Chapter Thirty-One — Visit Me #2
“What was that?” “Shut up.” Elliot’s mouth twitched.
Ronan caught it. “Do not smile.” “Trying.” “I’m serious.
” “So am I.” The smile disappeared. Ronan looked at him.
Then hit his shoulder. Not hard. Enough.
“You confessed.” “Yes.” “You fucking confessed.” “Yes.” “After I spent days lying for you.” “I know.” “Do you understand how fucking insane that feels?” “Yes.” “Stop saying you know.” “Sorry.” Ronan paced away.
Elliot watched. “I thought you’d be relieved.
” Ronan stopped. “What?” “That I stopped lying.” “I am.” “You don’t look relieved.
” “I contain multitudes.” Elliot almost smiled again.
Ronan turned. “I am relieved.” Silence. “And terrified.” Elliot nodded.
“And angry.” Another nod. “And proud of you.” That one hurt.
Elliot looked away. “Don’t.” “No.” “Ronan.” “No.” He stepped closer again.
“You chose it yourself.” “Yes.” “You could’ve lied.
” “Yes.” “You didn’t.” “No.” Ronan’s face softened.
“That matters.” Elliot swallowed. “It doesn’t undo anything.
” “I know.” “Five people are still dead.” “I know.” “I might go away forever.” Ronan’s jaw tightened.
“We are not discussing forever before Bell even tells us what charges you’re facing.
” “You know what murder means.” “I know what pessimism means too.” “It’s realism.
” “Shut up.” Elliot looked down. Ronan touched his chin.
“Hey.” He looked up. “I promised.” Elliot’s throat tightened.
“Yes.” “I’m here.” “Yes.” “And I am not leaving today.” “Okay.” “Tomorrow either.” His chest tightened more.
“Ronan.” “Don’t.” “What?” “Start rationing the promise because you think it’ll hurt less later.
” That was annoyingly accurate. Elliot laughed weakly.
“You really are learning me.” “I wish I’d taken an easier elective.
” Elliot smiled. Ronan did too. Then the smile disappeared.
“There’s something you need to know.” Elliot’s stomach tightened.
“Nathan?” “Yes.” “Saint?” “Yes.” Ronan looked toward the mirrored glass.
Then back. “Nathan gave Vance a name.” Elliot froze.
“What name?” “He says Saint is someone named Adrian Cross.” Nothing.
Elliot searched memory. No face. No student.
No professor. “Who?” “That’s the problem.
” “What?” “Adrian Cross doesn’t exist.” Elliot frowned.
“Alias.” “Probably.” “Nathan knew that?” “He knew Saint as Adrian online first.” “When?” “Before you.” Cold moved through Elliot.
“How long?” Ronan’s expression tightened.
“Three years.” Silence. Saint had not begun with Elliot.
Nathan had been there first. “What did Nathan say?” “That Saint found him on a forum when he was nineteen.” “Same kind?” “Different. Obsession forum.” That fit.
Nathan wanting to be seen. Wanted. Chosen.
Saint feeding whatever was already there.
Same method. Different hunger. Elliot’s stomach turned.
“Nathan said Saint gave him assignments.” “What kind?” “Follow people.” “Me.” “Eventually.” “Before?” “Others.”
Elliot stared.
“Were any killed?”
Ronan hesitated. There.
“What?”
“Maybe.”
His pulse changed.
“How many?”
“Vance is checking.”
“Names?”
Ronan looked uncomfortable.
“Two overlap with unsolved deaths outside Bellweather.”
Elliot felt cold. Saint had done this before. Not merely watched. Built people. Nathan. Elliot. Maybe others. A pattern. Ronan continued.
“Nathan said Saint called them projects.”
Elliot’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
“What?”
“Not projects.”
“That’s the word he used.”
“No.”
“Why does that bother you?”
Elliot looked at him. Because Saint had told him he was special. Different. Chosen because he understood things other people didn’t. Apparently Nathan had heard the same. Maybe everyone did.
“He said I was different.”
Ronan’s expression softened.
“Yeah.”
“He probably told Nathan that too.”
“Probably.”
Elliot laughed softly. Bitter.
“Fucking cliché.”
Ronan almost smiled.
“Serial-killer mentorship pyramid scheme.”
Elliot stared. Then laughed. He couldn't help it. Ronan did too. Five seconds of absurdity. Needed. Then Elliot asked:
“Why Adrian Cross?”
“Nathan doesn’t know.”
“He met Saint?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“No.” “Voice?” “Once.” Elliot froze. “What?” “Phone call.” “When?” “Two years ago.” “Description?” “Male.” “So we were right.” “Maybe.” “Age?” “Nathan guessed thirties or forties.” “Accent?” “None he noticed.” “Anything else?” Ronan stared.
“You’re doing the thing.” “What?” “Detective Elliot.” “I’m in jail.
Let me have a hobby.” “You are not in jail yet.” “Semantics.” Ronan’s face tightened at the word.
Elliot immediately regretted it. “Sorry.” Ronan shook his head.
“Nathan remembered one thing.” “What?” “Saint called him from a landline.” Elliot frowned.
“How would he know?” “Caller ID had an institution name.” His pulse changed.
“What institution?” Ronan looked at him.
“St. Augustine Behavioral Health.” Silence.
The park. Saint Augustine’s. The repeated location.
Mason. Lucas’s jacket. Dylan’s phone. Not random.
Never random. Elliot’s stomach dropped. “That closed years ago.” “Exactly.”
“How many?”
“Eight.”
He knew the building. Everyone did. Old psychiatric hospital on the northern edge of Saint Augustine’s Park. Partially demolished. Main structure abandoned. The city had spent years arguing over redevelopment. Elliot stared.
“Saint Augustine’s Park was named after the hospital.”
“Yes.”
“Saint.”
Ronan nodded. The name. Not religious. Geographic. Maybe. Elliot felt the pieces move.
“Adrian Cross worked there.”
“Maybe.”
“Patient.”
Ronan’s expression changed.
“Maybe.”
“Doctor.”
“Maybe.”
“Staff.”
“Vance is pulling records.”
Elliot paced one step before remembering the room. Ronan watched.
“What?”
“Saint has been moving everything around that park.”
“Yes.”
“Mason.”
“Yes.”
“Lucas.”
“Yes.”
“Dylan.”
“Yes.”
“They wanted police there.”
“Or wanted you thinking about it.”
Elliot stopped. The old behavioral-health facility. Abandoned. Hidden rooms. Records. Tunnels maybe. Perfect. Ronan saw his expression.
“No.”
“What?”
“You are not escaping police custody to investigate an abandoned psychiatric hospital.”
“I wasn’t planning that.”