Chapter Twenty-One — He Did It for Me
ELLIOT
Ronan had lied for him twice. Elliot counted because counting made things easier.
The first lie had been about the mask. The second had been about the phrase Dylan remembered.
He’ll choose the monster he knows. Ronan had looked directly at Detective Vance and said the words meant nothing.
They did not mean nothing. They meant everything.
Elliot sat on the edge of Ronan’s bed with his elbows resting on his knees and stared at the dark floorboards between his bare feet.
The house had been quiet for almost an hour.
Their parents had returned from dinner, learned enough about the police presence to panic, been reassured by Ronan in the particular exhausted voice he used when trying not to tell his father to fuck off, then finally retreated to the main house after Thomas insisted the patrol car outside made the property safer than most banks.
Rebecca had hugged Elliot before leaving.
He had hated that. Not because he disliked his mother touching him.
Because she had looked frightened. For him.
She believed someone was hunting her son.
Technically, someone was. She simply didn’t know what her son had done to earn the attention.
Ronan stood across the room near the window.
He had opened the blinds by less than an inch despite Vance’s warning and was staring through the gap toward the road.
The blue wash of the patrol cruiser’s lights occasionally moved across his face.
Not flashing. Just reflected from the dashboard. Elliot watched him.
“Stop.”
Ronan didn’t turn.
“What?”
“Looking outside.”
“Why?”
“Because if they’re watching, they’ll see you.”
“Through a quarter-inch gap?”
“Yes.”
Ronan let the blind fall.
“There.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Dad.”
Elliot almost smiled. Ronan walked toward the bed. He did not sit beside Elliot. Instead, he dropped into the desk chair several feet away. Distance. Still. Elliot noticed every inch of it.
“So,” Ronan said.
Elliot looked up.
“So.”
“Five murders.”
There it was again. Elliot looked away. Ronan leaned back.
“I’m not doing that to punish you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“I’m trying to make my brain understand.”
“It understands.”
“No.”
Elliot looked at him. Ronan’s expression was tired. Not angry. That was somehow worse.
“My brain understands that you said five,” Ronan continued. “It does not understand that I have apparently been sleeping next to someone who killed five people.”
“Four before Lucas.”
“That does not help.”
“I know.”
Ronan’s eyes narrowed. Elliot almost smiled.
“Sorry.”
“That phrase might get banned next.”
“Along with nothing?”
“Especially nothing.”
Silence. Elliot picked at a loose thread on the knee of his sweatpants. Ronan watched.
“Did you ever come home right after?”
Elliot stopped.
“What?”
“After killing someone.”
The question felt strangely intimate.
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“Three.”
Ronan stared.
“Three.”
“Yes.” “And I was here?” “Twice.” Silence.
Elliot could see him searching memory. That frightened him more than the question.
“Which nights?” “Ronan.” “I want to know.” “Why?” “Because I’m trying to figure out whether I saw it.
” “You didn’t.” “That’s not what I asked.
” Elliot looked toward the window. “Tyler.” Ronan waited.
“You were here.” “When?” “February.” “Specific.” “Eighth.” Ronan’s face changed.
Recognition. Small. Elliot’s stomach tightened.
“You remember.” Ronan stared at the floor.
“You came home late.” “Yes.” “You said Claire’s car wouldn’t start.
” “Yes.” “That was a lie.” “Yes.” Ronan laughed quietly.
The sound hurt. “I fixed her fucking battery the next weekend.” Elliot looked down.
“I know.” “You let me.” “Yes.” Ronan dragged both hands over his face.
“Jesus Christ.” Elliot swallowed. “Do you want me to stop?” “No.” That surprised him.
Ronan looked up. “If I stop asking now, I’ll fill in the blanks myself.
” “That could be worse.” “Exactly.” Elliot nodded.
Ronan asked: “Was there blood on you?” “No.” “Did you shower?” “Before coming home.” “Where?” “I’m not answering operational questions.
” Ronan stared. “Operational.” “Details that could help someone understand how I did it.” “I’m not planning a murder.
” “I know.” “Then why?” “Because if police ever question you, I don’t want you knowing things you have to lie about.
” Ronan went very still. Elliot realized what he had said.
Again. Too late. “You’re protecting me from knowing.
” “Yes.” “After I already lied for you.” “Yes.” Ronan laughed bitterly.
“Little late for moral boundaries.” “It isn’t moral.
” “No shit.” “It’s practical.” “There he is.” Elliot frowned.
“Who?” “The fucking psychology robot.” “I’m not a robot.
” “You sound like one when you’re scared.
” Elliot’s jaw tightened. Ronan leaned forward.
“You did it downstairs too.” “Did what?” “Started explaining everything like a case study because feeling it would be worse.” Elliot stared.
That was annoyingly accurate. He hated when Ronan did that. “You’re learning.”
Ronan’s expression changed.
“What?”
“How to read me.”
“I already knew how.”
“No.”
The word came softer than Elliot intended. Ronan stopped. Elliot continued.
“You knew what I gave you.”
That truth had already hurt them once. It hurt again. Ronan looked away.
“Yeah.”
Elliot’s chest tightened.
“Sorry.”
Ronan looked back. This time he didn’t complain about the apology. For several seconds, neither spoke. Then:
“Grace.”
Elliot’s body tightened.
“What about her?”
“Did I see you afterward?”
“No.”
“Benjamin?”
“Yes.”
Ronan froze. Elliot immediately regretted answering.
“When?”
“June.”
“June what?”
“Twenty-first.”
Ronan’s face emptied.
“No.”
Elliot looked at him. Ronan stood.
“No.”
“What?”
“That was my birthday.”
Silence. Fuck. Elliot had known that. Of course he had. He remembered everything about Ronan.
“I came home before midnight.”
“You came to the bar.”
“Yes.”
Ronan stared. Elliot remembered the night.
Ronan drunk enough to smile openly. Friends packed around a booth.
Dylan had been there. Before anything between Elliot and Ronan had crossed the final boundary.
Before Elliot knew Dylan had slept with him.
Benjamin Cole had been dead less than three hours.
Elliot had walked into the bar. Hugged Ronan.
Bought him a drink. Smiled for photographs. Stayed until closing. Ronan whispered:
“You killed someone and then came to my birthday.”
“Yes.”
“Did you think about it?”
Elliot hesitated.
“Not much.”
Ronan turned away. The answer had hurt. Truth often did. Elliot stood.
“Ronan.”
“Don’t touch me.”
He stopped. Ronan stared at the wall. For several seconds, Elliot thought he might leave the room. He didn’t.
“I need you to understand something,” Ronan said.
“Okay.”
“I am here.”
Elliot’s chest tightened.
“But I don’t know why yet.”
He swallowed.
“Okay.”
“And me staying in this house tonight does not mean I’ve accepted this.”
“I know.”
Ronan turned.
“It doesn’t mean we’re okay.”
“I know.”
“It doesn’t mean I’m going to keep lying.”
That one hurt. Elliot nodded anyway.
“Okay.”
Ronan stared.
“You’re taking that too well.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Neither do I.”
There. Honest. Ronan’s shoulders lowered slightly. Elliot looked toward the door.
“You can sleep alone.”
Ronan’s expression changed.
“I didn’t ask you to leave.”
“You said we’re not okay.”
“We aren’t.”
“So?”
“So stop deciding what I want before I say it.”
Elliot looked at him. That sounded familiar. Ownership. Control. The same thing Elliot did constantly.
“Fine.”
Ronan sighed.
“You can stay.”
Relief moved through Elliot so quickly it embarrassed him. He sat again. Ronan noticed. Of course.
“You thought I was kicking you out.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not.”
“Tonight.”
Ronan’s jaw tightened.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Turn every reassurance into a future threat.”
Elliot looked down.
“I don’t know how.”
The admission escaped. Ronan stopped. Elliot laughed weakly.
“There. Human enough?”
“Asshole.”
But Ronan’s voice had softened. Good. Dangerous. Elliot wanted to move closer. He didn’t. Progress. Maybe. At 12:47, another message arrived. Not Elliot’s phone. Ronan’s. They both heard the vibration against the desk. Neither moved immediately. Then Ronan stood.
“Unknown?”
Elliot asked. Ronan checked. His face tightened.
“Yes.”
Elliot stood too.
“Don’t delete.”
“Very funny.”
Ronan opened it. A photograph loaded. For several seconds, Elliot didn’t understand what he was seeing.
Bedroom. Dark. Two bodies asleep. Then recognition slammed into him.
Ronan’s bed. Their bed, sometimes. The photograph had been taken from outside the window.
Elliot stopped breathing. Ronan enlarged it.
The image was grainy but clear enough. Ronan on his back.
Elliot curled against his side. Ronan’s arm around him.
Timestamp: THURSDAY · 3:17 A.M. Three weeks earlier.
Before Mason. No. Mason had already died then.
After Mason. Before Lucas. Another message appeared beneath the photograph.
He sleeps better when he thinks you’re harmless.
Ronan’s face went completely white. Elliot felt something inside him snap.
Not fear. Rage. Immediate. Violent. Clean. He took the phone.
Ronan let him. The photograph. Their bedroom.
Their private space. The blinds had been open that night.
He remembered. Rain. Cool air. Ronan complaining that Elliot stole the blanket.
Someone had been outside. Watching them sleep.
Watching Ronan touch him. Watching something that belonged to Elliot. No. Belonged to them.
“This person was here.”
Ronan’s voice came quiet.
“Yes.”
“On the property.”
“Yes.”
“Before the box.”
“Yes.”