The Singing Baker

He cannot find his uniform and he’s late for work. He never uttered a single word in ten years. Nobody knows why but I do. I know his story, I know his pains.

            It was one rainy night in June. We’re spending his birthday in an isolated, little bar across the street. It was his third beer, it was my second. The celebration and the laughter are overwhelming. We lost track of time and the next thing I knew, he was all up on the karaoke and he would not stop. Singing became his first love especially when he got his very first girlfriend and now his wife through it.

            I told him we should better be heading home, his wife is certainly waiting for him but he insisted to stay for a few more bottles. He blacked out…

            It had been ten years and he still can’t get over the awe and the grief that swathed the night. The night we were partying for his birthday, two robbers sneaked into his studio apartment. His wife was asleep and the robbers started ravishing their jewelry boxes and cash vaults. The money he earned from singing all his life suddenly turned into dust.

            The headlines came the following morning. His wife was brutally raped and stabbed to death. He cannot take it. He cannot even look at the body. I took responsibility for the wake and the burial. He never came to visit his wife. It was too painful, it was too heartbreaking that he wasn’t even there to defend his wife or in his words “to die with his wife”.

            After the interment, I came to his apartment and saw huge boxes taped. He’s moving and no one will ever know. It took me months and months to know about his whereabouts. I could not just let him go, he was my best friend.

            Rumor has it; he’s been working as a baker in a small bakery in the city. So I came to visit him but seems as of months of not seeing each other made him forget who am I. He still hasn’t uttered a word. I wondered how he could have been hired but according to his boss, since he came along, the bakery has been a total hit. I never gave up; I should find out what happened to him the times I was not there.

            It was a Monday morning and I was on my way to work when I saw him enter the police station. I got curious so I followed him inside. He’s still not talking. It looks as if his entry signaled something that he and only the policemen could understand. They showed him some documents and then he gave up a tiny smile. I stayed over for a couple of hours hoping to gain information about what his business with the police was.

            I did my research, called a few people from FBI, worked my internet magic and after weeks and weeks of sleepless investigations, I finally hit the bull’s-eye. All along this was all about revenge. He’s trying to avenge his wife’s death but how? I still haven’t had that figured out. I smelled something funky so I did not want to hire anybody for surveillance so I decided to do it myself. I would sneak into his workplace at times; follow him to the market, to his apartment. Nothing seemed unusual.  Or so I thought.

            He was just about to leave work when I overheard these bystanders gossiping about the disappearances that happened in the past two weeks. According to the old lady, targets were most likely alleged rapists that weren’t punished by court. I could not help but to giggle since it reminded me so much of Death Note, only this time, the killer was specific about his prospects. He hopped into a cab so I stopped eavesdropping and followed the cab.

            The cab stopped in front of a small alley, he paid the driver and hopped out. Things started to feel eerie and uncanny so I did not immediately went out of the car. I waited outside the alley hoping he’d just visit a friend, maybe someone who lives in the slums. Out of boredom, I turned on the radio and listened to a new band who’s everyone was going gaga over. I was just starting to feel sleepy when he came out the alley, with a sack on his back.

            Just when I thought he was about to head home, it surprised me when he went back to the bakery, instead. He looked frazzled and uneasy, constantly checking the streets before entering the bakery. No one seems to be around in the place at that time, so I sneaked in as well.

            I came in and there were blood stains all over the baking table. While creating a dough for the special bread he was about to make, he was humming. Then after shaping it into by the looks of it a croissant, he started singing. The sack contained parts of a human body; that I was certain of. I watch a little longer and came into one conclusion. I might have solved two cases here: I found the killer and I figured what he was doing at the police station. He was trying to hunt down his wife’s rapists and started getting revenge for every other rape victim there is.

            The images of the body parts added as his seemingly secret ingredient made me want to throw up. I was left with the most crucial decision, I could call and tell the police or I could just talk to him and ask him to stop since he was already able to get even with the rapists he ruined his life. With this thought in mind, I dozed off.

            When I woke up, I felt a weird feeling of relief, like I figured what to do about my predicament from last night. I decided to go to work and as I was passing by the bakery, there he was, the singing baker, all happy and whistling.