Chapter Twenty-Seven — Who Was There?
RONAN
Ronan had reached the point where he could tell how bad an answer was going to be by how long Elliot remained silent.
One second meant irritation. Two meant calculation.
Three meant Elliot was deciding whether the truth could be survived.
This silence had reached seven. The black phone remained inside the storage container beneath the porcelain mask.
Its last message glowed against the screen.
ASK HIM WHO WAS THERE.
Ronan looked at Elliot. Elliot looked at the floor. Eight seconds. Nine.
“Who was there?”
Nothing. Ronan laughed softly. Not amusement. Exhaustion.
“Of course.”
“Ronan.”
“No.”
He stepped backward out of the storage room. Elliot followed.
“No fucking ‘Ronan.’ You told me Tyler was the first.”
“He was.”
“You told me you killed him.”
“I did.”
“You told me Nathan couldn't have done it because he was in the hospital.”
“Yes.”
“And somehow you forgot to mention somebody watched you do it.”
“I didn’t forget.”
Ronan stopped. There. At least that was honest.
“You deliberately didn’t tell me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Elliot glanced toward the open storage-room door. The hidden phone. Saint. Listening, maybe. Watching somehow. Ronan understood the look. He shut the door. Hard.
“Better?”
“No.”
“Great.”
Ronan walked into the kitchen. Elliot remained several feet away.
Again with the distance. Ronan was beginning to realize they used distance differently.
When Ronan moved away, he needed room to think.
When Elliot moved away, he expected punishment.
That difference hurt more now that Ronan knew it existed.
“Who was there?”
Elliot folded his arms.
“I didn’t see their face.”
Ronan went still.
“So you really don’t know.”
“No.”
“Male?”
“I assumed.”
“Why?”
“Build.”
“Voice?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
Elliot looked toward the windows. Cameras were being installed outside.
Ronan could hear workers talking near the side of the house, ladders shifting against siding, the occasional scrape of metal.
Normal people. Normal Tuesday morning. Inside, his stepbrother was explaining the first murder of five.
Ronan hated that his brain could now put those things in the same sentence.
“Tyler left the bar at eleven twenty-eight,” Elliot said.
Ronan waited.
“I followed him.”
“Why?”
“I already knew what he was doing.”
“That doesn’t answer.”
“I’d warned him.”
“How?”
“Anonymous message first.”
“Threat?”
“Warning.”
“Difference?”
“I told him people knew he was drugging women.”
“And?”
“He laughed.”
Ronan stared.
“You were there when he read it?”
“No.”
“How do you know he laughed?”
“He replied.”
“To the anonymous account.”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Elliot’s mouth tightened.
“Something about whoever sent it being a pussy.”
Ronan almost smiled despite himself.
“Charming.”
“Very.”
“And then you followed him.”
“Yes.”
“Mask?”
“Yes.”
There it was. The first time. The mask before it became Bellweather folklore. Before Mason cracked the cheek. Before Saint copied it. Ronan’s stomach tightened.
“Where?”
“Service alley behind the bar.”
“What were you planning?”
Elliot looked at him. Ronan regretted asking the second he saw the answer.
“To kill him.”
No hesitation. No pretending it became violent accidentally. Planned. Ronan swallowed.
“Okay.”
Elliot watched his face. Ronan hated that too. He was always waiting to see which truth finally made Ronan leave.
“Then what?”
“Tyler went toward his car.”
“And?”
“I followed.”
Elliot’s voice had changed. Not clinical. Quieter. More careful.
“There was somebody across the alley.”
Ronan’s pulse shifted.
“Watching Tyler?”
“I thought they were smoking.”
“What did they look like?”
“Dark jacket. Hood. Taller than me.” “Nathan?” “No.” “You sure?” “Yes.” “How?” “Nathan is taller.” Ronan stared.
Elliot shrugged faintly. “I noticed.” “Of course you fucking did.” He rubbed one hand over his mouth.
“Did the person see your mask?” “Yes.” “Did they see you kill Tyler?” Silence.
Then: “Yes.” Ronan closed his eyes. Fuck.
“What did they do?” “Nothing.” He opened them.
“Nothing.” “They watched.” “While you—” “Yes.” “And afterward?” “They stayed there.” Ronan stared.
“What the fuck?” “I know.” “No, that’s insane.
” “Yes.” “Did they follow you?” “No.” “Talk to you?” “No.” “Move?” “Barely.” Ronan felt cold.
Someone had watched Elliot murder a man and simply remained there.
No panic. No police. No shouting. No attempt to run.
That was not a random witness. “You thought it was Saint.” Elliot’s face changed. There. Ronan knew. “When?”
“Later.”
“How much later?”
“The next day.”
“What happened?”
“I got a message.”
Ronan’s stomach dropped.
“From Saint.”
“Yes.”
“What did it say?”
Elliot looked away. Ronan already knew he wasn't going to like it.
“Tell me.”
A pause. Then: You looked beautiful when you stopped pretending. Ronan stared. Every hair along his arms lifted.
“That was the first message after Tyler?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t think Saint was the person in the alley?”
“I did.”
“Then why did you keep talking to them?”
Silence. Ronan stared. Elliot’s expression tightened.
“Because I wanted to.”
The answer landed differently than expected. Not manipulation. Not excuse. Truth. Ronan exhaled slowly.
“Why?”
“I’d killed someone.”
“Yes.”
“And somebody saw.”
“Yes.”
“They knew what I’d done.”
“Yes.”
“And they weren’t afraid of me.”
There it was. Ronan’s chest tightened. Elliot continued.
“They didn’t call police. Didn’t threaten me. Didn’t ask for anything.”
“At first.”
“Yes.”
“So you liked them.”
Elliot looked uncomfortable.
“Not like that.”
“Elliot.”
“No.”
The answer sharpened. Ronan stopped. Interesting. Elliot could talk about murder with less emotion than the possibility Ronan might think he had wanted Saint.
“No?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Elliot’s jaw tightened.
“I liked being understood.”
Ronan stared.
“We've talked about this.”
“Yes.”
“But you were obsessed with me.”
“Yes.”
“And also talking to Saint.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted you.”
The certainty came instantly. Ronan’s pulse kicked. Wrong moment. Still. Elliot continued.
“Saint was never you.”
“That's not exactly reassuring.”
“It should be.”
“Why?”
“Because I never wanted anything from them except permission.”
Ronan went still.
“Permission.”
Elliot looked down.
“To be what I already was.”
That sentence sat between them. Ronan didn’t know what to do with it.
Saint had not created the impulse. Maybe.
Had not put Tyler in Elliot’s path. Maybe.
But someone had watched Elliot cross the first line and then rewarded him for it.
Good boy. Approval. Encouragement. Ronan thought about Elliot’s reaction to those words from him.
The title. The bite. Something private that had apparently been poisoned before Ronan even understood it existed. His stomach twisted.
“Did Saint start calling you good boy after Tyler?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did you like it?”
Elliot’s eyes lifted. The question embarrassed him. Good. Ronan needed something human in this conversation.
“Sometimes.”
“Because it was sexual?”
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then what?”
Elliot thought.
“Approval.”
Ronan’s chest tightened again. There.
“That’s worse.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Sorry.”
Ronan looked away. He thought about how easily Elliot responded to praise.
Professor compliments. Rebecca’s pride. Ronan telling him good boy during sex.
Everyone thought Elliot had confidence pouring out of him.
Maybe the golden boy needed approval more than anyone realized.
Saint had figured that out. Used it. Ronan hated whoever Saint was with sudden, startling intensity. Then another thought arrived.
“Grace.”
Elliot went still.
“What about her?”
“Did Saint know before?”
“Yes.”
“Before you killed her.”
“Yes.”
Ronan stared.
“Benjamin?”
“Yes.”
“Mason?”
“Yes.”
“Lucas?”
“Yes.”
His stomach turned.
“So Saint knew your targets in advance.”
“Not always names.”
“But enough.”
“Yes.”
“Did they choose any?”
“No.”
Immediate. Ronan watched him.
“No?”
“No.”
“Never suggested somebody?”
“They suggested types.”
“Explain.”
Elliot hesitated. Ronan’s patience snapped.
“Stop protecting them.”
“I’m not.”
“You still are.”
“No.”
“Yes. Every time I ask what Saint did, you rush to make sure I understand you chose the murders.”
“Because I did.”
“That doesn’t mean Saint didn’t manipulate you.”
Elliot’s face hardened.
“I am not Nathan.”
“I didn't say you were.”
“You’re treating me like I got brainwashed into murder because someone on a forum called me good.”
Ronan stared.
“That isn’t what I said.”
“It’s what you mean.”
“No. What I mean is you were already fucked up enough to kill Tyler, and then someone saw exactly what part of you needed feeding.”
Silence. The words came out harsher than intended. Elliot’s face closed. Ronan immediately hated himself.
“Fuck.”
“No.”
“Elliot.”
“No, finish.”
“I shouldn’t have said fucked up.”
“You think it.”
“That’s not—”
“Stop apologizing.”
Ronan closed his mouth. Elliot stared. Then his voice softened.
“I know there’s something wrong with me.”
Ronan’s chest tightened.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t turn what I said into that.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know what’s wrong with you.”
Elliot almost smiled.
“That’s comforting.”
“I mean it.”
Ronan stepped closer.
“You’re capable of things I still don’t understand. That doesn’t mean I’m going to sit here and diagnose you because you killed people.”
“Vance would love that quote.”
“Fuck Vance.”
Elliot smiled. There. Tiny. Ronan continued.
“You made choices.”
“Yes.”
“Saint may have encouraged those choices.”
“Yes.”
“Both can be true.”
Elliot looked away.
“That makes it worse.”
“For who?”
“Me.”
Ronan frowned.
“Why?”
“Because if Saint influenced anything, then I wasn’t in control.”
There. Of course. Control. Always. Ronan understood.
“You’d rather be completely responsible for five murders than admit someone manipulated you.”
Elliot looked at him.
“Yes.”