“It can’t have been easy.”
Keep him talking. Play for time.
“In that sense, this place is perfect for me. I realized as soon as I got here, three years ago. Isolated but close to the mainland, and quiet enough in the winter that nobody interferes in your business.”
“What about the summer?” The rope let out a groan, but the lighthouse keeper didn’t appear to have noticed.
“Oh, this place fills up with tourists, people wandering around, sticking their noses everywhere. I spend the summer on the mainland.” Varatorta’s smile widened. “I travel. I enjoy my freedom.”
Roberto’s gaze jumped to the glass jars. He suspected that this “freedom” concealed a whole world of horror.
“You know what most people have in common?” Varatorta leaned toward him with a conspiratorial air. “They only see what they want to. They allow their prejudices and their beliefs to come between them and reality. They prefer what they know to what they don’t know when they’re trying to explain what surrounds them.”
“Like myths,” Roberto guessed, feeling as if he were swallowing broken glass. “Like theTangaraño.”
“She was the one who put me onto that little disguise.” Varatorta nodded in the direction of Elvira Couto’s lifeless head. “The rest was in the lighthouse library, as you well know. All I did was connect the dots, and suddenly I realized I’d discovered the perfect alter ego for the long winter months. The perfect way to cover my trail, in case I slipped up.”
“But you never ki—” Roberto corrected himself. “You never practiced on an islander until now.”
“That’s true.” Varatorta’s expression turned cunning. “Never mix business and pleasure. I couldn’t call attention to my hiding place. Practicing with animals helps to calm my nerves, and I improve my technique as part of the bargain. But it isn’t the same; I’m sure you understand ...”
Roberto nodded, humoring him. He was dealing with a textbook psychopath, someone with no moral or ethical boundary whatsoever, and for whom his victims were mere fodder, not human beings. And who was also clever enough to have led this life for years without being caught.
“I only really give myself over to my art when the occasion arises.” Varatorta stood up and stretched. “When there’s a sign to say themoment is right. What I didn’t expect was that it would happen here, on the island, and so explicitly.”
“And what was the sign?”
“I wasn’t expectingyouto ask that.” The man looked at him in surprise. “I thought it was obvious.”
“Sorry, I’m being a bit slow.”
“Isn’t it clear?” Varatorta seemed genuinely surprised. “You gave me the sign.”
Roberto gulped when he heard that. “I gave you the sign? How? When?”
“In the lighthouse, in the library.” Varatorta recited his words back at him. “‘Sometimes you have to take back control of your life.’ Those were your words, don’t you remember?”
“But I didn’t mean . . .”
“You told me we understood each other; you even squeezed my arm,” the lighthouse keeper insisted. “There was no room for misunderstanding! First you asked me about theTangarañoin the library, and then that. It was crystal clear that you’d seen what nobody else had. That you understood me.”
Roberto didn’t even blink; he was paralyzed by horror.
“When I saw you getting off the boat, I realized that another sensitive soul had finally arrived, another artist like me, someone who could really appreciate my work, someone with whom I could share a moment like this.” Varatorta’s voice vibrated, swollen with passion. “I generally keep a souvenir of all my works, but that day, I decided to make an exception ...”
“The rabbit’s head on my step,” Roberto guessed.
“That’s right!” he said, nodding with the enthusiasm of someone revealing a particularly good magic trick. “I assumed that as soon as you found it, you’d realize there was someone else like you on the island, someone with the sensitivity to create magic out of nothing.”
“So when I went to visit you at the lighthouse ...”
“I knew you’d understood my message as soon as we exchanged our first glance.” In Varatorta’s mind, the pieces fit perfectly in his twisted template. “And when you said you understood me, that you’d guessed who I really was ... I almost told you on the spot! I hope my work hasn’t disappointed you. I hope I’ve lived up to your expectations.”
A bitter aftertaste filled Roberto’s mouth as he realized that he had unwittingly provoked this orgy of blood and gore on the island. First by chancing upon the money, and now this. His arrival on the island had detonated a thousand accumulated tensions all at once. He and he alone was to blame. The weight of responsibility, however random and unfair, crushed him like a slab of stone.
“Now I’ve finally been set free.” Varatorta took his hand. His touch was soft and slightly damp, like a fish. “That’s why I want to thank you. For setting me free, for making me understand that I shouldn’t worry about the consequences. Now, finally, I can finish my work on this island.”
“Your work?”
