Page 96 of Two for Joy

“No, you didn’t, no you don’t.”

“What the hell do you know about it?”

Romeo leaned over, getting close to Neil’s face, close enough to see his fear with his functioning eye.

“I don’t know much, if anything, about love. It’s alien to me. If I’m honest, a little unsettling, but what I do know is if you loved Chad, you would’ve been out there looking for him. You would’ve done everything in your power, gone through every obstacle to find him.”

Neil closed his eyes.

“But you didn’t. You went to the Canster Times and had articles written about him. You cashed in, not knowing if he was dead or alive.”

“He’d broke up with me.”

“That how you justify it?”

Neil didn’t answer.

“And at his lowest, when he needed help, he went to you, and you sold him out again, but this time to the police.”

“He’d already gone—”

“You didn’t know that. You thought he was coming back. He probably would’ve if he hadn’t been so stupid and went off without back up.”

Romeo walked away, stopping by the sideboard when he saw car keys glinting.

“You can’t leave me like this.”

“You’re one of the lucky ones, most people on their own I leave dead.”

“Where are you even going?”

He took the keys. If the police were on his tail, he needed to be able to get away fast. He’d enjoyed driving Neil’s Porsche the first time and wanted a repeat.

“I’m gonna find him. Thanks for lending me the car. I’ll take care of her.”

“The car … wait—leave my Porsche alone.”

“You care more about that car than Chad. Did you buy it with the money you made on him?”

Neil didn’t answer.

“Well, now you can go running to Marc Wilson again and sell him this story, how the countdown killer broke into your house, tied you up, threatened you.”

“Not likely.”

Romeo stopped by the doorway. “Why, you got a conscience now?”

“Marc doesn’t work for the Canster Times anymore.”

Romeo froze, a sinking feeling settled in his gut, and with it brought a coldness beneath his skin. He walked back towards Neil on the floor. “Why not?”

“They fired him six months ago.”

A memory of the farmhouse came back to Romeo, the articles pinned to his wall, he told Chad he thought Marc Wilson was a fan, but Chad got angry, replied Marc was just like him, messed up in the head.

Marc Wilson, his champion, his glorifier, his memento maker.

Neil tried to wriggle away. “You said you’d let me live.”

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