Chapter Five — What Happens Behind Closed Doors #3
That almost made it worse. Elliot closed his eyes. Ronan kissed his temple. Tenderness always landed strangely after intensity. Elliot could handle possession. Tenderness made him feel exposed. His phone vibrated on the nightstand. He ignored it. It vibrated again. Ronan groaned.
“Your fan club.”
“Jealous?”
“Deeply.”
Elliot reached for the phone. Claire.
CLAIRE: awake?
Elliot typed with one hand.
ELLIOT: unfortunately
The response came instantly.
CLAIRE: someone posted the mask picture
Elliot's body went still. Ronan noticed.
“What?”
“Claire.”
“What about her?”
Elliot opened the next message. A screenshot.
The securitycamera image from the news had been reposted by a Bellweather student account.
Someone had enlarged it. Sharpened it. Brightened it.
The result remained grainy, but the white porcelain face stood out much more clearly against the darkness.
Beneath it: WHO IS THE SAINT AUGUSTINE MASK?
Comments filled the bottom. Hundreds already.
Elliot scrolled. People guessing. Joking.
Accusing. Someone claimed they'd seen the same mask at a Halloween party last year.
Impossible. Someone else said Mason owned it.
Wrong. Another insisted it was available from a costume store downtown.
Also wrong. Elliot felt something unexpected.
Irritation. The mask had never been intended to become famous.
It was supposed to prevent recognition. Nothing more.
Now Bellweather had given it a name. The Saint Augustine Mask. Stupid.
“Let me see.”
Ronan took the phone. He studied the image.
“That thing is fucking creepy.”
Elliot watched him.
“You think?”
“Look at it.”
“I've seen it.”
Ronan zoomed in. Elliot's eyes settled automatically on the fracture across the cheek. Mason's fracture. The photograph Detective Vance had shown him was clearer. This one hid it in digital noise. Ronan handed the phone back.
“People are gonna turn this into entertainment.”
“They already have.”
“Someone died three days ago and they're naming the killer like he's a fucking comic-book villain.”
Elliot's gaze lifted.
“Killer?”
Ronan frowned.
“You know what I mean.”
“Police haven't said the person in the mask killed him.”
“Come on.”
“You think he did?”
Ronan stared at the ceiling.
“Probably.”
“Why?”
“Because normal people don't stalk drunk college students through parks wearing nightmare masks.”
Elliot smiled faintly.
“Fair.”
Ronan looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“There's that word again.”
Elliot put the phone down. Ronan rolled toward him. For a moment, Elliot thought he was going to kiss him. Instead Ronan studied his face.
“What?”
“You've been weird about this.”
Elliot's pulse changed. Not dramatically. Enough that he noticed.
“Weird how?”
“I don't know.”
Dangerous answer. Elliot waited. Ronan frowned.
“You're just... calm.”
“You said that before.”
“No. Claire said that.”
Elliot stared at him. Ronan smiled.
“Your mom told my dad, who told me.”
“Everyone in this family needs hobbies.”
“Seriously.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don't know.”
Ronan's expression softened.
“You were one of the last people to see him alive.”
“So were dozens of people.”
“And then a detective questioned you.”
“Along with dozens of people.”
“You're not freaked out?”
Elliot thought about the correct answer. Then decided Ronan deserved something closer to the truth.
“I'm interested.”
Ronan's eyebrows drew together.
“In what?”
“The investigation.”
“Why?”
Elliot shrugged.
“I'm studying psychology. Someone was murdered near campus. The police have almost nothing publicly. Everyone is constructing explanations because uncertainty makes them uncomfortable.”
Ronan stared. “That is the most Elliot answer imaginable.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“You somehow made murder sound like homework.”
Elliot laughed. Ronan kissed his forehead. “Freak.”
Elliot smiled. If Ronan only knew. The thought appeared so naturally that it startled him.
Not because it was new. Because for one brief second, Elliot imagined telling him.
Everything. The park. The mask. Mason begging.
The warm blood slipping between Elliot's gloved fingers.
He imagined Ronan's face. Shock. Disgust. Fear.
Maybe hatred. The fantasy died immediately.
No. Ronan knew Elliot better than anyone.
That didn't mean he needed to know everything.
Some doors were closed for a reason. Ronan settled onto his back again.
Within ten minutes, his breathing changed.
Elliot remained awake. His phone rested beside him.
He picked it up once more. Opened the photograph.
The mask stared from the screen. Black eyes. Stitched mouth. Cracked cheek.
Hundreds of strangers were trying to figure out who was behind it.
Elliot enlarged the photograph until pixels distorted the porcelain.
Then he smiled. Let them look. They weren't looking at Elliot Mercer.
Nobody ever did. Not really. He locked the phone and placed it facedown.
Beside him, Ronan slept with Elliot's mark darkening against his skin.
Elliot touched it once. Then closed his eyes.