Chapter 6 - When The Casket Opens
The sound of three hundred people gasping in unison filled the cathedral like a sudden, violent gust of wind. People stood up from the wooden pews, knocking over hymn books and service programs. Several women shrieked, clutching their chests and crossing themselves in pure terror, convinced that the dead had literally walked out of the grave.
“G-Ghost...” an elderly deacon stammered, falling backward into his seat. “It’s Claire! Merciful God, it’s Claire!”
I did not run. I walked down the aisle with slow, measured, terrifying grace. The purple bruises on my neck were left completely uncovered by the open collar of my ivory coat—raw, distinct, unmistakable finger marks stamped into my flesh for every prominent citizen of the city to see. In my arms, little Michael stirred, letting out a soft, healthy newborn whimper that cut through the silence like a silver bell.
Behind me, walking in formation like an invading army, came Detective Morrison, eight armed state troopers in full uniform, and Rebecca Shaw carrying a thick leather briefcase.
Daniel stood frozen on the altar steps. His hands hung limp at his sides. The white handkerchief fluttered from his numb fingers, drifting down to the marble floor like a fallen leaf. His jaw slackened, his eyes bulging from their sockets as his brain desperately tried to reconcile the reality in front of him with the memory of my limp, purple-faced body lying on the nursery rug.
“No...” Daniel choked out, his voice a hoarse, strangled squeak that barely carried beyond the first row. “No... this is impossible... you died... the medics said you were dead...”
Beside him, Vanessa jumped to her feet, her veil flying back to reveal a face twisted in pure, hysterical horror. She backed away toward the choir stalls, clutching her pearl necklace so tightly the string snapped, sending pearls skittering across the stone floor like hail.
“Daniel!” Vanessa screamed, her voice cracking. “Daniel, what is this?! Who is that?!”
I stopped right at the foot of the marble dais, looking straight up into the terrified eyes of the man who had called me his miracle before trying to crush my windpipe.
“Good afternoon, Daniel,” I said, my voice magnified through the lapel microphone Rebecca had attached to my coat, echoing with crystalline clarity through every speaker in the cathedral. “I apologize for being late to my own funeral. But as you can see, our son was very eager to meet his father.”
Daniel stumbled down two steps, his boots catching on his trouser hem. He pointed a trembling, sweating finger at me, his eyes wild and bloodshot. “You... you’re an imposter! Claire is dead! She’s in the casket! Security! Call the police! Someone get this lunatic out of my wife’s memorial!”
“An imposter, Daniel?” I smiled, a cold, predatory smile that made him shrink back. “Then why don’t you open the casket and show everyone who is lying inside?”
“No!” Daniel screamed, lunging toward the mahogany box with his arms outstretched, as if trying to shield it with his own body. “Do not desecrate my wife’s remains! Have you no respect for the dead?!”
“Open it,” Detective Morrison commanded, marching up the altar stairs with two uniformed troopers.
Morrison stepped past Daniel, ignoring his frantic protests, and popped the heavy brass latches on the front of the mahogany casket. With a single, smooth motion, Morrison swung the lid open.
The entire first five rows gasped and leaned forward.
The casket was completely empty, save for a dozen bags of sterilized industrial sandbags and a copy of that morning’s newspaper.
The murmurs in the congregation escalated into an uproar. Prominent board members from my father’s company were on their feet, shouting in outrage. Reporters were furiously snapping photos of Daniel’s terrified, sweating face as he stared into the empty velvet interior of the coffin he had paid for.
“You see, Daniel,” I continued, taking another step forward until I was standing just three feet away from him, close enough to smell the sour stink of fear pouring from his skin. “When you choked me for four minutes in our son’s nursery, you thought you were very thorough. You whispered in my ear that you and Vanessa would finally have everything. But you forgot one simple, fundamental truth about the Hayes family.”
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I lifted my chin, letting the bright afternoon sun stream through the stained glass, illuminating the jagged bruises around my throat.
“We don’t die easily,” I whispered, loud enough for every microphone to catch. “And we never leave our debts unpaid.”
