Chapter Thirty-One — Visit Me
ELLIOT
The handcuffs were tighter than Elliot expected.
Not painful. Just present. Cold metal around both wrists.
A constant physical reminder that the version of his life where he could leave whenever he wanted had ended approximately twenty-three minutes ago.
Detective Vance walked several feet ahead.
Another officer remained behind. Elliot stared at the back of Vance’s coat as they moved through the hallway toward processing.
He should have been thinking about charges.
Evidence. Lawyers. Sentencing. Five murders.
He should probably have been calculating whether the confession could be suppressed somehow, whether Gregory Bell would murder him before the state got the opportunity, whether anything he had admitted without counsel present counted as catastrophically stupid. Instead he thought about Ronan’s hand.
The way it had held his beneath the table.
The way it had let go. The way Ronan had promised.
I’m not leaving. Elliot believed him. That frightened him almost as much as prison.
Because Ronan had already done too much.
Lied. Hidden evidence. Protected him. Broken his own phone.
Chosen him over and over until Saint had begun treating Ronan’s corruption like entertainment.
Confessing had been the first thing Elliot had done in weeks that made the choice smaller instead of larger.
No more lies Ronan had to carry. No more evidence Ronan had to hide.
No more asking the man he loved to become worse simply because Elliot was terrified of consequences.
It felt terrible. Probably meant it had been right.
Elliot hated that. Vance stopped at a secured door.
An officer swiped a card. The lock clicked.
Elliot looked back once. Nothing. Ronan was somewhere beyond several walls.
Still in the interview wing. With Nathan.
Maybe listening. Maybe furious. Maybe crying.
No. Ronan rarely cried. Elliot had seen it twice.
Once at his grandfather’s funeral. Once after Elliot had said he loved him for the first time and then pretended he hadn’t noticed Ronan wiping his face in the bathroom afterward.
He almost smiled at the memory. The officer behind him said, “Something funny?” Elliot looked forward.
“No.”
The word. Still following him. Vance glanced back. Apparently she remembered too.
“Probably retire that one.”
Elliot’s mouth twitched.
“Yes, Detective.”
They entered processing. Gregory Bell arrived at 4:37.
He looked exactly as furious as Elliot expected.
The interview room had changed. No Vance.
No Nathan. No Ronan. Just Elliot sitting at a bolted table with his hands free now and Bell standing opposite him with both palms flat against the surface.
“You confessed.”
Elliot nodded.
“Without me.”
“Yes.”
“To five homicides.”
“Yes.”
Bell stared. Elliot waited. The lawyer inhaled slowly. Then exhaled.
“I want to make sure I understand the magnitude of what you just did.”
“I think I understand.”
“No.”
Bell sat. The anger disappeared beneath professionalism. Worse.
“You gave a voluntary admission after being advised repeatedly to contact counsel before answering substantive questions.”
“Yes.”
“You named yourself as the perpetrator.”
“Yes.”
“Repeatedly.”
“Yes.”
“Were you threatened?”
“No.”
“Coerced?”
“No.”
“Promised anything?”
“No.”
“Intoxicated?”
“No.”
“Medicated?”
“No.”
“Experiencing some kind of acute psychiatric crisis?”
Elliot frowned.
“No.”
Bell stared.
“Then why?”
That question felt harder than everything else. Elliot looked toward the mirrored glass. Probably observation room. Maybe not.
“I was tired.”
Bell’s expression did not change.
“Of?”
“Lying.”
Silence. Bell leaned back.
“That is an exceptionally expensive form of personal growth.”
Elliot almost laughed. He liked Bell. Unfortunately.
“There’s another investigation,” Elliot said.
“I’m aware.”
“Saint.”
“Yes.”
“Nathan.”
“Yes.”
“They were using the murders to control me.”
Bell’s eyes sharpened.
“Explain carefully.”
So Elliot did. Not everything. Enough. Anonymous forum. Saint. Tyler. The surveillance. Nathan. Dylan. Claire. Rebecca. The microphone. The copied mask. The messages. Ronan. Bell listened without interruption. When Elliot finished, the lawyer looked older than he had thirty minutes earlier.
“You understand none of this excuses homicide.”
“Yes.”
“But it may be relevant.”
“To what?”
“Several things.”
Bell closed his folio.
“Most importantly, what you say next.”
Elliot stared.
“I already confessed.”
“That does not mean you spend the afternoon narrating your criminal history to every person with a badge.” “Fair.” “You answer nothing further without me.” “Okay.” Bell studied him.
Then: “Does Ronan know?” Elliot’s stomach tightened.
“Yes.” “How much?” “Everything.” Bell closed his eyes.
Fuck. “What?” “Did he assist you in any homicide?” “No.” “Before?” “No.” “After?” Silence.
Bell opened his eyes. There. Lawyer. Danger.
“Elliot.” “He lied to police.” “What kind of lie?” Elliot looked away.
“About evidence.” Bell’s face hardened. “What evidence?” “No.” “What?” “I’m not telling you.
” “You just told me he obstructed a homicide investigation.” “I know.” “Then you need to tell me enough to protect him.” Elliot stared.
That phrase. Protect him. “Yes.” Bell leaned forward.
“If Ronan independently destroyed, concealed, altered, or moved evidence, that creates exposure for him. If he lied during questioning, that creates separate issues.” “He didn’t move anything.
” “Destroy?” “His phone.” Bell stared. “Why?” “Complicated.” “Of course.” “He panicked.” “Any evidence on it?” “No.” “You’re certain?
” “Yes.” “What did he conceal?” Elliot’s jaw tightened.
Bell waited. “The mask.” Silence. Bell slowly sat back.
“The murder mask.” “Yes.” “Where?” “House.” “Does police have it?” “No.” Bell stared for so long Elliot almost became uncomfortable.
Almost. “Ronan knows where it is.” “Yes.” “And lied about it.” “Yes.” “Jesus Christ.” Elliot looked down.
“I didn’t ask him to.” “Does not matter.” “It matters to me.” Bell’s expression softened slightly.
That was worse. “Of course it does.” Elliot looked up.
“What happens to him?” “I don’t know yet.
” No. He hated that answer. Bell continued.
“Which is why you are going to stop speaking about his involvement until I determine what has already been documented.” Elliot nodded.
“And if police ask?” “You say you want counsel.” “Yes.” “Not ‘nothing.’” Elliot almost smiled. “Everyone hates that word now.”
“I’m beginning to understand why.”
A knock sounded. Bell turned. The door opened. Vance stood outside.
“Can I speak with counsel?”
Bell got up.
“Without my client.”
“Yes.”
He looked at Elliot.
“Say nothing.”
“Got it.”
Bell stepped out. The door shut. Elliot sat alone.
For the first time since confessing, there was nothing to perform.
No questions. No Ronan. No Saint. No mother to save.
Just him. Five people. He thought of each.
Tyler first. Not his face when he died. Before.
The bar. That easy smile. The assumption that Elliot would never say anything.
Grace. Benjamin. Mason. Lucas. He had always grouped them by what they had done.
Easier. Victims turned into categories. Drugging.
Blackmail. Abuse. Humiliation. Videos. He had stripped them into offenses because offenses were simple.
People weren’t. That did not mean they deserved sympathy from him.
Maybe that was still broken. But he understood something now that he hadn’t before.
Ronan would have to carry five names forever if Elliot remained silent.
That mattered more than Elliot’s need to stay free.
He hated how late he had learned it. The door opened again.
Not Bell. Ronan. Elliot stopped breathing.
Ronan stood in the doorway with an officer behind him.
His temporary phone in one hand. His face looked terrible.
Red eyes. So Elliot had been wrong. Three times.
“Five minutes,” the officer said.
Ronan entered. The door closed. Neither spoke. Elliot stood. Ronan didn’t move. Distance. Again. Elliot’s chest tightened.
“Hi.”
Ronan laughed once.
“Hi?”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“How about what the fuck?”
“Fair.”
Ronan stared. Elliot stared back. Then Ronan crossed the room. Fast enough that Elliot almost braced. Instead Ronan grabbed his face and kissed him. Hard. Brief. Furious. Elliot froze. When Ronan pulled away, he looked equally surprised by himself.