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

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