Chapter 3: The Secret in My Mother's Hand
"Richard, don't!""
My voice cracked as the gun shifted toward Melissa.
She stood motionless beside a fallen bouquet, her hands raised, her eyes fixed on the weapon.
Richard's breathing had become uneven.
"Everybody keeps telling me what to do," he said.
"Everybody thinks they can walk into my life and take something from me.""
David Bennett took a cautious step sideways.
"Nobody is trying to take anything from you. Put the gun down.""
Richard swung the weapon toward him.
"You're the worst of all, David. You always thought you were smarter than me.""
David's face tightened.
"What does Claire have to do with this?""
"Ask your sister.""
My mother struck the coffin again.
Richard turned toward the sound, and the hatred on his face frightened me more than the gun.
"You should have stayed quiet," he muttered.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black device.
I didn't recognize it at first.
Then I saw the red light blinking on its surface.
A phone.
He pressed a button.
"Change of plans," he said into it.
"We're moving now.""
A distorted voice answered.
"What's happening?""
Richard glanced at the guests.
"The boy opened the coffin.""
There was a pause.
Then the voice said, "You were supposed to make sure that didn't happen.""
Richard's eyes flicked toward me.
"I know.""
"Do you have the documents?""
"Yes.""
"Then forget the funeral. Bring her to the car. The others are witnesses.""
My stomach dropped.
The others are witnesses.
Richard wasn't simply trying to hide what he had done to my mother.
He was planning to do something to everyone who had seen it.
David heard the voice, too.
He slowly lowered his hands.
"Who are you talking to?""
Richard ended the call.
"Someone who understands the situation.""
"No," David said.
"Someone who understands how to help you cover up a crime.""
Richard stepped toward him.
"Be very careful.""
David glanced at me.
It was only a brief look, but I understood.
He wanted me away from Richard.
He wanted me safe.
And he was willing to risk himself to make it happen.
"Richard," David said, keeping his voice steady, "I remember when Claire first introduced you to the family. She told us you were patient, dependable, and good to Ethan.""
Richard's mouth twisted.
"Don't.""
"She believed in you.""
"I said don't.""
"Whatever happened between you two, she didn't deserve this.""
Richard struck David across the face with the back of his hand.
David stumbled against a chair.
Several guests cried out.
I moved toward him, but my uncle raised one hand to stop me.
"Stay where you are, Ethan.""
Richard grabbed David by the lapel.
"You want to talk about what she deserved? You have no idea what she did to me.""
"Then tell us," David said.
Richard shoved him away.
"She stole from me.""
"What did she steal?""
"Money. Evidence. Everything.""
My mother's pounding became weaker.
I looked at the coffin.
Her hand had stopped appearing through the gap.
A terrible thought entered my mind.
What if she had lost consciousness?
What if she couldn't breathe?
"Richard," I said, "she needs help.""
He turned toward me.
"She needs to learn what happens when she betrays me.""
"She's my mother!""
"And I'm the man who kept a roof over your head!""
"You didn't even let me see her!""
"Because you would have ruined everything!""
The words escaped him before he could stop them.
Silence followed.
Richard seemed to realize his mistake.
I stared at him.
"You knew she was alive.""
His face went still.
"You knew," I repeated.
"You knew she was inside that coffin.""
"Shut your mouth.""
"You knew!""
He lunged toward me.
I ducked behind a chair.
The gun fired.
The explosion was deafening.
A framed photograph shattered against the wall behind me. Someone screamed. Several guests dropped to the floor.
I couldn't hear anything except a high, piercing ringing.
Richard stared at the weapon in his hand as if he hadn't expected it to fire.
David moved.
He slammed into Richard from the side, knocking the gun away from the crowd. They crashed against a table, sending glasses and flower arrangements flying.
"Run, Ethan!"" David shouted.
I ran to the coffin.
My fingers found the jagged edge of the broken lid.
I pulled.
The wood shifted, but the remaining section wouldn't budge.
"Help me!"" I shouted.
Two guests rushed forward. Together, we lifted the broken panel enough to expose my mother's face.
Her eyes were closed.
The duct tape still covered her mouth.
"Mom!""
I reached inside and touched her cheek.
It was cold.
Too cold.
"Please wake up.""
I tore at the tape with shaking fingers, but it clung stubbornly to her skin.
A woman beside me pulled a small pair of scissors from her handbag.
"Here," she said, her voice trembling.
"Use these.""
I cut through the tape and peeled it away.
My mother's lips were pale. Her breathing was shallow and ragged.
"Mom, it's Ethan," I whispered.
"You're safe. I'm here.""
Her eyelids fluttered.
Then she opened them.
"Ethan?""
Her voice was barely audible.
I burst into tears.
"I'm here, Mom. I'm right here.""
She tried to lift her hand, but her wrist was bound with plastic restraints.
The woman beside me quickly cut them while another guest called emergency services.
My mother coughed violently, sucking in air.
I held her hand and kept repeating her name.
Across the chapel, David and Richard struggled on the floor.
Richard managed to throw David off him. He scrambled toward the gun, but the funeral director kicked it beneath a heavy cabinet.
Richard turned on him.
"You idiot!""
He grabbed a metal candlestick from a nearby table and swung it at the funeral director's head.
The man ducked, and the candlestick smashed against the cabinet.
Guests scattered.
Richard ran toward the coffin.
He wasn't coming to help my mother.
He was coming to finish what he had started.
I stood between them.
"You can't touch her!""
Richard stared at me in disbelief.
"Move.""
"No.""
He lifted the candlestick.
My mother suddenly caught my wrist.
"Ethan," she whispered.
I turned toward her.
Her fingers were trembling, but her eyes were open.
"Don't let him take the envelope.""
"What envelope?""
She struggled to breathe.
"Inside my coat. The blue one.""
I looked down at her.
A dark blue coat had been folded beneath her body, partially hidden by the lining of the coffin.
I pulled it free.
Richard saw it.
His entire expression changed.
"Give me that!""
He lunged.
I stumbled backward, clutching the coat against my chest.
David grabbed Richard from behind.
"Not another step!""
Richard twisted violently, driving his elbow into David's ribs.
David doubled over.
Richard broke free and reached for me.
I ran.
I raced between the chairs, holding the coat tightly. He chased me past the flower stands and toward the side entrance.
"Ethan!"" he shouted.
"You don't understand what you're holding!""
I reached the doorway and stumbled into the corridor.
My hands searched the coat until I found a small inner pocket.
Inside was a folded envelope, sealed with clear tape.
My name was written across the front in my mother's handwriting.
Ethan Parker.
Beneath it were four words.
Read this if I disappear.
My fingers went numb.
I tore the envelope open.
Inside was a photograph, several pages of printed bank transfers, and a handwritten letter.
The photograph showed Richard standing outside a warehouse beside a man I had never seen before. They were shaking hands over a large black suitcase.
On the back, my mother had written a date.
Three days before she supposedly died.
I unfolded the first page of the letter.
My sweet Ethan,
If you're reading this, Richard has done something I was afraid he would do. I need you to know that I never abandoned you, and I never wanted to leave you.
My vision blurred.
I wiped my eyes and continued.
Richard has been using my name to move money through accounts I never authorized. I found documents proving it. When I confronted him, he told me that if I went to the police, you would pay for it.
I heard footsteps approaching.
I kept reading.
There is something else. Richard isn't working alone. The man in the photograph has been helping him for years. I don't know how far the corruption goes, but I know that someone inside the police department has been warning him whenever I ask for help.
My breath caught.
Someone inside the police department.
That explained why Richard had seemed so confident.
Why he'd brought my mother to a funeral home instead of a hospital.
Why he'd believed he could make a living woman disappear in front of dozens of witnesses.
I turned to the last page.
The handwriting grew increasingly uneven, as if my mother had written it in a hurry.
If Richard claims I'm dead, don't believe him.
If you hear three knocks, remember that I am still fighting to come home.
And if he tries to bury me, find the man who signed my death certificate.
At the bottom of the page was a name.
Dr. Samuel Whitmore.
I stared at it.
The funeral director had handed me a printed program that morning. Beneath my mother's photograph, a short paragraph listed the doctor who had supposedly certified her death.
I remembered the name because Richard had insisted on printing it in bold.
Dr. Samuel Whitmore.
The same man my mother had warned me about.
A shadow fell across the letter.
I looked up.
Richard stood at the end of the corridor.
His suit was torn at the shoulder. Blood trickled from a cut near his eyebrow. His eyes were fixed on the papers in my hands.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he smiled.
It wasn't the polished smile he'd worn for the mourners.
It was colder.
More honest.
"You should have left that envelope alone," he said.
I backed toward the chapel.
"Who is Dr. Whitmore?""
Richard took a step forward.
"Give me the papers, Ethan.""
"Did he help you put Mom in the coffin?""
"Give them to me.""
"Did you pay him to say she was dead?""
Richard's jaw tightened.
"You have no idea how much trouble you're causing.""
I clutched the letter.
"Then explain it to me.""
He stopped walking.
For a moment, I thought he might actually answer.
Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out another phone.
He pressed a contact and held it to his ear.
"It's me," he said.
"We have a problem.""
He listened.
Then his expression darkened.
"No. The boy has the evidence.""
Another pause.
Richard looked directly at me.
"Yes. All of it.""
The voice on the other end spoke loudly enough for me to hear a few words.
"...the doctor... already on his way...""
Richard ended the call.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"Who's coming?"" I asked.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket.
"The person who can make sure your mother stays dead this time.""
Behind me, the chapel doors slammed open.
My uncle David appeared, breathing hard.
"Ethan!"" he shouted.
"Get away from him!""
Richard reached inside his jacket.
David froze.
And from somewhere outside the funeral home, the sound of approaching sirens rose through the rain.
For one brief moment, hope returned.
Then Richard looked toward the front entrance and laughed.
"You think those sirens are here to save you?""
May you like
He took another step toward me.
"Wait until you find out who is driving the first car.""
