Chapter Seven — The Last Person to See Him #2
Silence. Ronan closed his eyes. “There it is.” “It's not relevant.” “Then tell me.” Dylan exhaled into the phone.
“Lucas got into an argument with somebody last week.” “Who?” “Some freshman.” Ronan's eyes opened.
“What?” “Not like a fight.” “What kind of argument?” “I don't fucking know. The kid accused him of spreading something.” “What?” “A video.” Ronan went still.
For several seconds, the only sound came from someone opening a door several floors above him.
“A video of what?” “I don't know.” “You don't know anything today.” “Because Lucas wouldn't explain it.” Ronan leaned against the wall.
Mason. Video. Freshman. His mind made the connection before he could stop it.
“You said Mason used to collect videos of people.” Dylan went quiet.
“Yeah.” “And now Lucas is involved in one?” “Ronan.” “What?” “Don't turn into the internet.” “I'm asking.” “And I'm telling you I don't know.” “Was it the same freshman?” “I have no fucking idea.” “Did Lucas know Mason?” “Everyone knew Mason.” “That's not what I asked.” Another pause. “Yes.” “How well?” “Pretty well.”
Ronan stared through the narrow stairwell window. Rainwater streaked the glass.
“Were they friends?”
“Sometimes.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means Mason was a dick and Lucas could also be a dick.”
Something cold moved through Ronan. That phrase again. Mason could be a dick. Now Lucas.
“What did Lucas do?”
Dylan groaned.
“Why are you interrogating me?”
“Because police are interrogating you.”
“They're asking because I'm the last confirmed person who saw him.”
“That doesn't bother you?”
“Of course it fucking bothers me.”
His voice cracked slightly around the edges. That stopped Ronan. He'd been so focused on the details he hadn't actually listened to Dylan. He sounded scared. Not nervous. Scared. Ronan's tone softened.
“You okay?”
“No.”
Honest. Immediate.
“I keep thinking about what happened to Mason.”
“Lucas isn't dead.”
“You don't know that.”
“No.”
“His backpack was by the river, Ronan.”
“I know.”
“He doesn't go out there.”
“Ever?”
“Not alone.”
Ronan stared down the stairwell.
“What did he say before he left the bar?”
Dylan was quiet. Then:
“He said somebody had been watching him.”
Ronan's skin prickled.
“What?”
“I didn't tell the cops at first because I thought he was being dramatic.”
“Dylan.”
“I told them this morning.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“That he kept seeing someone.”
“Where?”
“Campus. Outside his apartment. I don't know.”
“Someone he knew?”
“He didn't know.”
Ronan's grip tightened around the phone.
“Man or woman?”
“He thought a guy.”
“Did he see his face?”
“No.”
“Mask?”
Dylan went silent. Ronan's heartbeat changed.
“Dylan.”
“No.”
Relief came unexpectedly.
“No mask?”
“No.”
“Then why did he think someone was watching him?”
“He said the same person kept showing up.”
“Description?”
“Tall. Hoodie. That's basically every fucking guy in Bellweather.”
Ronan thought about Elliot walking through the back door that morning. Dark green hoodie. He immediately hated himself for it. Fuck off.
“No face?” Ronan asked.
“No.”
“Nothing else?”
“He said the guy was wearing gloves once.”
Cold moved through Ronan again.
“Gloves.”
“It is November.”
“Yeah.”
Neither spoke. Finally Dylan said, “You see why I didn't think anything of it?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought Lucas was paranoid because of Mason.”
“Maybe he was.”
“He isn't answering his phone.”
Ronan had nothing useful to say to that. Dylan breathed into the silence.
“Police want me at the station at eleven.”
“Want me to come?”
The question left Ronan before he'd thought about it. Dylan paused.
“You would?”
“Yeah.”
Another pause.
“Maybe.”
Ronan checked the time.
“Text me.”
“Okay.”
“And tell them everything.”
“I am.”
“Everything.”
“Jesus, yes.”
Ronan ended the call. He stood motionless in the stairwell.
The fluorescent light above him buzzed. Somebody had been following Lucas.
Maybe. Or Lucas had been frightened because a guy he'd known had recently been stabbed to death.
That made more sense. Fear changed patterns.
Once your brain decided danger existed, every stranger became evidence.
Every coincidence became surveillance. Ronan understood that because he'd been doing exactly the same thing for almost two weeks.
He thought about Elliot again. The phone in his bedroom.
The warm coffee. Mud on his shoe. No. Ronan shoved the thought away so violently it almost embarrassed him.
Elliot was jealous. Manipulative sometimes.
A brat always. He was not whatever Bellweather had turned the masked figure into.
Ronan knew him. That mattered. Dylan didn't ask Ronan to come to the station. At 10:52, he sent:
DYLAN: they want me alone apparently
Then:
DYLAN: i'll call after
Ronan spent the next two hours in the architecture studio and accomplished approximately nothing. At 1:14, Elliot texted.
ELLIOT: lunch?
Ronan stared at the message.
RONAN: class
ELLIOT: skip
RONAN: unlike you some of us need degrees
ELLIOT: my condolences
Then:
ELLIOT: claire ditched me
RONAN: tragic
ELLIOT: dylan around?
Ronan stared. There it was. Of course.
RONAN: police station
The typing indicator appeared immediately. Stopped. Appeared again.
ELLIOT: why
Ronan hesitated. Then:
RONAN: last person to see lucas
No response. Ronan waited. One minute. Two. Five. Nothing. He put the phone down. At 1:31 it buzzed.
ELLIOT: that's weird
That was all. Ronan frowned. He typed:
RONAN: apparently Lucas thought someone was following him
This time Elliot answered faster.
ELLIOT: before he disappeared?
RONAN: yeah
ELLIOT: did he see who
Ronan stared at the screen. The question was reasonable. Completely reasonable.
RONAN: no
Elliot responded with a single:
ELLIOT: shit
Ronan locked the phone. Again, reasonable.
Everything was reasonable. He was the one making it strange.
At 4:22 P.M., Bellweather Police held a press conference.
Ronan watched from a drafting table while half the architecture studio crowded around somebody's laptop.
Detective Mara Vance stood behind a podium outside Bellweather Police headquarters.
Ronan recognized her from Elliot's description.
Dark hair. Calm face. No visible impatience despite reporters shouting questions before she'd started.
“Lucas Harper remains a missing person,” she said. “At this time, we have not established any connection between Mr. Harper's disappearance and the homicide of Mason Kerr.”
A reporter immediately asked whether police believed Lucas might be another victim. Vance did not answer directly.
“We are investigating all possibilities.”
Another asked about the masked figure.
“No identification has been made.”
“Is that person considered a suspect?”
“We continue to seek information regarding that individual.”
“Do you believe Lucas Harper knew Mason Kerr?”
“Yes.”
Ronan's attention sharpened.
“How?”
“The two had overlapping social circles.”
Another reporter shouted.
“Was Dylan Price the last person to see Harper?”
Vance's expression didn't move.
“We will not be identifying witnesses.”
That meant yes. At least everyone watching would assume it did.
The press conference lasted eleven minutes.
By the time it ended, Dylan's name was already appearing online.
Someone had posted screenshots from his Instagram.
Pictures with Lucas. Pictures with Mason.
Pictures from parties. Ronan's stomach turned.
The internet did what it always did. Built a story before facts had the chance.
DYLAN PRICE KNOWS SOMETHING.
Same guy connected to BOTH victims? Police need to look at him. Victim. Lucas wasn't even confirmed dead. Didn't matter. The narrative had decided. Ronan texted Dylan. No answer. Called. Voicemail. He tried again ten minutes later. Nothing. At five, Dylan finally replied.
DYLAN: phone dying. im home.
Then:
DYLAN: this is fucked
Ronan typed:
RONAN: come over
He hesitated before sending. Not because he didn't want Dylan there. Because he knew exactly how Elliot would react. He sent it anyway.
DYLAN: your place?
RONAN: yeah
DYLAN: stepbrother gonna murder me?
Ronan stared at the message. The joke wasn't funny anymore. He typed:
RONAN: shut up and come over Elliot came home first. The front door opened at 5:37. Ronan was cooking because stress apparently turned him domestic now. Elliot dropped his backpack beside the couch.
“Smells good.”
“Don't sound surprised.”
“I am surprised.”
Ronan glanced over. Elliot wore the same dark green hoodie from that morning beneath his coat. The running shoes were gone. Clean white sneakers instead. Ronan hated that he noticed.
“How was class?” he asked.
“Boring.”
“Claire?”
“Alive.”
“Good.”
Elliot walked into the kitchen. His eyes moved toward the extra bottle of beer Ronan had placed on the island. Then the third plate. Ronan watched realization happen.
“Who's coming over?”
“Dylan.”
Elliot stopped. There was no gradual shift. No attempt to hide it. His entire expression hardened.
“No.”
Ronan almost laughed.
“This isn't a vote.”
“Why?”
“Because people online are accusing him of disappearing Lucas.”
“So?”
Ronan stared. Elliot blinked.
“What?”
“That's cold even for you.”
“I mean why does he need to be here?”
“Because he's freaked out.”
“He has a house.”
“Elliot.”
“What?”
“He's my friend.”
Elliot looked at the third plate. Then at Ronan.
“Fine.”
“That sounded extremely convincing.”
“I said fine.”
“You gonna behave?”
Elliot's eyes narrowed.
“Good boys behave, right?”
Ronan's mouth twitched.
“Exactly.”
“Then probably not.”
There was a knock. Elliot looked toward the door.
His face emptied. Ronan recognized the transformation.
The private Elliot disappeared. By the time Ronan opened the door, the golden boy had returned.
Dylan stood beneath the porch light. He looked like shit.
Gray hoodie. Unshaven. Eyes bloodshot. For once, no easy smile.
“Hey.”
“Come in.”