Chapter 2 - The Wrong Door
“Everybody down!” I yelled.
Owen Pike, the funeral director, froze with his hand inside his coat. A woman in the second pew screamed. I threw myself over Elise while a man in a navy suit tackled Pike into the flower stands.
The gun skidded across the chapel floor.
“I'm a paramedic,” the man shouted. “Someone find me scissors!”
His name was Luis Torres. He cut Elise's restraints and checked her pulse. Her eyes followed every movement of Pike's. Even half-conscious, she was terrified of him.
“Airway's compromised,” Luis said. “We need an ambulance now.”
I heard a siren approaching, but Pike smiled at the sound.
“No,” he said from beneath the man holding him. “That's too early.”
I stared at him. “Too early for what?”
He stopped smiling.
Mom stumbled toward the coffin. Ruth Hale had already buried one person she loved in this chapel. Seeing her youngest daughter sit up among the satin pillows almost brought her to her knees.
“Elise? Honey?”
“Mom,” Elise rasped. The word barely came out.
A pair of uniformed men entered through the front doors. One announced that an ambulance was waiting behind the chapel. Luis looked through the stained-glass window, then at the men.
“Why isn't there a medical unit number on that van?” he asked.
One of the uniforms reached for his radio. Pike turned his face toward the floor.
Luis leaned into my ear. “Those aren't the medics I called. Take your sister through the sacristy.”
We moved fast. Luis lifted Elise, and I kept one hand around hers. Mom followed, stumbling over the hem of her black dress. Vivian remained beside the coffin, watching us with the expression of someone counting the seconds before a disaster.
At the back exit, I looked over my shoulder.
May you like
Vivian mouthed two words: Don't trust.
Then a gunshot cracked through the chapel.
