Every time I’d pass by one of those horrific highway wrecks, I’d watch with sadistic fascination at the destruction strewn across the asphalt. Most people would rubber neck then look away, ashamed at theirinterest.
Notme.
I wondered what went through their minds during their last few seconds. Did they scream? Did their ears fill with screeching metal as their lives flashed before their eyes? Did they cry out for God to helpthem?
In reality, none of that happens. There’s a peaceful quiet when you’re about to die. No flashes of light. No memories of happier times. The heavens don’t open up, nor do the flames of hell shoot up to claim you. There’s just acceptance andsilence.
As I fill my lungs for the last time, I reach for Kirkland’s hand and smile at my own privatejoke.
The ravine looks as shallow asme.
One
Shiloh
One Week Ago
“All rise.The Court of Los Angeles County is now in session, the Honorable Judge Harold J. Oliverpresiding.”
My fingers pause from playing with a loose thread on my dress as the bailiff’s deep voice catches my attention. He stands with an impeccably straight spine, every limb and button on his brown uniform in place and orderly. There’s no expression on his face. It’s like his emotions have been vacuum sucked, leaving only ashell.
I like him already. I know hisgame.
“Shiloh!” Barry’s sharp voice warns. Instead of meeting what I can feel is his heated stare, I watch my lawyer’s fingertips press hard onto the mahogany table. “Stand up, for Christ’ssake.”
A quick glance around the courtroom confirms why he’s pissed. Everyone is standing but me, the defendant, the one whose fate will be decided in mere minutes. I’m the one who should be standing with wobbling knees. Instead, I’m picking at random threads, thinking about the bowl of cereal I left sitting on the kitchen counter of my penthouse and the disgusting mess it’ll be when I get backhome.
If I gethome.
It makes me smile. I’m still Shallow West. Even in the hour of myreckoning.
“Yes, sir.” Before Barry can pull another ventriloquist act and yell at me through his perpetually chapped lips, I smooth my virginal white dress and stand. I hate this dress. It’s demure and cute and has cherries on thelapel.
Goddamncherries.
Like anyone’s going to buy this shit. I’m Shiloh West, not a fucking Dress Barnmodel.
Barry convinced my mom that the look would make me seem innocent and remorseful. I don’t need visual sympathy to make me look remorseful. The fact that I wake up every morning wanting to climb inside a marble box beside my best friend pretty much coversthat.
Judge Oliver hesitates, holding my eye, and it’s not because he’s enamored with me. I’ve winced over the harsh words he and the prosecutors have slung at me during my trial. The moment the jury delivered their guilty verdict of felony vehicular manslaughter, I could’ve sworn I saw a gleam in his eye. Today, the man looks like he wants nothing more than to send me to thechair.
I wonder what that would feel like. Would it be quick? I doubt they’ll give me a lethal injection. They probably think I’ll enjoy the rush toomuch.
Irony’s a bitch, isn’tit?
Judge Oliver takes his seat as the clerk clears her throat. “This is the sentencing for the State of California against ShilohWest.”
The pale redhead who I’ve nicknamed Little Bitchy Annie stands again and tugs on her navy blazer. “Paula Travers for the State of California, yourHonor.”
I can only pinpoint four freckles today. She tries her best to hide them and fails miserably. I have to hold myself back from suggesting she ditch the drug store brand foundation and splurge on the goodshit.
“Barry Broderick for the defendant, your Honor.” I look up at the confident set of Barry’s jaw. He’s not attractive but not hideous—in his late thirties, maybe early forties. I can’t tell. Los Angeles is filled with so much Botox I have no idea who’s real and who’s embalmed. One thing I know for sure is that the man is good at his job, although I’d expect nothing less from a man with that many zeros in his paycheck. He managed to get me released to my mother’s neurotic watch after only two nights in jail, so I can’t go full on Shiloh onhim.
Silence fills the court as I focus on Judge Oliver. The man holds my future in his hands. Of course, I want to make it out of this unscathed, preferably without an orange jumpsuit. What I’m not sure he understands is that there’s no middle ground for me. Either set me free or kill me, because if he sends me back to jail, I’ll dieanyway.
“Defense counsel and the State have been notified that I’m considering a sentence outside the normal guideline range.” Judge Oliver’s stony expression passes from Prosecutor Travers to Barry and pauses for dramatic effect. “Counselor, is your client prepared to proceed with sentencing at thistime?”
Barry jumps to his feet again like an obedient little puppy. “We are, yourHonor.”
