Seven Minutes in Heaven

If I've done the math right, I've got a nineteen-in-ninety chance of being shoved in a closet, and a one-in-forty-five chance of being shoved in a closet with Lauren. Those are good odds.

Alice, the host, holds up a top hat, reaching in to pull out a slip of paper.

"Lauren!"

Lauren's face pales. Alice reaches back into the hat.

One-in-nine chance. Not as good.

"Aaaand, Camille!"

Fuck statistics.

I'm about to throw up as the other players pull me to my feet, my protests falling on deaf ears as they open the door, shoving Lauren through first, then myself.

"See you in seven minutes!" Alice sings, and shuts the door.

Darkness and silence engulf us. I can just make out Lauren's silhouette. Her shoulders are meeting her ears, and from the way her arms are moving, I guess that she's wringing her hands. I tear my gaze away. Lauren's feelings aren't my problem anymore.

She takes a breath. I brace for impact.

"Man, it stinks in here."

Not the scathing remark I'd been expecting. Unless that was a dig at me. I remain silent.

"It's good to see you again, Millie."

"Camille," I snap, ignoring the ache suddenly spreading through my chest. Okay, the ache had been there since I'd first spotted Lauren at this cabin-in-the-woods party. I hadn't known she was coming home for the holidays. But then again, we haven't spoken in over a year. "I go by Camille now."

"Oh."

I can just make out the hangdog look in her eyes.

"How has college been treating you—?"

"You don't have to pretend, Lauren."

"Pretend?"

"I know you'd rather just stand here in silence for seven minutes, so let's just do that."

Lauren's mouth falls open. "Who said—?" She frowns. "Why didn't you answer any of my calls?"

My jaw drops to the floor. "You're kidding, right?"

"I called you every week for the first two months of college!"

I take a deep breath. Of course. "You don't remember."

"Don't remember what?!"

"I picked up, Lauren. Your very first call. I picked up."

She freezes. "You did?"

"Yup. I said, 'Laurie! I've missed you so much!' and you said, well, more like slurred, 'Bet you're finally glad to be rid of me,' followed by, 'I thought we had something, but I guess not, because you let me leave, so never ever call me again.'" I throw her a cynical smile. "So, you can imagine why I'm hesitant to pick up your calls."

Tears stream down Lauren's face. I try to ignore them dripping from her chin and splashing onto the wooden floor.

"So it was me." Her voice cracks. "I ruined it. It was my fault."

The corners of my eyes are prickling. I turn away, blinking. "Pretty much, yeah."

Lauren steps forward. "Millie, I'm sorry—"

I step back. "Don't—" Then I gasp because my shoe is sliding, and I'm reeling backwards— I fall on my ass with a groan, pain shooting up my spine.

"Mille! Are you alright?!"

"It's. Camille." I've landed in something wet. My hands are slick, and there's something soaking into my pants. "Is there a light switch?"

A bright white light shines from Lauren's phone, and I'm momentarily blinded. Then Lauren shrieks, and my eyes fly open.

"What?"

I follow her gaze to my hands and stop breathing.

Dark red.

My breathing shallow, I turn around.

I'm sitting in a dark red puddle.

I stagger to my feet, clambering to the other side of the closet where Lauren has pressed her back against the wall.

"I suppose that explains the smell," she says, voice small.

I glare at her and she shrinks back into the wall. "It looks like it's coming from under that wall." I step forward, wiping my hands on my already-ruined pants.

"Mil— Camille?" Lauren's voice is shaky. "What're you doing?"

I squint at where the wall meets the floor. True enough, there's a little gap where the blood seems to be seeping through. I trail my eyes upwards, scrutinising the wooden planks, and aha! "This gap is bigger than the others." I squint at the planks on the other side of the puddle, and there's another too-big small-gap. "I think this is a door." I press my fingers against the planks, searching for a hidden latch or button or switch.

"Camille!" Lauren hisses. "You're going to get us killed!"

"Then leave!"

She stares at me like a deer in headlights.

I tear my gaze away, not wanting to see the pain on her face when I mutter, "It's what you do best."

Her breath hitches, and for a moment, I really think she'll go, then, "I'm not leaving you to die on your own."

My heart skips a beat. I ignore it, pressing my fingers to the base of the next wooden plank, and chink. A series of planks slides forward. Heart racing, I pull the door open. The air is cold. Lauren's light illuminates a stone staircase and the rest of the pool of blood. There's more blood dribbling down the stairs as far as we can see.

"You're not seriously considering going down there?"

"Again, you don’t have to come."

"Yes," she sighs. "I do."

We descend the stairs, avoiding the blood, and find ourselves in a tiled basement. It's freezing; our breath comes out opaque, and the further we go, the stronger the stench gets.

There's a metal bench in the middle of the room, rows of bookshelves behind it, and a little cabinet to the right, an old-fashioned radio looking rather out of place on top.

"It looks like a lab," Lauren whispers.

"Or a mortuary."

"You watch too much NCIS."

A beam of moonlight slips through a small, square window at the top of the wall, shining a spotlight onto the blood trail. I follow it between two shelves, and gasp.

It's a woman, a large gash across her stomach, everything underneath slick with blood. There's a badge clipped to the pocket of her shirt, 'ABC REPORTER' printed in white block letters across the top.

Lauren grabs my arm. "We have to get out of here. Call the police—"

A creak from up the stairs.

"I know you're down there," comes a gruff voice. "You left some lovely handprints in the blood."

My blood runs cold. I clutch Lauren's wrist, pulling her backwards. "Hide!"

We edge into the gap between the last shelf and the wall. I'm not claustrophobic, but my heart is racing. To my right, Lauren's breathing is rapid. Guilt fills my chest, and I grab her hand. She turns to me, eyes wide. The sound of heavy breathing from around the corner and I hold my breath—

"Found you."

Lauren and I scream. The man smiles, showing off a set of perfect teeth. He seems young, mid-30s, black hair slicked back like some sort of evil Superman. There's a glimmer in his eyes that makes me want to throw up.

"Wonderful!" he says, cheerily. "I was hoping to catch a few party kids. You've made a mess of my cabin." He wags a finger in my face. "I'll be having a word with little cousin Alice about it at the next family gathering. Give her a piece of my mind." He raises an eyebrow. "Or maybe, a piece of her own." I swallow the urge to retch. "Wait here." He peeks around the corner, presumably at the dead reporter, and the moonlight bounces off the gun on his belt. "I'll be right with you once I've cleaned her up."

Just like that, he walks away. Lauren and I stand frozen, hardly breathing, squeezing the life out of each other's hands.

From between the shelves comes an awful dragging noise, then a grunt, and the dull thud and ringing of something soft being dropped onto metal. A high pitched beep, silence, then—

Lauren and I jump as rock music blasts through the basement. A second later, it's accompanied by a buzzing noise.

Lauren's face is as pale as the wall behind us. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I promise you I'll get us out of this—"

"You’d better."

"—then you'll never have to see me again."

Lauren's gaze softens. It stirs something in my chest. "I've never wanted that." Her eyes are brimming with tears, her bottom lip quivering. "I'm sorry I ruined us."

The noise stops and Evil-Superman reappears, his apron dripping red. I press closer to Lauren.

"I need a minute to dispose of Mary-Jane. Don't go anywhere!"

He waves and disappears. There's crinkling of plastic, then I count ten crinkly thuds, more crinkling, then footfalls getting duller, a creak, and a click.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi.

"Come on."

We sidestep out from the gap and I take a deep breath, then start dry retching. It's not just a smell anymore. It's a taste, metallic and sour and pungent, and now it's on my tongue and lining my mouth. When I straighten up, Lauren has placed the radio on the floor and is pushing the cabinet underneath the window. She clambers atop it, but even standing on her tiptoes, the window is still a metre away.

"What do we do?"

I survey the room. Metal bench, slick with blood, the power tools in the cabinet Lauren is standing on, also slick with blood, the rows of bookshelves, filled with books only flecked with blood—

"The books!"

Lauren jumps down. We gather books in our arms, piling them onto one side of the cabinet as a makeshift step.

"Millie?" Lauren says, stacking her first pile atop mine. "Can we talk about us?"

"What is there to talk about?"

"Let me explain. If we die here, can't we at least die friends?"

My breath catches in my throat. "Fine."

Lauren lets out a breath. "I— I'm really sorry about that phone call. I really missed you, and I got super drunk at that first college party because I was trying so hard to stop thinking about you and… I guess it backfired spectacularly. But that doesn’t excuse how much I've hurt you. I'm really sorry."

I turn away to wipe my cheeks.

"I've missed you every single day." Her voice cracks. "When you didn't pick up my calls— which I get now— I thought you were happy to be rid of me."

"Dammit, Laurie, I wasn't happy at all!" I spin around and her face is wet with tears, her eyes red and puffy. I add to the pile of books, and it looks about tall enough. "Try now." She climbs onto the cabinet. I hold the books steady as she steps on. She reaches up, but her fingertips still don't reach the window sill. We groan and she steps down.

"I never wanted you to leave," I say quietly as we add more books to the pile.

"Then why did you let me?"

"I wasn't going to be the reason you didn't follow your dreams." She climbs onto the cabinet. "You've wanted to go to Harvard since we were tiny." I hold the books steady. She steps on. "I didn't want to be selfish, so I let you go. After that call, I was heartbroken. I wasn't sleeping, my grades started dropping…"

From atop the books, Lauren sniffs. "I know saying sorry isn't going to fix us, but I'll keep saying it till we die—" She cuts herself off with a gasp. "I can reach!" She beams down at me, and I'm laughing breathlessly. She pushes the window, tries the handle. "It's locked."

I run my hand through my hair. "Here." I pass her a bobby pin. "You can fix us by picking that lock." Laurie glances down at me, and the stress on her face melts away when she sees my grin.

It takes her a couple of minutes, but suddenly, there's a chink. "I've got it!" Fresh air rushes into the room and I take a deep breath. Laurie pulls herself through. Once she's out, I clamber onto the cabinet, then slowly step onto the books— my heart stops. I can already feel them slipping beneath me. I hold my breath and launch myself upwards, grabbing the window sill—

The basement door creaks open.

"I'm back!" the man sings. Laurie pales. She grips my wrists, pulling me up. I crane my neck around and watch the man's eyes go wide. He reaches for his gun.

The shot echoes through the room, the bullet lodging into the wall right next to my chest. I gasp, and the sudden movement sends the books toppling from beneath me. My fingers slip, but Laurie's grip stops me plunging to my doom. Another shot, and another, and I'm halfway out the window—

I shriek as the most horrible pain I've ever felt shoots through my calf. With one last yank, Laurie pulls me through the window and I land on top of her. She gets to her feet and pulls me up, and the second I put weight onto my left leg, my entire body buckles. Laurie catches me.

"Millie, we need to run! He's coming out the front door—"

"I don't think I can." I clutch her face. "Laurie, you have to go. I'll only slow you down."

But Laurie shakes her head and winds an arm around my waist. "I'm not leaving you, Millie. Not again."

She trudges into the woods, and I'm forced to hop along with her. A minute or maybe an hour later, she props me against a tree, stretching out my wounded leg.

"We've got to stop the bleeding."

I try to nod, but my head just lolls back against the tree.

What little I can see of her in the dark blurs in and out. She takes her jacket off and winds it under my leg. Then she takes off her belt, folds it over a couple of times, and hands it to me.

"Bite down on this."

I bite down just in time for Laurie to knot her jacket around my leg. White hot pain washes through me, and I will myself not to scream, squeezing my eyes shut and letting the tears roll down my cheeks instead. Laurie gently removes the belt from my mouth, and I can hear her jagged breaths as she runs her thumbs across my cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Millie, but we've got to keep going."

She grabs me from under my arms and yanks me up. It hurts, but it's nothing compared to my leg. She pulls out her phone, turning the brightness down before pressing the emergency call button and bringing it to her ear. She shakes her head.

"No signal."

My heart sinks but she keeps trying. It feels like ages, but finally, there's a little voice on the other end of the line.

"We're being chased through the woods by a man with a gun," Laurie whispers into her phone, our eyes locked. "He wants to kill us… Um, the nearest road to the cabin is Pinetree Avenue. Also, my friend has been shot in the leg. I've tried to stop the bleeding with my jacket but she looks awful."

Somehow, through the pain and fear and exhaustion, I shoot her a glare. She raises her eyebrows incredulously. Then she freezes and pulls her phone away from her ear.

"The line got cut."

"It's alright. They know where we are now."

"I'm not sure when it cut out. She might not have heard the road name."

My knee buckles. Even Laurie can't keep me upright, and leans me back against another tree. She sits beside me, and I realise she's lost hope too.

I only realise I'm crying again when Laurie wipes my cheeks with her fingers. And maybe it's because I'm certain we're about to die, or maybe it's all the blood loss making my head fuzzy, but I curl up against her, pressing my face into the crook of her neck. She holds me close, her tears soaking into my hair.

"Laurie?" I pull back to look her in the eyes. "In case we die, I need to tell you something—"

Laurie shakes her head. "Tell me later, once you're all patched up—"

"I should have told you this ages ago—" The words stick in my throat. I remind myself we're probably both going to die here, and that's the only way they get unstuck. "I love you."

Laurie squeezes her eyes shut, her body shaking with sobs.

"I should have told you forever ago, but I was always too scared to ruin our friendship, and then I was scared of ruining your dreams… I just— needed you to know—"

"Dammit, Millie!" She grabs onto the front of my shirt and shakes me a little. Then she leans forward and kisses me.

We're both sobbing, and I'm still gasping for breath from the pain, and it's all a wet mess with the tears, but it's Laurie. It's Laurie, so it's perfect, and I never ever want it to end.

"I've loved you since before I knew what love was," Laurie whispers when it does. I press my face into her neck and we hold each other, waiting for our death.

He arrives with a snapping of twigs, marching out from the darkness, wielding a torchlight and a rifle.

"Found you."

Laurie and I tighten our grip around each other as a gunshot rings through the woods.

"Man down!" someone says. I open my eyes.

The man is face down on the ground. Laurie peels herself off me to turn around, then meets my gaze, eyes wide.

The next part is a blur, people in blue and white swarming around us, pulling us apart. The next thing I know, I'm stretched out in an ambulance. Someone's holding my hand. I open my eyes and of course, it's Laurie, sitting next to a paramedic.

She lifts my hand to press a kiss to my knuckles, and I'm finally convinced we're going to be alright.