All the Little Raindrops: A Novel

PART ONE

Man is the cruelest animal. —Friedrich Nietzsche

CHAPTER ONE

Noelle had tried to keep track of the days, but they were indistinguishable from the nights, both bathed in still silence and utter blackness. So finally, she’d given up. How could she have known how hard it was to measure an hour when that hour was spent in dark, quiet terror?

She’d become aware that there were places where time did not exist. Because even in the absence of a clock, its measurement was based on sensory input: the rising and setting of the sun, the sounds of traffic, a church bell in the distance . . . or a hundred other signals from the surrounding world. Not here in the cage she currently inhabited. And so instead of counting, the way she’d done once she’d gotten her bearings and forced herself to stay as calm as possible, she drifted. She tried not to let her imagination take over, tried not to picture herself in an airtight box deep under the sea. That only made her blood pressure spike and her breath come in ragged pants, as though her air were actually running out.

The only things that did give her any indication of the passing hours were the clues of her own body. She grew hungry and thirsty. But food and drink came at random intervals from some type of small door in the wall just beyond her barred enclosure. She would hear it being lifted, and then a small shaft of milky light would appear, causing her to turn her head away, even the very dim glow too much for her dark-adjusted eyes. Like a bat in an underground cave reacting to a slant of muted sunlight streaming through a crack. But even turned away, she could smell the yeasty bread within, and it compelled her to crawl toward it and reach mostly blindly toward the food, her fingertips just barely reaching the plain piece of bread or a few crackers and a paper cup of water. The first time, unaware of its presence, she’d accidentally tipped the water over, and later, she’d grown so parched, her tongue had swelled and her lips cracked. Now she knew to be more careful when reaching for both. And then, before she could force her eyes fully open, the slot rolled shut, leaving her only with the hazy picture of the shape of the opening.

Sometimes food and drink came when she was so famished and dehydrated that she shook as she reached for the nourishment, and sometimes they arrived when she still felt mostly full. It had to be by design. To confuse her. To torment her. At first, she’d yelled and begged when the food deliveries were made; after all, a human must be somewhere just beyond, but no one had ever answered. She’d thought she heard footsteps somewhere far above. But other than that? Nothing.

If she had to guess, she’d say her cage was about six feet by four feet, and there was a toilet in the corner. She’d found it when she’d finally worked up the nerve to feel around her surroundings after waking there, disoriented, petrified, and alone. She’d felt its shape, determined it was made of metal like one of those prison toilets. Apt. After all, she was a captive. Whose, she did not know. She could not guess. The toilet flushed the same way an airplane toilet did, with a loud sucking sound followed by the soft closing of a flap. At least it offered some dignity. But it wouldn’t save her from dying of thirst.

When she’d realized her predicament and that she’d been kidnapped, Noelle had cried and rocked, imagining how terrified her father must be. He would have been raising hell with the police to find her. Recently, they only saw each other in passing, or not at all, but he would have called her or grown worried if she hadn’t called him back. He was working a night job right now, and because it was currently spring break and school was out, she was working her waitressing job during the day. But they spoke by phone at least every other day or sent quick texts. I love you. There are leftovers in the fridge. Don’t forget to put the trash out tonight. And it’d been at least a week. Right? But maybe she was wrong. Maybe it’d only been a few days. At this point, maybe her job hadn’t even called to see why she hadn’t shown. Eventually she had to stop thinking about her dad because it made her panic ratchet higher, made her want to wail for him. Made her feel like she had when she was a little girl and had woken from a nightmare, screaming for her savior. Her father had always shown up then and taken her in his arms. “Hush,” he’d said. “Daddy’s here. You’re safe.”

The depth of longing for that now almost made her hyperventilate. And she wondered how long it would be before she began losing her sanity. Part of her reached for the reprieve of a broken mind, one that could not think, one that could not fear. Or imagine things that lay in wait in the surrounding dark. But the stronger part of her rejected giving up one of the few things she currently possessed: her will to live.

** -------**

Noelle rolled away from the sudden burst of light, clenching her eyes more tightly shut and letting out a pained gasp. She sat up, holding her hand in front of herself defensively as she scooted back as far as possible, her spine hitting the bars of her enclosure. Through squinted lids, she saw alien-like moving shapes. She heard a grunt and then some clanging. Someone was, or a couple of someones were, in the room with her. “Hello?” Her heart raced, breath bursting harshly from her lips as she tried desperately to open her eyes all the way. But she’d been in the pitch black for so long that her eyes would not yet cooperate. “Please? Hello? Let me out. Please,” she begged, hope giving her the courage to pull herself to her knees and crawl forward to the front of her cage. More clanking, some type of door closing to her right, and then footsteps as whoever had been in the room with her walked toward what looked like an open door on the wall to her left. “Please, no!” she screamed. “Don’t go! Please! Let me out!”

The door slid shut, and the room went dark once more, the gaps where the door was not even emitting a small trickle of light. The soft sounds of footsteps moved away, and Noelle fell backward, tears coursing down her cheeks as she gave in to hopelessness.

There had been two people in the room, and they’d ignored her pleas. Her shoulders shook with her sobs, the ones she couldn’t afford as they were depleting her body of moisture. And who knew when the next drink of water would come. Maybe there wouldn’t be another.

Maybe that would be better.

Stop it, Noelle. You’re stronger than that, aren’t you?

She’d thought she was. At least . . . she’d hoped she could be. But how did anyone prepare themselves to be captured and caged in the dark for no discernible reason? And the biggest question she’d agonized over? Why? Why had she been taken? Why me?

Noelle startled, letting out a squeak when she heard a small groan from her right. She froze; her ears perked up as she listened. Another groan. Movement. Terror ripped down her spine. Oh God. Something was in here with her. An irrational vision filled her head: a scaly lizard-like being with jagged teeth that would tear her apart. She remained still, suddenly grateful for the protection of the bars surrounding her, the ones she’d gone over with her fingertips, every inch.

“Help.” The word was barely whispered, more like the release of breath than an actual pronunciation. Noelle remained frozen, every cell in her body, every tiny hair on her skin, focused on the direction of the sounds coming from her right. A slide, another groan, what sounded like the slap of skin on metal. “Help.” A definite word this time, stronger, clearer, and in a man’s voice. Not an alien, then.

Probably.

Noelle remained still.

More movement, a louder grunt as though the . . . man might be pulling himself upright from a lying-down position.

“Is anyone here? Help.”

Noelle’s shoulders lowered infinitesimally, her hand releasing the death grip she’d had on the bar of her cage as she’d held herself completely rigid. “Y-yes. I’m here,” she whispered.

There was a beat of silence, and then, “Who are you? Where are we?” He still sounded pained, but there was panic in his voice too. Fear.

“My name is Noelle. I don’t know where we are. I don’t know what day it is. The last thing I remember is leaving my job. I think . . . I think someone put a cloth over my mouth.” A taste came back to her. Sharp. Medicinal. She thought she remembered flailing, being lifted . . . but nothing more. “I woke up here. In the darkness.”

Other than a harsh exhale, the man was quiet.

“Who are you?” she finally asked.

“Evan. My name’s Evan. I think something similar happened to me.” He let out a sigh, a slight groan. “Someone attacked me from behind as I was leaving the gym. I’ve been kept in darkness somewhere else. I’m not sure what day it is.”

Her mind spun. She didn’t know what was happening, or why, and terror still sat heavy on her chest, but she almost wept with the sudden relief of having another human with her. Of no longer being alone.

“Are you hurt?” she asked when again she heard the sounds of movement, and he let out another soft, pained groan.

“A little. I fought whoever came for me earlier. They obviously had the upper hand. I think the person was wearing goggles to see in the dark.”

She’d turned in his direction, though it was too dark in the room to even make out his outline, and she wrapped both hands around the bars, her face pressed between them as they spoke. Goggles to see in the dark. What the hell was going on? “Who? Who brought us here? And why?”

“I don’t know. I have no idea.”

“For what reason, then? Why are they doing this?”

There was a brief pause. “My family has money. They could have taken me for a ransom.”

She licked her dry lips, her tongue probing at one of the cracks. “My dad . . . he doesn’t have any money.” Her father worked as an electrician. He did fine . . . now, after many years of struggle. Even during those hard years, she’d never lacked for food or shelter, even if they couldn’t afford designer brands. Nowhere close. But he certainly didn’t have any large sum of money stashed away that might be used to ransom her. Or small sums, either, for that matter. No stocks or bonds. No jewelry. All that had been sold, even the sentimental items. If that’s what her abductors—whoever they were—were hoping for, money, they’d be sorely disappointed. Then again . . . “If they chose me at random, they must know that by now,” she said. She’d been wearing a purse over her shoulder when she was taken. They would’ve looked at her ID, and with the barest amount of research, they would have discovered that her family had no money. Also, she was snatched leaving a waitressing job. Wouldn’t that alone tell them she had little in the way of riches?

“You mentioned your dad. What about your mom?”

She let out a quiet sigh. “My mom died when I was twelve. She was a homemaker. And my parents had never bought life insurance.” In fact, for many years after her mother had died, they’d struggled to pay off all the lawyer fees that had come in the aftermath as her father had tried—and failed—to enact some justice for his wife’s death, which was ultimately ruled an accident. The fight had wiped out his savings, and his business had suffered. He was still her father, and she loved him dearly, but in many ways, he’d become a shell of the man he once was.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

She didn’t respond. He had nothing to be sorry for, and the grief of her mother’s death had long faded. It still pierced her sometimes, randomly, but more so for her father than for herself. But not now. Now, her problems were far greater than any heartache she still carried over the loss of one of her parents. Now, she longed for her father, the parent she still had. The one who might save her, who would save her if he had any chance to do so.

Her mind returned to the man in here with her. He’d said his family did have money. “If they took you for a ransom, wouldn’t you know that by now? Wouldn’t they have had you send a proof of life or something?” she asked.

“I really have no idea. No one’s said a goddamned word to me.” Now that he was talking more, his voice clearer, she could tell he was young. Maybe even close to her age.

“How old are you, Evan?”

“Eighteen. You?”

“Same.” A strange fluttering took up in her chest. She heard him move, sensed him turning toward her, and his voice—even a few inches closer—confirmed it. There was a heavy pause that she felt as much as heard.

“Do you go to Northland High?” he finally asked.

She let out a breath. “Yes.” It can’t be. Oh my God, it can’t be.

“Is your name Noelle Meyer?”

She swallowed. “Yes.” The word was as thick as her parched tongue. And she suddenly knew exactly who he was too. “Evan Sinclair,” she all but whispered. “Your father is Leonard Sinclair. He killed my mother.”