Chapter 2 - The Stitched Secret
Marcus’s face drained of every ounce of blood. For a split second, he looked less like a grieving widower and more like a man staring down the barrel of a loaded shotgun.
"Step back, Sarah!" Marcus barked, reaching his hands directly toward Rachel’s neckline. "That’s... that’s her old pacemaker or something from the hospital. Some medical artifact they forgot to remove. I’ll handle it."
"Rachel never had a pacemaker in her life, you lying bastard," I growled, planting both hands against his chest and shoving him violently back into the coffee table.
The glass table rattled. Family members stopped talking. Aunt Martha gasped, clutching a handful of paper towels.
"Sarah! Marcus! What on earth are you two doing?" my mother cried from the kitchen threshold, her hands trembling.
I didn't answer. I reached into the casket. Rachel’s skin was ice-cold under my fingertips, sending a brutal shiver straight up my spine. My fingers brushed the stiff fabric of the navy dress. Right beneath the left lapel, hidden along the inner lining where no mortician would look unless instructed, was a thick, crude hand-stitch made with heavy black fishing line.
BZZZZ. BZZZZ.
A long vibration, followed by three short ones. An automated timer.
"Give that to me!" Marcus lunged again, his face twisted in rage.
"Touch her again and I will break your jaw on this floor!" I snarled, pulling a pair of sewing scissors from the side table where the prayer cards sat. With one clean snip, I severed the heavy thread and plunged my hand into the slit.
My fingers wrapped around cold metal: a sleek, ultra-thin burner phone, wrapped tightly in clear plastic wrap to protect it from moisture.
The screen glowed brightly in the dim parlor: 1 NEW SCHEDULED DISPATCH: PLAY AUDIO FILE 01.
Marcus lunged. He didn't look sad anymore. He looked vicious. He grabbed my wrist, twisting it hard enough to bruise the bone. "Hand it over, Sarah. That’s my property!"
"Get off her!" Leo yelled, sinking his teeth straight into Marcus’s forearm.
Marcus cursed, shaking the boy off with enough force that Leo tumbled onto the carpet. That was the line. I drove my elbow directly into Marcus’s solar plexus, knocking the wind clean out of him. He stumbled back, wheezing, gasping for air against the floral wallpaper.
I tapped the screen.
Rachel’s voice—shaky, breathing fast, but terrifyingly clear—blared through the speaker of the phone, loud enough for every aunt, uncle, and cousin in the house to hear:
May you like
"Sarah... if you’re hearing this, Marcus didn’t let me leave. He found the accounts. He’s taking Leo. Look under the floorboards in the garden shed before he burns it down—"
A sudden power surge slammed the house. Every light in the living room exploded in a flash of blue sparks, plunging the entire room into pitch-black darkness.
