Seven Minutes in Heaven (23 page)

“You two were going to ruin everything,” he said. His eyes narrowed, and he stared at Emma like she’d just said something wrong. She flinched at the sudden mood swing. “I had everything taken care of, but you had to keep digging.” He raised the knife high overhead, his teeth bared like a lion’s. Emma cringed, waiting to feel the blade on her flesh. But instead he drove it into the ground, giving a frustrated grunt. “You had
nothing
when you came here. I saw what was in your bag. One stuffed animal and some threadbare clothes? Oh, and the journal. Page after page after page of how sad you were, how much you wanted a family, how poor Emma Paxton was so
alone
. How you wanted a boyfriend.” Emma stared at him. Her heart shriveled in her chest, as if some disease were ravaging it to ash. Ethan’s eyes blazed. “I gave you everything you ever wanted. You should be
thanking
me!”

Emma kept her face very carefully still, holding back the tears and the pain that threatened to burst through at any moment. “You can’t kill me,” she whispered. “If you do they’ll know I didn’t kill Sutton. They’ll figure it out, and they’ll come find you. You need me. I’m your cover.”

He shook his head. “Don’t you get it? I don’t
want
to kill you. I
never
wanted to kill you. I just wanted to take care of you, Emma, and now you’re going to make me hurt you. Just like she did.” His fingers slid out of hers, tightening instead around her wrist. “It’ll be a really sad story. They’ll all think you committed suicide out of remorse for what you did to Sutton.”

A chill shot through her, and she shook her head furiously. “No, Ethan. It doesn’t have to be like this.” She looked deeply into his eyes, sickened by what she was saying, hoping he’d buy it. “You’re right. I should be grateful to you. I
am
grateful to you. It’s all just been confusing. But I don’t care what you’ve done. I want to be with you.”

His jaw went slack, all the fury rushing out of him at once. An uncertain frown creased his brow. But she could see that he was listening.

“It’s too late, Emma.” Her wrist ached dully in his grip, but she didn’t break his gaze. “Now that you know, it’s too late.”

“Why?” Emma said softly. “If you really love me as me, not as Sutton, then nothing else matters. We can run away together. Somewhere no one knows us. We can go anywhere.” She twisted her hand in his grip so she could stroke his fingers lightly.

She could see in his face, in the way he leaned just a little bit closer, that he wanted to believe her. But doubt clouded his features. It almost broke her heart, how hopeful he looked, how badly he wanted what she proposed.

Almost.

“You’d do that?” he asked. He let go of the hilt of the knife, bringing his free hand up to hold her face. His hand was cool and dry, but the touch of it made her skin crawl. Somehow she managed to smile and nod.

“Ethan, I love you. I’d go anywhere with you.”

He let go of her wrist then, pulling her into his arms. She rested her head against him, just the way she’d done dozens of times before—right into the crook between his neck and shoulder, in the place that felt like it’d been made for her. She choked back a sob. She
had
loved Ethan, so very much.

Then she brought her elbow into his ribs with every ounce of strength she had.

His arms flew to his side, a grunt of pain escaping his lungs. She grabbed for the knife as she scrambled away, but her fingers closed on air. No time. Her only chance was to put distance between them. Her fingers clawed at the dirt, her feet sliding across the trail, desperate for purchase. His hand closed on her ankle, and he snarled in fury. She kicked out as hard as she could, but his grip was too strong. Then she opened her mouth and let out a guttural, blood-curdling scream.

I screamed with her, wishing the whole city could hear my cries. I had already died at Ethan’s hands, and now the same thing was going to happen to my twin while I watched, helpless.

Ethan clapped his hand over Emma’s mouth, his pupils wide and dark. “I thought you were different,” he hissed. “But you’re just like your sister. Another lying bitch.”

Emma bit down on his hand, hard. The metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth. Ethan swore and pulled his hand away, and she screamed again.

“You’re a monster!” she shrieked, her voice ricocheting off the canyon walls. “You think I’d go anywhere with you after what you did to Sutton?”

He gave a wordless roar, his muscles tightening as he shoved her hard to the ground. This time he pulled a bandana out of his pocket, wadding it up and shoving it so far in her mouth she gagged. And then the knife was suddenly at her throat.

Emma stared up at him, tears coursing down her cheeks as he opened a thin, shallow cut on her neck. A white-hot fury coursed through me at the sight, so pure and strong I felt like I could rip straight through the veil between life and death.

And then, somehow, I
was
Emma. Or I was a part of her—not possessing her, exactly, but somehow joining my soul to hers for a moment, lending her the strength of my anger. With a sudden motion, her right leg broke free from below his, and we brought her knee to his groin with all of our combined might.

He groaned, his grip on her wrists slackening for just as long as it took her to roll out from under him. Then she was on her feet. She gasped for breath, and for one split second she thought she saw something impossible.

Her sister—shimmering and translucent in the moonlight—was next to her, standing fiercely over Ethan with her fists balled up. And then, just as quickly, she was gone.

Ethan was already on his feet again. His face was twisted beyond all recognition, a mask of hatred so utterly different from the boy she’d fallen in love with. She staggered away from him, pivoting on her heel to run—but lost her balance and sprawled forward.

Ethan towered over her, the knife in his hand. A single drop of her own blood clung to the blade. “You Mercer girls are all the same,” he said and lunged toward her, the knife flashing before him.

For a split second, time froze. Emma saw her own reflection, pale and frozen, in the blade.

But then a low snarl sounded from somewhere behind Ethan, and suddenly he was flying headfirst into the dirt. Thayer fell on top of him, clinching his arms behind his back.

From far below, the sound of sirens echoed up through the mountain pass. Thayer twisted Ethan’s wrist until the knife fell out and clattered into the dust. Ethan struggled, spitting blood and dirt out of his mouth.

Laurel stepped out from behind them, her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re right. We Mercer girls are all alike,” she said, her voice cold. “We’re bitches you don’t want to mess with.”

32

BACK IN THE STATION

“Please, tell me again what happened after you hung up with Miss Paxton.” Detective Quinlan handed Laurel, Emma, and Thayer each a cup of hot chocolate, his eyes bright over the deep lines of exhaustion carved underneath. It was after midnight, but the arresting officer had called Quinlan at home. He’d arrived at the station still buttoning his shirt, his hair disheveled but his expression alert and edgy.

“I called Thayer,” Laurel said. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold. She darted a furtive glance at Emma, then turned back to Quinlan. “He picked me up, and we went to Dr. Banerjee’s house, though I didn’t see Ethan’s car anywhere. We looked in all the windows and couldn’t see anyone inside.”

The three of them were sitting on a vinyl couch in a room that was clearly meant for children. Cartoon tigers and monkeys grinned from the jungle-themed wallpaper. A dairy crate of broken toys sat on the floor next to a rug decorated with a hopscotch pattern. Emma stared blankly at a wooden labyrinth game atop of a stack of
Highlights
magazines. Her eyes traced the lines of the puzzle, her thoughts as lost and wandering as if she were in a real maze.

So far, Quinlan had let Laurel and Thayer do most of the talking, and she was grateful. She tried to take a sip of the hot chocolate, but her hand was shaking, so she carefully set it down. Her body ached to the bone. Images shot randomly through her mind, unbidden and startling. The glint of the knife in Ethan’s hand. Sutton’s decomposed body, her empty eye sockets staring out at the sky. Ethan’s face leaning toward her for a kiss, his eyes heavy-lidded. Ethan’s fingers laced through her own. She shuddered at each one. Everything she’d known, everything she’d believed had been a lie—and now there was nothing left for her to hold on to.

“How did you know they’d gone to the canyon?” Quinlan asked, rubbing the stubble on his jaw.

Laurel stared down into her hot chocolate. “It was a hunch. We thought he might take her back to the same place he’d killed Sutton. We knew we were right when we saw his car near the entrance. So we called the cops and followed them.”

Quinlan’s mustache twitched. “After the 911 operator told you not to give chase.”

“We weren’t just going to sit there and do nothing,” Thayer broke in angrily. “We didn’t know how long it would take the cops to get there.”

“And it’s a good thing we did follow,” Laurel added sharply. “He was about to kill her.”

Emma looked up at the detective then. His normally hard gray eyes had softened, and they came to rest on her. She swallowed. “They’re right. Ethan would have killed me if they weren’t there to stop him.” The EMTs had bandaged the cut he’d made at her throat—it had scarcely scratched the surface, but now it seemed to throb with her heartbeat.

She reached for her cup again and took another sip of the hot chocolate. It was the cheap, just-add-water kind, but it was soothing and sweet. The knots in her stomach loosened a little from its warmth. Thayer and Laurel sat protectively on either side of her. Laurel’s leg was touching Emma’s, and Thayer’s hand rested between her shoulders, warm and gentle. She didn’t feel safe, exactly—she wasn’t sure she’d ever feel safe again. But they had rescued her and hadn’t left her side since. Through the swirling, heartbreaking confusion of shock and grief, a sense of gratitude filled her. She’d lost so much. But she hadn’t lost them.

I focused on Thayer. He was pale and tired, the vulnerable expression in his eyes contrasting with the fierce set of his jaw. That was what I had always loved about him—how strong he was, and how deeply he felt.

Quinlan clasped his hands around one knee, jogging his loafer up and down. “I owe you an apology, Miss Paxton. You and Sutton both.” He sighed, opening a bristling file folder. “We’ve actually been interested in Ethan for a little while now. I’ve been going over the parking-lot surveillance photos from the last few months, and he shows up in dozens of them. He’s out there all the time. It seemed like . . .”

“Too much of a coincidence,” Emma said miserably. He nodded.

“Detectives don’t believe in coincidences,” he said. “So we started to look into him. At first I thought he was your accomplice. That you guys had hatched this plan together, maybe, or that he’d fallen for you and you’d roped him into it. But this morning we found out he had a sealed record. We put in a subpoena to open it, but it didn’t get finalized until tonight, after we’d already taken him into custody.”

Laurel stuck her chin up haughtily. “Then it’s a good thing Thayer and I were there, since you were taking your sweet time.”

Quinlan rolled his eyes. “Please don’t turn your little gang into a pack of vigilantes, Miss Mercer. That’s the last thing I need.” He turned back to Emma. “Of course, the investigation is ongoing. But between what happened tonight, and what I’ve seen of his medical records, we have probable cause to hold him. I’ve got a CSI team on their way to his house now, and another one at the storage facility. Ethan’s a smart kid—I’m guessing he’ll have done a good job hiding the evidence. But if it’s there, we’ll find it. We always do.”

Emma nodded, feeling as if she were miles away from the interrogation chamber, miles away from Quinlan and Laurel and Thayer. She felt hollow to the core. Ethan had been lying to her all along. She’d loved him, and the whole time, he’d just lied and lied.

But it was over. Ethan had been caught, and it was only a matter of time before the cops found all the evidence they needed to charge him. So I couldn’t help wondering—why was I still here? I hadn’t been sure what to expect, but I’d always pictured
something
happening right about now. Pearly gates, or a long tunnel with a bright light at the end, or a cosmic escalator leading to some heavenly mall where my halo would double as a platinum card. But I was still here, still my sister’s silent shadow. Would I be here forever, haunting her until she died and joined me in the afterlife?

The door flew open, and Mrs. Mercer rushed in, followed by her husband. They’d obviously dressed in a hurry—Mr. Mercer still had on the ratty UC Davis T-shirt he often wore to bed, and Mrs. Mercer had pulled on sweatpants and a wine-stained blouse that looked like it’d been at the top of a laundry hamper. Thayer and Laurel both stood to meet them. Emma’s grandmother embraced Laurel tightly, her lips an anxious line in her face. Mr. Mercer, meanwhile, grabbed Thayer in a bear hug. Thayer looked embarrassed, but he patted Mr. Mercer on the back and smiled weakly.

Emma watched them from the sofa, her heart aching. For the first time, she thought she fully understood how they’d felt after finding out who she really was. She had done to them exactly what Ethan had done to her—she’d pretended to be someone she wasn’t. She couldn’t blame them for wanting her out of their lives.

But then Mr. Mercer let go of Thayer, his eyes shining as he sat beside Emma, and pulled her into an embrace.

For just a moment she went stiff in his arms. Then her body started to tremble, and she put her arms around his neck. Tears prickled her eyes. “I’m so sorry for everything,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

“I know,” he whispered, rocking her back and forth. “It’s going to be okay.”

Emma didn’t know if anything would ever be okay again. Having Mr. Mercer’s shoulder to cry on was a comfort she didn’t deserve, yet she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.

That was the thing about family. They were a comfort
none
of us deserved. I thought about the last angry words I’d said to my father, and the constant bickering with my mom while I was still alive. But they loved me anyway, no matter what I’d done.

Finally Mrs. Mercer settled on the couch next to Emma, her hands twisting around each other nervously. She gave Emma a lingering, uncertain look, then took her hand. Her blue eyes were serious and piercing.

“It’s not fair that you’ve been facing all of this alone,” she said softly. “I’m still struggling to understand it all . . . but I know you must have been terrified this whole time.”

Emma nodded, tears prickling her eyes again. “I wanted to tell you so badly.”

Mrs. Mercer squeezed her hand. “There’s a lot we’ll have to get used to. Do you think you can give us time to work through all these feelings?”

Emma frowned up at her. “Time?”

“We lost two daughters,” Mr. Mercer said, his voice breaking. “We don’t want to lose another.”

“We’d like it if you’d come stay with us. At least for the time being,” Mrs. Mercer said. “I know you’re eighteen, and maybe after all this you’re ready to move on. But we’d like a chance to get to know you, Emma. As yourself.”

Emma opened her mouth to reply, but words refused to form. She glanced at Mr. Mercer, and he nodded encouragingly. Quinlan sat quietly in an armchair, as poker-faced as ever, but she thought she could see a twinge of sympathy in the corner of his mouth.

“Of course she’s coming to stay with us,” Laurel said briskly. “I didn’t just save her ass in the middle of the woods so she could run off again.” She looked steadily at Emma.

Emma stared around the room at her family, all of them waiting for her answer. They may not have forgiven her yet—but they wanted to try. And if they could do it, maybe she could forgive herself.

“I’d like that,” she said, smiling through her tears.

I sat in their midst, surrounded by my family again. And I could feel their love for me, even across the divide between the living and the dead.