Chapter 4
Chaos detonated within the bright, sunlit chapel. The sheer absurdity and horror of the bound, living man thrashing inside the plush white satin of the coffin sent the funeral director stumbling backward. He hit the altar steps and collapsed in a faint heap.
The police officer immediately drew his radio, his voice barking urgently over the static. "Dispatch, I need multiple units and EMS at the Oakwood Chapel immediately! Code three! We have a live hostage situation!"
Sarah pulled Emma forcefully back down the aisle, putting a solid ten feet between them and the casket. The little girl was crying silently, her tiny hands clutching Sarah’s dress in a death grip. Sarah’s heart pounded against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her fair skin was ghostly pale, but her mind raced with a horrifying clarity.
If this man was in the coffin, where was Daniel?
The officer holstered his radio and rushed to the casket. He leaned over, pulling a pocket knife from his belt. "Hold still, sir! I'm going to cut you loose!"
The older man in the coffin was hyperventilating, his face slick with sweat, his rosy skin flushed a dangerous, mottled purple. As the officer sliced the thick duct tape away from his mouth, the man gasped greedily for the cool, air-conditioned air of the parlor.
"Don't let them leave!" the old man rasped, his voice raw and broken. He pointed a trembling, bound finger directly at Charles and Margaret. "Arrest them! Arrest them all!"
Margaret staggered backward, her luxurious dress swishing loudly in the sudden quiet. She gripped Charles's arm, her eyes darting toward the side exits. "This is a setup! We have no idea who this vagrant is! He must have sneaked in overnight!"
"Shut up, Margaret," Charles hissed through his teeth, his eyes locked on the old man. The patriarch's facade of grieving father was entirely gone, replaced by the cold, calculating glare of a cornered predator.
"Ryan," Charles said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. "Call the lawyers. Now."
Ryan, who had been staring at the coffin in stunned silence, slowly backed away. "Dad, what is going on? Did you know he was in there?"
"Do not ask stupid questions in front of a police officer," Charles snapped. "Make the call."
Sarah watched the exchange, her blood running cold. She looked down at the phone still clutched in her hand. The screen had gone dark. She tapped it awake, opening the text message again.
It says the body in that coffin isn’t Daniel.
She stared at the number. It was Daniel's. But the phrasing felt wrong. It was too detached. It didn't say, I am not in the coffin. It said, The body isn't Daniel.
"Mommy," Emma whispered, her voice tiny and trembling. She reached her small hand up, pulling on Sarah's sleeve. "Daddy's phone."
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Sarah looked down. Emma wasn't pointing at Sarah's phone. She was pointing toward the front pew, where her small, glittery child’s purse had fallen when she recoiled from the coffin.
The zipper of the small purse was open. And inside, a sleek, black smartphone was glowing brightly.
