Chapter Twenty-Six — Mine Anyway #3
He did. Nathan had escalated. Dylan. The house. The attack. Maybe too far. Maybe Saint had never intended Nathan to enter. Maybe Nathan was another experiment that stopped following instructions.
“Saint gave him up.”
Ronan nodded.
“Maybe.”
Cold moved through Elliot. If true, Nathan wasn’t the climax. He was cleanup. The thought unsettled him. Then a sound came from beneath the stairs. Small. Electronic. Both froze. Elliot stared toward the storage-room door. Ronan straightened.
“What was that?”
“I don’t know.”
The sound came again. A vibration. Inside. Elliot moved. Ronan caught his arm.
“Wait.”
“Something’s in there.”
“No shit.”
Another vibration. Not the mask. A phone. They stared at each other. Elliot’s pulse accelerated.
“There isn’t a phone in there.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Completely?”
“Yes.”
Ronan released him. Together they crossed the kitchen. Elliot opened the storage-room door. Turned on the light. Boxes. Coats. Tools. Black container. The vibration came again. Inside the container. Ronan whispered:
“No.”
Elliot crouched.
“Stay back.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Ronan.”
“If that explodes, I’m going to be extremely pissed that my last act was listening to you.”
Despite everything, Elliot almost laughed. He moved the boxes. Pulled the container forward. Opened the lid. The porcelain mask stared upward. Exactly where he had left it. Beneath it, something glowed. A phone. Small. Black. Not his. Not Ronan’s. Elliot’s stomach dropped. Ronan whispered:
“Do not touch it.”
Elliot didn’t. The screen lit. Incoming call. No number. No caller ID. Just one word displayed across the screen.
SAINT
Neither breathed. The phone continued vibrating beneath the mask. Once. Twice. Three times. Ronan looked at Elliot.
“Don’t.”
Elliot stared at the screen. Months of messages. Five murders. Nathan. Dylan. Their bedroom. Everything. The call continued.
“Elliot.”
He reached down. Ronan caught his wrist.
“I said don’t.”
Elliot looked at him.
“What if this is our only chance?”
“To do what?”
“Find out who they are.”
“Or give them exactly what they want.”
The phone stopped. Silence. Both stared. Then the screen illuminated again. A text. GOOD MORNING, ELLIOT. Another appeared. DID HE LIKE HIS PRESENT? Ronan’s face changed.
“What present?”
Elliot didn’t know. Then another message.
CHECK HIS SHOULDER.
Everything inside Elliot went cold. Ronan slowly looked toward him. The bite. Fresh. Private. Hours ago. After the police removed the microphone. After Nathan was arrested. Elliot stood.
“No.”
Ronan pulled the collar of his shirt aside. The mark was there. Nothing else. Just Elliot’s bite. Another message arrived.
PRETTIER THAN I IMAGINED.
Ronan went white. Elliot stared at the phone. No. The bedroom had been cleared. Police had searched. The smoke detector was gone. Nathan was in custody. Unless there was another device. Or Saint had another way in. Ronan whispered:
“They watched.”
Elliot’s anger returned. Different now. Colder. Ronan saw.
“No.”
Elliot looked at him.
“You promised.”
The words stopped him. No more murders. Promise. Fuck. Elliot closed his eyes. Breathed once. Opened them.
“Fine.”
Ronan stared.
“Fine?”
“I’m not going to kill them.”
“Good.”
“I am going to find them.”
“That sounds suspiciously adjacent.”
“Finding isn't killing.”
“Elliot.”
“You asked for no loopholes. That isn’t one.”
Ronan stared. Then sighed.
“Okay.”
Elliot looked down at the phone. Saint sent another message. THAT’S BETTER. Ronan read it. His face hardened.
“They can hear us.”
Elliot stared at the device. Maybe. Maybe not. Ronan stepped closer. Then spoke directly toward the phone.
“Hey, Saint.”
Elliot looked at him. Ronan continued.
“If you can hear me, listen carefully.”
Silence. The screen remained dark.
“You don’t know him.”
Elliot’s chest tightened.
“You know what he did. You know what he hides. You know what scares him. Congratulations.”
Ronan crouched beside the container.
“But you don’t fucking know him.”
The screen illuminated. DON’T I? Ronan smiled. Not kindly. Elliot recognized that smile. His smile. Fuck. Ronan typed. No. Immediate response.
I KNEW HIM BEFORE YOU DID.
Ronan’s jaw tightened. Elliot felt something vicious stir.
No. Promise. He breathed. Ronan typed again.
And he still chose me. Elliot stared at him.
Ronan hit send. For the first time, Saint did not immediately respond.
One second. Five. Ten. Ronan smiled. Elliot should have stopped him.
Instead, pride moved through him. Then the phone vibrated.
WE’LL SEE. Ronan’s smile disappeared. Another message.
ASK HIM WHAT HAPPENED ON FEbrUARY 8 AT 11:43 P.M. Elliot froze.
Ronan looked at him. Tyler. February eighth.
The first murder. His stomach dropped. Another message.
ASK HIM WHO WAS THERE.
Ronan slowly stood. His eyes remained on Elliot.
“What does that mean?”
Elliot couldn’t answer. Because from all of the lies, half-truths, confessions, blood, masks, and bodies, there was still one thing Ronan did not know. Tyler Ames had not died alone. And Elliot had never told Ronan there had been a witness.