Chapter Twenty-Four — The Monster He Chose
RONAN
Ronan knew Detective Vance did not believe him.
That was almost comforting. If she had accepted the lie about the storage room without hesitation, he might have lost whatever microscopic amount of faith he still had in law enforcement.
Instead, she stood in the upstairs hallway with her eyes fixed on him for several long seconds while the paramedic continued trying to convince Ronan that three stitches were not an unreasonable response to having his arm sliced open with a knife.
“The storage room is empty,” Ronan repeated.
Beside him, Elliot said nothing. That bothered Ronan.
Normally Elliot could produce lies faster than most people produced thoughts.
He could smile through them. Soften his eyes.
Offer enough unnecessary detail that the person listening felt stupid for doubting him.
Now he simply stood there with blood drying across his knuckles.
Nathan’s blood. Ronan’s blood. Maybe both.
The white T-shirt Elliot had pulled on less than an hour earlier was smeared along one side, and a faint bruise had started forming near his throat where Nathan had grabbed him.
He looked nothing like the golden boy Bellweather knew.
Good. Maybe Ronan was tired of that version.
Maybe he was tired of all versions. He genuinely did not fucking know anymore.
Vance stepped closer.
“Ronan.”
“What?”
“The room.”
“Empty.”
“You understand I can get a warrant.”
“Yes.”
“Then why make this difficult?”
Ronan looked toward the stairs. Nathan had finally stopped shouting. That silence felt temporary.
“Because a psychopath broke into our house, tried to kill us, and apparently knows enough about our lives to narrate them back to police. Forgive me if I’m not eager to let him decide what you search.”
Vance’s expression sharpened.
“Interesting choice of word.”
“What?”
“Psychopath.”
Ronan’s stomach tightened. Elliot moved beside him. Tiny. Enough that Ronan felt it. He looked at Vance.
“Figure of speech.”
“Is it?”
“Do you want to interrogate my vocabulary or arrest the man who just broke into my house?”
“He is in custody.”
“Great.”
“Which means now I investigate why.”
Ronan laughed softly.
“Of course.”
The paramedic touched his arm again. Ronan winced.
“Hold still.”
“I am holding still.”
“You are absolutely not.”
Elliot spoke.
“Sit down.”
Ronan looked at him. Elliot’s expression had changed again. Not murderous now. Concerned. Possessive. The one Ronan understood. Or thought he did.
“Don’t start.”
“You’re bleeding through the gauze.”
Ronan looked down. He was.
“Fine.”
He sat. The paramedic immediately looked grateful. Vance remained standing. Watching. Always fucking watching. Ronan hated that he understood why now. She had spent weeks studying Elliot. So had he. Apparently neither had done it well enough.
“Why did Nathan Reed know about the storage room?” Vance asked.
Ronan didn’t answer. Elliot did.
“Because he’s been inside the house.”
Vance looked at him.
“You know that?”
“The microphone.”
“Could have been installed elsewhere.”
“The box.”
“Could have been stolen from trash.”
“The photographs.”
“Outside.”
Elliot’s jaw tightened. Vance continued.
“We don’t know when Reed entered this property.”
“He literally entered it tonight.”
“You know what I mean.”
Elliot looked away. Ronan watched him. There was something strange about seeing the two of them talk now that Ronan knew the truth.
Before, every question from Vance had felt like pressure being unfairly applied to someone he loved.
Now he saw the dance. Vance probing. Elliot redirecting.
Every answer selected. Every silence calculated.
It had been happening in front of him the entire time.
Ronan had simply kept calling it Elliot being Elliot.
The paramedic threaded a needle through his skin.
Ronan hissed. Elliot immediately looked over.
His focus snapped away from Vance so completely it almost made Ronan laugh.
“You okay?”
“No. I’ve decided stitches are actually terrible.”
“Good.”
Ronan stared.
“Good?”
“You might stop pretending getting stabbed is nothing.”
“It was a scratch.”
The paramedic looked offended.
“It was not a scratch.”
Elliot pointed.
“See?”
“Both of you can fuck off.”
For one bizarre second, the room almost felt normal. Then Vance said:
“Nathan had twenty-three photographs of Elliot in his vehicle.”
Everything stopped. Elliot slowly looked toward her. Ronan’s stomach tightened.
“Twenty-three?”
Vance nodded.
“Physical photographs. Printed.”
“Recent?”
“Some.”
“How old?”
“We’re establishing dates.”
Ronan looked at Elliot. His face had gone unreadable. Vance continued.
“Several appear to predate Mason Kerr’s homicide.”
Ronan felt cold move through him. They already knew that part. The messages had started earlier. Still, hearing police confirm it made the stalking real in a different way.
“What else?” Elliot asked.
Vance watched him.
“Notes.”
“What kind?”
“About you.”
Silence. Ronan’s jaw tightened.
“What did they say?”
Vance looked toward him.
“I’m not going to read you a stalker’s journal at three in the morning.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t have the complete context.”
Elliot laughed softly.
“Context.”
Vance ignored him.
“There were also photographs of Ronan.”
Ronan froze.
“How many?”
“Fewer.”
“How many?”
“Nine.”
Elliot’s entire expression changed. That got him more than the twenty-three photographs of himself. Of course it fucking did.
“Nine what?” Elliot asked.
“Photographs.”
“Where?”
“Campus. Merrick. Your property.”
“When?”
“Again, we’re establishing dates.”
“Was Dylan in any?”
“One.”
Ronan looked at Elliot. Jealousy appeared. Actually appeared. For half a second. In the middle of a fucking homicide investigation. Ronan almost laughed. Elliot caught him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
His eyes narrowed. Ronan smiled faintly.
“Later.”
There might not be a later. The thought arrived immediately. His smile disappeared. Vance noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She stared. Ronan shook his head.
“Seriously. Nothing.”
The final stitch went in. The paramedic covered the wound.
“Keep it dry tonight.”
Ronan looked at the blood all over the hallway.
“I was planning a bath.”
The paramedic gave him a look. Elliot said, “Ignore him.”
“I’m trying.”
The paramedic packed up. Vance waited until he was gone. Then her entire demeanor shifted. No audience. No medical interruption. Just them.
“Nathan Reed knows things that were never released publicly.”
Ronan looked toward Elliot. He already knew. Mason screaming. Lucas begging. The precise mask damage. The phrase from their bedroom. Vance continued.
“He also knows details about both of you that suggest long-term surveillance.”
“Yes,” Ronan said.
“And he appears to have deliberately inserted himself into this investigation.”
“Clearly.”
“What I don’t understand is why.”
Elliot answered.
“Obsession.”
Vance looked at him.
“Maybe.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I think obsession is part of it.”
“Then what’s the rest?”
She hesitated. That was unusual enough that Ronan immediately paid attention.
“We searched Reed’s vehicle.”
“You said.”
“We found a notebook.” Elliot’s face tightened.
“What was in it?” “Names.” Silence. Ronan stared.
“What names?” “Mason Kerr.” His stomach dropped.
“Lucas Harper.” Elliot went still. “Dylan Price.” Ronan’s jaw tightened.
“Elliot Mercer.” Silence. “And Ronan Vale.” The room seemed to narrow.
Ronan stared at her. “That’s it?” “No.” Of course not.
“Who else?” Vance looked at Elliot. “Tyler Ames.” Everything stopped.
Ronan felt Elliot freeze beside him. Not subtle.
Not controlled. Freeze. Vance saw it. “What?” Elliot’s voice came out quiet.
“Nothing.” Ronan looked at him. No. Not nothing.
Tyler. One of the five. His first victim.
Or at least one of the first three. Vance continued.
“Grace Holloway.” Ronan stopped breathing.
Elliot’s face emptied. “Benjamin Cole.” There it was.
All five. Nathan had every name. Ronan felt nausea rise.
Vance watched them. Neither could hide enough now.
“What do those names mean to you?” Ronan said nothing.
Elliot said nothing. Vance looked between them.
“Tyler Ames died in February.” Ronan knew.
Now. “Grace Holloway died in April.” He knew.
“Benjamin Cole died in June.” Ronan’s stitched arm throbbed.
“Mason Kerr in October.”
Silence.
“Lucas Harper this month.”
Vance folded her arms.
“Five deaths.”
Ronan looked at Elliot. Elliot stared straight ahead.
“Different circumstances,” Vance continued. “Different locations. Different victim profiles.”
Ronan swallowed.
“But Reed wrote all five names.”
Elliot finally spoke.
“Maybe he killed them.”
Ronan’s head snapped toward him. Vance barely reacted.
“No.”
That answer came quickly. Elliot’s eyes sharpened.
“Why not?”
“Because Tyler Ames was killed while Nathan Reed was hospitalized after a motorcycle accident.”
Silence. Ronan looked down. Fuck.
“Grace Holloway died while Reed was attending a conference in Boston with thirty-eight witnesses and hotel records.”
Elliot’s jaw tightened.
“Benjamin Cole?”
“Possible for Reed.”
Ronan’s attention sharpened. Vance continued.
“But evidence does not currently point to him.”
Elliot looked toward the floor. Ronan could almost hear the calculations. Vance said:
“So here is what I know.”
Neither brother moved.
“Nathan Reed has been following Elliot for months.”
“Yes,” Ronan said.
“He knows intimate details about both of you.”
“Yes.”
“He knows details about multiple deaths he could not have committed.”
Silence.
“And when I mentioned names, Elliot recognized them.”
Elliot looked up.
“No.”
Vance stared.
“You reacted.”
“You gave me a list of dead people.”
“You reacted before I explained who they were.”
Ronan felt cold. There it was. Vance. Finally. Not proof. Recognition. A thread. Elliot smiled faintly.