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

subtly across her neck, his groans panting in her ear. Her cell phone rang and her body tensed. Isaac noticed, looking at her. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“My phone,” she said through hushed tones. “It’s probably work.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” Stripe said, hanging up the phone. She couldn’t conceal the nerves in her voice.

“What's the matter?” Isaac asked.

“It was Carla. She said somebody came by the office asking for me. They wanted me to write a story for them. When they were informed of my absence, apparently, they insisted they only wanted me to write it. The guy came off really creepy and aggressive. Journalists have to stay safe. We tend to address subjects nobody wants to talk about. And when someone doesn’t like the horrid truth,” Stripe pointed to the phone, “this shit storm happens. I had a couple of death threats when I released the Charles Libby article, it might be nothing or some jerk trying to frighten me.”

“What about the roses in your garden? This could be connected.”

“Possibly, Charles did warn me. He said this type of thing could happen.”

“Whatever it is. I don’t like it.”

Stripe blanched. “I don’t like this either.”

Isaac turned on the television, staring intently at the screen. Lorraine Thurman was dressed in a grey suit with sorrow shining in her eyes. “It's with great sadness that I’m here to report another regretful death. A body has been found. Police are at the scene, the only details we have so far is that the victim is a young male. We will keep you posted as we hear more. There’s a question going through my mind, who is causing this monstrosity? When will this chaos end?”

“Just when things can’t get any worse,” Stripe sighed.

“We need to get away from here,” Isaac whispered. “Now.”

The hunter parked up outside the journalist's house. She was at home as her car was stationed on the driveway. It hadn’t budged for the past couple of days. He could’ve broken in, ripped her throat out, tore his head off, ripping at his flesh, limb from limb but like any other project, it had to be planned delicately. There was something or someone who broke the wonderful image whirling in his fractured mind like a prickle to the skin. “If you’re not going to say anything useful, then you shouldn’t be here,” he said through clenched teeth to the ghost in the passenger seat.

“Why did you do it?” she asked, her voice was quiet. “You left him out there. He was a kid. Just like I was.”

He tightened his grip on the wheel. “I told you why, Anna. I needed him, I have a plan.” She wiped strands of her blonde hair from her face, he wanted to touch her. She's so beautiful, even under the circumstances. “If I told you what happened to me, then perhaps you’d understand.”

“I’m in your head, remember. I already know the truth. You got treated badly - and because of your past, we had to die too?”

This needs to stop. Pain coursed down the centre of his head, then it burned in his abdomen.

“You’ve ruined so many lives. My brother won’t be the same, he might be in therapy for the rest of his life.”

The hunter pressed his hand to his hip, blood marked the cushions of his fingertips.

“You’re bleeding,” the ghost said.

“Yes, I know. I’m not in the mood to talk about this. You either say something else or go.” He leaned over, breathing through the aches. He pulled out a towel and a tiny box from the drawer. The hunter pressed the towel to the blood on his abdomen, pushing pressure onto the wound. It had reopened.

“Why aren’t you healing?” she asked.

“Shut up.” He opened the box, pulling out a needle and thread. The bastard fought hard, now my broken body is paying for it. He followed the thread through the needle eye, tying it off at the ends. He plunged the needle into his flesh, wincing from the pain, growling like a wolf, hissing between his teeth. This shouldn’t be hurting. I shouldn’t be bleeding. I’m meant to be something more. He peered to the side, noticing his companion was no longer in the passenger seat.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Fall 1988

Latoya Fernandez hadn't felt nervous since her first audition for Angel Babes Productions. She’d got the part, playing a naughty nurse in Ready to Bust. It was a weak storyline, generic in its paving but the money she earned from it was enough for a deposit on an apartment.

They'd met in a café; she was having some downtime from working and he was reading the newspaper sipping a cup of coffee. Dr Peter McLachlan was a gentleman. Their eyes met over the tables and they started talking. Initially, she thought he was just a dirty old man who was a fan of her movies, on the stalk. She'd been recognised in public before which was embarrassing. She'd be out with friends and see husbands with their families and their facial expressions bulged when they caught sight of her. It was even worse when some of them approached; a mixture of weirdos who’d hit on her assuming she was a randy character on screen and then she'd receive some lovely compliments about how her movies boosted their confidence with their partners. Those she appreciated.

Peter didn't batter an eyelid when she mentioned her work in the adult entertainment industry. He didn't flinch or question it when she uttered the 'porn' word.

“Well, we all have to start somewhere,” he replied.

The barrier dissolved between them and they started chatting as if they were old friends who hadn't seen each other for years. He showed her a picture of his wife and daughter. They talked to each other for a good hour and she learned that he was a scientist working for a company called Kaltheia. He was looking for test subjects for his new project.

“I must admit it's a little unorthodox,” he said.

Latoya laughed. “Well, most people would consider