His expression changes to slight confusion. “How?”
“Murder.” My voice shakes as I admit it. “I kill them, Nantes.”
Chapter 22
Nantes
Vanian averts his gaze, avoiding mine. The words replay in my head, bouncing around as if searching for a meaning other than the obvious.
“I can go,” he says softly. “I understand if you don’t want me here.”
“Wait.” I sit up. “You’re gonna say something like that and then bail? I don’t think so.” I rub my forehead. “When you say you kill them, what do you mean?”
Vanian looks up, blinking rapidly. “Are there definitions in this context I’m not aware of?”
“No, but maybe you meant something else?”
He shakes his head. “No. I meant that I take their lives.”
My jaw drops, and I just stare at Vanian. He’s my best friend, a man I’ve spent a good chunk of my life fantasizing about, and he just told me he’s a murderer.
“I didn’t plan to tell you. I didn’t want you to know, for obvious reasons. I never want you or your family dragged into it.”
“So why did you tell me?”
He shrugs. “It’s a heavy secret, and the more time I spent with you, the less authentic I felt. You have this image of me that’s not accurate. Not completely.”
He reaches out to touch me, but I recoil. “I need a minute.”
“Of course.”
Okay. What would I do if I was at the hospital and someone told me this? I would call the police. I would have to. But Vanian isn’t a random stranger. He’s so much more.
“Can you, um, walk me through how this happened?”
After a pause, he nods. “A few years ago I had a patient who was really struggling. In our sessions, I learned that he was being sexually abused and that the person doing it was affluent, powerful, and well respected. He had access to this boy for years because he was a friend of the boy’s parents. When I finally got the boy talking to me, the things he told me happened to him made my skin crawl. Before we met, he’d started having trouble in school and social relationships, and his parents had pressed him to find out what was going on.”
I nod to show I’m listening. I already know I don’t like where this is going.
“The kid told his parents the truth, and the father confronted the abuser. He threatened the police and a lawsuit and all that.”
“But?”
“But they were pressured into keeping it a private matter. There was money and nondisclosure agreements involved. My patient knew all this. He knew his parents accepted money for their silence, and even though they promised he would never see that man again, he knew he would. He was part of their social circle.”
“Fuck.”
“So at twelve years old, he attempted suicide. That’s how he ended up with me. This kid was hurting so bad, and he felt soabandoned by the adults in his life.” He shakes his head, wiping his eyes. “I don’t blame his parents. They did what they thought was best. They would’ve been dragged through the system, and the boy would’ve endured so much. Everyone would have known, and with all the abuser’s money and connections, he probably would’ve walked anyway.”
“That’s fucking awful.”
“It is, but it wasn’t the first or the last. It’s at least seventy percent of the kids I treat. Some of them get justice, but not enough. Some of them aren’t believed, some are up against very powerful people with massive institutions behind them. But that story, something about that kid, Nantes, it broke me that day. I was obsessed with finding his abuser. That’s when it all started. The catfishing, blackmail, stalking. I never intended to become what I am now. I only wanted to scare them. Make them feel as vulnerable as their victims did.”
“What changed?”
“This one guy I was following had a thing for small kids.” He visibly shudders. “I had a five-year-old in my care who had already been abused for years. Her abuser was her stepfather’s brother. A grown man who lived in their basement and assaulted their precious little girl. Her family called police and he confessed. He was charged and his defense went with diminished responsibility.”
“Shit. They said he was crazy?”
