Preston moved toward the coffin.
Every nerve in my body screamed at me not to move.
He stopped beside me.
His fingers settled on the lid.
For one terrible second I thought he was going to open it.
Instead, he pushed it down.
The line of light narrowed.
My world became almost completely black.
“She’s dead,” Preston said.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
Julian began crying.
“I saw her.”
Sabine pulled him away.
“Enough.”
Then my mother said quietly, “I want to say goodbye to my daughter alone.”
Preston hesitated.
“I don’t think—”
“I said alone.”
There was something in Deborah Mercer’s voice that had frightened people for my entire childhood.
Even Preston obeyed it.
Chairs scraped.
Footsteps retreated.
A door closed.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then the coffin lid rose.
Light hit my face.
My mother stood above me.
Her eyes were red.
Her lips trembled.
“Renee?”
I tried to answer.
Only air came out.
She leaned closer.
I moved my finger.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh, God.”
I blinked.
She touched my cheek.
Her fingers jerked back.
