Forgive Me Page 7

  He started to giggle.

  “I’m being serious now, Isaac.”

  He smirked. “What do you mean? That's my mom and dad, Grace and Ted Payne. We were at a party celebrating the website launch. I told you, I didn’t know Cameron. She was in my class, but I never got to know her personally.”

  “Well, you weren’t sure at first. You said she was a he, before I corrected you.” There was something about his laughter she wasn’t enjoying. “I know it sounds dumb but, I’m positive that's her mom. The reason I know is because I’ve seen her before, I’ve been in the same room as her.”

  Stripe had seen her perched on the edge of a seat, her hair cut short to her chin, her posture straight like a soldier. She was putting on the act to save her daughter’s terrible reputation, Stripe remembered Beverley pleading with Principal Charlotte and Coach Lucy, the feeling of being in trouble was so unsettling.

  My daughter never gets into fights...

  Stripe could vouch that the woman on the screen said those cutting words to Beverley: Neither does my daughter.

  “Are you related to Cameron? I mean, you do have a likeness. Very similar eyes, and hair colour.”

  “No, I’m not.” Isaac replied, smiling.

  “You’re not cousins then? Cameron did say she was an only child.”

  “No, not related in the slightest iota. Do you want another coffee?”

  “Yes, thanks.” And wipe off the charm.

  Isaac rose and started making her drink. “I think my mom just looks like Cameron’s mother. It’s coincidental. People can appear similar to each other, even if they live on the other side of the globe.” He returned back with her coffee. “I can promise you right now that Grace Payne is not her, also I’m not Cameron’s brother, cousin, lover, friend. You name it.”

  Stripe felt the blush of embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I felt as if I was staring into my past when I saw the picture.” She swigged her coffee. “When I think about high school and what happened, I really needed Cameron back then. But it was as if she was gone in a puff of smoke.”

  Cameron hadn’t showed up at graduation after senior prom, an awful time for Stripe. Everything was raw and festering, a gaping hole in her chest she had to carry around. Pain everyone could see, no matter how many smiles she faked. When Stripe’s name got called at the ceremony, she heard some polite claps but the whispers were louder. People didn’t know how to react to her, even the razor mouth of Christopher Maxwell with his fresh bruises kept his distance.

  “I understand. Were you two close?”

  She thought about it. We were in love. “In a way, yeah.”

  “I’m-I’m sorry. About what happened to your dad. I can't even fathom what it would be like to lose a parent.”

  “It’s okay, you don’t need to apologise. Just forget about what I said before. But... there is something else.”

  “What is it?”

  “You never asked me about my first name. Everybody asks me about it.”

  Isaac glanced at the floor. “I think your name is interesting but it isn’t something I’d ask straightaway. Why?”

  “I don’t know. There’s something about you. It’s silly but...have we met before?”

  Blood rushed to her head, flooding her vision and the room was beginning to spin. Her stomach wrenched, nausea swelling, clenching in her throat.

  “Are you okay?” Isaac asked. “You’ve gone pale.”

  “I-I don’t feel well. I better get out of your hair.” She stood up and the walls were shrinking. “I just...I need to get some air.” Stripe ran forwards but her knees buckled beneath her. She didn’t remember her body hitting the ground; instead she plummeted, falling into the boundless dark.

  It always started off the same way. She was in the corner of his bedroom, covered in a blanket of darkness, an invisible barrier stopping her from intervening. She was screaming but no sound was exploding from her throat. Her father’s eyes were wide in fear as the Night Scrawler’s axe hammered at his body, blow by blow sending spurts of blood across the room. Stripe bashed her fists, kicked her feet, smashing against the invisible wall. Some celestial power was keeping her stuck, unable to help. She cursed at the Night Scrawler, wishing him all inconceivable pain and torment, screaming to high heaven.

  The masked villain ignored her as he wrote in her father’s blood, smearing dripping letters across the wall:

  MONSTER

  Her father wasn’t any of the kind. He was a brilliant intelligent man, a man of science and academia. Why would someone want to hurt him? He didn’t deserve this, neither did Gerald Blair, Sheila Martin, Victoria Faith or Paul Shannon. The Night Scrawler had singled them out for one purpose – execution. He left a message for the rest of the world purposely to decipher and analyse:

  SADIST, PIG, UGLY and LIAR.

  No matter how many times Stripe had gone through it, she was still left wondering why. The victims weren’t involved in crime, no records of any sort, the killer targeted innocent hard-workers, with intellect just as profound as Peter McLachlan.

  A burning sensation brewed in Stripe’s throat as her energy was zapping, trickling like sand in an hour glass. The Night Scrawler turned, facing her, watching momentarily. He arched his head in contemplation. Even though her body was exhausted, she was ready for a fight. She shouted at him to touch her; she wasn’t scared. The killer raised his axe, walking towards her, a drop of her father’s blood fell off the tip of the metal. It hit her naked feet.

  He dropped his weapon, his shoulders relaxing in resignation. Stripe stepped back in shock; he was giving up. There was a beat of silence when he leaned forward, his fingers crossing her personal space, dodging the divine dominance which was keeping her caged. He stroked her face, gloved fingers caressing her cheek. The blood of Peter, a daughter’s love warm on her skin.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  The Night Scrawler sighed in response, he grasped the nose of his mask and began to pull it off, revealing a chin and curled lips. And that was how her dream always ended.

  The smell of leaves wafted under her nose when she regained consciousness. Stripe opened her eyes slowly, her vision cloudy but the more she blinked, her surroundings bled into view.

  She was in a four-poster bed with thick white marshmallow covers and the mattress was the softest she’d ever slept in. She had the radiant view of Mother Nature and luckily, an en-suite bathroom to protect her modesty. There was a big bookcase by the wall and the endless sea of trees stretching up into the sky outside. Her arms were weak, an ache throbbed in her foot. She pulled her head up from the pillow. Double shit, I must’ve fainted. Well done, Stripe. Great way to scare the client.

  Isaac stood by the bedroom door; his arms crossed over his chest. Stripe felt the pit of shame hit her stomach. “How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

  I must’ve freaked the shit out of him. Carla will never let me forget this. I should’ve never started talking about Cameron Storms. Note to self: clearly still too much of a delicate subject and it triggered my anxiety. I thought I obliterated it. Fucking therapy. What the hell was I thinking?

  “Embarrassed.” Stripe pulled the covers back and she stared down at long silver fingers which were wrapped around her ankle. She wouldn’t be able to walk freely without a key.

  “I’m sorry, Stripe,” Isaac replied. “I didn’t want to do this but I’ve ran out of options.”

  Chapter Ten

  Summer 2017

  The girls congregated in a circle after they watched Scream and The Hills Have Eyes. It was Amber’s choice because of sexy Skeet Ulrich and the swarthy Aaron Stanford. Then it was time for scary stories. At every sleepover, someone had to tell a horrifying tale. It could be anything from an urban legend like The Candyman, a creepy pasta they’d seen on YouTube like Laughing Jack or Ticci Toby. Movies, horror novels and anything harrowing from the news were not allowed to be included. They knew bad things happened in the world but they didn’t want to be reminded o
f it on their weekend of freedom. They wanted to have a good time, fill up on ice cream and scare each other for a snigger.

  The weekend before Janice chose the creepy pasta, Jeff the Killer. Mallory chose to go with something different, the story of The Lumberjack.

  “In the deep South there lived a family, a father, a mother and their son. I’ll call them Edward, Edythe and William, or Billy for short,” Mallory started. “They lived in the woods and kept to themselves. A war was on. Men and boys had to go and fight for their country. You see, this family weren’t a burden to anybody, not even to the grizzly bears who lived nearby. Edward was a lumberjack, he cut down trees for a living, Billy helped out when he could. Edythe home-schooled Billy and looked after the home. They weren’t a bother to anyone.

  One day, Edward was gassing squirrels. They lived high up in the branches so smell bombs had to be used in order to get them to come out before the trees were chopped. A mask had to be worn due to the potency of the bombs, the aroma was quite strong. Three marshals came across their forest home. Edythe was anxious when she saw them. Now, you must understand just because this family kept to themselves, didn’t mean they weren’t kind or hospitable. People moved through the woods, on jobs, backpacking all the time and the family were there to offer a hand if it was needed. But, you know when you get a feeling in your gut that something bad might happen?

  Edward felt this way, especially with the leader of the group. He looked as rough as a bear with an untruthful gleam in his eye. Something didn’t smell right.

  “What can I help you with boys?” Edward asked, pulling his gas mask off. His axe firm in hand.

  “We’ve been walking all day and we’re pretty tired,” the leader said. “Could we sleep here, Sir? We'll leave first thing in the morning. We won’t be a bother.”

  The other men behind him nodded in unison.

  Edward wasn’t going to have these men stay in his home or around his family. “Sorry boys,” he said politely. “We don’t have enough room for all of you. There’s a tavern just up the creek, it's only a short walk.”

  The men laughed and Edward’s gut tightened, his fingers gripping the axe.

  “But we’d have to pay to stay in the tavern,” the leader replied.

  “Sorry boys,” Edward said, moving in front of his wife. “You’re good men of the law, I’m sure they’ll let you in for free. I’m afraid I can’t help you but as I said, the tavern is just a short walk. You’ll get there before dark. My wife can give you some bread for your journey if you want it.” Edward held his ground, staring them out.

  “Do you have any children?” the leader asked.

  “Not one,” Edward replied boldly. “We wanted to have some but we weren’t blessed with any. I can’t be angry though, I’ve got a roof over my head, food in my belly. Got a lot to be thankful for.”

  “Well we’re watching out for deserters and I think you’ve been hiding your son so he didn’t have to fight. When there’s boys dying out there, bleeding for you and he’s wrapped up all nice an warm.” The leader edged nearer. “I know he’s here. Drifters passin’ through told us so.”

  Edward tightened his grip on his axe. “You’re wrong, boy.”

  The leader grinned. “Am I now?” His stare slowly drifted to Edythe and his slimy smile reappeared. Edward acted on instinct, pushing Edythe, shouting at her to get in the house. She did, telling Billy to hide.

  “But I can help,” Billy replied.

  “Not this time. Promise me one thing - no matter what you hear,” Edythe whispered, pushing him into the dirt cellar. “Don’t open your eyes.”

  The boy didn’t understand but he could hear shouts and thumping from outside. Some of them were from his father. What was happening out there? Why was his Mother so frightened?

  “Remember, don’t open your eyes.” She kissed him lovingly, pulling the wooden plank over his head and vanished out of sight.

  The men knew they were hiding Billy. They beat Edward, raped Edythe, singing for Billy. Trying to lure him out like he was a squirrel in a tree. Edythe screamed and Billy opened his eyes, against his mother’s wishes. She pleaded for the leader to stop with his carnage. Her face was doused with blood and dirt, she crawled to his feet. Pleading and pleading.

  “Come on, boy!” the leader shouted. “We know you're here. Your poppa and your momma’s hurting...”

  Billy rushed out grabbing a knife from the kitchen and he stopped at the sight of the men. One of them grinned as he pulled up his pants, his mother was facing the ground, her dress was bunched up around her waist and his dad had his axe lodged in his back. Billy fought for as long as his little body managed, but could he win against these trained killers?

  The leader and his men made a fire that night and made jokes about what they had found back at the house. They drank, they sang and fell asleep in a drunken mess without a care in the world - the bodies of the family not too far from them.

  The leader awoke in the middle of the night, he heard a sound from behind him. He saw something in the clearing of the trees. A tall figure, wearing a gas mask, holding an axe, the one a lumberjack would use to hack down trees.’

  A sound bounced off the window and the girls jumped. Mallory began to laugh at them.

  “You bitch. You scared me,” Amber said.

  Janice stared at Mallory. “That was more sad than scary, to be honest. Billy could hear his mom and dad being hurt. He knew he couldn’t save them. You stole some stuff from Cold Mountain. Plus gas masks weren’t invented back then.”

  “You see Jude Law’s bare ass in that movie,” Amber said.

  Mallory glared at her. “I never said it was set during the Civil War. It’s an old story, I didn’t steal anything. My dad told me about it and he heard it off my grandma.”

  “It's a good one. I'll tell my mom, see if she’s heard of it.” Amber looked at the window. “What was that noise anyway?”

  “It’s the tree outside,” Mallory said. “Don't be scared.”

  “So is that how it ends?” Janice asked.

  “No, supposedly the men never reported back to their station. Nobody saw them again.”

  “What about little Billy?” Amber asked.

  “Nobody knows. But apparently, if you were hurt, the lumberjack will help you. My dad said in the same area, a woman got beaten by her husband and later that night, he was found hacked to pieces.”

  Janice laughed. “The wife did it, obviously.”

  “While she was in a coma?” Mallory quizzed. “My dad said the lumberjack protects families while they’re sleeping. If you hear a noise, don’t be afraid, it’s him patrolling. If you go and look for him, he stays hidden in the dark. He never appears to children.”

  Mallory was proud of her chosen urban legend, she preferred it to the others. She enjoyed the layer of mystery and realism. She imagined that scenario happening back then and it made her shiver. She wondered about the real identity of the lumberjack, was it Billy? Was he strong enough to chop up three men? Was it somebody else?

  After story time, they decided to head for bed. Mallory drifted in and out of her dreams. Sometimes, hearing things outside but her house creaked constantly, she was used to eerie sounds. The last thing she heard before she fell asleep was a quiet voice whispering, “Don’t open your eyes.”

  The woman awoke with a sinking sensation in her belly. It constantly fed her insomnia. She checked on her daughter who was poorly with a cold and a high temperature. They had breakfast and she switched on the radio. During the infomercials, she gave her daughter some cough medicine. The news was on and she recognised the words and their meanings all too easily. Her stomach tightened when she heard the harmonic tones of Lorraine Thurman. “The bodies of Amber Black, Janice Francis and Mallory Grey were found brutally murdered last night. According to Black's parents, the girls were having a sleepover when they heard screaming from Amber's room. Police believed this awful crime is linked to previous cases such as the murder of honeymooners t
he Craigs, and the Roth family who were killed in their sleep last month. A case has been opened for the deaths of these high school students. A collection and memorial service will be held this week for the lives of the three beautiful girls. What is going on? Who is causing these tragic events?”

  The woman clicked off the radio and tried to filter her thoughts with some gardening. Her daughter sat in the rocking chair with her white sun hat bobbing over her chubby cheeks. The baby bashed her tiny hands in a pool of water with her rubber ducks floating on the surface. The woman figured being outside and the tray method would hopefully lower her baby’s temperature. It certainly worked for her when she was a kid.

  “Baa!” her daughter called out, droplets of water flying from her fingers.

  The woman yanked a batch of weeds from the flower bed. “What's the matter, honey bunny?” Her daughter pointed at the tree, the one where the branches speared out into spindly fingers tapping her bedroom window. The woman rose to her feet and scooped her daughter into her arms. “Let's go and have a look shall we!” Her daughter touched the bark of the tree. The woman saw something stuck in the crevice behind one of the branches. It snagged for a fraction before falling into her palm, she stared at two red roses, they were wrapped in black ribbon. Her heart froze and she gazed around her neighbourhood. Why are you doing this?

  She inspected the soil beneath her feet and nearly wobbled backwards when she saw the outline of a footprint, the dents of a sneaker. It was too big for anyone living in her home. How come she didn’t see it before? Her daughter grabbed one of the roses and ripped at the petals. She thought about the murders and those poor girls. I should’ve stopped this when I had the chance. Her daughter gurgled happily and the woman examined her dark hair and ice blue eyes. I'll never let him hurt you.