Seven Minutes in Heaven (21 page)

And suddenly, I do. My voice shaking and weak, I tell him everything. About Thayer coming to town, and how we fought, and how someone ran him down. About my dad being my grandfather, and Becky appearing after I’d wondered about my birth mother so long. About how Garrett had been getting out of control, so angry and so hurt he lashed out at everything around him. It all comes flooding out of me. Ethan doesn’t try to interrupt or offer advice. He just nods every now and then, watching me steadily through his long lashes.

“I feel like a different person than when I climbed up here,” I finish. “I know that sounds lame. But so much has happened.”

“It doesn’t sound lame,” he says. “You’ve been through a lot tonight.” His eyes are focused on my face. I’m suddenly aware that I’ve just told him things I’m not even ready to tell my best friends—and I barely know him. The thought makes me a little nervous. But Ethan’s such a good listener, and he never told anyone about the snuff film. I feel implicitly that I can trust him. When he puts his arm around my shoulder, I feel safe for the first time all night.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” I whisper. “I’m not really ready for people to know all this.”

“Of course,” he says. “I’ll keep all your secrets, Sutton.”

My face breaks into a smile. I feel so much lighter after unloading everything that’s happened. Confiding in Ethan feels so natural, so comfortable—I wonder how we’ve been in school together since we were kids and yet barely ever talked. He’s always been so quiet, almost standoffish. Then again, I probably haven’t seemed like the friendliest person to him, either.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that it’s not just school where I’ve seen Ethan. We’ve crossed paths countless times, at the coffee shop, at the movie theater. Sometimes he’s hanging out alone at the park when I go to the tennis courts, sitting on a bench reading a paperback. We’ve orbited each other for years, and we’ve never connected. Not until tonight.

I smile up at him. “I never had a chance to tell you thanks. For, you know, helping me that night. When my friends were pranking me.”

He shrugs. “You guys sure play rough with each other.”

“Yeah.” I give an embarrassed laugh. “That one got really out of control.”

“Friends aren’t supposed to hurt each other that way.” His voice sounds strangely choked. I put my arm around his waist and hug him.

“You’re right,” I say softly. “You should be able to count on your friends.”

The stars are vibrant overhead now. I tilt my head up to look at their bright light. One in particular catches my eye, pure white and so steady it doesn’t flicker like the others do. It’s so beautiful I don’t notice Ethan’s hand on my chin for a moment. Then he’s leaning over me, his lips soft against mine.

A surprised jolt runs through me. Ethan Landry isn’t a boy I’ve ever even imagined kissing. For a moment I’m so stunned I don’t move. Then I put my hands on his chest and push him gently away.

“Oh, Ethan, no. I’m so sorry if I’ve done anything to mislead you, but I just—I like you as a friend.” My voice is as soft as I can make it. “I’m in love with Thayer.”

“Don’t say that, Sutton,” he murmurs. I stare up at him, and his eyes are filled with earnest tenderness. “I’ve been in love with you for years.”

“In love with me?” I can’t help it. I laugh. It sounds shrill and cruel even to me, and I instantly feel bad. “You don’t even know me,” I say, lowering my voice.

“Yes, I do. I know everything about you,” he says. His voice is strangely calm and commanding, as if there’s no room for argument. As if he could convince me to love him by reasoning with me. “I know you’ve been trying to sleep with Garrett Austin all summer. I know you’ve been sneaking around with Thayer Vega. Neither one of them deserves you, but you don’t seem to get that. I know you’re adopted and that you’ve always felt like your family couldn’t possibly love you as much as they love Laurel. I know you’re afraid Nisha’s going to beat you out for the state title this fall, because you’ve barely practiced all summer. I know you need your friends to be afraid of you so they don’t get too close to you—and so you won’t have to feel hurt if they ever abandon you.”

My mouth falls open. Somewhere at the back of my mind, an alarm goes off. This has to be some kind of joke. Some kind of prank. But he’s not done.

“And I know something you don’t know.” A smile sneaks up the corners of his mouth, like he’s been waiting a long time to tell me this. “I know where your twin sister is. Emma. I’ve been watching her for weeks. I found her for you, Sutton.”

For a heartbeat, I feel like I’m paralyzed. Then the anger comes, a quick, savage spike. I didn’t even know about Emma until a few hours ago. How the hell did
he
?

“Have you been out here spying on me?” My voice rings with a hard edge. I push away from him, taking a step back. “That’s not cool, Ethan.”

A shadow flits across his face. “Aren’t you listening? I found Emma. For you. Do you know how hard that was? I even went to Las Vegas to make sure I had the right girl. It was uncanny—you’re totally identical.”

“That’s not the point!” My muscles tense. Something about this is all wrong. “Ethan, I don’t know how you knew about Emma, but . . .”

“I told you.” His voice is calm but insistent, like he’s reasoning with a child. “I found her for you. Because I love you.”

I feel sicker every time he says it. How long has he been following me? Listening to my conversations? He knows things about me I haven’t even told my best friends. Things I haven’t even told Thayer. And he’s been planning to give me my sister, as a present—like she was some kind of thing. But maybe that’s how he thinks about me, too. As a thing, to be fought over and won.

“Jesus, Ethan.” I shake my head, disgust curling my lip. “I don’t think you know what love is.”

Then I’m turning away from him, determined to start back down the mountain, but his hand darts out to clamp around my wrist. He pulls me back toward him, leaning in to kiss me again. His mouth is almost sickeningly sweet. Panic shoots through me, and before I can think about it, I bite down on his lip—hard. He throws me to the ground, his hand flying to his mouth in pain.

“Are you insane?” I shriek. Then I see his eyes, with their long, dark lashes. Empty and implacable. And I realize: He is.

I scramble away from him, stumbling to my feet just as he lunges, and break into a sprint down the trail, trying to put distance between us. Cacti and brambles claw at my ankles. Behind me, I can sense Ethan more than hear him—his feet make almost no sound on the hard-packed earth, but I can feel him in my wake, his hands just inches from me. I think back to the headlights in the darkness, bearing down on me and Thayer—my car. I’m suddenly certain that it was Ethan behind the wheel.

But I’m faster than he is. I make a mental note to thank Coach Maggie for every sprinting drill she’s ever made me do as I leap lightly over a small boulder. I’m going to get away from him—I’m going to head back to the visitor center, and the instant I have service I’m going to call 911 and have his creeper ass dragged off to jail. I’m going to go home to my family, to Thayer, and I’m going to put this whole god-awful night behind me forever.

My sneaker catches on something and curls under my foot, and my feet dance dangerously under me as I try to keep my balance. To my left the ravine opens hungrily. Before I can move he grabs me around the waist, pulling me off my feet. His breath is hot against my ear. “I don’t understand why you’re fighting this,” he growls, his arms so tight I can’t breathe. “You’re supposed to love me! We’re supposed to be together.”

He spins me around to face him, his teeth bared in frustration. Below us, I can hear the wind howling through the chasm. Pebbles slide away from my feet, sounding like raindrops as they fall. I scream, my voice tearing through the night. A burst of anger shoots through me, burning hotter than my fear. He’s a liar, a manipulator—and he’s been stalking me.

“I’ll never love you,” I hiss, spitting in his face.

He gives a howl of anger, and twists my wrists so hard spasms of pain shoot up my arm. I writhe in his grip, and for a moment we’re motionless, grappling silently for control.

Then my feet are sliding out from under me, my body slipping out of his grasp, and I am falling. The last thing I see is his pale, shocked face, his hand still outstretched toward me. Then the darkness swallows me, and the world is nothing but wind and stone.

I fall. Or rather, I tumble. My body careens off every outcropping of stone and every protruding branch. I flail around, grasping for any kind of handhold. For a minute my fingers close around a clump of exposed roots. Then the roots tear free from the earth, and gravity has me again.

When I land, my lungs claw inside my chest for what seems like ages before I can take a breath. The world is brilliant with agony, shimmering and surreal. When my eyes focus again, I can see a shard of bone protruding from my left leg.

From somewhere nearby I can hear something scrambling around. I try to pull myself up on my elbows, but everything goes white with the effort. Sweat and blood drip down into my face. And he’s here now, standing over me. Ethan.

“Please help me,” I croak. “My leg’s broken. I can’t walk.”

Ethan kneels down next to me. For a minute his face is cloaked in shadows. He fumbles around next to me—I can’t see what he’s doing. Every time I try to move my head the world spins. But then a cool white light illuminates the angles of his face. He’s pulled my iPhone out from my purse—I can make out the polka dots on its Kate Spade cover.

“There’s no service down here,” I say. Pain ripples out from my leg in sickening waves. “Please. You have to walk back to the parking lot and call 911.”

He looks down at me, his face strangely blank in the electronic glow of the phone. It’s almost like he doesn’t recognize me. For some reason this scares me more than anything that happened at the top of the cliff. I start to cry, my body heaving in choked, painful sobs.

“I can’t believe you made me do this,” he says, his voice hollow with disappointment. “After everything I did for you. I didn’t want this. I thought you were different, Sutton.”

Then he’s kneeling down over me, fumbling at my shirt collar. His fingers close around the locket at my throat, and he pulls so sharply the chain breaks.

“Give it back!” I scream, my breath ragged. “Give it back, you asshole!” But he’s already moved away from me, into the shadows. The gentle twinkle of the stars has become pulsing and rhythmic. They throb in time with my heartbeat, flaring and then fading, flaring and fading.

Then he’s back, looming over me. He’s nothing but a dark shape blocking out the stars behind him. There’s a jagged, pointed rock in his hands. He holds it high overhead.

“If I can’t have you, no one can,” he says.

I close my eyes, but I can still hear it whistling through the air as he brings it down over my head.

Before I can even scream out, the world explodes in light—the grand finale of a summer fireworks display—and then, just as quickly, my world goes suddenly, finally dark.

30

THE ENVELOPE, PLEASE

Emma stared down at the records in her hand. Written in black ink across the top form was the patient’s name.

Ethan Landry.

For a moment she thought about stuffing the paperwork back in the envelope, back into the Tampax box under the sink. She’d had the chance to look at this once before, when she’d broken into the hospital about a month earlier. But she had chosen not to invade Ethan’s privacy—and she still didn’t want to.

Ethan had been honest with her about the whole thing. When she’d asked him about the files, he told her the story: how his dad had been beating his mom, and Ethan had intervened, hitting his father over the head with a beer bottle—only to have his mother call the police on him. She’d reported him as “violent” and had him admitted to the psychiatric ward. Emma’s heart ached when she thought about it. In a way, Ethan had been abandoned by his family, just like she had.

But her eyes moved across Nisha’s note again.
Sutton, I’m so sorry.
She’d been so certain that the evidence Nisha found was some kind of proof that Garrett killed Sutton. But it seemed obvious from her note that Nisha had no idea Sutton had died. What had she called and texted so frantically about, then? Why had Garrett come to kill her if she didn’t have evidence against him? Emma’s fingers clutched the folder sharply. She didn’t understand any of this.

But I did.

“Get out of there!” I screamed, terror churning inside me. The whole world was upside down. My sister was alone in a house with my murderer—and she trusted him. She
loved
him. She didn’t suspect a thing.

Emma bit her lip. Whatever Nisha had seen in Ethan’s file had clearly freaked her out, even if it had nothing to do with Sutton’s murder. She glanced back into the bedroom. On the other end of the house she could hear movement, drawers opening and closing as Ethan searched Dr. Banerjee’s study. As quietly as she could, she shut and locked the bathroom door, and started to read.

REASON FOR TREATMENT:
Patient was referred to our facility for court-ordered psychiatric services upon his family’s relocation to Tucson. This was a condition of Ethan’s acquittal in the San Diego Family Court System.

Emma’s blood ran cold. She glanced at the date at the top of the records. They were almost eight years old—Ethan would have been ten. A child. What could he have possibly done at ten that required an acquittal?

In April, Ethan (age ten at the time) was seen playing with a neighborhood girl (age eight) in a culvert near their home in San Diego. A city worker who’d been assigned to clear a nearby drainage ditch testified that he witnessed Ethan strangling the girl, but by the time he was able to intervene, the girl had died.

When interviewed by police, Ethan claimed he had only been playing and that he had not intended to kill the girl. Due to his young age he was tried in family court, where he was acquitted of manslaughter. It was felt that Ethan displayed remorse for what he claimed was an accident, and that he hadn’t properly understood his own strength when roughhousing with the victim.

Emma felt like something was clamped down around her lungs, cold and metallic and painful. This wasn’t what Ethan had told her. For a moment she thought it had to be a mistake, or a joke. Maybe Nisha had been trying to get into the Lying Game and had mocked these up to mess with her. But somewhere at the back of her mind Emma knew the records were real. The papers shook in her fingers. She turned the page quickly, her breath short and hard.

Over the course of our sessions, Ethan confided in me that he had considered the deceased to be his “best friend,” but that she’d been playing with another child from the neighborhood just before her death. Again and again, he told me that “you weren’t supposed to have more than one best friend.” Ultimately, Ethan confessed to me that he’d killed Elizabeth Pascal on purpose, then lied to the authorities. Due to the double-jeopardy clause I am unable to make this observation to the court, as Ethan has already been acquitted.

Her mind reeling, Emma shook her head as if someone were reading the notes out loud to her. The shrink had to be wrong. She must have misunderstood what Ethan told him. The little girl’s death had been an accident, a mistake, and Ethan had been carrying this guilt for his entire life. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to tell Emma the truth. He must have been tormented by the memory. She kept reading, faster this time, looking for the words that would reflect
her
Ethan, the caring, thoughtful boy she had fallen in love with.

Ethan is incredibly gifted at playing to an audience. I have caught him in dozens of lies in the past six months, all engineered to manipulate my opinion of him. In our first sessions he seemed confused and saddened by what he had done; once he’d made sure I could not do anything to indict him, however, he couldn’t seem to resist telling me the details of what must now be called a murder. He has a need to show off and reveal the depths of his own cleverness, which in this case has led to his confession for a crime he can no longer be charged with. I am of the opinion that Ethan has antisocial personality disorder with obsessive tendencies, possibly bordering on psychopathy. It is likely that he will display violent behavior again.

She whipped through the pages of the report, looking for a note that said obviously this had been a huge mistake, that Ethan Landry couldn’t have hurt a fly. She tried to find the word
CURED
rubber-stamped across a page in green ink. But the transcripts attached to the report didn’t seem to challenge the doctor’s opinion.
“If she wasn’t going to be my friend, she didn’t matter anymore. She deserved what she got,”
Ethan said in one session. In another, he boasted:
“The police officers in San Diego are stupid. They were really easy to trick. You’re actually pretty stupid too, Dr. White, but that’s okay. I like talking to you anyway.”

The taste of bile filled Emma’s mouth. Even as her brain spun, making frantic excuses and explanations—this wasn’t
her
Ethan, the shrink was wrong, the reports were fake
—
in some dark corner of her mind, thoughts were cascading into one another like falling dominoes.

Only Ethan had known she wasn’t Sutton. None of Sutton’s friends or family had figured it out. But Ethan, a boy Sutton barely knew, had confronted Emma that very first week in Tucson.
You’re not who you say you are
, he’d told her.
You’re not Sutton. You’re someone else.
She remembered, with a cold, sick dread, that she’d immediately accused him of killing her sister—how else could he have known that Sutton was gone? He’d recoiled as though she’d slapped him, his face gray.
Sutton’s dead?
he’d repeated, clearly shocked. And Emma—trusting, naive Emma—hadn’t questioned him again. She’d simply broken down and told him the whole story, desperate for an ally.

Another domino fell. Ethan lived across the street from the canyon. Ethan had a telescope that was always angled in that direction. Ethan had been positioned perfectly to watch Sutton on her last night alive—and to watch Emma arrive and leave her duffel bag on a park bench.

Time froze as Emma quickly rewound through the last four months, replaying every moment, every conversation with Ethan. How he’d fed her information and encouraged her to pursue different suspects. How he’d tried to keep her away from Thayer, and then Garrett. How desperate he’d been to keep her from Nisha’s house when she’d wanted to look for the evidence. How Ethan had arrived late to dinner at the Mercers’ the night Nisha had died—how he hadn’t been in school that day. And she knew he was an expert hacker.

Her heart froze over in her chest, hard and metallic, heavy with certainty. Ethan had killed Nisha. Ethan had killed her sister.

And now she was alone with him in a dark house.

Footsteps echoed in the kitchen, and she froze.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” came Ethan’s voice. It sounded strangely distorted, like it belonged to a stranger. Emma listened furtively, and then fumbled in her purse for the burner cell.

Her hands were shaking so hard she had to try a few times before she managed to dial the right number. When the line began to ring, she crammed her fist in her mouth to keep from letting out a sob.

“Hello?” Laurel’s voice cut through the dense silence. Emma flinched, covering the speaker with one hand. Down the hall she heard something clatter onto the tile. “Hello? Who is this?”

“It’s me,” she hissed. She cupped her hand around her mouth, her knuckles white around the phone. “Emma.”

“Emma?” Laurel’s voice shot up an octave. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Laurel,” Emma gasped, swallowing a frantic sob. “It’s Ethan. He did it, there are these files at Nisha’s house, and it sounds like he’s killed before.”

“Emma, wait, slow down,” Laurel instructed.

But Emma couldn’t stop, the words tumbling from her mouth. “I don’t know what to do. I’m alone in Nisha’s house with him . . .”

Emma trailed off as footsteps echoed down the hall. Her jaw started to shake. She fumbled the phone, then jammed her finger against the power button and shoved it into the depths of her bag. The file was still in her hands. She glanced wildly around the room, looking for somewhere to put it. Just outside the door, a floorboard creaked.

Quickly, she shoved the file back under the sink, back behind the Tampax box. As she stood up again and opened the bathroom door, she came face-to-face with Ethan.

“Were you talking to someone in here?” he asked.

“Just . . . just myself. It helps me think,” she said, clasping her fingers together behind her back so he couldn’t see them shaking. All she could think about was the file, inches from them both. She forced herself not to look toward the sink. “Did you find anything?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. What about you?”

“No, nothing.” She knew as soon as she’d said it that she’d answered too quickly. Her voice was shrill in her ears. He blinked, staring at her strangely. Then he exhaled loudly.

“Whatever Nisha had on Garrett, I guess she hid it really well.” He glanced around the room. For a moment she could have sworn his gaze lingered on the cabinet. Then he looked back at her. “We just have to hope that the stuff in the storage unit is enough to put Garrett away.”

She nodded silently. Her insides felt stripped raw. Ethan stood before her, the same Ethan he’d been ten minutes earlier. The same Ethan who told her he loved her, who covered her face in tender kisses. The same Ethan she’d given her virginity to. But he’d never been that Ethan, not really.

He slid his fingers through hers, as he’d done a thousand times before. But now the touch sent a howl of panic sweeping through her. That hand had killed her sister. She fought to control the tremor of fear running up and down her body. She couldn’t let him sense it.

“Let’s go,” Ethan whispered. “There’s nothing for us here.”

“You’re right,” she said, and let him lead her down the hall.

Agassi crouched over his bowl, eating his kibble with a crunch that seemed loud in the silent kitchen. Ethan pushed the patio door open, then turned back to face her. For a moment her legs refused to budge. She stood frozen in the middle of the room, her eyes wide and staring, her heart hammering in her chest. For a split second she thought she saw Ethan’s expression shift, an uncertain frown flickering over his face. She swallowed hard, then followed him out the door.

Her only hope was to play along like nothing had changed and get to the police station. Once she was there, once she was safe, then she could start to think of a better plan. She forced a smile as they pushed back through the wrought-iron gate to where Ethan had parked his car. “I can’t believe this is almost over,” she whispered.

“Me neither.” He ran his fingertips lightly up her arm. She shivered at the touch, her throat constricting in a wave of revulsion.

Ethan opened the passenger-side door of his Honda. Panic ripped through me as I realized my sister was going to get in with him. I wished I could grab her shirt and pull her back.