Page 92 of All the Little Raindrops

“Correct, little rabbit. But it was not a story. It was my life. She was my life. Her name was Celesse.” A note of something she’d almost call longing had come into his voice, but with his next words, it was gone. “I protected her when I could. I offered myself in exchange for her if there was interest. Sometimes there was. Sometimes there was not.” He paused, his pinkie tapping lightly against the desk very momentarily. “As a boy, living in that house, I had survived—and helped my mother and sister survive—by reading not only books but people. By collecting. Personality clues. Habits. Fears and motivations. That’s what being a good therapist or profiler is about too. You put all those collected clues together, like a puzzle. If you’ve collected enough pieces, it forms a picture.”

“You could have used those qualities for good,” Evan gritted.

“I did use them for good. Perhaps someday you’ll come to agree.”

“No, you became one of the monsters you claim to hate.”

“Yes, but it’s the only way to take such monsters down.”

“How?”

Vitucci didn’t answer him; he only smiled and went on with his story. “That night ... they thought I’d died along with the rest, but a kind man who worked at the mortuary noticed I was in fact not quite dead after all. He understood who the men who ruled that city were. His own family had been victimized by their power. His betters, or so they thought themselves, were covering up the scene of the crime, and it gave him the opportunity to secret me away to a doctor in Italy. Vitucci. He healed me, and he gave me his name, as he had an in with the medical clerks in his village. He was a very old man, however, and so he sent me to his cousin in France to be raised. Baudelaire took me under his wing. He educated me. He raised me as a son. He helped metrace the bastards who thought they’d killed me, along with my mother and sister, here to Reno, Nevada, in the United States of America.”

He paused and looked between them. “They’d hidden themselves behind false names and new companies. It took years before I recognized one of them on the news, a man named Fontane, who was being sued for wrongful death. He’d changed his name to Leonard Sinclair. But I’d known him as the son of a judge who had guaranteed court cases were always ruled in his friends’ favor. That judge was one of the originals. Although who knows if that’s the correct term. It’s hard to say where anything begins. All I know is that their games have evolved over the decades in both numbers and depravity. What may have begun as a little nonconsensual fun with the hired help has grown into a multibillion-dollar, highly technical organization focused on perverse blood sport. It’s stunning what can happen when certain appetites are insatiable and money is no object.”

Noelle sucked in a breath. She was overwhelmed, a low hum of static competing with her thoughts, but even so, she registered his comment and knew there was another ingredient that made that type of victimization possible. She’d called it evil because she had no other word. All she knew was that not everyone with unlimited amounts of money and opportunity committed atrocities. She leaned into Evan, taking comfort from his closeness.

Vitucci sighed. “In any case, when I saw Fontane, I knew Van Daele and his cohorts were here after all. They must be. Where there was one, there were more. Rich men and their sons so bored by their lives of wealth and privilege that they only found thrill and meaning in collecting humans and degrading them. Still so rich, so insulated. But I knew evil did not simply fall away from men like them. The craving only grew stronger.”

Evil, yes. So he agreed. But wasn’t he evil too? She was so confused. Heartbroken. Empty. But they had to know the rest. The truth wasgoing to help them heal. No more questions. No more lies. “What happened that night?” Noelle asked. “Why did they leave their country?”

That slight pinkie flutter again. “The night of their annual ball. The one that turned so bloody? Their privilege happened. Their egos happened. Their gluttony spilled over. Those men made all the rules, they always had. One big club of influence and power. They kidnapped women they didn’t think anyone would miss. They held them against their wills. Occasionally, they killed them in one way or another. Sometimes for sport, sometimes by accident, a few times simply because they became inconvenient. I watched as their lust for power grew. The viciousness that had once been enough no longer satisfied. They became greedier, more twisted. However, everything changed that night. They went too far. They not only murdered one nobody as a result of their entertainment, or even two. They hacked up fourteen people with table cutlery and carving knives. It was quite the scene. I still see it sometimes when I close my eyes. But what once was a nightmare is now my motivation. Anyway, even with their vast network of contacts, if a cover-up was going to have any chance of succeeding, they had to close their companies, take their assets, and disappear. And the irony of it all was that I’d chosen that night for our escape. So many drugs. So much revelry. It seemed like the perfect opportunity. It almost was.”

Evan made a sound of disgust in his throat that also held the hint of a sob. “If you were so smart, why didn’t your escape plan work? Why didn’t you save your mother and your sister?”

“Because neither were brave enough to follow through. They weren’t like you. They’d lived a life of victimhood. They didn’t know how to be anything different, even when presented the chance. I tried to force them, but in the end, I watched them both die, and I almost did as well.”

“Maybe that would have been better.”

“I think not,” Vitucci said. “In any case, those men made sure all the bodies disappeared. My mother’s and sister’s bodies were burned,I imagine. Why would it matter? Who would miss them? Perhaps it’s why I derive such intense pleasure from watching others make their escape, finding the courage to follow through where my beloveds did not. I help those who can be helped. I’m quite good at it. However, I can only assist the ones who are committed to some decency, even amid terror. The others ... well, perhaps they don’t deserve to be saved anyway.” He turned slightly in his chair, and it let out a quiet squeak. She felt Evan’s muscles tense from beside her. “So that’s my origin story,” he said, looking at Evan. “We agreed they were important, did we not? Sometimes they are everything.”

Noelle was beginning to be able to think more clearly, her mind following along with what he was saying. Forming a picture of where this man had come from, of who he was, attempting to merge him with the vague outline of the man from her memory.

“You watched us in those cages, and you did nothing to help,” Evan said.

“On the contrary. I did everything to help. And here you are.”

“We were tortured!” Evan yelled. “We almost died!” His sudden shout had startled Noelle, but it had also bolstered her anger and therefore her bravery. She sat taller.

Vitucci’s eyes flickered to her, and she saw the minute tug of one side of his lips before his gaze returned to Evan.You profiled us. And Tallulah. And the man Evan visited in prison. And perhaps others too. You knew just what made us tick. You guessed our limitations and our strengths. And you were right.

“I understand your anger and your hurt,” Vitucci said. “I won’t attempt to disavow you of either. I had a greater goal than you, and maybe at some point, you’ll see the bigger picture. For now, what I can say is that I did not know where you were. No one but a select few did. There are levels upon levels upon levels. I had only one way to rescue you and the others. Help you rescue yourselves.”

“You could have notified the police, you sick fuck,” Evan said. “You hadproof.”

Vitucci let out a short breath. “The police? The FBI? Some of them are players. Did they help you, Evan? Did theysolvethe crime? No, of course not. Because they were not meant to. Your own father greased the wheels that drove the investigation straight into a ditch. You have no idea how deep this goes. All the money and all the blackmail. There is one chance, Evan. Only one.”

One chance? One chance for what? And how? What was he saying? That if he’d notified the police, they’d either be unable to find the location on the screen or, worse, they’d cover it up? And how would they identify any of the men who’d done this anyway? They’d worn masks. She felt sick, dizzy.

Vitucci glanced at his watch as if he had somewhere to be.

“The only place you’re going is prison, Vitucci,” Evan said.

The older man gave Evan a small smile. “I’m prepared,” he said. He nodded down to his desk. “If you would, Evan. There’s something for Noelle in that top drawer. But first, I’d like to see her diamond, please.”

Her diamond.

Evan hesitated but then stood, removed the jewelry box from his pocket, walked the few steps to the desk, and placed it down. As Vitucci took it, Evan leaned toward the desk from the side, his gaze held on the older man before he slid the drawer open and removed a manila envelope and a laptop. Noelle let out a small gasp. Was that ...

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