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

at risk doing the work they were attempting. Yes, they’d been given an opportunity. Peter had managed to push the incentive but if certain information got into the wrong hands, they’d all be out of a job by the end of the day, maybe with a prison sentence to go with it. Gerald wasn’t a splash out sort of person, he was more understated. Not like his boss and colleague. Peter chatted to the photographer, directing him as the rest of the department were getting themselves sorted. His friend caught his sight and scowled.

“Why aren’t you smiling, Gerry?” Peter asked.

He tried to smooth on his smile, it made his mouth hurt. “I am smiling. Look. See?”

Peter's eyebrow rose. “Really?”

Gerald knew he couldn't keep up the act for long. “There’s so much we're gambling, Pete.” He wiped his forehead, ironically it was sweating. “I don't want to be the burden of bad news but sometimes, this whole thing keeps me up at night.”

His friend tapped him on the shoulder and moved him into position, so he wasn’t centre on. “You're right, Gerry. Our work is a risk but think about it this way, we’re going to help so many people in the long run. We’ll make our country stronger and more secure. You need to start focusing on the bigger picture.”

Gerald was trying to but there was something in his gut which wrenched every time. “How did you get the money for this?”

Peter smirked. “I have my ways, the powers of persuasion at hand. Is there something else going on? You seem upset.”

Gerald sighed. “I might as well tell you. It's Heather.”

“What’s happened?”

“She got thrown out of rehab. Again.”

“I’m sorry, Gerry.”

Gerald stared at him with embarrassment. “She got caught smuggling heroin through her clothes, she must have had a friend on the outside helping her. She's ruffled feathers for not paying her debts if you know what I mean. Plus, Candice is leeching me for everything I have with this divorce. I’m running out of steam. I don't know what else I can do for my little girl. She's been sectioned, done prison time, health camp, beauty spas and nothing's worked. My pockets are burned from her habits.”

“She sounds depressed,” Peter said.

“I think she is. But she's done therapy and it hasn't made an impact on her. I’m not going to endanger her with any sort of medication, her brain doesn’t need any more drugs. It's all hit and miss as if I’m going round in a hamster wheel. She starts something new - she copes and then it all falls apart.”

“What made her act this way?”

“She followed the crowd. A people pleaser. One of her exes got her into the bad habits. I should’ve intervened but I wanted her to live her life.”

“What about her modelling career?”

“Please don't get me started, Pete. It's done with.”

“No acting jobs?”

“If she can’t get her modelling career off the ground, how is she going to play Ophelia?”

“I was only asking. Perhaps, Heather could work for us?”

Gerald laughed. “I don't think Kaltheia is for her. She's not a science brain.”

“Not in the lab, Gerry.”

“Then, what? In the offices? She's been an office girl and she couldn't do it.”

“Not that either.” Peter pinched the top of his nose. “She could support us in the programme.”

“Right people!” the photographer shouted. “Now, you're all in position. I want you all to face forward, keep your postures up.” He moved behind the camera and squinted into the lens. “When I say action, I want you all to say jiggly breasts and give me a dazzling smile.”

Some of the people, mainly the lab staff giggled. Gerald did not, his mind was already racing with the proposition. “I don't think it’s a good idea,” he whispered to his friend. “It’s a sweet thought.” It’s not. “But I can’t have Heather involved in our work.”

“I'm not saying to start right now. Sleep on it. What else is she going to do? As you said, you’ve done all you can. Plus, you don't want a daughter you’re ashamed of now do you?” Peter whispered through his fixed smile.

How would you know? You don’t have children. Gerald should’ve got annoyed with the remark but the realisation of his family’s disgrace seeped into him. “You're right. I'll-I'll think about it.”

“That’s my boy!” Peter said.

“Okay people, now. One, two, three and action!” the photographer shouted.

Gerald saw the burst of light explode from the camera but he couldn't hear anything. They were meant to be celebrating a successful promotion, but instead he had the overwhelming urge to flee and disappear.

Gerald knew the meeting wasn't going to be easy. With a risqué career, a drug addicted daughter and a soon-to-be scornful and vengeful ex-wife, he'd regretfully ran out of alternatives. As they used to say, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Heather’s head was docked, in a bow the entire time they spoke. Her long dark hair dangled over her face; her shoulders were hunched as if she was trying to fade into the brown leather chair she was sitting on. She didn't pay any attention to Peter's office. He had obscure scientific ornaments on show, they constantly drew attention or struck up a conversation. His Rorschach ink plot painting was a favourite topic starter, it resembled a bird or a butterfly opening its wings for flight. Heather kept fumbling with her buttons on her jacket and then she started to itch at her arms. He placed a warm hand on her skin. Please stop, my darling.

“So Heather, what do you think of the project?” Peter asked.

Her fingers stopped scratching. Peter’s bold beckoning voice had gotten her to seize.

“I'm happy to help,” she replied. “It’s kinda...weird though.”

Peter folded his hands together like he was dealing a pack of cards. Gerald had seen this before when he was in salesman mode. “I completely understand why you feel the way you do, but you're going to be a part of something special, a major change in history. You'll be helping the