Chapter Eight — Nothing to Worry About #2
Dylan stood.
“I should go too.”
Elliot's mood improved instantly. Ronan noticed. Of course. Dylan grabbed his jacket.
“Thanks for letting me crash your night.”
“Anytime,” Ronan said.
Elliot smiled.
“Of course.”
Dylan looked at him.
“You know, I genuinely can't tell whether you mean things.”
“That's concerning.”
“See?”
Ronan laughed. Elliot didn't. Dylan pulled on his jacket. He moved toward the door. Ronan followed. Elliot remained near the kitchen. Dylan opened the door. Cold air entered. He paused. Then looked back at Ronan.
“You coming Saturday?”
Elliot's fingers tightened around the dish towel. Ronan saw.
“No idea.”
Dylan looked toward Elliot. A tiny smile appeared.
“Family thing?”
Ronan's face changed. Elliot smiled.
“Maybe.”
Dylan laughed.
“Night, psycho.”
The word was directed at Elliot jokingly. Casually. It landed strangely. Ronan stiffened. Dylan apparently didn't notice. Elliot did.
“Night, Dylan.”
The door closed. Ronan locked it. Then turned around.
“Don't.”
Elliot leaned against the counter.
“Don't what?”
“Whatever you're about to say.”
“I wasn't going to say anything.”
“Bullshit.”
Elliot smiled. Ronan walked toward him.
“You were staring holes through him.”
“He called me a psycho.”
“He was joking.”
“I know.”
“You don't look like you know.”
“What should knowing look like?”
Ronan stopped. There it was again. That strange concentration. Elliot recognized it now. Ronan was studying him. Not casually. Actually studying him. Elliot's smile faded.
“What?”
Ronan looked away first.
“Nothing.”
“Stop saying nothing when you mean something.”
Ronan laughed.
“You say nothing constantly.”
“Yes.”
“At least you admit it.”
Elliot waited. Ronan went into the kitchen. Opened the refrigerator. Closed it without taking anything. Interesting.
“What?” Elliot asked again.
Ronan looked toward him.
“Where'd you run this morning?”
The question arrived so unexpectedly that Elliot almost smiled. Instead, he frowned.
“What?”
“This morning.”
“I know what morning means.”
“Where'd you go?”
“Why?”
“Curious.”
Elliot studied him. He could lie. That was easy. The more important question was what Ronan already knew.
“East,” Elliot said.
“Toward campus?”
“No.”
“River?”
Elliot paused. There. A trap. Not a sophisticated one. Still.
“No.”
Ronan leaned against the refrigerator.
“Where?”
“Maple. Then Alder. Turned around near the old elementary school.”
That route worked. Approximately forty minutes. Residential streets. Enough mud. Nothing near the river. Ronan nodded. Elliot watched him.
“Why?”
“No reason.”
“That isn't true.”
“I woke up and you were gone.”
“We discussed this.”
“I know.”
“Then?”
Ronan rubbed the back of his neck.
“I don't know.”
Elliot almost smiled. That phrase again. He approached slowly. Ronan stayed where he was.
“You think I disappeared Lucas?”
Ronan's head snapped up.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Jesus Christ, no.”
“Then why are you asking where I went?”
“Because you vanished at six in the morning without your phone while some guy from campus is missing.”
“That doesn't make me a murderer.”
“I didn't say it did.”
“You didn't need to.”
Ronan stepped forward.
“Don't twist this.”
“I'm not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Then explain it.”
Ronan opened his mouth. Closed it. Elliot waited. There was something almost pleasurable about watching people struggle with thoughts they didn't want to admit. Not Ronan. Usually. Tonight, maybe.
“I woke up,” Ronan said finally, “and you were gone. I got worried. That's it.”
Elliot stared.
“That simple?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
Ronan's eyes narrowed.
“Promise.”
Elliot believed him. Mostly. He closed the remaining distance. Ronan looked down at him. Elliot touched the front of his shirt. Nothing sexual. Not exactly. Just contact. Confirmation. Ronan was still Ronan. Still here. Still looking at him the way he always did.
“Don't worry about me,” Elliot said.
Ronan snorted.
“Impossible.”
“You worry too much.”
“You give me reasons.”
“No, I don't.”
“You threatened Dylan's fingers.”
“He still has all ten.”
“High standards.”
Elliot smiled. Ronan's hand settled briefly against the side of his neck. Warm. Familiar. The touch loosened something Elliot hadn't realized he'd been holding tight.
“You're okay?” Ronan asked.
Elliot looked into his eyes.
“Yes.”
Another lie. Not because Elliot wasn't okay. Because okay wasn't the correct word. He was focused. Which was different. Ronan kissed his forehead. Elliot hated how much that tiny gesture affected him.
“I mean it,” Ronan said. “If this shit is getting to you, tell me.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
Elliot smiled.
“Promise.”
That lie was easier. Ronan went upstairs at 12:41.
Elliot waited until 1:18. He sat alone in the dark living room with his laptop closed on his knees and listened to the carriage house settle around him.
No footsteps upstairs. No bathroom door.
No mattress creak. Ronan was asleep. Elliot stood.
He didn't leave. That would have been stupid.
Instead, he walked into the small storage room beneath the staircase.
The space was narrow and smelled faintly of dust, cardboard, and paint thinner from Ronan's supplies.
Winter coats hung from a rod near the back.
Holiday decorations occupied stacked plastic bins.
An old vacuum leaned against one wall. Elliot closed the door behind him.
Darkness. He turned on his phone flashlight. Moved two boxes.
Then another. Behind them sat a black plastic storage container.
Nothing distinctive. Nothing anyone would notice.
Elliot crouched. Opened it. The mask rested inside.
White porcelain stared upward. The black eye openings swallowed the beam from his phone.
The new crack Mason had made traveled across the left cheek like a dark vein.
Elliot touched it. The fracture had bothered him at first. Now he liked it.
Perfection was suspicious. Damage gave things history.
Beneath the mask lay black gloves. A folded hoodie.
Several disposable shoe covers. No trophies.
No photographs. No jewelry. Nothing belonging to Mason.
Elliot wasn't sentimental. He had never understood killers who kept pieces of people.
Why would anyone want reminders? The absence was the point.
People disappeared from Elliot's life because he wanted them gone. Keeping part of them afterward seemed contradictory. His phone vibrated. Elliot froze. The flashlight shifted across the mask. A message. Unknown number. He stared. Then opened it.
UNKNOWN: Elliot Mercer?
His heartbeat increased. Not panic. Attention. He typed nothing. Another message arrived.
UNKNOWN: Detective Vance. Sorry for the late message. I'd like to speak with you again tomorrow if you're available.
Elliot looked down at the mask. For several seconds, neither he nor the porcelain face moved. Then he typed.
ELLIOT: sure. what time?
Her answer came quickly.
VANCE: 10:30. Bellweather PD if possible.
Elliot smiled.
ELLIOT: i'll be there
He locked his phone. Nothing to worry about.
Detectives reinterviewed witnesses. Normal.
Lucas's jacket had changed the investigation.
Normal. Vance wanted clarification. Normal.
Everything had an explanation. Elliot replaced the mask.
The gloves. The hoodie. Closed the container.
Moved the boxes back exactly where they'd been.
Before leaving, he paused. There was one thing that bothered him.
Not Vance. Not Mason. Not Lucas. Dylan. Elliot leaned against the storage-room door.
Dylan knew both victims. Dylan had been the last confirmed person to see Lucas.
Police were watching him. Ronan was protecting him.
And Dylan, despite everything, continued behaving as though Elliot's jealousy was amusing.
That was careless. Elliot hated careless people.
They created unnecessary problems. His phone remained warm in his hand.
He pictured Dylan standing in the doorway. Night, psycho. Elliot smiled faintly. Then switched off the flashlight. The storage room disappeared into blackness. Nothing to worry about. Not yet.