Chapter Thirty-Three — Still Here
RONAN
Ronan hated county holding. He hated the fluorescent lights.
He hated the beige walls. He hated the plastic chairs bolted together in rows.
He hated the vending machine humming loudly enough to become part of the architecture.
Mostly, he hated that Elliot was somewhere behind three locked doors and Ronan could not simply walk through them.
The receptionist had already explained the rules twice.
No physical contact. No personal items. No phones inside visitation.
Thirty minutes. Maybe less if the facility became busy.
Ronan had wanted to ask whether five confessed murders earned Elliot more or less time.
He had decided against it. Growth. Apparently.
He sat with one knee bouncing while Gregory Bell stood near the far wall speaking quietly into his phone.
Bell had spent most of the morning looking like somebody had personally offended him by inventing criminal law.
Ronan understood. Elliot had managed to turn one of the most expensive attorneys in the county into a full-time crisis manager in less than forty-eight hours. Bell ended the call and approached.
“They’re bringing him down.”
Ronan stood immediately. Bell noticed.
“You can sit.”
“No.”
“Fair.”
“What happened overnight?”
Bell’s expression changed. There. Bad. Ronan’s stomach tightened.
“What?”
“The state is preparing charges.”
“I assumed.”
“Five counts of homicide will not be handled quickly.”
“I know.”
Bell studied him. Ronan hated when people did that now. Vance. Bell. His parents. Everyone seemed to look at him like they were trying to determine whether loving Elliot had damaged his brain. Maybe. Still none of their business.
“What degree?”
“Not decided.”
Ronan frowned.
“He confessed to murder.”
“Confession establishes conduct, not necessarily every statutory element of every charge.”
Ronan stared.
“English.”
Bell sighed.
“Prosecutors still have to establish the circumstances of each death. Planning. Intent. Method. Evidence. Elliot’s admission is significant, but it does not replace an investigation.”
“So this could take months.”
“Yes.”
“Years?”
“Potentially.”
Ronan looked toward the locked door. His chest tightened. Months. Years. The word Elliot had used yesterday. Forever. No. Not doing that. Bell continued.
“There are also substantial complications involving Reed and whoever is operating under the Saint identity.”
“Complications good for Elliot?”
“I did not say that.”
“You lawyers are exhausting.”
“Occupational requirement.”
Ronan almost smiled. Then Bell lowered his voice.
“Ronan.”
“What?”
“I need to ask you something.”
Ronan already knew. His stomach tightened.
“The mask.”
There it was. He looked away. Bell continued.
“Police will eventually obtain authority to search the carriage house thoroughly.”
“I know.”
“If that mask remains there—”
“I know.”
“Do not move it.”
Ronan looked back.
“I wasn't planning to.”
Bell stared. Apparently Ronan’s recent behavior had destroyed the credibility of that sentence. Fair.
“Do not destroy it.”
“I know.”
“Do not clean it.”
“I know.”
“Do not ask anyone else to touch it.”
“Bell.”
“I am being very clear because you have already admitted to your attorney that you lied to police about physical evidence connected to multiple homicides.”
Ronan’s jaw tightened.
“I didn’t admit shit to you.”
“Elliot did.”
Of course. Ronan closed his eyes.
“Fucking Elliot.”
Bell’s mouth twitched.
“He was attempting to protect you.”
“He needs a hobby.”
“He had one.”
Ronan stared. Bell realized.
“Poor wording.”
“Very.”
A buzzer sounded. The locked door opened.
Ronan forgot Bell existed. Elliot appeared beside a corrections officer.
Gray facility clothes. No cuffs. No mask.
No expensive sweater. No carefully chosen college-boy outfit.
Just Elliot. His hair was messy. Dark circles beneath his eyes.
Bruise still visible around his throat. And the second he saw Ronan, something changed in his face.
Relief. So immediate Ronan felt it in his chest. Elliot tried to hide it.
Failed. Good. The officer pointed toward another door.
“Visitation room two.”
Ronan moved. Bell caught his shoulder.
“Thirty minutes.”
“Yeah.”
“And Ronan?”
He turned.
“Do not discuss evidence.”
Ronan stared.
“What exactly are we supposed to discuss?”
Bell looked toward Elliot.
“Anything normal.”
Ronan almost laughed. Wrong couple for that.
The visitation room contained one table and two chairs.
No glass divider. Better than Ronan expected.
An officer remained outside the window in the door.
Worse. Elliot sat first. Ronan sat opposite him.
Three feet. Too far. For several seconds, neither spoke.
Ronan looked at him. Elliot looked back. Then:
“You came.”
Ronan’s chest tightened.
“Yeah.”
“I knew you would.”
“Liar.”
Elliot smiled faintly.
“I hoped.”
“Better.”
Silence. Ronan wanted to reach across the table. Couldn’t. No physical contact. He already hated the rule.
“You sleep?”
Ronan asked.
“A little.”
“How little?”
“Maybe two hours.”
“Why?”
Elliot looked around.
“Luxury accommodations.”
“Right.”
“My roommate snores.”
Ronan froze.
“Roommate?”
Elliot’s mouth twitched.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“You’re jealous.”
“I am not jealous of your jail roommate.”
“County-holding roommate.”
“Shut up.”
“He’s sixty.”
“Still.”
Elliot smiled. Ronan felt something inside him loosen.
That was why he had come. No. He would have come regardless.
But this mattered. Elliot still being Elliot.
Annoying. Pretty. Fucked up. Alive. Here.
“How’s Mom?” Elliot asked. “Fine.” “Actually?” “Yes.” “Claire?” “Fine.” “Dylan?” “Pissed.” “At me?” “At everything.” “Reasonable.” Ronan nodded.
“Dad?” “Your stepdad or my dad?” “Same guy.” “Technicality.” Elliot almost laughed.
“He’s handling Mom.” “So failing.” “Spectacularly.” That smile again.
Then it faded. “How mad is she?” Ronan knew immediately who.
Rebecca. “At you?” “Yes.” “She doesn’t know.
” Elliot’s entire body went still. Ronan continued.
“Not everything.” “What does she know?” “That you confessed in connection with the murders.” “That is everything.” “No.” “She knows I killed them.” “She knows you confessed.” Elliot frowned.
“Difference?” “Bell told them not to discuss specifics until he understands what police are releasing.” Elliot looked down.
Ronan watched. “You’re scared she’ll hate you.
” “No.” “Liar.” Elliot rubbed his thumb against the table edge.
“She should.” Ronan’s jaw tightened. “No.” Elliot looked up.
“No?” “She gets to decide what she feels.” Silence.
Ronan realized how much that sounded like every conversation they had been having lately.
Choice. Again. Elliot noticed too. “She might hate me.” “Yes.” “You’d still stay?
” Ronan sighed. “We’ve been through this.
” “No.” Elliot’s voice had changed. Quiet.
Serious. “You said you’d visit.” “And?” “You’re here.
” “Yes.” “What if Mom stops talking to me?” “Then I’m still here.
” “What if Claire does?” “Still here.” “School kicks me out.” “Probably.” Elliot glared.
Ronan almost smiled. “Still here.” “What if I’m convicted?
” Ronan’s chest tightened. There. The question beneath all of them.
He leaned forward. “So you really need me to say this every day?” “Maybe.” Ronan stared.
Elliot looked almost embarrassed. Good. Human.
“Fine.” He leaned closer. “I’m still here.
” Elliot swallowed. “Tomorrow?” “Yes.” “Next week?”
“Yes.”
“Next month?”
“If they let me.”
Elliot’s eyes lowered.
“And if they don’t?”
“I find another way.”
His gaze snapped up. Ronan immediately realized how criminal that sounded.
“Legally.”
Elliot smiled.
“Disappointing.”
“Serial killer.”
“Boyfriend.”
Ronan stopped. Elliot’s smile widened slightly. There. That word. Still. Even here. Ronan looked toward the officer outside. Then back.
“Yeah.”
Elliot froze.
“What?”
“Boyfriend.”
Something happened to his face. Ronan almost laughed.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You said it.”
“Yes.”
“Again.”
“No.”
“Ronan.”
“Absolutely not.”
Elliot smiled down at the table. Ronan let him. For a while. Then Elliot looked up.
“Did Vance find Saint?”
“No.”
The smile vanished.
“Anything?”
Ronan hesitated. Bell said no evidence. This was different. General. Maybe.
“Nathan gave them more.”
Elliot’s attention sharpened.
“What?”
“Seven projects.”
“I know that.”