Page 56 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

DYLAN: you seen lucas today?

DYLAN: serious question

DYLAN: nobody can find him

Ronan stared. Lucas. He knew two Lucases. Neither well.

RONAN: which lucas

The response came immediately.

DYLAN: harper

Ronan knew him. Not personally. Bellweather guy. Twentytwo, maybe. Tall. Red hair. Finance major. Always at Dylan's parties because apparently business majors traveled in packs. Ronan had spoken to him exactly once. Lucas had asked whether Ronan's tattoos hurt. Ronan had told him no because he'd been born with them. Lucas had believed him for a concerning amount of time.

RONAN: no

Three dots appeared.

DYLAN: he didn't show for class today

DYLAN: roommate says he wasn't home last night

RONAN: maybe he's with someone

There was a pause.

DYLAN: phone is off

Ronan leaned against the island. His eyes moved toward the staircase. Elliot was upstairs. Or should have been. He'd come home twenty minutes earlier, tossed his coat across the couch despite repeatedly bitching at Ronan for doing the same thing, then disappeared into his bedroom without much explanation. Normal enough. Probably. Ronan looked back at the messages.

RONAN: doesn't mean he's missing

DYLAN: roommate called his parents

DYLAN: his car is still here

DYLAN: after mason this is freaking everybody out

Ronan understood that. Bellweather hadn't recovered from Mason. For almost two weeks, the murder had existed everywhere. On television. In classrooms. In coffee-shop conversations. On the university's social-media pages. Police cruisers had become a permanent feature near the campus entrances. Temporary lights had been installed along several darker pedestrian paths. Bellweather University had extended its evening shuttle service and started sending campus-safety alerts so frequently that students complained about them while simultaneously screenshotting everyone. The mask had become worse. That fucking mask. Someone had printed it on stickers. Another student account used it as a profile picture until enough people called them disgusting that they took it down. There were theories everywhere. Mason had been killed over fraternity hazing. Mason had been selling drugs.

Mason had slept with someone's girlfriend. Mason had owed money. Mason knew something he shouldn't. The masked killer was a student. The masked killer was forty. The masked killer was a professor. The masked killer didn't exist and the security footage was unrelated. Ronan had stopped reading any of it after the third day. Elliot hadn't. That part had bothered him. Not enough to become a problem. Enough to notice. Ronan had caught him scrolling through discussion threads twice. Once at breakfast. Once in bed. When Ronan asked why, Elliot had given the same answer both times. People are interesting. Ronan supposed that was true. Elliot studied psychology. He noticed behavior. He noticed everything. Usually Ronan liked that about him.

Sometimes it made him feel like a bug pinned beneath glass. His phone buzzed again.

DYLAN: his mom is coming here

Ronan typed.

RONAN: tell me if you hear anything

He set the phone down. For several seconds, the kitchen was silent except for rain and the quiet electrical hum from the refrigerator. Then floorboards creaked upstairs. Ronan looked toward the staircase.

“Elliot?”

No answer. He waited.

“Elliot.”