Part 2: The Dead Man Breathed
The air in the funeral hall became frigid.
The son slowly stood.
“A disease?” he said, his voice dropping into something cold and dangerous. “Then it’s a good thing I didn’t come here alone.”
With one nod, two men in surgical gear stepped out from the vestibule. They wore high-grade respirators and carried official medical cases.
They were not mourners.
They were coroners from the state medical examiner’s office, authorized by an emergency court order.
Maria’s face lost all color.
“You can’t,” she stammered. “You have no right. This is private property!”
“Step aside, Mrs. Sterling,” the head coroner said. “The state received an anonymous tip claiming the cause of death is inconsistent with the physical evidence.”
The son reached for the casket.
Maria lunged toward him with a desperate, animal sound, but he shoved her away. She collapsed against the velvet-lined chairs, her silk gown tearing as she fell.
The lock yielded.
The hinges groaned.
The lid rose.
A flashlight beam sliced through the darkness inside the coffin.
It landed on the black tape across the father’s mouth.
Then on his bloodshot, terrified eyes.
The coroner gasped.
The “corpse” let out a muffled, frantic groan.
The funeral hall erupted.
Guests screamed.
Some ran for the doors.
Others froze in horror.
The coroner ripped the tape from the father’s mouth.
His first breath sounded like a drowning man breaking the surface.
“Maria…” the father rasped.
He raised a trembling finger toward his wife, who was crawling toward the service entrance.
“She didn’t just bury me,” he wheezed. “She paralyzed me… with the wine.”
The son turned toward Maria, his face burning with righteous fury.
“You tried to bury him alive for the inheritance, didn’t you?”
Maria reached the side door.
Locked.
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When she turned back, the son was already standing in her path.
“You were so worried about a dangerous disease,” he said. “You should have been more worried about the fact that he never actually died.”
