The First Crack
No one obeyed him.
So Lucas moved first.
He stepped around the coffin, grabbed the heavy brass floor stand holding the memorial candles, and drove its edge under the coffin lid where the latch met the wood.
Gasps broke across the room.
"Stop him!" Bernard shouted.
One of the security men lunged, but Lucas turned with a force born of panic and shoved him back. He did not look wild now. He looked frighteningly precise.
That changed the room more than shouting would have.
He wedged the stand deeper.
Maria grabbed his sleeve. "You fool. If there is infection—"
"Then you can stand farther back," Lucas said.
His voice was calm enough to frighten her.
He pulled.
The wood gave a fraction.
From inside came a muffled sound. Not imagination. Not floorboards. A gagged, broken cry that scraped through the narrow gap like air escaping a grave.
Rosie covered her mouth.
Agnes began to weep.
Lucas dropped the stand and drove his fingers into the space he had created, ripping flower stems aside, ignoring the splinters cutting under his nails. He forced the lid up inch by inch.
Then the room saw what Maria had hidden.
Arthur Harrow lay inside, black tape sealed over his mouth, wrists bound beneath the white flowers that had been arranged to hide his movement. His pale square face shone with sweat. His eyes were stretched wide with terror. The skin along his cheeks was wet with tears.
For one terrible heartbeat, no one moved.
Then Arthur made a raw, animal sound against the tape.
Lucas tore it off.
Arthur sucked in air so violently his whole body shook.
"Dad. Dad, stay with me. Look at me." Lucas’s hands were suddenly steady, trained, exact. He cleared flower debris from Arthur’s face, checked his pulse, lifted his jaw, spoke in the low clipped tone of a medic working inside chaos. "You’ve been sedated. Breathe slow. I’m here."
Arthur’s fingers clawed weakly at Lucas’s sleeve, then closed there.
Maria staggered backward. "This is impossible."
Lucas turned his head.
"No," he said. "This is attempted murder."
The word cracked the room open.
Phones came out. Someone screamed for an ambulance. Bernard Lyle backed into a chair. One of the security men reached for Maria, as if suddenly unsure which side of the room was dangerous.
Arthur dragged in another breath. His voice came out ruined and thin.
"Lucas..."
May you like
It was barely a whisper.
It was enough.
