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

from his wife’s lap. It was falling onto the floor anyway, she wouldn’t notice. He relaxed onto the sofa, pulling his feet up. He loved being a grandparent, but today had completely wiped him out. He hadn't felt this tired since his Louise was in diapers or when he pulled a double shift at Kaltheia.

He opened up the paper nearly choking on his whiskey. A blast from the past stared back. He observed the dark hair and pale skin of Isaac Payne, the founder of the website, Virtisan. He’d seen his eyes before and couldn't help but sink into the distant rooms of his memory. A dark space for himself when he was truly alone.

Tell me I’m beautiful. Her words whirled around his mind. He remembered how Heather felt on top of him, how her feline body squeezed him so much the joints in his knees ached. He never saw her again after the fateful night. He never got over the humiliation after he woke up in the staff room to find his wallet and car keys missing. The police never found his car. She must have needed it, he knew she was running away from something but, he didn’t understand why she’d made love to him in the manner she did, with such desperation and emotion. Had he taken advantage of a damaged woman by letting her fuck him?

He’d thought about tracking her down but there were millions of Heathers in the world and he never found out what her surname was. Where would he have started?

Laurie frowned at another name in the article. Stripe McLachlan. He wondered if they were related to Peter McLachlan. When one department got wiped out, all of the lab staff including Laurie were given a pay cheque and told to piss off, not literally but it definitely felt that way. It was the end of Kaltheia. He suspected foul play or bankruptcy; it wasn't the first time a business had done the dirty to make a buck. Some corporate companies were rife for corruption. It was a truly frightening time back then; a mystery cloaked figure had taken out one particular team of scientists who tested blood. Maybe they’d fired someone who couldn’t swallow the bitter pill of rejection. People killed others over stupid things all the time. There was a stabbing at his local supermarket over an argument about a car parking space. The punk thought it was feasible to knife the other guy over it. People are fucking dumb.

Having to start his career all over again and going back to his parents was humiliating but in the long run, he wouldn't have met Rosa, and his beautiful Louise and his granddaughter, his gorgeous Serene wouldn't exist.

Before she'd fallen asleep, Rosa had talked about the Isaac Payne guy in the paper who apparently possessed his lankiness and broad shoulders. She’s not wrong, but I’ve only seen blue eyes like that once before.

Laurie looked over at Rosa who moved in her sleep. He placed the newspaper on the carpet, downing his whiskey in one mighty gulp. He sat back, relaxing into the sofa before his eyes closed. He transported himself back into the old Kaltheia staff room, Heather's beautiful face moved out from the darkness. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“I know,” she replied softly.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

“Why did you leave me like that? Why did you steal from me? It was so embarrassing. I had to lie to my boss, said my car was stolen because I forgot to lock it.”

“I’m sorry, Laurie.”

“Who are you? You said you needed me…”

“It doesn’t matter now, so many things have changed.”

“You said you loved me…I guess that was a lie.”

“It wasn’t,” Heather replied. “I really liked you.”

“Then who are you?”

“I’m nobody. I meant what I said before, I wish I’d met you somewhere else.” Heather held her hand out. “Come here. I've been waiting for you, for years.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

Winter 2019

Jace Bloom listened to the humming of her daughter’s chest. She patted her back, her inherited red curls spilling over her shoulder. She stood swaying on the spot; her eyes glued to the familiar face on the television.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Lorraine said.

Stripe smiled incredulously. “That’s an understatement.”

Jace couldn't believe her old friend was on the television talking about her life. Stripe sat opposite Lorraine Thurman, the veteran journalist. Her old friend’s long blonde hair swaying along her back. She was wearing a dark sea blue blouse, opposed to Lorraine in her black Donna Karan suit with her white pearls sitting conspicuously on her chest.

“I sat down with investigative journalist, Stripe McLachlan at her home in Washington where she lives with her partner and their two children.” Lorraine’s strong voice leaked over the camera footage. “She was nervous speaking to me, seeing as she’s used to being in the interviewer seat. Before we started filming, she told me she was a big fan of my work.”

Lorraine patted her knee, smiling brightly. “How are you feeling?”

Stripe smirked. “Pretty weirded out. It’s odd not having a notepad and pen in my lap or a voice recorder in my hand.”

“What made you want to write a memoir after what happened?” Lorraine asked.

Stripe stroked a strand of blonde hair away, Jace saw a glimpse of an engagement ring on her wedding finger. “To put some ghosts to sleep and close this chapter.”

“Holy shit,” Zippo said, wrapping his arms around Jace.

“Language,” she shot back, indicating to their daughter. “I want to watch this.”

“It normally takes years for a memoir to be written but you chose to do it straightaway. Why is that?”

“I had to get it out of my system while everything was still fresh in my head.”

Lorraine's voiceover seeped over the interview again. “If you're wondering, Stripe's father and mother were murdered by the Night Scrawler in the same time frame of a decade. Her book is a harrowing account of frustration, pain and loss. It is part memoir, part advice about journalism, one which struck