The One That Got Away

David Rembrant, that’s my name. The “best detective” in all of the Western District as my colleagues often teased me about. I’m really not one to get hung up on the awards and medals but it sure is fun to catch bad guys. I mean don’t get me wrong, seeing evil on a daily basis takes a toll on my soul. But watching the criminals you catch spend their lives in prison or even go on death row is the best feeling of accomplishment. This is what I’m feeling at this moment as I watch the live execution of a prominent serial killer called “Red Herring”. He was responsible for kidnapping, sexually assaulting, and killing young women with red hair. What a sick hobby. Now, his reign of terror is finally over as he sits on that electric chair, head covered by a bag, waiting for his death. 

“What a skittish little bugger that one eh?” a pot-bellied middle-aged white man says as he cozies up beside me. His face glistened as pearls of sweat drip from his forehead. 

“Hey Ted,” I say with a smile, “Sweaty again today huh?” 

“Lay off ‘best detective’ you’d be sweating too if you’re the one who brings the criminals to prison,” he then wipes his face with a handkerchief. 

I shrug and say, “Hey man, is it not enough that I figure things out and you do the rest?” 

“Just saying. Take that guy for example,” and he points to the television screen. “That bugger was a pain in the ass. He’d flail and shout that he was innocent.” 

I sigh. “Poor bastard. Doesn’t even know what hit him I guess.” 

He scoffs. “Yeah, you tell me. That guy even cried. In my thirty years in the force, I’ve never seen a guilty man cry while yelling they’re innocent.” 

“There’s a first for everything.” 

He shrugs, pats me on the back, and walks away as he grabs a donut from a nearby table. 

Ted’s such a sweetheart. When I was just starting, I didn’t know my right foot from my left. It was Ted who showed me the ropes. I always wondered why he helped me and when I asked him, he said “Without y’all young people doing the detecting, we old folk won’t be doing any impounding.” What a funny way of saying “without you, we won’t have a job”. I chuckle to myself and turn my eyes towards the screen again. The Red Herring: a criminal that took us years to catch is finally in custody and is facing death. His real name is Peter Jenkins, a college student in a public university. His family and friends are protesting outside the execution building along with anti-capital punishment groups. They insist that the Peter that they know was sweet, kind, and “would never hurt anybody”. What a silly fantasy. Of course, he would act like that. What criminal would show their true colors? As if on cue, the executioner pulls off the bag on his head revealing a thin, weak, but smiling Peter Jenkins. Sick bastard. He’s smiling in the face of death? I start to boil, my fists clenched. Then, a stranger’s clenched fist, hits my back and I recoiled from the pain. When I turned, I see my partner, Clement, having a laughing fit. He is short, which he claims to be because he’s Asian, but his body is a trained weapon. He’s the guy who could chase a suspect for hours. 

“What’d you do that for?” I shout while rubbing the sore spot that he just made. 

“Oh, come on, you look so serious!” he retorts. “This day is a cause for celebration no? Why’s there a stick up your ass?” 

I shake my head and sigh. “There’s a stick up my ass because that guy isn’t repenting or afraid like he should. He’s smiling for God’s sake!” 

He squints his eyes at the television as if to mock me. I swear, one of these days I’ll have the chance to punch that smug face. 

“Yeah, you’re right. He’s definitely smiling. He seems at peace too.” 

“Right? What happened to him?” 

To answer my question, he takes a folder from his desk and flips through the pages. 

“Ah, it says here that a chaplain came to the prison a week ago. Maybe he found religion?” 

I scoff. “What god would want this guy?” 

He shrugs. “Hey, you’d be surprised. I can think of one religion who accepts the most messed up people and funny enough, they change.” 

I roll my eyes and looks at the television again. No, that is not the face of a changed man; it’s that of a mad man. 

“Oh hey,” Clement says as he taps my shoulder “there’s a package at your desk from a girl named Emily? Do you know her?” 

Upon hearing the name, I smile. “Yeah I know her.” 

Noticing my unconscious smile, Clement jabs my side with his elbow. “Oh? What’s this? Has the great detective David Rembrant finally found a girl who’d put up with him?” 

“Lay off.” 

He chuckles and pats me on the back. “In any case, I’ll see ya at the party buddy. Enjoy this moment.” 

Then he was gone. I’m once again alone in my thoughts. A package from Emily huh? She’s my neighbor of almost four years now. Funny enough, I met her when I started investigating the Red Herring. If only I wasn’t so busy with work, I would have asked her out. After all, she’s a beauty with her shining ebony skin and tightly braided hair. Well, she sent a package so maybe she’s a little bit interested? Then as if to snap me out of my imagination, the execution horn sounded. It’s time. This country treats religion seriously so the criminal can ask for their final religious rites. After hearing Clement’s short report, I’m not surprised that there’s a holy man present in his execution. Honestly, he should just die a dog’s death. I walk towards my desk to receive my package. It’s a well-decorated box from a famous bakery. I personally don’t like sweets but if they’re from Emily, I would gladly indulge in it. 

“Do you have any final words?” As if a fish that was caught in a line, my consciousness was pulled towards the screen when the holy man said these words. 

In reply, Peter looks towards the camera. We lock eyes. I know that he is not looking at me directly, but it feels like there’s a tether that connected us at that moment. This feeling grew stronger when he finally opens his mouth. 

“Detective David, I forgive you. You are only human. Using my final breath, here’s my warning: beware of cinnamon scented hands.” 

He said those words with gentleness, with conviction. Forgive me? Who does he think he is? At this point, I was fuming, but hearing Clement’s words earlier, I managed to calm myself down. This day is a cause for celebration, a criminal is now dead. No need to heed the words of a madman. I then turn my attention to the box on my desk. Excitedly, I lifted the lid slowly, as if to savor the moment. But the feeling didn’t last. When I finally opened the box and the sweet scent of the desserts hit my nose, my heart stopped. Cinnamon. In the box is a dozen cinnamon buns perfectly lined up and topped with white icing. I snapped my head to look at the television with wide eyes. He’s dead. There's a note underneath the lid. It says, “Time to bounce boo. I had fun. Love, Red.” I felt my my stomach shrink. My knees felt weak; I had to sit down. All the noise around me sounds like garbling water. Then, a memory flashes from one of the crime scenes. 

“Is it just me or every victim smelled like cinnamon buns?” Clement announced as he examined the blunt force trauma to the head closely. 

“You’re just hungry,” I replied. 

I rushed out of the precinct to my car. As if in hot pursuit, I turned on my siren and ignored every traffic light. My heart is beating as fast as my car and my lungs are gasping for air. The pitter patter of rain drowned my thoughts. Then, I arrive in front of Emily’s door “Room 103”. Beside it is mine, “Room 104”. I knock violently. 

“Emily! Open the door!” 

No answer. I check the knob: unlocked. Slowly, I turn it, open the door, expecting Emily to greet me with a concerned look on her face. But there was nothing. Pitch black in this maelstrom, the room feels like a void calling out to me. Then, lightning struck, illuminating everything to my horrified eyes.