The Executioner: A Love Story

by Melissa Silvey

  He nodded and blew on his, then took a sip. “It’s cool.” She picked hers up and took a sip, but continued to stare. “Do you want to watch some TV?”

  She nodded. “Don’t you sleep?” She asked as he busied himself with readying the TV and the disc player.

  “Not very often,” he said quietly, then motioned to the couch. She joined him there. He hit play and the first episode of her favorite show came on. She watched about half of it, and then her eyes grew heavy.

  She woke up hours later leaning against someone’s shoulder. Her cheek felt like she’d slept against a piece of rock, and her arm tingled from lack of blood flow. She’d awoken in so many weird places over the last few years it didn’t feel odd to wake up in this unfamiliar apartment. Except she saw her favorite TV show on a big screen across the room, and a mug of now cold hot chocolate on a coffee table.

  “You’re awake,” a calm male voice spoke.

  Neither of them moved, though. She didn’t want to break the tenuous connection to another human being. “Have you been sitting like that since I fell asleep?”

  “I didn’t want to wake you.” He turned to watch her as she finally sat up. And then he moved his arm to stimulate the circulation.

  “You didn’t sleep?” She moved her own arm the same way, and she smiled shyly.

  “I have insomnia,” he said clinically. She loved his voice. He could tell her she had cancer in that silky smooth voice and she wouldn’t mind at all.

  “I’m sorry I fell asleep on you.” She stared at the mug he took such care to make for her. “And I’m sorry I wasted your hot chocolate.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He hurriedly stood and cleaned up both mugs and rinsed them out in the sink. She followed him into the kitchen and stood by the table.

  “I should go home,” she sighed.

  “You don’t have to. You can sleep on the couch, or we can watch more TV.” She thought he was very polite, maybe too polite. But she liked it.

  “You leave very early in the morning.” She resisted the temptation to stay.

  “Yes,” he agreed. But he stared at her as if he didn’t see the problem.

  “And I would have to get up early to go home when you leave,” she finished.

  “I could cook breakfast,” he offered. She looked at the clock on the wall behind him, decorated with sunflowers, and realized it was already 2:30.

  “Okay.” She had no idea how to argue with such a gracious offer. So she sat back down on the couch and he joined her. He restarted the disc at episode two. But soon she was asleep again.

  She woke up to the smell of eggs and toast. Sometime in the night he had wrapped a blanket around her, and her head rested on a pillow against the arm of the couch. She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palms, and yawned loudly.

  “The bathroom is through there,” he said as he pointed toward a door off the kitchen. It was the same place her half- bath was located. She hurried toward it, finished quickly and hurried back to the kitchen. He placed two plates full of scrambled eggs with cheese and toast on the half of the table not occupied with his school books. Then he poured two glasses of orange juice and sat one in front of each plate.

  It had been so long since she had eaten a home cooked meal, even the eggs and toast seemed like a feast. She ate every bite slowly, savoring the taste. She didn’t even mind that it was just after 6 am.

  “This was incredible, thank you,” she said after she finished her meal.

  “It was just eggs,” he said matter-of-factly. And she wanted to cry because she couldn’t tell him how great it was. He already showered and dressed for work. He wore black pants with a light grey oxford and a dark grey tie, which hung crookedly to the side of his buttons. She took in his appearance with a wide smile. His hair hung over his forehead and gave him a boyish look. And his eyes; his eyes were so brown, like cocoa.

  He smelled of soap and deodorant, and a faint musky smell that was clean and masculine at the same time. She was drawn to his scent as much as his actions, his looks, and his voice. He seemed to be perfect, and she wanted him.

  He cleaned the plates off the table and rinsed them in the sink, then went to his room and grabbed a black jacket and a dark wool coat. “It’s going to be cold today.” He pulled black knit gloves out of his pockets.

  She approached him slowly, and straightened his tie. “Thank you again for breakfast,” she sighed. She stared at him for a moment too long, then she turned and hurried out his front door. She stood at her front window and watched as he made his way to his small car. She noticed he turned to look at her window before he climbed in. She closed the curtain quickly and turned to stare at her apartment.

  Her luggage still sat by her front door. She had a dark brown couch against one wall, and that was the only furniture in her living room. She had no kitchen table, only three stools against the bar that separated the living room and kitchen. She had very few pots and enough dinner ware for four. It was a cheap set, but it would do. This was not her home, this was a base. But she’d already decided she would have dinner ready for Jordan when he made it home. She showered, braided her long brown hair, and dressed warmly.

  She had completely forgotten about the phone in the back of her small convertible. When she finished shopping and walked back to her apartment she carried the phone with her. She plugged it in and left it to charge as she put away her groceries.

  She’d decided to make macaroni and cheese; an easy dish loved by all, even vegetarians. She would add a salad and rolls and call it a dinner, and she hoped he agreed.

  When her phone was fully charged it beeped, and she went to it to turn it on. She found a message from the Secretary. Good job in California, it read. Have another when you’re ready.

  She hadn’t even been home an entire day and the Secretary was ready with another.

  Well the Secretary would have to wait, she decided. She wanted to be a normal person for a little while. Her main goal was cooking dinner.

  She heard footsteps on the stairs outside as she put the dish in the oven. She was glad she showered and dressed earlier. She even wore makeup as she opened the door when she heard keys rattling.

  “Hi.” She hoped the happiness she felt in seeing him transferred to her voice and her expression.

  She felt her heart skip a beat when he turned to her with a shy smile. “Hi.” He looked so handsome all bundled up in his wool coat she couldn’t help but grin.

  “I wanted to say thank you for taking care of me last night.” She took a step outside her door just to get closer to him. His eyes looked even darker against his dark clothes. “So I made dinner; homemade macaroni and cheese and salad.”

  “That sounds better than a sandwich,” he said thoughtfully.

  She tried not to laugh. “It’s one of my favorite dinners. And it’s easy,” she admitted. “It’ll be ready in about half an hour.”

  “I’d love some. Just let me put my things away and change and I’ll be over.” She nodded and closed her door. She glanced around her apartment and felt a little happier with it. She bought colorful placemats for the bar. She even bought some rainbow colored daisies and placed a vase on either end of the bar.

  Just before he knocked she put a pan of dinner rolls in the oven. The whole apartment smelled welcoming. She really wanted to impress him. And she’d always heard the way to a man’s heart was his stomach.

  She changed the playlist on her mp3 player to soft jazz, and turned the volume down. She wanted just the right mood. He knocked on her door as she finished applying another coat of pink lip gloss. She wanted to look as pretty as possible.

  “I brought my own salad dressing. I hope you don’t mind,” he said as he held it up. “It’s just my favorite.” He wore jeans with holes in the knees and a black t-shirt. His skin looked even more pale, and his eyes looked darker.

  “No that’s fine.” She couldn’t get over how quirky and adorable he was. “Do you like wine? I bought a bottle of white and blus
h.”

  “I don’t drink.” He looked around her apartment, and then turned back to her. “Are you sure you’re not a spy?”

  “No, I’m not a spy,” she shook her head, and motioned toward a stool. “Like I said, I spent my money on my car. I have a small TV in my bedroom. I watch in there.”

  “You don’t have a computer?” He asked it as if it was the strangest thing he’d ever seen.

  “No, I never figured out how to use them,” she laughed. “My sister studied computer science, but I didn’t even know how to turn one on.” She realized that she brought up her sister again. She tried not to frown as she turned toward the oven to remove the casserole and the bread.

  She filled two bowls with salad, and filled her glass with wine. “I have bottled water,” she offered as she took one out of her fridge.

  “That’s fine,” he said, and opened it to take a sip. He forced a smile.

  “I don’t have any soda,” she apologized. “I don’t drink it.”

  “No, this is fine,” he insisted, and took another sip. “I just don’t drink much water.” He frowned. He couldn’t hide his emotions at all.

  “I won’t mind if you want to go get your soda.” She smiled brightly. “Go ahead, it’s fine.”

  He hurried out the door, and in less than two minutes he was back with two cans of soda. She dished out two plates full of pasta, and gave each a roll. They ate quietly, listening to soft music.

  “This is really good,” he said after he finished.

  “Do you want more? There’s plenty.” She stood to refill her glass, and filled his plate again.

  “Where is your sister?” It was an innocent question. She turned away from him and quickly finished her glass of wine. “It’s just that you use the past tense when you talk about her.”

  “She died.” Florian turned toward him and stared into his earth brown eyes. Did she want to tell him the truth about her life? Did she want to open up to him?

  He waited patiently for her to continue. Until her stare dropped to the floor and her hand went to her cheek to wipe away a tear. And then he was on his feet and beside her in seconds. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and led her to her couch. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No not really.” She said it, but she didn’t mean it. She very much wanted to talk about it. And she wanted to talk about it with Jordan. “I can’t,” she wanted to say. But the sobs took over, and tears poured down her cheeks.

  He hurried to her bathroom and grabbed some toilet tissue and carried it back to her. He gently wiped her eyes and cheeks. She buried her face in his shirt, not worrying about the eye make-up that was sure to stain it. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and held her closer, not moving until she calmed down and stopped sobbing.

  “Do you want to come over to my place? We can watch the third episode of your favorite show.”

  His soothing voice made it impossible for her to say no. “Sometimes when I start crying like that I go for a run,” she told him as she stood up.

  “I see you running a lot.” He paused for a moment and thought. “And I hear you crying in your bed.”

  “Okay, I don’t cry every time I run, and I don’t run every time I cry.” She tried not to smile. “I’m sorry I got make-up all over your shirt.”

  “Don’t worry about it, I’ll use stain remover.” He didn’t even look down at the wet spot. “If you would rather go running, that’s fine.” His bottom lip protruded in a slight pout. He didn’t realize he did it, she assumed, which made it even more endearing. “I don’t run.”

  “No, it’s fine,” she insisted. “You can make me some more hot chocolate, and I’ll go right to sleep again.” She smiled brightly, teasing him. He nodded, which made her smile even wider. “Let me just clean up here and I’ll be right over.”

  “I can help,” he offered. He placed the salad and the pasta in the fridge, without commenting on how she had nothing at all in it. She was going to scrape the plates down the garbage disposal, but he took the serving she’d just placed on his place and put it in a plastic bowl. “For tomorrow,” he said.

  He was smart, practical, sensitive, caring, and adorable. She wondered why it took so long for her to get to know him.

  They cleaned everything up and put the dishes in the dishwasher. “I’m going to change out of this and be over in a bit.” She looked down at her cute leopard print jumpsuit. It wasn’t the right type of outfit for lying on the sofa and watching TV.

  “You look really pretty, by the way.” He said it shyly, then hurried out the door. She smiled as she changed. But her smile turned to a frown when she heard her phone beep, and knew it was a message from the Secretary.

  Don’t get too close to your new boyfriend, it read. We don’t want any secrets revealed accidentally.

  She wondered if the Secretary had a camera in her apartment. Or some kind of listening device planted somewhere. Whatever it was she couldn’t have Jordan’s apartment bugged. So she quickly changed into sweats and practically ran to Jordan’s apartment.

  “What’s wrong,” he asked when he saw her. “You look like someone is chasing you.”

  “No, I’m fine,” she countered as she jumped onto his couch. He finished in the kitchen and carried a mug of hot chocolate to her.

  Jordan started the DVD on the third episode of the series, and she stared into her cup. She blew on the liquid gently, preoccupied with her thoughts.

  “You can talk to me, you know. I won’t tell anyone.” Her attention turned to him, and she wanted more than anything to trust her new best friend with the peculiar grin who faithfully attended church services and didn’t drink or eat meat.

  She wanted to trust him more than she wanted anything in her life, other than killing Conner Samples.

  “I know,” she nodded, and took a sip of her drink. He returned his attention to the TV, but she didn’t take her eyes off him.

  Chapter Four

  “Can I ask you something?” It was midnight and she was still sitting on his couch. They had gone from the TV show she thought she would enjoy to a big budget action movie. The main character of the movie was a vigilante who fought against a dystopian government. And she couldn’t help thinking of her own predicament.

  “You can ask me anything,” he said seriously. His brown eyes seemed so trustworthy.

  “If someone had planted a listening device in my apartment, would you be able to find it?” She couldn’t stop herself from spilling her guts while staring into those eyes.

  He seemed stunned for only a moment. “Are you sure you’re not a spy?”

  “I swear I’m not a spy,” she said emphatically as her shoulders slouched. She didn’t want to cry again, she really didn’t. But a tear escaped anyway. What had come over her?

  “Can you tell me what you do?” He was torn between wanting to trust her and wanting to know the truth.

  “I really shouldn’t.” She bit her lip. “It’s safer for both of us if you don’t know.” That was a delicate way of wording it.

  “Do you work for the government?” He asked quickly.

  “No,” she smirked.

  “Are you a terrorist?”

  “No!” She cried out and moved away from him.

  “Are you a vigilante?”

  Her eyes narrowed. Did her body language give it away during the movie? Was he so observant he figured it out so quickly? Damn him and his intelligence. She wished he wasn’t so smart.

  “You are a vigilante,” he exclaimed. He sounded almost excited. “Who do you work for?” She had to stand up and move toward his kitchen before she gave anything else away. She wished she’d carried her bottle of wine over to his apartment.

  “Could you tell me if there is a listening device in my apartment?” She turned back to him with a look of sadness.

  That was what drew him to her, after all; her tears. He couldn’t tell her no. “Sure,” he nodded and walked to the table to gather his tablet. “I just need to configure
this to pick up any equipment that’s transmitting data right now.” He touched several buttons. His eyes squinted as he stared at the screen. “That’s odd.” Then he frowned. He put his finger up to his lip, signaling her to be quiet. He looked puzzled until he turned to her. And then he nodded.

  He took her hand and led her to his front door. Once they were on their shared porch he glared at her. Her feet absorbed the cold of the wood deck and she hopped from foot to foot. “There’s something transmitting in my apartment.”

  “But there is a lot of stuff in your apartment,” she whispered. She really didn’t understand how he could tell the difference.

  “This is on a different frequency,” he tried to explain. “Trust me. Someone has planted something in my apartment.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said as she rubbed her hands together to warm them. “It’s my fault. I should never have asked you to go out with me.”

  “I’ll find them and destroy them. We’ll be fine,” he sighed. His hands went to her shoulders. “Come inside with me.”

  She nodded and followed him into his apartment. Once inside she stalked around the apartment for several moments, thinking. “I don’t think we should see each other again.” The words came out as spitefully as she could manage.

  “What?” The shock in his voice hurt her chest. “I don’t understand.” His doe eyes looked so sad.

  “I can’t have a boyfriend right now,” she insisted. “We can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

  “But I don’t…” he started.

  “Just leave me alone,” she screamed. But her finger went up to her lips. She opened the door and slammed it shut.

  She tip-toed silently toward the couch. As quietly as she could she sat down. His quirky smile told her he was impressed. He even gave her a nod. He returned to his tablet and pushed on the screen. He walked around until he stopped at a decorative lamp. He looked all around it, unscrewed the bulb, and found a tiny piece of electronics inside the socket. He carried it in his palm to the bathroom, then she heard the toilet flush.

  He walked back through the living room, kitchen, and his bedroom. He shook his head and she exhaled heavily.