Forgive Me by Kateri Stanley (love letters to the dead txt) 📗

Later on, in the evening Stripe laid in bed, basking in a sea of contentment. One door of her life had closed and another was opening. She was going to learn the mechanics of journalism and the excitement was keeping her awake.

Red and blue lights flashed outside the window, waking up her mother and auntie. Stripe saw Beverley and Tricia talking to a police officer, huddling together in their nightgowns. It had begun to rain. What was going on? Had there been an accident?

She saw Beverley’s hands rush to her face, clutching her jaw as her mouth morphed into a scream. She was embraced by Tricia, who rubbed her forehead against her cheek consoling her.

Before she knew it, Stripe was standing in the street, shivering in the nights breeze. She was still holding her red rose.

Paper lanterns glowed weightlessly as if a thousand fireballs had been dispersed into the sky. Bouquets of flowers had been strung to neighbourhood fences in a salute of grief and remorse. The tears of a small town in mourning.

The officer approached Stripe wearing the perfect portrait of pity.

“I’m sorry for your loss Miss,” he whispered.

She nodded, staring blankly at the pavement. All light, colour and warmth had been drained from the world.

“I need to ask you a few questions. Can you come down to the station with us?”

Stripe looked up at him, nodding a second time, forever cataloguing the memories before and after it happened. “Are you…going to find who did this?”

Chapter Nine

Winter 2015

After she’d finished her story, with certain parts edited out, Isaac’s phone rang and he motioned that he had to answer it. “It’s an emergency. Is it okay if we rearrange this?”

“Sure, shall I come back tomorrow or are you busy?” Stripe asked.

Isaac nodded, smiling shyly. “Tomorrow’s fine. I’d love that.”

“So would I.” She turned off the recorder and unhooked his microphone. He still looked guilty, like a child who’d lied to their teacher or parent about why they didn’t hand in their homework. She packed up her gear and said her goodbyes. As she left, she held her hand out and Isaac shook it with firm conviction. Stripe felt a warm pleasant sensation, she had to flex her fingers on the way to the car.

When she got home, she made her dinner whilst she juggled a glass of wine. She listened to Beverley jabber on the phone about her tea party and how disappointed that her one and only child didn’t make an appearance. Beverley’s friend was apparently asking after Stripe, hoping to set her up on a blind date with her son, a gifted neurosurgeon.

“I’m too busy to date right now,” Stripe muttered.

“You’ve got to get out there, Susan!” Beverley gushed. “I don’t want you to leave it too late. I want grandchildren.”

She giggled. “I love you too, Mom.”

Inside, she was groaning with tiredness. Stripe McLachlan and the dating world didn’t mix well, it was like a terribly made cocktail, leaving a rather bitter aftertaste. Ever since her father’s death, when she had the courage to announce her tainted past, people mostly grew uncomfortable. That was one of the things she loved about interviewing Charles Libby. He’d lived in her shoes and understood the pain of having a section of life darkened by the sadistic actions of other people. Stripe hadn’t always been unlucky when it came to love. After Cameron Storms, she had a string of romances under her belt but they never went anywhere. Once the honeymoon period and great sex had soured, they were gone without a trace. She could’ve drowned her sorrows in litres of beer, snorted her way to insanity but that didn’t feel the right way to leave the world. After a couple of years of distancing from romance, Stripe came to a conclusion, journalism was her true lover. Not any man or woman. Delving into a story made the world dwindle. She’d forget things. For just a little while.

Her phone pinged loudly and she smiled when she saw the text:

Thanks for all of your hard work kid. I knew you were the right one for this gig. I really appreciate it.

-Charlie x

She texted Charles back, wishing him all the best and snuggled on the sofa with her laptop balancing on her knees. She checked her emails, rolling her eyes as she read the message:

You’re a whore. My whole family thinks I’m a freak because of what you wrote. You don’t know what a true Satanist is. We don’t abuse children. We don’t advocate violence and rape. Next time you’re in New York, you better watch where you’re stepping.

Stripe laughed at the hypocrisy. “You say you don’t support violence, yet you’re threatening me.” She deleted the email, her motion on auto pilot. “Bye bye!”

Her fingers tapped, the screen blowing up with the Titan News Facebook page and she scrolled through the comments. She fell on a particular huddle, likes and shares were ticking over manically.

I don’t think her article is particularly fair, that’s all I’m trying to say. It’s all very one sided. I know she lost her dad, but I know people in this subculture and they are NOT like that. Maybe she’s trying to find solace or refuge in her work because her Pop’s killer was never found…

She read the next comment underneath:

Didn’t you read the article all the way through? She wasn’t writing about her own experiences at all, it was about Charles Libby’s life. For fuck’s sake, his name is in the God damn subtitle. A man who had to survive through years of abuse at the hands of a mad cult family, who happened to be Satanists. There are documented cases where practicing Satanists have done some awful acts – like sacrificing new-born babies…Where are on earth are you getting the Night Scrawler from all of this? It’s never fucking mentioned! Stop pouring your narrative onto us.

Titan News journalists were not allowed to interact with comments, emails, phone