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

calls, or videos on any social media platforms in reaction to their work unless it was approved by Carla and the legal team. Stripe appreciated that she had admirers, they didn’t need to fight her corner. Everyone had the right to their opinion and if they hated her writing, they hated it, there was nothing she could do. But, occasionally, she felt the sting when an anonymous voice casually threw her father’s death around for some hidden dynamite in their argument.

As she was reading, another sludge of a documentary about the Night Scrawler flashed on the television. Conspiracy theorists comparing the disappearance of the axe wielding maniac to Jack the Ripper, the Victorian slasher of prostitutes in England and the Zodiac Killer who shot his way through Northern California in the sixties. Stripe switched off the television and clicked off Facebook, searching for the quirky Isaac Payne.

Wow, he takes a good picture. Look at those eyes. She ignored the glow in her belly and logged into her Virtisan account. Oh, I have a friend request. She clicked the accept button and gained access to Isaac’s profile. He’s nice, kinda weird, but interesting. His page was manic, dotted with pictures and swarming with words. She read through his blog and couldn't help but get excited. She was indulging herself when something struck out like a pin prick to the skin.

Finally. The content howled at her. Something very, very juicy. Ideas coursed around her imagination like flies.

Isaac Payne. Stripe poured more wine into her glass, opened up a fresh blank page and began to write, letting the magic take control of her fingers. I’ve got a bone to pick with you.

Stripe hadn’t felt this eager since the start of the Charles Libby project. The anticipation of what she might discover, the overwhelming excitement and even the stroke of fear. She drove to Isaac’s, rehearsing the words she’d use for the unearthing. Even if she was wrong, she knew she couldn’t let the curiosity slip.

She drew up outside the house, she saw Isaac through his lavish open windows. He shot up off the sofa and came to her car, offering to take her equipment inside. He was dressed less conservatively this time, in a casual dark blue sweatshirt and black jeans. The dark colours enhanced his blue eyes even more. Stripe wondered if he knew that. They exchanged the fundamental chit-chat and he made her coffee while she got the equipment ready. She noticed his shocked expression when she casually brought up the anonymous death threat from the night before.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Isaac said. “What did they say?”

“The usual. That I know nothing about Satanism.”

“Shouldn’t you report it?”

Stripe shrugged. “No, it’s just words. Their threat didn’t frighten me, it’s hot air. I’ll worry if they start to show up outside my house. That person was just angry and they clearly didn’t read the whole thing.”

“Yeah because you interviewed other people who participated in the culture.”

Fuck, he was telling the truth. He read my article, in its entirety too. “I like to gather opinions from both sides of the argument, so it’s a balanced piece. Charles was born into a Satanist group who groomed him for many years, but there are other Satanists who focus their beliefs on love and respect. I know because I interviewed them, they even invited me to some of their practices. That person must’ve interpreted my words assuming that I thought all Satanists are evil and abusive which isn’t true, that’s not what I said at all.”

“Yikes. If they’re getting upset with you over it maybe you were digging at activities, they shouldn’t be participating in.”

“Precisely. How was your conference call anyway?” she asked, ceremoniously clicking the microphone onto his shirt. She smiled when she caught the sweet discomfort on his face. “I’m gonna start recording, okay?”

“No problem. It was fine, thanks. I managed to get some work rolling out so it was good. I’m sorry about cutting it short yesterday. I hope you weren’t offended.”

“Don't worry about it. I'm a journalist, I'm used to schedules changing.” She grinned and in turn, so did he. “Could I ask what it was about or am I prying?”

“Not at all. We received some feedback from our service users who want to have a more interactive way of communicating. At the moment, we have chat rooms, forums and private messenger. It’s similar to how AOL or MSN was back in the day, they can video call like you have on WhatsApp and Facebook.”

“I used MSN Messenger all the time when I was in college, it was how I kept in touch with my friends.” Stripe thought about Jace, Doug and Zippo. She’d lost contact with those three amazing weirdos after high school. She should’ve tried harder to keep them in her grasp, a painful regret she couldn’t forgive herself for. “What do you mean by more interactive?”

“Well, we’ve noticed that users are grouping together, wanting to collaborate with each other and address their followers. My conference call was about how to make that happen so we’re trying to create a video call than hold more than a handful of users at one time.”

“Like an online meeting?”

“You’re correct.” Isaac tipped his head quizzically. “Do you want to go back to your page?”

“Sure, show me what to do next.”

Isaac grabbed his laptop from the counter and sat next to her, his arm brushing hers slightly. Stripe watched him as he took control. With the way his fingers moved across the keys, she reckoned he could perform the majority of the technological jargon in his sleep. In fact, he didn’t even glance down at all when he was talking to her. After a while, he started to go on about colours and fonts and Stripe drank her coffee, nodding but nothing was sinking in. Her attention switched back when he asked about her favourite horror story.

“The Lumberjack,” she replied.

“Oh, I’ve never heard of it. Is it a movie or a novel?”

“It’s neither. It’s