Rain Rain Go Away 05

26. Rain Rain Go Away 05

Elliot Evans met that man while working part-time at a convenience store.

From the perspective of most people's beauty standards, the man could be said to be very handsome – tall and slim, beautiful, curly chestnut hair, honey-colored skin, really seeming like a movie star.

Unfortunately, they did not meet in front of the counter of the convenience store in a presentable manner: Elliot, manically rushing around in a hurry, ran into the other man at the back door of the convenience store; all because the other appeared from the corner without warning, causing Elliot not to see him. The result of this mistake was that the plastic box Elliot was holding fell to the ground with a loud crash, and the glass bottles of beer burst under their feet, staining everyone's ankles with the bitter liquid.

They stood among the broken shards of glass. Elliot was completely frozen, and in the next second, things immediately got worse: Elliot's boss came scurrying out of the warehouse like a nimble, vigorous beast, spitting a barrage of accusations at him. In fact, you couldn't really blame his boss for thinking so, since Elliot was a man of few words who worked with his head lowered and his hair nearly completely hiding his eyes. They would never have hired him were it not for severe understaffing.

"Please don't say that, it's not his fault at all." The man who had just crashed into him said this to Elliot's boss, in a light and quick tone. "I was walking too fast and wasn't seeing where I was going, I'm afraid – I'll pay for the compensation, of course. How much are these broken beers worth?"

Elliot was very certain that the stack of bills the man had slipped his boss far exceeded the typical price of the twenty-four bottles of beer that had been shattered. In any case, that seemed to be satisfactory enough for his boss, who retreated back to his territory contentedly, like a snake hiding in the sand to hunt for prey.

In the end, they were left standing awkwardly in place. Elliot, unsure of how he should thank the other, used what little social skills he had and stumbled over his words to say that he really didn't see the other either.

"It's still mostly my fault….. Elliot." The other replied, calling out his name as he thoughtfully surveyed that employee name tag hanging on his chest. "By the way, my name is Albarino Bacchus."

It was a name that sounded somewhat familiar, having appeared frequently in the newspapers and TV news some time ago. Elliot hesitated and asked, rather discourteously, "You're the one who –?"

"I'm that guy who was suspected of killing his ex-girlfriend," the forensic pathologist replied with a smile. Something in his voice told Elliot that he wasn't really as genuine as he appeared to be, at least not to the dead Sarah Adelman. "Poor girl, may she rest in peace."

"I'm quite curious. You seem to be putting too much effort into this case as a forensic pathologist. Don't you need to work?" Lavazza Mercader asked. He was trying to find a place by the narrow streets where it wasn't illegal to park, although Albarino really wanted to tell him that the car was more likely to get its tires stolen than to get a ticket in a slum like this.

Albarino smiled at his question. "I'm technically on leave until the first of next month. The forensic pathology supervisor called me back for this case, which counts as overtime. It's the only thing I'm in charge of right now."

Mercader finally parked the car, and Albarino pushed open the car door. Beneath the car was a pool of water which smelled sour, pouring out from an overturned rubbish bin. Unobtrusively, he raised an eyebrow. "I know that visiting suspects really doesn't have anything to do with me, but to be honest, I'm a little interested in the work of criminal profilers. Moreover, this is for Olga. Herstal is on pretty good terms with her."

Mercader glanced at him with a skeptical look. "I thought you and Armalight were friends too; at least that's what Officer Hardy says. He was also your attorney in the Landon case, wasn't he?"

"We're not as close as Bart thinks," Albarino said, picking a less unbearable spot to stand, closing the door and watching the other get out of the car as well. "We often have some disagreements. Mr. Armalight isn't exactly someone who's easy to get along with."

That statement was not a lie, but at the same time, Herstal being "not easy to get along" clearly didn't stop Albarino from putting the other's penis in his mouth.

The two of them walked to their destination: the house Elliot Evans was renting. Albarino only knew which convenience store Elliot worked at. They visited said convenience store and found out that it was fortunate that he wrote down the place where he lived when he filled in the induction form; otherwise, they definitely couldn't find such a secluded place in a short time.

The neighborhood was a dark shadow of a bustling metropolis like Westland, where seventy to eighty percent of the population were black or Latino. Many of the people passing by had no intent to conceal the bulge of the gun holster on their lower back, not to mention those people who openly wore their firearms on their belts.

They ignored a few not-so-friendly glances and turned into a more secluded lane. Then Mercader said dryly, "It's quite unimaginable that someone like you would be close to Molozer. To be honest, she's not very easy to get along with."

"She really isn't," Albarino smiled, wondering if he could squeeze more information out of the other. "Care to tell us what had happened to both of you? You seem to have a lot of concerns about her."

Mercader was silent for an anxiously long moment, then admitted, "I don't know if she has ever mentioned it, but I really don't want her to continue to work this job. I think this does no good and only harm to her health."

"I assume you're talking about mental health." Albarino replied with a small smile.

"What I mean is," Mercader said frankly, sounding like he had been deeply in distress for a long time. "She's acting in a way that worries me. Just like in this case, you know? She deduced that the killer was a coward, but in fact, most statistics show that cowardly killers tend to mutilate targets weaker than they are: if they have a frail mind, then they choose to hurt little boys. Something like this."

"You think she's wrong?" Albarino asked despite knowing the answer. The other's expression had already leaked too much of his thoughts.

Mercader shook his head. "That's the problem: it's nearly impossible for her to be wrong. She worked on murder cases for the Chicago Police Department before joining the FBI. After graduating from Quantico, we were colleagues at the BAU for four years. Throughout her entire resume, she's hardly ever been wrong."

Yes i'm dumping random stuff into my tl so that bots can't rip my translation off. Hello to you if you see this.

"So even when she has come to a conclusion this time but it has little research data to back it up, or even when it sounds outrageous, you still know she has a very high chance of being right – or maybe, you even worry that she's actually right." Albarino noted briskly. "She's so right that it's as if she not only understands what's going on in the minds of these serial killers, but even admires or passionately loves their thoughts. Does that make you feel scared?"

"I'm not good at being psychoanalyzed, Dr. Bacchus." Mercader forced a smile at Albarino. "But – yes. Working at BAU is extremely stressful. In addition to helping solve murders that occur in different states, we often have to visit killers who are already in prison. The cases we've worked on are crazier than what most people could imagine. Many of my colleagues can't handle the mental stress; things like insomnia, ulcers, nightmares, mental illness... they are a common occurrence at the BAU."

"But Olga does not have such worries." Albarino looked straight at him. "Because she's overly... enjoying herself, you instead began to question the real reason behind why she was working at the BAU."

Mercader raised an eyebrow at him and frankly asked in reply, "Shouldn't I?"

"Not all people would be attracted by the swamp of sin at birth, and eventually sink into the abyss." Albarino blinked in his direction, smiling. "Some people are deep in the swamp at the beginning, and some people wouldn't be swallowed up by it no matter how close they are with it. I think you have to know clearly what kind of person Olga is."

Mercader's lips opened and closed as if he wanted to say some kind of answer that he already knew by heart. As for Albarino, he didn't expect to revive his faith in Olga Molozer just with a few words; if he was a person who was easily persuaded, Olga wouldn't have resigned from the BAU three years ago. Or maybe, it was precisely because he couldn't understand her at all that he could only choose to keep away from her at the end – Olga was still brooding over that unpublished book, scarcely realizing that what they cared about was not the same thing at all.

By the end, they chose to remain silent, turning and turning around corners of the winding alley, squinting at the rusted door plate nailed to the wall. Elliot Evans lived at the end of the street, and the door was half blocked behind a garbage can which housed a cat. It meowed in protest from the metal trash can when Mercader went to knock on the door, the fur on its back standing up. Some parts of this scene made Albarino feel a little amused.

After a few moments, the door opened: the gloomy young man they had seen in the photograph stood in the doorway, still stubbornly avoiding eye contact as he faced them. Mercader introduced himself as usual, saying the usual "I'm an FBI agent who wants to ask you some questions because of a case" and so on. For Elliot, he looked past behind Mercader with a strange expression, uncertain whether he was frightened or delighted.

He said, "Al?"

– It started out as a dinner.

Elliot himself was confused as to who was the one responsible in the mishap that had ruined two people's pants. And clearly, Dr. Bacchus thought he was the one responsible for the small accident; perhaps he felt that the small amount of money for the beer had only appeased Elliot's boss, but it was not enough to soothe Elliot's spirit after he was undeservedly reprimanded.

Anyway, they went to eat dinner.

Elliot knew that people who were doctors must have quite the income. If Albarino had picked a restaurant where only formal wear was allowed, Elliot definitely couldn't help but run away. But somehow, they ended up sitting in a small, warm, fast food restaurant which Albarino insisted had the best cheeseburger he'd ever had.

The cheeseburger was indeed very delicious, and Elliot wasn't restless, a rare occasion. In general, it would normally kill him to spend time with others for such a long period of time. Maybe it was because Albarino Bacchus was overflowing with a rare kind of affability throughout himself, or maybe –

"I need to get away from that life I had before, at least for a while." The other said frankly, "Almost all my friends are in this system – the one which had just put me in prison – and I need to give myself a change of scenery during the holidays."

"What was it like?" At that moment, Elliot asked, staring at his plate as he did so, just because he didn't want to look up into the other's eyes.

"Getting caught?" Albarino asked with engrossed interest.

Elliot was silent for a moment, with curiosity prevailing over his cautiousness. Then he asked, "No. Experiencing a failed relationship? The TV said she was your ex-girlfriend."

"I don't think it was a failure," Albarino said after a moment's thought. "You know – it's a lesson that makes you look at your previous behavior. Then, under the guidance of this event, you will find the correct path in the end."

He paused, revealing a smile which was almost warm.

"After that, we'll end up finding the most suited lover for ourselves."

We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I (do I) A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you We've known each other for so long Your heart's been aching, but you're too shy to say it (say it) Inside, we both know what's been going on (going on) We know the game and we're gonna play it And if you ask me how I'm feeling Don't tell me you're too blind to see Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you We've known each other for so long Your heart's been aching, but you're too shy to say it (to say it) Inside, we both know what's been going on (going on) We know the game and we're gonna play it I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you

For Mercader, who preferred to keep his personal belongings sorted neatly and tidily, the house Elliot Evans was renting and living in was shockingly dirty.

The dust that had accumulated on the floor probably hadn't been dealt with since Elliot had moved in not long ago. The evenly dusty floor was covered with messy footprints, clearly showing that he hadn't thought to mop. The house was filled with mustiness and the smell of smoke mixed together into a pungent scent, but otherwise there was no other smell – at least it didn't reek of blood.

Mercader made a mental note: If the man in front of you were the killer, then this, at least, wasn't the scene of the crime. It was impossible to keep the doorway bloodstain free after chopping down a person's head.

Elliot let them carefully into the house, his gaze drifting around until finally he chose to land it on Albarino's shoulder. He seemed too overwrought, and Mercader chose to let Albarino speak, so Albarino asked softly, "Elliot, do you remember my lawyer, the one I told you about?"

Elliot stammered for a moment, then asked in a hesitating whisper, "Is he Mr... Armalight?"

"Yes, it's him, he's missing." Albarino said, revealing a placating smile to a nervous Elliot, "Can you tell us where you were between eight and ten yesterday morning?"

"Do you suspect thst I had something to do with his disappearance?" Elliot's gaze drifted to Albarino's other shoulder. "I don't even know him."

"It's just routine questioning. You know, we have to question a lot of people," Albarino smiled reassuringly. "We learned from your boss that you happened to be off duty yesterday morning."

"... It happened to be my day off yesterday, so I spent the whole morning at home resting. No one else was there." Elliot replied defensively, the corners of his mouth taut. "I ordered take-out at twelve o'clock. Would you like to see the receipt?"

"If I may, please." Mercader nodded, then he looked sharply at the other man. Even though Elliot didn't make eye contact with him, he couldn't help but shrink a little because of it. "Your hand, if I may ask?"

One of Elliot's hands was wrapped slovenly in a bandage, with flecks of blood seeping out from underneath there. At Mercader's words, his hand involuntarily shrank back a little. Then, he replied in a low voice, "I cut it a few days ago while getting things from that shelf."

He reached out his hand to point vaguely. Mercader looked up to see that the shelf nailed to the wall for putting junk items had a nail prodding out because of bad workmanship. Due to the dim light, it couldn't be determined whether there were bloodstains on it.

At this moment, Albarino suddenly spoke with an embarrassed smile. "Excuse me, can I use your toilet, Elliot?"

The other two looked at him. Albarino shrugged, smiling apologetically. "After a long vacation, I guess my digestive system isn't quite ready for WLPD's coffee."

Elliot's rented house was cramped and oddly structured, with a short corridor which faced a white wall upon entering, so you had to walk to the end of the corridor and turn right to enter other parts of the house. Since now they were standing in the doorway with Elliot, they couldn't see anything apart from the corridor; they both didn't have a search warrant, so if Elliot didn't invite them inside, neither of them could walk in.

Elliot was silent for a couple of seconds, then nodded. "Turn right, the bathroom is in the furthest corner of the house. Be careful, the light there is broken, so it's very dark."

Albarino nodded with a practically grateful expression. Mercader noted that the forensic pathologist glanced at him quickly before walking toward the end of the corridor, then he implicitly winked his right eye.

One day – probably around the third time under the excuse of treating him to lunch, Albarino kept bitterly ranting to him about the Forensic Bureau – Elliot finally could not resist Googling the other.

He was curious about him: even if he was on leave, it was a little difficult to believe that a forensic pathologist would be willing to be friends with a convenience store clerk at the corner of the street. However, Albarino really didn't seem to look down on him, and his smile at him could even be described as sweet.

Elliot soon realized that he was right to ask for help via Google: during the uncovering of the Bob Landon case, there was a lot of news about Dr. Bacchus on the Internet, especially from a website called "Westland Criminal Secrets", which contains an article about the case that Albarino did not actually commit. The article even vividly describes the doctor's rich love history.

The last part of the article updated readers on the case – at the time, it was just before the preliminary hearing was about to begin.

The website reads:

"The most surprising thing is that Dr. Bacchus has chosen the notorious attorney Herstal Armalight to defend him. The most well-known part of this lawyer is that he is extremely adept at freeing criminals of all kinds – murderers, gangsters, rapists, and every type of felons you can think of – from the judge's gavel and the metal bars of the prison.

"The lawyer himself had no criminal record, but, surprisingly, he had an enormous passion for all criminals (and perhaps an enormous passion for the price they were willing to pay him).

"Last year, an insider from the police station, who wishes to remain anonymous – after Mr. Armalight rescued Carl Swain from one count of first-degree murder and one count of rape – even unkindly called him 'the guy in all of Westland who knows the most about criminals'.

"Why Dr. Bacchus was willing to hire this attorney to defend him has also sparked much debate. Could it be that Dr. Bacchus had already decided that, in his heart, that he was guilty? Firmly believing that he had brutally murdered the beautiful Sarah Adelman, to the point where he had to have a lawyer who excelled in defending felons on his side?"

At the bottom of the article, a press photo was attached: a secretly taken photo of Herstal Armalight walking out from the Westland Police Station. That was a tall and lean middle-aged man, blond with a pair of sharp blue eyes which revealed his arrogance, despite not speaking.

– Elliot fixed his eyes on the photo, until he couldn't help but reach his hand out to touch that face on the screen.

Ephesians 4:28 Anyone who has been stealing must steal no longer, but must work, doing something useful with their own hands, that they may have something to share with those in need.

Albarino walked so lightly that it was nearly silent.

He briefly inspected Elliot's house, not expecting to find anything just by his first glance. After walking to the end of the hallway and turning right, he was greeted by a small living room, at the end of which there was an even smaller kitchen and bathroom. Despite its small size, it contained all the necessities. The kitchen stove was covered with a dark, greasy layer; obviously no one had cooked for a long time, with the rubbish bin stuffed full of take out boxes. Elliot's bedroom was even smaller, since after the room was filled with a camp bed nothing more can be stuffed inside. The whole room was dark, making it stifling even just looking in from the outside.

But there was one thing:

At the end of the living room, there was another staircase downward, clearly leading to the basement. The stairs weren't long and the end of it could be seen with a glance; there was a door there.

The door was locked.

Albarino lightly bit his lower lip and glanced in the direction of the hallway. Although the walls blocked his sight, he could still hear the sound of Mercader's methodical questioning, seemingly asking about something on transportation. He had slowed down his speech, seemingly to make Elliot less nervous, but Albarino wagered that Mercader had understood his expression, so Mercader was just stalling for time.

He thought for a moment and quickly went down to the bottom of the stairs, in front of the locked door. He listened carefully to the sound of the conversation between Mercader and Elliot while taking out a pair of latex gloves and putting them on, then he pulled out a piece of iron wire from his pocket.

– Hopefully, his lock-picking skills hadn't regressed.

With a click, the door was opened.

Herstal Armalight lifted his head.

I like to creep around my home and act like a goblin I don't know why but I just enjoy doing this. Maybe it's my way of dealing with stress or something but I just do it about once every week. Generally I'll carry around a sack and creep around in a sort of crouch-walking position making goblin noises, then I'll walk around my house and pick up various different "trinkets" and put them in my bag while saying stuff like "I'll be having that" and laughing maniacally in my goblin voice ("trinkets" can include anything from shit I find on the ground to cutlery or other utensils). The other day I was talking with my neighbours and they mentioned hearing weird noises like what I wrote about and I was just internally screaming the entire conversation. I'm 99% sure they don't know it's me but god that 1% chance is seriously weighing on my mind.

When the knock outside sounded, Elliot had been by Herstal's side – he was very insistent on physical contact, which was not a good thing for Herstal – the longer the other was next to him, the slower the process of the plan of "using the porcelain pieces to slice the rope open" would be. When the knock rang out, Herstal nearly wanted to thank the god he didn't trust in.

The people who came might be the police, but perhaps not. From Elliot's level of social interaction, the possibility of being a police officer wasn't large. But Herstal understood the situation well: with the evidence available, the police definitely could not apply for a search warrant. They could only come and ask questions, so the possibility he was going to be found was very slim.

So, he absolutely did not have any hope at all. When Elliot left, and locked him in the small room from the outside, he immediately continued to grind against the rope to cut it.

Herstal had to admit, when the locked door suddenly opened, he was startled – if it were the police, they definitely wouldn't have finished the questioning so fast. Then, he saw Albarino Bacchus' smug smile which couldn't even be wiped away by the dark environment, hanging on his face like a blinding lightbulb.

At that moment, Herstal really wanted to rush over, just using his teeth to forcefully tear Albarino's face off from his skull. The blood would definitely splatter over his whole face; this fantasy made him feel comforted. Yet not only was he tied up and couldn't even move a single inch, Elliot used adhesive tape to stick Herstal's mouth shut before he left; perhaps he lacked confidence in the room's soundproofing.

But clearly, the soundproofing was quite good, otherwise there was no way to explain how no one noticed Albarino picking the lock.

Albarino, walking as light as a cat, stood at the deepest end of the darkness and whispered, "Look at you, darling."

Herstal didn't think that they could address each other with things like "darling", but he was well aware of what Albarino saw now – Herstal was forced to half-lie down on the battered mattress, with both hands and feet bound tightly and his feet bare. He was enveloped in the halo of the pitiful small light bulb above his head.

"You are so beautiful," Albarino's eyes shone as he, with complete silence, closed in on him step by step. "You really look like you are in François Boucher's 'Diana after the bath."

Herstal did not empathize with his distorted aesthetic taste at all. Without warning, Albarino knelt on the mat, using one of his hands to grasp Herstal's ankles, which were tightly bound by the rope. The skin in that area had taken on a dark purple color because of the restricted blood flow.

I am very willing to let hounds tear you to pieces – Herstal thought in his heart, and tried to use his gaze to express his thoughts. Albarino met his sharp gaze with a smile, fearlessly rubbing his thumbs against the tied up, red and swollen skin of his ankles.

"Did he have his way with you? You wouldn't let him have his way with such obvious intent showing, right, Pianist?" Albarino murmured, releasing Herstal's ankle and crawling up a little, pressing nearly his entire body against Herstal. "Did he kiss you?"

Albarino gazed at him with a kind of unadulterated curiosity, then leaned forward abruptly. Herstal was grabbed by the shoulder when he leaned back to dodge; in this position, Albarino pinned him there with force, leaning over to kiss Herstal's lips through the adhesive tape.

Herstal soundlessly expressed his murderous intention with his eyes. Albarino's hand which was on his back slid down without warning – he forcefully grabbed out the broken porcelain from in between his fingers, stiff from being tied up. When Herstal realized what he was doing, he attempted to tighten up his fingers, but his hand was completely numb.

In the next second, Albarino jumped off the mattress. Although he knew very well that Herstal couldn't move now, he was not too keen on taking such a risk: after all, the other's eyes staring at him fixedly told him that at the first opportunity, Herstal would forcefully bite open his throat.

"There are dried water stains on the floor, and broken porcelain pieces in the trash can in the sitting room above." Albarino slowly shook his head and looked down at the porcelain piece in his hand, with a little bit of blood stained on it. Most probably, he had cut his finger on it when he pulled it out of Herstal's hand. "You shattered a cup? A very brave attempt, but that's not how the rules work these days."

Herstal didn't even know there were any rules for this damn thing.

"I didn't want it to be too easy," Albarino smiled softly as he slowly stepped back and hid himself once more into the shadows. "I wish to see you burn."

Herstal exhaled deeply, trying his best to keep down the flames of anger that had ignited without reason. He heard the door open and close, and Albarino even thoughtfully locked it, restoring everything to its original state – Herstal could foresee that, no matter what excuse Albarino used to leave Elliot, he would pretend to know nothing and walk back, walking back to where Elliot and the police officer which had came with him. Pretending nothing happened, saying goodbye with a smile.

"I wish to see you burn."

Herstal closed his eyes. He could hear the sound of blood roaring and rumbling in his ears, and the killing intent emerging from his throat.

Author's Notes:

1. About "Diana after the bath"

According to the myths, Diana was known for her chastity, but also for her cruelty. When the hunter Acteon was punished for peeping at her bathing by turning into a deer and being torn to pieces by his own dogs.

Yet Boucher was a typical Rococo-style painter with a fancy style. We can see that although the Diana under his brush clearly wasn't strong, she didn't look merciless either. It was the type of delicate women, like the kind of aristocratic upper class women. This kind of style by Boucher was opposed by critics, including the French writer Goncourt who said, "Boucher used indecent hints and stimulation, to reduce Louis XV's sadness."