The Executioner: A Love Story (3 page)

“It’s not a nice name in high school when the jocks all make fun of it because it’s a girl’s name.” She felt bad again, because she was one of those jocks. She never made fun of other kids, but she hung out with the type of kid who did. She didn’t have the brains to do well in school, so she played sports. Cheerleading, volleyball, track, and whatever else she could do outside so she didn’t have to sit behind a desk.

“I was a jock,” she admitted. He frowned. She actually saw confusion in his light brown eyes. “I wasn’t smart enough to learn like the teachers wanted me to. I was just too impatient. Sitting behind a desk for 8 hours was the worst torture for me.” His eyes grew wide, like it was something he couldn’t fathom. “It’s true. I’ve never told anyone, not even my mother. But I just couldn’t understand what they were trying to teach me.”

She stunned him into silence, she realized. He sat quietly for several minutes, processing her words. The waitress arrived with their appetizer, and they both ordered. She felt bad doing it, but she ordered a steak and he ordered vegetarian fajitas.

“So what do you do,” she asked as he ate a potato skin with his fork, and spread sour cream over it with a knife. She had been so hungry, and now she just wanted to sit and watch Jordan.

“I work for the government,” he answered as he continued eating.

“What do you do for the government?” She wondered, and took a potato skin with her fork and tried to mirror his actions. She found after a few tries it became easier.

“My job is classified,” he said woodenly. He didn’t try to make it sound sexy or intriguing. He said it as if he would have said he was a janitor, like it was the most boring thing in the world.

“Oh, that’s interesting.” She laughed and nodded her head. “My job is classified too.” It was easier than another lie, telling him she was a nanny.

But her statement got his attention, and he gazed at her for several minutes. “I could see you as a spy.”

“Nothing like that, trust me,” she sighed. “I’m not smart enough to be a spy.”

“That’s the second time you said you weren’t smart,” he noticed with a frown. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.” By this time they were eating their entrees. She had to admit his fajitas looked and smelled much better than her steak.

“My sister was the smart one,” she said with a grin. “She got a full scholarship at…” And then she became very quiet. She stared down at her plate, and tried really hard not to cry. All her friends, her mom, and all her teachers tried hard to comfort her and get her to talk about the tragedy when it happened, but she refused. She didn’t want to talk about it at the time. She wanted to do something about it. And now she’d done something about it. And that didn’t help either.

She inhaled deeply; once, twice, three times. And then she went back to her steak as if nothing had happened. He watched her intently for several moments, but when she didn’t continue he returned to his own food.

They finished in silence. And although she was usually more excited about her favorite dessert at this restaurant than the food, she really didn’t want to order it. She didn’t want to enjoy anything. She wanted to curl up in a ball and forget about the world like she normally did, until the Secretary had another animal for her to hunt.

When the check was delivered by the waitress Florian automatically pulled her card out to pay. But Jordan had his card out as well. “I insist on paying,” he said sweetly.

“I asked you out,” she countered. “I should pay.”

“The gentlemanly thing to do is to pay for dinner.” His smile was captivating. His teeth were perfect and white, and his cheeks turned bright pink.

“Can we split it?” She bit her lip, anticipating he might argue. But he agreed, and they waited to sign their receipts in silence.

When they returned to her car he opened the door for her. He was polite and chivalrous.

“How old are you,” she wondered as she drove back to the apartment.

“I am twenty-six,” he said as he pushed several buttons on her radio and set her clock.

“That’s been off since daylight savings time. Thank you. I tried to fix it, but I couldn’t figure it out. I thought it would at least be right again in the fall.” He also reset the navigation system that had blinked on the menu page for days.

“I have a talent for technology,” he said proudly.

And I have a talent for killing people, she thought. “I wish I had your talent.”

“I’m twenty-six too, by the way.” She examined his face again. She knew she looked young, but he looked much younger than her. “Where did you go to college?”

“MIT,” he said offhandedly.

“Wow,” she said, stunned to silence again. She glanced at her newly set clock, and saw it was only 5:30. “We’re here early.” She pulled into her parking space and he hurried out of the car to open the door for her again.

“Where did you go to college?” He asked as they walked up the steps together.

“I went to college in Pennsylvania.” Her voice became quiet. “But I didn’t finish.”

“Maybe, if you want to start again, I could tutor you,” he offered as they made it to their shared porch and he unlocked his door.

“I think you’d get tired of me really fast,” she remarked innocently.

“I don’t think I’d ever get tired of you,” he smiled. Her heart skipped a beat. She held her keys to her side. She didn’t want to unlock her door and go inside. She didn’t want to be alone again, staring at the TV and trying not to think of what she’d done.

“You could go to church with me if you want,” he offered lightly. “I’ll let you drive, even. Your car is awesome.”

She made a noise in the back of her throat and stared down at her hands. He looked disappointed.

“I’m sorry, I just…” What could she say? She committed twenty-three murders in five years and she didn’t think Jesus would care about her reasons and her excuses? “I’m just really tired from the flight,” she lied quickly. “Thank you for going out with me.” She reached out her hand to him, and he took it and shook it. His hands were soft and warm.

He released it suddenly. “I hear you crying at night,” he said lightly. He didn’t look away. “I feel bad and wish I could knock on your door. I wish I could help.”

Her mouth flew open and her eyes grew wide. “You can knock on my door any time.” His eyes were gentle, and his smile was warm. She quickly unlocked her door and hurried inside.

Chapter Three

At midnight she heard a faint knock on her front door. She was crying again. She heard his front door open. She knew she’d told him to come over any time, but she didn’t think he would really do it.

He stood there for several moments, and just as she heard his light footsteps move away she hurried to the door. He was standing with his door half opened when she peeked her head out.

“Hi,” he said with his quirky smile.

“Hi,” she grinned.

“I was just wondering if you were okay.” His unwavering voice calmed her immediately. She rubbed her hand across her cheek to wipe the tears. She nodded.

“I have chamomile tea,” he said and raised his hand in the same motion he did earlier in the day, pointing at his kitchen. “And milk that I could heat for you.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had milk in her fridge that didn’t spoil before she drank it.

She wanted to say no. But she couldn’t. She didn’t even care that she was barefoot and it was October in Virginia. She cautiously stepped out onto their shared porch and closed her door behind her. She wore an Ohio State sweatshirt and pants, her dark hair was in a pony tail, and she wore no makeup. And she didn’t care.

“Are you from Ohio,” he wondered as she followed him into his apartment.

“Huh?” She was a little stunned by his question. Her eyes were wide when he turned to wait for her answer.

“Your sweatshirt.” He pointed at her clothes.

She felt a little paranoid as she tried to laugh it off. “Yea,” she nodded. “Canton.”

His apartment was even neater than it appeared from the outside. He had a pretty white couch with brown pillows that looked like you could sink into it, a white chair that matched, and a pretty white iron and glass coffee table strewn with magazines about astronomy. There were bookshelves filled with text books and sci-fi novels, and box sets of several TV shows.

“That’s my favorite show,” she said as she pointed at one of the boxes.

“We can watch it if you want,” he said as he stood by his kitchen table. A text book sat open, along with a laptop, a tablet, and a real notebook and pencil. “Do you want warm milk or tea?”

“Tea,” she said as she sat down in a chair across from the one already pulled out. He’d obviously been working on something.

“Homework?” She wondered as she stared at the book.

“Experimental physics,” he said offhandedly. “I’m working on my doctorate.” She nodded and stared at the problems with symbols she didn’t recognize. He turned on the burner under his tea kettle, and opened a cabinet above the stove.

“Oh, do you have hot chocolate?” She said it like she was ten years old again.

“I can make some if you want it.” She nodded quickly, and he turned off the tea kettle and poured some milk into a pan then placed it on the stove.

He busied himself making two mugs of hot cocoa as she stared at his writing in the notebook. His penmanship was perfect, even if she couldn’t read what he wrote.

“Are you cramming for a test,” she joked.

“No, this isn’t due until next week,” he shook his head. “And I don’t have to study for tests. I have a photographic memory,” he reminded her.

He placed a steaming mug in front of her, and placed one by his book then sat down. She placed her cheek on her palm and watched as he returned to his writing.

He wrote for several minutes then returned his attention to her. “Is your drink okay?”

“It’s cooling,” she whispered.

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.