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

What are you doing?

“My mom. She, she was innocent,” you cry.

No, Stripe. Please don’t do this.

“So were my parents,” I reply. “It should’ve been me. Please don’t make this mistake. We can be a family now. It’s... all over. It’s finally over.”

“How do you know that?” you ask. “I thought you were the only one and look what followed. What if my father had other labs? More children he experimented on?”

I can’t answer your question because I don’t know. “I killed everyone who was involved with the project.”

“These types of experiments need support from a backer, right? They need the money so it can go ahead in the first place. What if they’re still out there? My father could have a secondary source. A back up in case the primary didn't go to plan, just like you and Isaiah. You were the original test subject and he was the replacement. And those twins...”

I don’t know what to say anymore. I don’t have the answers you seek. I want to embrace you, to take you in my arms.

“Don’t move!” you shout.

I raise my arms above my head slowly. “Think about this. If you kill me, Sofia won’t have a father.”

“She'll never have grandparents because of you.”

Chapter Forty-Six

The farmer was perched by the side of the stream. He couldn’t get a better experience than this. A cold beer on ice, Mother Nature for company and freshly caught fish. He’d been aching to get out of the house for a while.

He knew his wife was having a hard time with her business, starting from the seeds up was a hard job and she needed the personal space to hash out her next move. To aid her with her new enterprise, he’d bag some fish and cook her supper, there was a bottle of sparkling white wine hiding discreetly in the cupboard.

He heard the gunshot go off in the distance. It made him jump. The sound echoed, bouncing off the trees, causing a group of birds to fly off in a flourish. The farmer shrugged to its context. Wolves and bears roamed around the woods; it was probably someone reeling off a warning shot so the animals would retreat. He'd heard plenty of them before so it was nothing special.

Part Four

Sometimes even to live is an act of courage.

―Lucius Annaeus Seneca

Chapter Forty-Seven

The blinding light stung her eyes when she came around. Everything was too bright. It was the type of sting you have when you get a migraine. She sat up, squinting. She heard birds squawking and spots of green began to bleed through. She was outside, in the open air. Then a spread of familiarity began to run over her. The smell of the leaves, the musk of the bark and then she saw it...

It was the cabin. The little home-from-home she visited as a child.

It hadn’t aged a day. The paint on the woodwork hadn’t peeled, the fake doll house hadn’t chipped. It was preserved. An image from her memory. She hadn’t been back here since her father had died.

Stripe turned to the fence, running her fingers over the metallic lining. Then she saw the boy with the blood red hands, a young, demoralised Isaac fleeing from the chaos her father created. He was standing further back in the bushes, staring at her.

He wasn’t alone, a younger boy crept out from the leaves, his eyes burning into hers. It was Isaiah, before the turmoil and insanity had affected him. One of his arms were marked with scars and plasters.

Then two little bodies emerged from the clearing, holding onto someone else hidden by the shadows from the sun. They were identical in facial features and with the same caramel hair, a little boy and girl, probably toddlers. Isaiah had been right all along. The twins were once beautiful, angelic children. You killed them. She stared at the twins. But I had no choice. They were gonna kill me and my baby. I had to protect her.

The twins looked up to an aged hand clutching onto them protectively. The figure moved. Stripe sucked in a breath. “Momma.”

Beverley didn’t pay attention. Her back was arched as she led the twins up the path away from the fencing. Isaiah soon followed in tow, his penetrating gaze disappearing over his shoulder. He ushered the boy with the blood red hands to join, beckoning him with his hand. Young Isaac sighed, taking one final glance at Stripe and trudged up the path. The figures faded into the background, disappearing amongst the limbs of the trees.

“Do you ever listen to a word I say?” a voice asked behind Stripe. “I’ve told you before, you shouldn’t venture out there. Monsters will get you.”

She saw a ghost emerging from the front door of the cabin, locking up as he left.

“Dad?”

“You don’t look very happy to see me,” Peter said. “I’ve tried speaking to your mother but she doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“I’m not surprised. She’s disappointed. So am I.”

“I'm sorry. For everything, Susan.”

“You’re sorry? How can you say that?”

“I know it sounds ridiculous coming from me.”

“You led a double life, this whole time. You lied to mom, you lied to me. You’d rather torture children than spend time with your family...and for what? To create Superman? Who the fuck are you? What made you think you could play God?”

Peter smiled faintly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “But it worked. Isaac Blair is the key, I realised that after he escaped. Isaiah Fernandez couldn’t cope with the experiments. His mind and body were too fragile. But Isaac truly is perfect.”

“His blood is an infection. Look at what it did to those twins. What on earth is perfect about that?”

“The cells in their DNA began to reject and attack each other. Their bodies weren’t suited for it.”

“You disfigured them, scarred them for life.” Tension throbbed behind her glare. “And you’re okay with that?”

Peter didn’t respond.

“I guess when you set me little ‘tasks’ when I was a kid, it