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

friends were the only anchors keeping her from running down pathways she was terrified of. Her sister had been tremendous support after Peter’s murder. Tricia was the one who shouted at the press while they camped outside the house, clawing at the now-widow to make a statement. She was the one who kept the wheel turning when Beverley couldn’t function in the early days. Sadly, Tricia was no longer with them, the big c had ripped her from the world, with no partner or children in her stead.

When she returned to her job, Beverley received bouquets of flowers and cards from students and their families. She remembered crying like a baby when she saw the mountain of love piled high on her desk.

There were times when Beverley would wake up and feel Peter's presence. His eyes peering from the corner of the room. Her friends told her to move on and she tried, speed dating, blind dating, even corporate - but nobody could hold a candle to her husband. It was even more painful when she'd tell aspiring suitors who she was, they'd flush and run for the hills. Was that what drove her daughter's love of journalism? Was Peter’s death why she wanted to disturb the past rather than leave it to rest?

Peter was like this too. Stripe had inherited her passion of investigation from him. When they first started dating, Peter talked science the way William Shakespeare expressed a sonnet. Stripe did this when she informed her of the Charles Libby assignment. Stripe was so enthusiastic about exploring a Satanist cult group, to Beverley it was nothing but bad karma and danger. You don't disturb the past. Let it die and move on. No matter how many times she advised her, Peter's stubbornness managed to shine out, especially through her emerald eyes.

Beverley remembered crying when Stripe pitched the idea of investigating her father's murder. “It might give us answers Mom,” Stripe had said.

“Please don't do it,” Beverley replied. “I beg you. I have enough with the documentarians out there. I don't want to know. I've managed to get myself together. I don't want to fall apart again.”

Then she remembered Stripe announcing that she was finally going to be a grandmother. Beverley recalled the moment she first saw Sofia, her beloved grandchild, she fell in love instantly - Cupid's bow really got her good. She was entranced with her tuffs of dark hair and her hypnotic blue eyes. She didn't inherit them from her mother. Stripe never spoke of Sofia's father, Beverley didn't want to judge her, maybe it was something which didn't end successfully. Maybe he was a married man or a one-night stand, or a sperm donor. She didn't want to pry but she couldn't help but think, who and where was he?

Then the deaths started to happen again, those girls, and poor Anna Crawford. She knew her parents and she couldn’t begin to describe how frightened she was. Stripe’s sudden phone call had given her goose bumps, sending jets of anxiety along the channels of her mind. She had to know if her family were okay.

From the drawer, she found her handgun and placed it in her bag. Since she'd retired, she visited the range twice a week to get some decent practice and according to Ricardo, the owner of the shop, she wasn't that bad of a shot.

Beverley walked up the driveway of Stripe’s home. The blinds were closed, it was odd for her one and only child. Normally when she visited, Stripe was typing like crazy on her laptop or she'd be nursing Sofia.

“Can I help you?” a voice called out.

Beverley turned to the source of the question. A young, tall man stood by the tree in her daughter’s front garden. The stranger had mahogany skin, dark brown eyes with a buzz cut. He was probably in his late twenties, he appeared rough around the edges, like he hadn't slept for years.

“I'm looking for my daughter,” Beverley replied.

“Stripe isn't here.”

Beverley folded her arms over her chest, building a barrier, a quick tip from self-defence class. “Are you a neighbour? I’ve never seen you before.”

The young man smiled, taking a step towards her.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

As much as she tried, Stripe wasn’t relaxing, and her imagination was firing off missiles. She didn’t know how long they’d been driving for; she couldn’t remember what song was playing on the radio, she’d left so many messages for Beverley but there was no response. She glanced in the rear-view mirror; Sofia had fallen asleep.

She nearly screamed when her phone rattled on her lap, breathing a sigh of relief when her mother’s name flashed on the screen. “Oh thank fuck!” Stripe looked over at Isaac who smiled in reassurance. “Sorry for all of the calls. Are you okay?”

There was no response on the line.

“Mom. Mom. Are you okay?”

She heard someone breathe and then a voice which filled her with cold dread:

“Hi Stripe,” he said, his voice was deep and guttural. “Sorry, I’m not your mommy.”

Nausea ached in her throat. “You're the one who was asking for me at the offices. You're the Night Scrawler, or shall I call you something else?” How about Freak instead?

Isaac's head snapped to hers and she saw the fear on his face. “Night Scrawler’s fine.” I'm not the real one though.” His voice didn’t sound familiar and she couldn’t pinpoint if she’d heard it before. “I'm better than the original actually.”

“Most sequels are bad.”

“What's it like to have a baby with a murderer? Kinda fucked up if you ask me, that's like some Ted Bundy shit right there.”

“Ted Bundy impregnated someone who was under his thrall. He was a mass manipulator,” Stripe said. “What have you done with my mom? I swear if you've hurt her, I'm going to fucking kill you!”

She heard Freak giggle. “I’d recommend you tread carefully with how you speak to me, Stripe. You don't want another dead parent, do you?”

How did he know? Stripe covered her mouth as her stomach lurched.