Preston gave a small laugh.
“I told you how much to put in.”
My mind screamed.
My body did not.
Sabine had drugged me.
Preston had known.
They had arranged a death certificate.
They had dressed me.
They had put me inside a coffin.
And if no one discovered the truth before afternoon—
They were going to bury me.
I moved my finger again.
Harder.
Nothing else responded.
Voices swelled around the room.
My aunts prayed.
A neighbor asked when the procession would leave for Fernhaven Cemetery.
Someone said eleven thirty.
I had no idea what time it was.
I had no idea how long I had.
Then I heard the slap of small shoes against the hardwood floor.
A child approached the coffin.
Sabine’s seven-year-old son, Julian, appeared through the narrow crack.
He was holding a chocolate cookie.
Crumbs covered his black sweater.
He leaned closer.
Children look at the dead differently from adults.
Adults are frightened of seeing too much.
Children want to understand.
Julian stared at my face.
I forced every ounce of strength into my eyelids.
Once.
I blinked.
Julian froze.
I blinked again.
His cookie fell from his hand.
“Mom?”
Sabine turned.
Julian pointed toward me.
“Aunt Renee is looking at me.”
Silence.
Real silence.
Not funeral silence.
Fear.
Sabine’s face drained white.
Preston turned so quickly that his shoulder struck a vase.
My mother stared toward the coffin.
“What did you say?” she asked.
Julian stepped backward.
“She opened her eyes.”
Sabine rushed toward him.
“No, sweetheart.
Dead people sometimes look like they’re watching you.
It’s just—”
“She blinked.”
