she heard his breathing light and low and her skin was trembling underneath her gown. She reached the end of the steps, thankfully he was still bound to his seat. She said his name and his head rose slowly, his blue eyes staring back.