“Can I get these copied?” Stripe asked. “Would it be okay?”
“I can’t copy the pictures.” Pam took them from her, placing them back in the box. “But I can copy the documents. They’re in the public eye after all and available on our website for any leads as the case is still open. I’ll do it for you now.”
“Thank you.”
Pam turned her back and whipped off the gloves. She marched to the copier and began the listless process.
Stripe kept one eye on the detective as she dipped her gloved hand into the box. Her fingers dawdled with the contents, trying to keep her sneaking quiet, the cranking and shunting from the copy machine was covering the bashes she made as she slipped the photos out from the frames. Stripe quickly placed them under her coat, curling the cards into the sleeve.
Pam watched the machine spit out faded copies of the original documents. After she was done, she returned to her desk. Stripe had placed the yellow file back in the box. “I am curious though. Why are you looking into this case now?” Pam asked. “It’s been nearly twenty years since your father’s death…”
Stripe smirked, as if there was something funny about her question. “It feels like it’s the right time. My mom thinks I’m crazy.”
“Sounds as if she’s made peace with it, it’s very hard to move on from grieving, especially when the killer’s never been found. Maybe you should listen to her and leave this to the professionals.”
“I’ve got enough journalistic experience under my belt thanks. I can handle it.”
Pam laughed lightly; she liked the sassiness of her reply.
“You said this is an open case,” Stripe said. “Have you had many tip offs?”
“We did at first but the majority of them were random callers, fantasists. You get them with every cold case. We followed them up but they all led to dead ends. You’re our first one in many years I’m afraid to say, Stripe.”
She smiled kindly. “I’m sorry I don’t have any information to give you.”
“Maybe, if you find something during your investigation, you’ll call me?” Pam plucked her card from the desk, handing it to her.
Stripe pulled off her gloves and placed the card in her coat pocket. “I will, thanks Pam.”
After they said their goodbyes, Pam showed her out of the office. She retrieved the Gerald Blair box and returned it to the records department. She hadn’t noticed anything was missing.
Chapter Forty-One
Summer 2016
Mary Summers had fallen into a snooze. Her grandson rattled the arms of her rocking chair, the cool breeze of the humid weather had coaxed her to sleep. She was so relieved when the mugginess of spring had finally passed; she didn't miss the thunder storms and waking up in a river of sweat.
“Nana!” Alex shouted. “Somebody wants to talk to you!”
She squinted, her head still foggy. “I’m not expecting anybody today.”
Full vision melted into view and she saw Alex pointing at a woman. Mary rose from her chair, she had to use a stick now no matter how much she hated it. Time was beating her. She shuffled to the edge of the porch, taking in her caller, her hips throbbing with pain.
The woman stood at the bottom of the porch. Her long blonde hair looked a mess with the waves of the Summer heat. As the lady swayed on her feet, Mary saw something snug on her back. It was in a sling and she nearly screamed when she saw the face. It was a baby with a load of black hair and an ice blue stare. Her heart did a little dance in her chest. I’ve seen those eyes before.
“Who are you?” Mary asked anxiously. “And who’s that?”
“My name is Stripe McLachlan,” the mysterious woman said. “This is my daughter, Sofia. I couldn't get childcare in time so I had to bring her with me. I'm a journalist for Titan News. I want to ask you a couple of questions about a case I’m working on, Miss Summers. I'm sorry to spring this on you suddenly.”
“And what case is that?”
“The Night Scrawler Murders back in the nineties.”
Mary laughed; she didn't want Alex to hear about the details. “What makes you think I know anything about it?!”
“I know you're not involved but I think you may have known someone who was.”
Now, she was confused and pissed off. “What do you mean? How on earth did you find me? This isn't right!”
The Stripe woman extracted something from her jacket pocket. “I'm sorry to show up like this. I had access to some employee records and found you the naughty way. Flash a wad of dollar bills, a door suddenly opens up. I know it's not the most ethical way to conduct business but you have to bend a few rules occasionally to find your way in journalism.”
Mary didn’t know whether to kick her off the porch or delve deeper. If a complete stranger can find out where she lived, what other details were out there. The world around her had changed vastly with the power of the almighty internet, anyone could access anything from the simple touch of a button, or the swipe of a screen.
The baby on Stripe’s back babbled for a few moments. “Do you recognise this man?” she asked, holding out a picture.
Mary commanded Alex to retrieve it. It was so odd that her grandson was racing up to her height. She'd be the shortest one in the Summers household in no time. Her arthritic fingers ached as she tightened the grip on the walking stick, keeping a tight eye on one of her pups. Alex plucked the photo from the lady and raced up the steps. When Mary saw it, she felt her head grow dizzy. Those green eyes, his dark rimmed glasses. She didn’t think she’d see him again.
“Nana!” Alex shouted, supporting her back as she wobbled.
“I need to sit down. Alex, help me.” She waved to the woman. “You can come up, dear.”
Stripe edged up the steps like a timid wildebeest. Alex escorted Mary back to her rocking chair. She indicated to the stool opposite her. “I'm sorry I didn't mean to frighten you,” Stripe said, bundling her daughter onto her lap. “You've seen him before, haven't you?”
“Many years ago,” Mary said. “I was working as an RN. He unsettled me.” His voice shuddered through her memory. Your son is very beautiful. He is. Exactly like his momma.
“That’s my dad. He was killed by the Night Scrawler when I was a teenager.”
“I remember, heard about it on the news. I didn’t pay much attention to it, not a fan of morbid stories. I’m sorry for your loss.”
She smiled off her apology. “You don’t need to be. Researching this case is like working out grief in a way.”
Mary found her words peculiar, she sounded more like a detective than a journalist. “I think digging up the past is dangerous. You might find things you wish you hadn’t.”
Stripe nodded and then she glanced to her daughter. “You’re not the first person who thinks I’m making a mistake.”
“Maybe you should listen to us...”
“I’ve considered it.”
Mary stared back at the child. The little baby girl had the same eyes and the immense dark hair. She smiled when Alex sat cross legged on the wood decking, slapping his hands together, singing and playing patty-cake with the baby. The little beauty's gaze lit up which made her pause for a short period of time. “Your daughter looks so much like my mystery boy.”
Stripe smiled softly. “Can you tell me about him?”
Mary told her the story from start to finish, trying to retell what she could remember. About her front desk shift, the hauntingly pretty pregnant woman who lost her life leaving behind her mysterious baby. She began to hesitate as she talked about her father. “I don’t want to upset you...”
Stripe shook her head. “Don’t worry. Please go ahead. My father had a lot of secrets.”
“I… didn’t trust him. He must have been having an affair with that poor young girl and got her pregnant. Bought her off or something to keep her quiet.” Mary rubbed her hands together. “She seemed like someone who was running away from God knows what. I just knew from the way she looked at me. Poor thing. Wh
en the crash team took her off to surgery, she touched my arm and uttered something. I wished I knew what she’d said to me.”
“She was running from Hell,” Stripe replied. “Drugs, failed career in the entertainment industry.” She produced another picture from her pocket. “This is her only headshot.”
Mary inspected the image. Her heart palpitated. She looked like a gothic porcelain princess with flawless skin, nothing like how she appeared when she arrived at the hospital. Can you help me?
A suspicious thought passed through her mind when she surveyed Sofia. “It’s weird seeing a ghost when she was happy. Your daughter looks like her.”
“I've noticed that too,” Stripe said. “You mentioned the baby boy. Did he look like Sofia?”
“They could be identical twins,” Mary chuckled. “But what does my story have to do with the Night Scrawler?”
“I’m not sure yet. I'm gathering a big puzzle together, trying to figure out where and if all the pieces fit.”
“I hope my piece has helped in some way.” Mary glanced at the baby. “I haven’t told anyone this story. Is my mystery baby alive? After your father took him, I was so worried.”
Stripe smiled, patting her daughter on the back. “He's alive, healthy and successful. You don't need to be concerned about him.”
Mary frowned. “I don’t understand. How do you know?”
She smirked. “It’s a long story. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Mary ushered Alex over and whispered in his ear. Her grandson nodded, disappearing inside the house. He returned holding something very precious to her. Mary looked down at the light blue blanket in his hands, she passed it to Stripe. “My mystery baby was nursed in this. I want you to have it for good luck.”
Stripe stared at her in shock. “I can’t, Mary. It’s yours.”
“I’ve kept this for many years. I’ve kept myself up at night wondering whatever happened to him and now you come along. You can’t say this isn’t fate, it has to be.” She framed her hands around Stripe’s. “It’s a gift. I don’t want it anymore. I guess I’ve been holding on to it for too long. Take it and keep meddling.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Summer 2017
Peter’s voice melted when the grogginess filled Stripe’s head. Pain scorched the inside of her nostrils and she had the sudden sensation to vomit. Her body hung forwards with her hair covering her vision like a blanket. Fire shuddered down her arm where the car had hit the van on impact, whiplash furrowed in the joints of her neck. She tried to tighten her fist, but it was weak from the injury. She winced from the ache in her wrists, the rope she'd been tied up with was tight and the son of a bitch who’d done it clearly didn’t want her going anywhere.
Faintly from the side of her head, she heard a sweet voice and the chime of a guitar. A sweet melody. It was Prince’s Purple Rain.
Every time she heard it, she was transported back to senior prom and her first love, Cameron Storms. If only she’d known the truth back then, if only she'd known what was going to happen afterwards.
“I played this song for you,” the voice said from the corner of the room, moving into the beaming light. “I hope you liked the roses I left you.”
Stripe raised her head, she knew the source of the voice and if she could get free herself, she’d kick his ass. “I did. I liked the touch with the black ribbon.”
“I try my best. Robbed the idea from your boyfriend’s blog. There was a Q & A section, and someone asked about the prom, he said he got his date a red rose wrapped in black ribbon.”
“This isn't exactly a meeting as you strongly put it. It's more like a kidnapping. You didn’t exactly stick to your story.” The figure grew into clearer focus and Stripe saw the present-day Night Scrawler in full view. “You aren’t how I imagined.”
Freak grinned showing off his sharp wolfish teeth. He was tall, the same statuesque height as Isaac. He had caramel mahogany skin; she saw the white scars on his face. His head was shaved and his lean figure of bones and muscle emulated her daughter’s father. Freak was quite handsome in his own way but his spirit was hideous. He had scars drawn across his left arm, just like Isaac. Stripe felt immediately nauseous when she saw them.
“Am I a disappointment?” he asked, stepping closer with his hands clasped behind his back.
“No, not really. I-I didn’t exactly have a proper vision of the Night Scrawler in my head. He was always... nothing, an empty vessel.” She hoped her words inflicted some sort of pain. “Where’s my daughter and my mom? You've got me here now. I want my side of the bargain.”
She grew anxious as he curled his hands out from behind his back. He grinned childishly, hopping in a jig. He produced a rectangle black remote, waving it like a magician. He pointed it to the darkness. After a few beats, she heard a click. There was a television screen framed on the wall and it burst to life. Her heart raced, the picture sharpened and her mother flooded slowly onto the screen. Her salt and pepper auburn hair was a mess in a frizz of knots, her skin drained of warmth. Beverley looked drunk, as if she'd chugged back a bucket of tequila slammers.
“What have you done to her?” Stripe whispered.
Freak rolled his eyes. “Relax. She’s fine. She’s just drugged.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“I’m disgusting?! You want to investigate your damned family tree!”
“Where’s Sofia?”
Freak ignored her, clicking the remote and another screen switched on. Stripe felt a mixture of relief and terror as Sofia seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Her black hair had been brushed away from her face with intricate care, her purple pacifier she adored was in her mouth, her tiny lips sucked on it as she slept. She's breathing. That’s what matters.
“See?” he said patronisingly. “She’s fine.”
“Have you drugged her?”
Freak glared as if he'd briefly been slapped with a raw stinking fish. “I wouldn't drug a baby! I'm not crazy. I mean your child is fucking annoying and she doesn't stop crying-”
“She doesn't like strangers, like the most of us.” Stripe glanced to her lifelines on the screens. “How did you get her to fall asleep?”
The muscles in his jaw tightened. “Somebody... is looking after her.”
“Who?” Stripe hissed. “Tell me right now, you sick fuck!”
The air leaked out of her lungs when he rushed her, the knuckles of his hand cracked against her cheek making it burn. The blow sent her head smacking against the back of the chair she was lashed to.
“Watch your fucking mouth, Stripe!” Freak yelled. “You sound exactly like Peter, and the others. Do you want them to die?! Is that what you want? Do you want me to rip your baby to pieces?!”
The tears spilled down her cheeks. “No, no I don’t!”
Freak hooked his fingers around the chair arm, leering down into her personal space. “Then don't say stupid shit because if you do, I will make sure you fucking regret it. Understand?” He shook the chair viciously. “Get it?!”
“Yes,” Stripe cried.
“Leave her alone!” Isaac yelled from the darkness.
Freak smirked, moving to his voice. She could breathe again. “My other guest is finally awake!” he sung, dancing over to Isaac, pushing her lover into the light so she could see him. “Oh wonderful, it’s the one and only Isaac.”
Isaac's skin was pale as snow and a sheen of sweat loomed on his forehead. Thin blood ribbons dripped from the crown of his hair. The sight of him made her heart palpitate.
“You two have no idea how excited I am right now.” Freak clapped his hands together childishly. “I’ve been aching for this.”
And you’ve killed for this.
“What do you want?” Isaac asked painfully.
“I wanted to meet you. Both of you. I’ve heard so much.”
“Who are you?” Stripe asked.
“I thought you’d know by now. You’re the journalist. I thought you would’ve done mountain
s of research.”
Stripe shook her head, it still ached from his slap. “I have, but I’ve never seen you before. I know you killed the girls, Anna Crawford and so many others.”
Freak’s eyes looked momentarily sad. “It’s a pity you haven't heard of me, but I guess it comes with the territory of being second best.”
“What are you talking about?” Isaac asked.
Freak pointed the black remote again and two additional television screens fizzed on. Oh my god. The fear inside Stripe was bubbling.
“Mom, Dad!” Isaac wailed.
Grace and Ted Payne flooded onto the screen. They were in the same condition as Beverley.
“Relax!” Freak shouted. “They’re drugged! Why does everyone rush to the worst conclusion? No wonder this world is messed up, this planet and everyone in it should drown. I haven't hurt them okay, but I will if you piss me off!”
Stripe wanted to cry again as she saw the anguish on Isaac’s face. “What the fuck do you want?”
“To play a game,” Freak grinned.
“What if we don't want to play?” Stripe asked.
He laughed at her. “Well, if you don't. I’ll kill your loved ones and I'll make you watch.” Freak smirked crudely. “I’d play the game if I were you.”
Stripe and Isaac stared at each other as Purple Rain began to play once more. They knew they didn’t have a choice. Nausea swelled in Stripe’s throat as fear settled and kicked in hard. “Okay,” she whispered, the tears dripping down her cheeks. “Tell us how to play.”
“It’s a nice simple game of Truth,” Freak said with a throw of his arms. “Now, I have you and your lover strapped into special chairs. Peter designed them for people as powerful as Isaac and I. If you answer incorrectly, well... you'll find out what the chair will do.”
“No. Not this game. There’s going to be a catch here,” Isaac whispered.
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