Coffee spurts out from Cabrera’s mouth and stains his newly laundered white shirt. He coughs and gasps for air. He sets the mug down on the table and grabs a napkin to wipe his chin. In a momentary panic, he brushes his shirt, floundering in his attempts to scrub the coffee-droplets off his shirt.
“Excuse me,” he blurts out the second that he catches his breath. “You lost your eyes?”
Darling nods. “That’s right; when I was about ten years old, I lost my eyes.”
Alvaro casts a doubtful look, raising a brow. “They look intact to me, Mrs. Ross.”
She folds her hands together and fixes a stern glance, and says, “Look, I don’t see how this is relevant to Mr. Jacobs’ death. So, if you please just tell us what information you have then we can move on.”
“Oh, it is relevant information, Detective. I need to tell you this part of the story.”
“Do you expect us to believe that a witch in San Judas is connected to Jacobs’ death?”
“Or an ass-wang,” adds Cabrera.
“Ah-swung,” Darling interrupts, correcting his pronunciation. “It’s aswang. When you open your mind, then your eyes will see the world beyond the world we know.”
Cabrera senses Alvaro’s incredulous glance. Her foot nudges his. She nods her head slightly towards the door. But he doesn’t want to go just yet. They’ve only started. He wants to delve deeper into this ‘world beyond.’ He looks at his subject with deepening curiosity, entranced by the possibility that something unusual – perhaps even supernatural - happened to Robert Jacobs and her ex-husbands.
Alvaro nudges his foot again. Stronger this time, with impatient eyes pressing him to end the interview immediately.
He looks down at his half-eaten cinnamon bun. But why leave? He hasn’t even finished. It would be rude to just get up and leave it there, lonely, and uneaten on the plate. It was so thoughtful of her to make them.
We’re her guests, he tells himself. It’s only considerate to stay, hear her out, and finish the delicious bun. And, perchance, have another one.