Forgive Me by Kateri Stanley (reading strategies book TXT) 📕

created themselves. It’s nothing like a search engine, more a virtual art gallery.”

“Makes sense with the website name.”

He smirked. “I’m impressed.”

“A hybrid of the words, virtuoso and artisan. Am I right?”

“You’ve done your research on me.”

Of course I did. “Is it a platform for artists?”

“Precisely. But it doesn’t just have to be artwork. It can be anything, from music, news, and journals, to movies. I wanted to make something where people could express their artistic skills and have a podium for publication. It’s a great place if you’re starting out, or if you’re looking to network, or want to get feedback.”

“So if I were an aspiring songwriter, I could upload songs on here?”

“Absolutely, by sound files or sheets of music. Some of our active users are musicians.”

“What about copyright? What if someone steals my work?”

“Unfortunately it’s the internet. Stealing happens, and the web isn’t policed. But it’s something I will not tolerate. Every user who uploads their work has to read and sign a declaration that it is original and theirs. I implemented a piece of software where it scans the internet to see if the work has been uploaded before to catch any thieves. If they were uploading stolen work from another source, they’re permanently banned from the platform.”

“Amazing. I wish I’d had access to something like this back in high school.” Stripe typed a word into the search tab. When she saw the results, she was shocked. I was hoping nothing would come up.

She clicked on a particular image. The artist had drawn a masked man, his face blurred in the context of a Rorschach test. He was carrying an axe dripping with blood.

“What got you into journalism?” Isaac asked.

She blinked from concentrating. “Oh, I-I’ve always had an interest in people and history. I knew from a young age I wanted to go into the field. Ideally, I’d love to be freelance one day. Do it all my own way but I’ve gotta learn the ropes like any other profession. I knew it was my ideal career when I hit a particular dark curb in my life…” Her voice trailed off as she looked at him. “My dad died on the night of my senior prom.” She motioned towards the painting on the screen. “We reckon this guy got him.”

Isaac’s face drained of colour. “Oh, I...didn't know. That’s awful. I’m so sorry.” He clicked off the image and went back to the homepage. “I really didn’t know. Carla didn’t mention it and there was nothing on your bio about it.”

Stripe laughed politely. “It’s okay, don’t worry. It’s not something I want people to know about from the get-go. I’m hoping sometime in the future that I could write my own story, maybe make a documentary, but there’s plenty of them swimming around right now. I don't think I'm ready for something that intense just yet.”

“I feel stupid,” Isaac muttered. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising? It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s better than being walked up to on the street by some jackass asking me if my daddy was killed by the Night Scrawler.”

“People actually do that?”

“Back in the early years yeah. I think murder and death is an entertainment to some people. When they’re watching it on screen or reading it in the newspaper, it’s like a movie or a sitcom. They don’t really believe it’s real, the power of the screen or page separates them. When it comes to a good crime thriller, people want to know about the murderer, not the family members of the victims. We take a back seat, we’re not interesting. But it’s something I’m okay with talking about now. I’ve had my therapy and it was a long time ago.”

“Did they ever catch the Night Scrawler?”

Stripe shook her head. It’s been years, but it still hurts.

Chapter Three

Spring 1989

Her parents had told her not to venture into the wood. She was never a child to wander off, and she knew the trails like an old friend. She never spoke to strangers and routinely looked left then right before crossing the road. But that was the thing when you’re a kid, nobody trusted you.

Her family visited the same cabin every year. The morning sun was out. Her favourite time to venture. She wasn’t brave enough to go out in the dark just yet. She sung the song her nana had taught her. It was about a princess and a soldier who had fallen in love. They had to keep their romance a secret from her father, the King - a jealous man who wanted to marry her off to a rich noble Lord. It reminded her of William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, they loved each other so much, they were willing to take their own lives to be together. It was so powerful yet so sad.

Her momma was asleep in the cabin and her daddy had been called out due to an emergency at work. She never ever got to see him much these days. He was always busy with his job. She wasn’t entirely sure what her daddy did, but what she did know was that he wore loads of long white coats and carried a black suitcase with a great big lock on the buckle.

She turned her attention to the fence which separated her from the wilderness. She knew about the brown bears and wolves in the wood. The cabin site was constantly patrolled by men in green cloaks carrying rifles. She stared towards the unknown. It wouldn’t be harmful to climb up and have a little walk, or could it?

A branch snapped in the distance and the sound made her recoil from her adventurous idea, but it increased her curiosity. She followed the echo; the cracking grew louder and closer to her. Then she saw something emerge from the clearing.

Don’t talk to strangers, she remembered, holding her breath.

A pair of arms, then legs drifted from the bushes. It didn’t have scales, sharp claws or slobber dripping from its teeth.