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A Toast to Nothing (Part 8) – The Devil in Blue
By Thomas Miller
The first time I saw Detective Ronald Mercer, he was sitting in my living room, waiting.
I had just come back from the grocery store, the rain still clinging to my coat. The moment I stepped inside, I felt it—that wrongness, the air thick with something unseen but unmistakable.
And then I saw him.
A cop. Sitting in my chair, legs crossed, hands folded neatly on his lap.
The only sign that he had let himself in was my front door, slightly ajar.
“Thomas Miller,” he said, voice smooth, almost too friendly.
I set my bag down, slowly. “Who the hell are you?”
He flashed a badge. “Detective Mercer. St. Johns County Sheriff’s Office.”
I didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
“You know,” he continued, leaning forward slightly, “I’ve been following your case for a while now.”
“My case?”
“Your brother’s death.”
Something cold crawled up my spine. “It wasn’t a case. He killed himself.”
Mercer smiled. A slow, deliberate smile.
“That’s what they say.” He tilted his head. “But me? I like to dig deeper. See the parts people don’t talk about.”
I stayed quiet.
Mercer studied me, eyes dark and hungry, like a wolf deciding where to bite.
“Guilt’s a funny thing,” he mused. “I’ve seen it make men do all kinds of things. Some drink themselves to death. Some jump off bridges. Some, well…” He smirked. “Some tie a noose around their neck and let gravity do the rest.”
I clenched my jaw. “Get to the point.”
He exhaled, stretching like a cat. “Point is, Mr. Miller, I’ve read your story. The one you wrote about your brother. And I have to say—” He let out a low chuckle. “It almost sounds like you wanted him to do it.”
A sharp silence filled the room.
I stared at him, pulse steady but rising.
“I didn’t force him,” I said.
“Maybe not,” Mercer admitted. “But maybe you pushed him.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What do you want?”
He grinned. “Just the truth.”
But there was something off about his voice. About the way he said it. It wasn’t curiosity. It wasn’t justice.
It was pleasure.
He was enjoying this.
That’s when I noticed it—the slight tremor in his fingers, the way his breath had quickened just slightly, his pupils dilated.
I had met men like Mercer before.
Men who got off on control.
Men who loved the idea of someone breaking.
And right then, I realized something else.
Detective Ronald Mercer didn’t care about Richard.
He cared about me.
A Dangerous Game
Mercer kept showing up.
At coffee shops. At the grocery store. Always just watching. Always smiling.
He never arrested me. Never charged me with anything.
Just talked.
And the more he talked, the more I saw the truth.
This wasn’t about Richard. This wasn’t about justice.
Mercer was a man who loved death.
He loved the moment before it happened. The power. The tension. The slow unraveling of a person when they realized they were caught in something bigger than themselves.
And now?
I was his new game.
The Invitation
One night, he left an envelope on my doorstep.
Inside was a single photograph.
A crime scene.
A man, strung up from the rafters, a noose biting into his neck.
The caption at the bottom?
"Looks familiar, doesn’t it?"
My stomach churned.
Not because of the image.
But because the man in the picture wasn’t Richard.
This was someone else. A new victim.
And Mercer wanted me to see it.
I clenched the paper in my hands, rage boiling under my skin.
This was a warning. A message.
Or worse—a promise.
He wasn’t done.
Not yet.
The Cat and the Mouse
The next time I saw Mercer, I didn’t run. I didn’t hide.
I walked straight up to him.
“You’re sick,” I said.
He smiled, taking a slow sip of his coffee.
“Took you long enough to notice.”
I glared. “Why are you doing this?”
He shrugged. “Because you fascinate me, Thomas.”
I clenched my fists. “Is this a game to you?”
“Oh, absolutely.” His smile widened. “But let’s be clear—you’re not winning.”
I exhaled, steadying myself. “What happens now?”
He leaned in, voice low and thrilled.
“You tell me.”
I didn’t answer.
Because I knew what he wanted.
He wanted fear.
He wanted me to break.
He wanted me like Richard.
But I wasn’t Richard.
And if this was a game—
Then I was going to play to win.
The Final Move
I started watching Mercer just like he watched me.
I learned his patterns.
I learned where he drank, where he ate, where he went when he thought no one was looking.
And one night, I followed him.
A back alley. A bar closing late. Mercer stumbling out, drunk but still dangerous.
He didn’t see me at first.
But when he did, he smirked. “Thomas,” he slurred. “You stalking me now?”
I stepped closer. “You like control, don’t you?”
He chuckled. “I like watching men squirm.”
I tilted my head. “So what happens if you’re the one on the other side?”
His grin faltered for the first time.
For the first time, he saw it—
The darkness in me.
I wasn’t afraid anymore.
I wasn’t running.
I was ready.
And Mercer?
He finally realized—
The game had changed.
The Last Name on the List
The next morning, Mercer’s body was found in the same alley.
A bullet in his head.
No witnesses. No suspects.
Just another cop gone.
The official report ruled it a random mugging.
But I knew better.
Mercer wasn’t killed by chance.
Someone made sure he never played his game again.
I never found out who.
Maybe another victim. Maybe karma itself.
All I know is that, for the first time since Richard died—
I slept through the night.
And when I woke up?
Detective Ronald Mercer was just another name rotting in the ground.
Just like my brother.
Just like every man who thinks he’s untouchable.
Just like every monster who learns—
In the end, no one remembers you.