Chapter Eighteen — Tell Me You Didn’t
Chapter Eighteen — Tell Me You Didn’t
ELLIOT
Elliot recognized the coordinates before the map finished loading.
Not the exact numbers. The place. A thin stretch of county-owned woodland northwest of Bellweather, where the paved roads narrowed into cracked asphalt and then gravel before eventually disappearing into miles of trees.
The area had no official name beyond whatever parcel number existed in municipal records, but students called it North Ridge because Bellweather students apparently believed every patch of trees required branding.
Elliot had been there before. That was the problem.
Ronan leaned over his shoulder, studying the map.
“Where is that?”
Elliot locked the phone. Too fast. Ronan noticed. Of course.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Ronan’s expression hardened. Elliot almost laughed. Wrong word. Again. He unlocked the phone and held it out.
“North Ridge.”
“You know it?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Everyone knows it.”
Ronan stared.
“That isn't what I asked.”
Elliot looked toward the darkened windows. The blinds remained closed. Outside, the patrol Vance had promised still hadn’t arrived. Or maybe it had and whoever was driving had parked somewhere they couldn't see. The thought irritated him.
“I've been there.”
Ronan’s jaw tightened.
“When?”
“A few times.”
“With who?”
“Friends.”
“Which friends?”
Elliot looked back.
“Are we seriously doing this right now?”
“Yes.”
The answer came without apology. That was new.
Elliot hated it. He also understood. Someone had sent them coordinates connected to Dylan’s jacket.
Two men were dead. Dylan was missing. Elliot had spent weeks lying just enough that every new truth now sounded suspicious.
He had built this himself. That realization made him angrier than Ronan’s questions.
“Claire,” Elliot said. “Other people. Parties.”
“Recently?”
“No.”
“How recently is no?”
“Last spring.”
Ronan continued staring. Elliot could almost see the calculations happening. Timeline. Mason. Lucas. Dylan. Everything had become a timeline now.
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
Ronan nodded slowly. Not because he believed him completely.
Because he had no better question yet. Elliot’s phone felt heavy in his hand.
The coordinates remained beneath the locked screen.
North Ridge. Of all places. Why there? He forced himself not to think about the answer too quickly.
That was dangerous now. Everything he thought could show somewhere on his face.
Ronan was learning him differently. Not as a lover.
As evidence. The realization made Elliot’s stomach turn.
“We call Vance,” Ronan said.
“Yes.”
Ronan looked at him. Elliot almost smiled.
“What?”
“You agreed.”
“Would you rather I argue?”
“I genuinely don’t know anymore.”
That hurt. Elliot looked away. Ronan immediately softened.
“Fuck.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
“I keep saying shitty things.”
“Then stop saying them.”
“Working on it.”
Elliot almost smiled. Almost. Ronan reached for the phone. Elliot held it tighter.
“I’ll call.”
Ronan let go. Another small thing. Trust, maybe. Or exhaustion. Elliot dialed Vance. She answered after one ring.
“What happened?”
No greeting anymore. Interesting.
“We got another message.”
Silence.
“What?”
“Coordinates.”
“Do not go there.”
Ronan mouthed, obviously. Elliot ignored him.
“We weren’t planning to.”
“What coordinates?”
Elliot read them. Vance went quiet. Too quiet.
“Detective?”
“Stay on the line.”
Background noise changed. Movement. A door opening. Someone speaking. Then Vance returned.
“That’s North Ridge.”
“I know.”
“How?”
Elliot closed his eyes. Of course.
“I’ve been there.”
Ronan watched. Vance asked the same questions Ronan had. When. Why. With whom. Elliot gave the same answers. Claire. Parties. Last spring. Another pause.
“Did Mason ever go there?”
Elliot’s heartbeat changed. He knew the answer.
“Yes.”
Ronan’s head snapped toward him. Vance’s voice sharpened.
“How do you know?”
“Everyone went there.”
“That isn't an answer.”
Apparently Bellweather had collectively agreed on that phrase. Elliot sat on the edge of the couch.
“He was at a bonfire there last spring.”
“You were there?”
“Yes.”
“Lucas?”
“Yes.”
Ronan’s expression changed. Elliot wished he'd told him that earlier. Another secret becoming important after the fact. Dylan too. Fuck. Vance asked, “Dylan?”
“Yes.”
Ronan swore quietly.
“Who else?”
“A lot of people.”
“How many?”
“Fifty. Maybe more.”
“Exact date?”
“I don't remember.”
That part was true. Maybe April. Late March. Cold enough that everyone wore coats but warm enough that people were willing to stand outside drinking until two in the morning. Vance said, “Officers are heading there now.” Ronan stepped closer.
“Is Dylan there?”
Vance heard him.
“We don’t know.”
“What about the jacket?”
“We don’t know.”
Elliot looked toward the phone. Something in Vance’s tone bothered him. Not uncertainty. Recognition.
“You already knew the location.”
Silence. Ronan looked at him. Vance answered carefully.
“We’re familiar with the area.”
“No.”
Elliot stood.
“You knew those coordinates.”
“Elliot.”
“You went quiet before I said North Ridge.”
Another silence. Ronan’s expression sharpened. Vance said, “Do not speculate.”
“That’s a yes.”
“Mr. Mercer.”
“What happened there?”
Ronan touched his arm. Warning. Elliot ignored him.
“What did police find at North Ridge?”
Vance’s voice hardened.
“Stay home.”
Then the call ended. Elliot stared at the screen. Ronan stared at him.
“She knew.”
“Maybe.”
“She knew.”
“I heard.”
“Why?”
Ronan looked toward the closed blinds.
“Could be connected to Mason.”
“No.”
“What?”
“If Mason had evidence tied to North Ridge, police would have searched it weeks ago.”
“Unless they did.”
Elliot stopped. That possibility sat heavily. Ronan continued.
“Maybe they found something there during Mason’s investigation and never released it.”
Elliot considered that. Could be. Or something involving Lucas. Or the mask. Or— No. He needed to stop thinking like someone who already knew the answers. Ronan watched.
“You’re doing it.”
“What?”
“Going somewhere in your head.”
Elliot smiled faintly.
“Psychology homework.”
“Not funny anymore.”
The smile disappeared.
“No.”
Silence settled. Then Ronan sat beside him. Their knees touched. Neither moved away.
“You really went there with Mason?”
“Yes.”
“And Lucas?”
“Yes.”
“Dylan?”
“Yes.”
“You never mentioned that.”
“It didn't matter.”
Ronan laughed softly.
“Every fucking thing you say didn't matter eventually matters.”
Elliot looked down. He couldn't argue. Ronan continued.
“What happened at the bonfire?”
“Nothing.”
Ronan groaned. Elliot almost smiled.
“I mean actually nothing. People drank. Someone brought speakers. Campus police broke it up.”
“Mason?”
“Drunk.”
“Lucas?”
“Also drunk.”
“Dylan?”
“Probably.”
“You?”
“Not much.”
“Why?”
“I drove.”
Ronan’s eyes moved toward him. That answer again. Responsible Elliot. Designated driver Elliot. Good boy Elliot. Elliot hated how obvious his own persona felt when Ronan looked at it too closely.
“Anyone get into a fight?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don't remember.”
Ronan stared.
“Actually?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone you knew?”
“Probably.”
“Useful.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
Elliot looked at him. Ronan noticed the irony. They both almost laughed. Then a vehicle passed outside. Slow. Too slow. Both froze. Ronan stood immediately. Elliot grabbed his wrist.
“Wait.”
The headlights moved across the edges of the blinds. One second. Two. Three. Then disappeared. Ronan looked toward the window.
“Patrol?”
“Maybe.”
“Stay here.”
Elliot tightened his grip.
“No.”
Ronan looked down.
“I'm checking.”
“From inside.”
“Fine.”
He pulled the curtain edge back a fraction. Elliot watched his face.
“What?”
“Police cruiser.”
Relief moved through him. Small. Embarrassing. Ronan let the curtain fall.
“They’re here.”
“Good.”
Elliot hated how much he meant it now. At 8:47, Vance stopped answering. Ronan called twice. Elliot called once. Nothing. At 9:02, Claire texted Elliot.
CLAIRE: wtf is happening
Elliot stared.
ELLIOT: what
CLAIRE: cops everywhere north of town
His stomach tightened.
ELLIOT: where did you hear that
CLAIRE: student group
Then:
CLAIRE: someone said body found
Elliot stopped breathing. Ronan saw.
“What?”
He handed over the phone. Ronan read.
“Rumor.”
“Yes.”
Neither believed the word. At 9:06, Dylan’s mother called Ronan. He let it ring once. Then answered. Elliot watched his face.
“Hi, Lisa.”
Pause.
“No.”
Longer pause.
“I promise.”
Ronan closed his eyes.
“No, police haven’t told me anything.”
Elliot looked away. He could hear her crying faintly. Not words. Enough. Ronan’s voice softened.
“I’ll call if I hear anything.”
He ended the call. For several seconds, he stared at the floor. Then:
“I hate this.”
Elliot didn’t know what answer was expected. So he gave the truth.
“I know.”
Ronan looked at him. No accusation. No suspicion. Just fear. Elliot crossed the room. He hesitated before touching him. That hesitation hurt. Ronan noticed. He always noticed.
“Come here.”
Elliot did. Ronan wrapped both arms around him.
Elliot closed his eyes. He could feel Ronan’s heartbeat against his cheek.
Too fast. Mine. The thought appeared. Immediately followed by another.
What if they take him? Police. The anonymous sender.
Whoever was watching. The thought had become too broad.
Too many threats. Elliot tightened his arms around Ronan. Ronan’s mouth touched his hair.
“No biting.”
The joke came quietly. Elliot laughed despite himself.
“Not in the mood.”
“That’s how I know this is serious.”
Elliot shoved him weakly. Ronan held tighter. For one minute, they were simply two frightened people in a locked house. Elliot almost forgot everything else. Then his phone rang. Vance. Both separated instantly. Elliot answered.
“What did you find?”
No response for half a second. Then:
“Dylan is alive.”
Ronan heard. His entire body sagged. Elliot felt relief. Real. Unexpectedly real.
“Where?”
“North Ridge.”
“Is he hurt?”
“Yes.”