Sara Shepard - Seven Minutes in Heaven

“Admit it,” Garrett says, his voice ragged. “You were with Thayer, weren’t you?”

My mouth goes dry. I don’t even have the heart to deny it anymore. But I don’t want to admit the truth right now either—not in the middle of nowhere, when he’s this drunk, this angry. Before I can move, he rips a sapling up by its roots and snaps it in half, screaming with rage.

“Goddamn it, Sutton!” His voice echoes, ricocheting around the ravine below. He throws the broken halves of the little tree over the side, and I watch as they are swallowed by the darkness. “How could you do this to me? I love you.” He pulls at his own hair, grabbing it with his fists.

Terror flashes through me, and suddenly I think of the shadowy figure behind the wheel of my Volvo as it crashed down on Thayer. Of the driver who hijacked my car to run down the boy I love. A bleak realization starts to blossom inside of me. I take a step away from him. “How long have you been following me?”

“Long enough,” he sneers. My heart twists in my chest. This is Garrett , I try to tell myself. Sweet, dopey Garrett. He’d never run anyone over with a car—not even Thayer. Right?

But then the moon comes out from the clouds, and I can see the muscles in his neck and shoulders taut with barely restrained rage. His jaw is clenched into a twisted rictus grin, his eyes flashing wildly. The thought comes to me with a sudden dull thud of my heart—maybe this isn’t Bad Garrett after all. Maybe this is a Garrett I haven’t seen until now. Insane Garrett. Violent Garrett.

“What did you do?” I breathe.

He laughs, and it’s a bitter, broken sound. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.” He takes a step toward me, grinning nastily.

A rush of anger flashes through me, burning my fear away. For a moment it’s almost like I can hear the sickening crunch of Thayer’s leg snapping again, like I can hear his voice call my name, weak with pain. I clench my fists, pushing my face close to Garrett’s. “You’re so fucked up,” I whisper. His eyes widen.

“Me?” He takes another step toward me. I stand my ground, even though he’s inches from my face now. “Who’s the liar here? Who’s the slut ?” On the last word he shoves me, a short, hard push. I stumble but catch my balance before falling. “Who’s the one who just . . . can’t . . . tell . . . the truth?” With every word he pushes me farther back. My blood is pounding in my ears, and this time it’s as much from anger as it is from fear.

“We’re through, Garrett!” I stare up at him, and it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time. The sweet boy who brought me lilies of the valley for our first date, who sent me dozens of playlists filled with songs that made him think about me, who held my hand so innocently when we walked side by side—that boy is gone. Did he ever even exist? The person in front of me is a monster, damaged beyond all repair.

He freezes, and for a moment it looks like nothing is alive but his eyes. They burn with a frenzied light. I don’t know how I ever thought they looked soulful. “We’re not through until I say we’re through,” he grits out.

Pebbles shift beneath my feet, and I turn to realize he has backed me up against the precipice. Inky darkness fills the air below me. I can’t tell how far the drop is.

He moves so fast. All at once he has me by my shirt. My feet rise up off the ground, the collar of my shirt tight against my neck. I whimper and kick out, but my feet don’t hit anything. Below me, the ravine opens hungrily. He lifts me up and pulls me close to his face so that I choke on the rancid fumes of whiskey.

“Why do you make me so crazy?” he asks, his voice breaking in agony.

And then he lets me go.

The heavy tread of footsteps sounded outside the door. Emma quickly shoved the pages back into the folder just as Quinlan stepped inside.

Without hesitating, she shot to her feet. “Detective Quinlan, I think I know who killed my sister.”

“Yes, tell him,” I urged. I was still reeling from the sensation of Garrett holding me out over the precipice.

He stopped in his tracks. One eyebrow crept up his forehead in a skeptical arc. “That’s interesting. I was just coming back in here to tell you the same thing . . . Emma .”

For a moment what he said didn’t register. Emma stood rooted to the spot, unable to move a muscle as her mind raced to catch up with what was happening.

Quinlan gave her a cool smile. “When I swabbed your cheek, I couldn’t help but notice you have two fillings in your molars. The thing is, Sutton Mercer has never had a cavity in her life. Must be all that nice organic food the Mercers buy. But according to the dental records we got from Las Vegas, Emma Paxton has two fillings. Right where yours are, as a matter of fact.” He threw a set of dental X-rays down on the table.

Emma stared at them dumbly, adrenaline churning through her body. For one wild moment she thought about making a break for it. But then what? She might make it as far as the hallway, but she was surrounded by cops. The awful realization unfolded: There was no way out of this. She slowly lowered back to her seat.

Quinlan pulled out his chair and sat as well. He watched her for a moment, his face softening visibly. Emma had the impression that he felt almost sorry for her. “It’s time to tell the truth, Miss Paxton. Come on, why not make this easy on yourself?”

Emma looked down at her fingers on the table in front of her, her mind racing. How much did he already know?

Quinlan sighed, pressing his fingertips together thoughtfully in front of him. “Come on, Emma. I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me.” He opened Emma’s file, pulling out the crime scene photos and dropping them on the table in front of her.

“Maybe it was just an accident,” Quinlan said gently. “You girls were in the canyon, you got into some kind of argument. Things turned physical, and Sutton just . . . fell. You didn’t mean for it to happen. But you have to help me out, Emma. You have to tell me the truth.”

I watched warily. I knew what he was doing from long hours spent in the hot seat myself. He’d pulled this on me more than once— it must be so hard for you, Sutton, being adopted, not knowing who your family is. Why don’t you just tell me the truth? He was trying to manipulate my sister into talking.

Quinlan’s stone-gray eyes were implacable. Before Emma had time to process what he was saying, he threw his hands up as if he’d tried his hardest to reason with her. “All right. Let’s see what’s behind door number one, then.” His knees popped as he slowly stood up, pushing his chair in behind him. He opened the door a crack and looked outside, holding a low conference with someone in the hall. Emma craned her neck, trying to see who was out there, but his body obstructed her view.

Then the door opened wider, and a female officer propelled Alex Stokes inside.

She was in handcuffs.

Emma’s jaw dropped. Her best friend stood awkwardly in front of her, staring down at the familiar checkerboard-patterned Vans she’d worn every day for the past two years. She was a short, elfin girl, tiny next to the Amazonian officer escorting her. She’d been crying, and her trademark turquoise Urban Decay liner had smeared across her cheeks. When Quinlan gave her a little nudge, she stumbled forward, lifting her tear-filled eyes to meet Emma’s.