CHAPTER 338: 338-I FORGIVE YOU

Clementine:

I stood frozen and unable to speak as my father stared me in the eye before pulling the hoodie back on.

I stepped back, unsteady, until Ian grabbed me and held me still.

My father began to whisper again. I could not understand what he was doing or why the sound felt so heavy.

Behind me, the others began to repeat the same whispering.

Ian shook me, trying to bring me back, reminding me that if we did not take him down now, he would cause more chaos.

I threw a weak punch at the Whisperer. He caught my wrist, but Ian stepped in and struck the side of his head.

There was no face to hit, but the force pushed his body to one side.

The Whisperer released another wave of wind at both of us.

We planted our feet and leaned forward. Something about him felt weaker now.

His attacks were slower. His movements lacked the force he had used earlier.

I kept punching him to stop him from whispering again because the others had already begun to fall into it once more.

I could not stop myself from thinking about his missing face. It felt like shame.

The kind people talk about when they say they cannot show their face anywhere.

It crossed my mind that it could have been guilt or disgrace. Then it clicked.

The others had spoken their guilt and waited for forgiveness. Maybe that had weakened him.

Ian hit him in the stomach, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I grabbed the Whisperer’s hoodie again and pulled it back.

His face appeared, and I hit his knee. He fell to the side and hit the ground with a hard thud.

I moved toward his legs and knelt down so I could look at him.

I swallowed hard.

"What are you guilty of?" I asked.

His cold expression softened. Tears formed in his eyes.

"Tell me. What are you guilty of?" I shouted, feeling Ian step behind me.

He placed his hands on my elbows to show me he was there.

Haiden broke free from the whispering and ran toward my father.

My father raised his hand and sent a blast of wind that threw Haiden across the floor.

He did not do the same to me. I wondered if it had something to do with me. If the only guilt he carried was tied to me.

"Tell me what you are guilty of," I said, my voice shaking. "Are you guilty of hurting all those women and taking them from their families? Are you guilty of treating me the wrong way? Of watching everyone bully me? Of sending me here to die? Of wishing I had died in the north? Tell me something. Tell me you are guilty of anything."

I kicked his legs and knees. I felt small again. I felt like the child who had wanted a father who did not drag bodies across the floor while I watched.

He finally answered.

"I am guilty of not killing you when you were born."

Everything around me went silent. I stared at his face, unable to breathe. That was what he felt guilty for. Of Not ending me sooner.

"If I had, I would not have to deal with such shame. I wish I had killed you sooner," my father repeated, louder, as if he thought I had not heard him.

It made sense in the worst way. I had expected too much. I had believed he might regret his crimes.

He began to whisper again, making it clear he would never feel guilt. Nothing would change him.

The others shouted in unison behind me.

"I am guilty."

The sound grew louder, but I refused to let him win.

I inhaled slowly and looked him in the eye.

"I forgive you," I said.

His eyes widened for the first time.

He tried to get up, but he fell again when my words seemed to sink in.

"Yeah, you are guilty of not killing me. Well, I forgive you because that is the only thing I will ever forgive you for," I stated clearly.

I noticed the way his face tightened, almost as if he was dealing with sharp pain.

"No, take it back," he spoke, almost pleading as he placed his hand on his chest.

"They are all coming out of his hypnotism again," Ian announced from the side, letting me know what was happening to the others.

I continued to watch my father.

"Say you take your words back," my father screamed.

I did not move. I stood my ground.

"It is not surprising that you became a monster. You already were one," I added, watching him clutch his chest.

"No, you cannot kill me twice," he hissed.

The anger in his eyes no longer affected me. I could not believe he would ever feel guilty.

If anything, keeping him alive would only let him hurt more people.

"You have been a problem in the mainland and you continue to be the worst in the north too," I replied as I remembered how many members we had lost because of him.

"Oh, I see you have grown more confident. I was doing fine. I should not have come across you," he spat on the ground.

I began to walk away. My body felt stiff, my voice stuck, but I kept moving. I reached for the silver knife.

I saw the reflection of his face on the blade and watched his expression twist.

"No, you will never kill your father, because even now, when I looked into your eyes, I saw that you are still that little girl who wants her father’s affection, her father’s consideration and her father’s approval," he spoke quickly.

I marched toward him faster, and when I knelt beside him, I pushed the knife straight into his chest.

Even then, his body refused to react at first. His eyes lowered to the blade and then lifted again.

His mouth filled with blood as he stared at me.

"Well, you are wrong. I am your daughter, Father. I can be cruel too," I hissed while I twisted the knife, watching the pain spread across his face.

For some reason, it made me feel good.

"This is for all the women you harmed. They were special. You were not," I muttered as I pulled the blade out and drove it into his chest once, twice, and then again, striking him repeatedly until my face and body were covered in his blood.

Finally, Ian came from behind me and stopped me.

"It is okay. He is gone," he told me.

I turned and hugged him, crying into his chest.