Chapter Six — Missing #2
“And another might be missing.”
“I know.”
Ronan pushed away from the counter.
“Then maybe act like it.”
The second the words left his mouth, he regretted them.
Elliot went still. Not angry. That would have been easier.
His face emptied. Ronan knew that look. He'd seen it after fights with Rebecca.
After professors disappointed him. After anyone said something Elliot considered unfair.
It was the point where whatever Elliot actually felt disappeared behind control.
“Okay,” Elliot said.
Ronan sighed.
“Don't.”
“Don't what?”
“Do that.”
“What am I doing?”
“Shutting down.”
“I'm not.”
“You are.”
Elliot stepped backward.
“I'll get the acetone.”
“Elliot.”
He turned. Ronan caught his wrist. Elliot looked down. Then at him.
“I didn't mean it like that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No.”
“You did.”
Ronan tightened his grip.
“I'm worried.”
“About me?”
“About everything.”
Elliot's expression shifted. Barely. Ronan continued.
“Mason gets murdered. Now another Bellweather guy disappears. People are freaking out. You were questioned. Your name is probably sitting in some detective's notebook somewhere. Yeah, I'm fucking worried.”
Elliot watched him.
“Why would my name matter?”
“Because you were at the party.”
“So were you worried Claire's name is in the notebook?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because Claire didn't see Mason right before he died.”
Something passed through Elliot's face. Fast. Ronan almost missed it.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“There it is again.”
Elliot pulled his wrist free.
“You're paranoid.”
“Maybe.”
“You're letting the murder shit get in your head.”
“Probably.”
“Then stop.”
Ronan laughed without humor.
“Helpful.”
Elliot looked toward the windows. Rain slid down the glass in crooked lines. After several seconds, his shoulders lowered.
“Lucas is probably fine.”
Ronan watched him.
“Maybe.”
“People disappear for stupid reasons all the time.”
“That sounded worse than you meant it.”
Elliot looked back.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah.”
The phone buzzed again. This time both of them looked.
Ronan opened the message. It wasn't Dylan.
Bellweather University. CAMPUS SAFETY ALERT Bellweather University Police are assisting the Bellweather Police Department in locating student Lucas Harper, age twenty-two, who was last seen Tuesday evening near the North Residential District.
Anyone with information regarding his whereabouts should contact law enforcement immediately.
Students are encouraged to travel in groups and utilize university transportation services after dark.
A photograph followed. Lucas. Red hair. Wide smile.
Bellweather sweatshirt. Ronan stared at it.
Elliot stood beside him. Close enough that their shoulders touched.
For once, Elliot didn't say anything. Neither did Ronan.
The rain sounded louder. By nine thirty, Lucas Harper's face was everywhere.
Claire texted Elliot. Dylan texted Ronan six more times.
Rebecca called. Thomas called afterward, apparently because Rebecca hadn't found Ronan's responses sufficiently reassuring.
Bellweather's local news station interrupted programming.
Ronan refused to watch. Elliot didn't argue.
They ended up in the living room with the television off and their laptops open on opposite ends of the couch.
Ronan tried working. Failed. Every few minutes his phone lit up. Eventually he flipped it facedown.
“Dylan?” Elliot asked.
“Yes.”
“Annoying.”
“He's worried.”
“He's always annoying.”
Ronan looked over. Elliot sat curled into the corner of the couch with one knee raised, laptop balanced against his thigh. The glow from the screen illuminated his face.
“What are you reading?”
“Nothing.”
Ronan stared. Elliot sighed.
“News.”
“I thought we agreed not to.”
“We didn't agree to anything.”
“Of course not.”
Ronan reached over. Elliot pulled the laptop away.
“Hey.”
“What?”
“Let me see.”
“No.”
Ronan lunged. Elliot laughed and twisted away. The laptop nearly slid onto the floor.
“Asshole.”
“Give it.”
“Fuck off.”
Ronan caught him around the waist and dragged him backward. Elliot kicked at his leg.
“Ronan.”
“Hand it over.”
“No.”
“Then stop hiding it.”
“I'm not hiding anything.”
“Very convincing.”
Elliot shoved the laptop onto the coffee table before Ronan could grab it. Ronan looked at the screen. A discussion forum. Photos. Timelines. Mason. Lucas. Ronan's amusement disappeared.
“Seriously?”
Elliot sat upright.
“What?”
“You're reading conspiracy theories?”
“Somebody posted Lucas's last known location.”
“And?”
“And it's three blocks from Mason's party.”
Ronan looked at him.
“What?”
Elliot pointed toward the screen.
“Lucas was last seen leaving Bellweather Tap at eleven fortyeight.”
“Okay.”
“The bar is here.”
He tapped a map.
“Mason's party was here.”
Another point.
“Saint Augustine's is south.”
“So?”
“So if Lucas walked home, he'd have taken East Camden.”
Ronan stared.
“Elliot.”
“What?”
“Why do you know this?”
“Because there's a map.”
“No. Why are you fucking mapping it?”
Elliot leaned back.
“I'm curious.”
Again. That word. Ronan looked at the screen. Someone had drawn routes between Mason's last known location, Saint Augustine's Park, Bellweather Tap, and Lucas's apartment. No police information. Just strangers playing detective. Ronan closed the laptop. Elliot frowned.
“Hey.”
“Enough.”
“Why?”
“Because this is unhealthy.”
Elliot laughed.
“I'm not the one panicking.”
“No, you're the one treating it like a game.”
That landed. Ronan saw it. Elliot looked away.
“Maybe I shouldn't have said that.”
“Maybe.”
Ronan rubbed his face.
“I'm sorry.”
Elliot remained silent. Ronan hated apologizing. Not because he didn't mean it. Because Elliot somehow made apologies feel like surrender. He moved closer.
“Come here.”
“No.”
“Elliot.”
“You're irritating.”
“Come here anyway.”
Elliot ignored him. Ronan grabbed his ankle and pulled. Elliot slid several inches across the couch.
“Stop.”
“Make me.”
Elliot looked at him. The phrase sat between them. Recognition moved through his face. Then something warmer. Ronan smiled.
“That got your attention.”
“You're annoying.”
“So I've heard.”
He pulled again. This time Elliot let him. Eventually, Elliot ended up against Ronan's side with his head resting beneath Ronan's chin. No kissing. No sex. Nothing complicated. Just contact. Ronan wrapped an arm around him. Elliot resisted for approximately three seconds before settling.
“Better?” Ronan asked.
“No.”
“Liar.”
Elliot didn't answer. They sat that way while rain moved across the windows. At ten twelve, Elliot's phone vibrated. Claire. He opened it. Ronan felt Elliot's body change.
“What?”
Elliot didn't answer. He turned the screen.
A screenshot from a Bellweather student group.
One sentence. POLICE FOUND LUCAS'S BACKPACK NEAR THE RIVER TRAIL.
Ronan stared. The river trail ran along the eastern edge of town.
Miles from Saint Augustine's Park. Miles from Mason's murder.
Maybe that was good. Maybe it meant none of this was connected. Then Elliot whispered:
“That's not where he should've been.”
Ronan looked down at him.
“What?”
Elliot's eyes remained on the screen.
“From Bellweather Tap.”
“So?”
“So that's the wrong direction.”
Ronan felt cold move through him.
“You just said the internet doesn't know anything.”
“It doesn't.”
“But?”
Elliot finally looked up.
“But if he was walking home, he wouldn't have gone near the river.”
Ronan stared.
“Unless he wasn't going home.”
Elliot said nothing. A thought formed. Ronan didn't like it.
“Unless he was meeting someone.”
Elliot's face remained perfectly still. Then he nodded.
“Maybe.”
Ronan looked toward the dark windows. For the first time since Mason's murder, the carriage house didn't feel isolated from whatever was happening in Bellweather.
It felt exposed. He imagined someone standing beyond the glass.
Watching. The thought was ridiculous. Ronan stood and closed the curtains anyway. Behind him, Elliot watched.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Ronan turned.
“You're smiling.”
Elliot's mouth flattened instantly.
“I wasn't.”
“You were.”
“No.”
Ronan stared. Elliot stared back. Then Ronan laughed once. Not because anything was funny. Because the alternative was admitting the expression had unsettled him.
“Freak.”
Elliot smiled again. This time properly.
Familiar. Safe. Ronan sat beside him. At eleven forty-six, Bellweather Police announced that Lucas Harper was officially considered a missing person.
No connection to Mason Kerr's homicide had been established.
No suspect had been named. No arrest had been made.
And somewhere beyond the warm little carriage house, another family waited beside a phone that refused to ring.
Ronan eventually fell asleep on the couch with Elliot curled against him.
He didn't see Elliot open his eyes at 1:03 A.M. Didn't see him carefully lift Ronan's arm from his waist. Didn't hear the bedroom door upstairs open.
And when the carriage-house back door clicked quietly shut six minutes later, Ronan slept through that too.