The Executioner

Seventy-Two

Garcia quickly checked his watch as he parked in front of the old apartment block in Montebello, east LA. He rested his head on his seat’s headrest and looked up at the many flickering Christmas lights hanging from several windows. They certainly added a lively touch to the otherwise nondescript brick building. Anna had decorated their first-floor apartment window with fake snow, glowing blue lights and an old Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer stuffed toy whose nose was more pale pink than red. But it was her favorite childhood memento. She’d had it since she was four.

Garcia had called her from the office to let her know he’d be home in time for dinner tonight, something that’d become a luxury lately. They’ve been together since their senior year in high school, and Garcia couldn’t have asked for a more supportive wife. She knew how much he loved being a detective. She’d seen how hard he’d worked for it and how dedicated he was. She understood the commitment and the sacrifices that came with the job, and she’d accepted them as if they were her own. But despite her strength and everything Garcia had told her, Anna sometimes felt scared. Scared that one day she’d get that phone call in the middle of the night telling her that her husband wouldn’t be coming home. Scared that the things Garcia saw on a day-to-day basis were changing him inside. No matter how mentally fit anyone is, there’s only so much savagery one can stomach. There’s only so much psychological abuse one can take before becoming detached. She’d read that somewhere, and she believed every word of it.

Anna was sitting comfortably on their blue fabric sofa when Garcia came into the living room carrying a nicely arranged bouquet of red roses and a bottle of white wine. She looked up from the book she was reading and gave him the same welcoming smile that made his heart beat faster and turned his legs to jelly every time.

He smiled back.

Anna had an unconventional but mesmerizing kind of beauty. Her short black hair complemented her striking hazel eyes and her heart-shaped face perfectly. Her skin was creamy smooth, her features delicate, and she had the firm figure of a high school cheerleader.

‘Flowers?’ She placed her book on the coffee table and stood up. ‘What’s the occasion?’

Garcia looked at her, and Anna saw a glimpse of something sad in his eyes. ‘No special occasion. I just realized that it’s been a while since I brought you flowers. I know how much you like them.’

Anna took the bouquet from his hands and kissed him softly. She thought about asking if everything was really OK, but she knew she’d just get the same answer. Garcia was always OK. No matter what was going on in his mind, no matter how tough his day had been, he’d never worry her.

Because of Garcia’s new aversion to grilled steak, Anna had prepared her grandmother’s famous lasagne al forno, and the meal was nicely complemented by the Pinot Grigio Garcia had bought. They had fruit salad and vanilla ice cream for dessert, and he helped her clear the table when they were done. In the kitchen, he turned on the hot tap and started washing the dishes while Anna sat at the small breakfast table finishing her wine.

‘Can I ask you something, babe?’ he said casually, without locking eyes with her.

‘Sure.’

‘Do you believe a person can see things that happened to other people without being there?’

She frowned at the question. ‘What? I don’t follow.’

Garcia finished washing the last plate, dried his hands on the flowery dish cloth and turned towards his wife. ‘You know, some people say they can see things. Things that happened to other people. Sometimes people they don’t even know.’

‘Like a vision?’ She said the words slowly.

‘Yeah, something like that, or a dream of some sort.’

Anna had another sip of her wine. ‘Well, that’s definitely a very strange question, coming from you. I know you don’t believe in things like that. Are we talking psychic people here?’

Garcia took a seat next to Anna and poured them both a little more wine. ‘Do you believe in things like that?’