Chapter 1 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be DeadThe gun appeared before Ethan could understand what he was looking at.
Richard Parker stood ten feet away from the shattered coffin, one hand gripping a black handgun, the other trembling against his side.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
The funeral hall had become a photograph.
A priest stood frozen beside the altar.
A florist dropped an arrangement of white roses.
Ethan’s aunt covered her mouth.
And inside the broken coffin, Claire Parker stared through the jagged opening with eyes wide with terror.
She was alive.
Not nearly alive.
Not barely breathing.
Alive.
Her eyes moved from Ethan to the gun in Richard’s hand.
Then she began shaking her head violently.
No.
Ethan understood.
“Richard,” he whispered.
The gun turned toward him.
“Step away from the coffin.”
The words were calm.
That was the worst part.
Ethan had expected screaming. Panic. Rage.
Instead, Richard sounded like the same man who reminded him to do his homework, the same man who had stood at the front of the funeral yesterday with tears running down his cheeks.
Except there were no tears now.
There was only calculation.
“Put the gun down,” Detective Elena Ruiz shouted from the back of the room.
Ethan hadn’t known she was there.
The detective had arrived twenty minutes earlier after receiving a call from one of the funeral staff. She had been standing near the entrance, confused by the disturbance.
Now her gun was pointed directly at Richard.
Richard laughed once.
A tiny, humorless sound.
“You have no idea what you’re interrupting.”
“I know exactly what I’m interrupting.”
“No,” Richard said. “You don’t.”
Then Claire made a sound.
A muffled cry came from beneath the silver duct tape covering her mouth.
Ethan scrambled forward.
Richard immediately fired.
The shot exploded through the hall.
People screamed.
Glass shattered behind the altar.
Ethan dropped to the floor.
Claire recoiled inside the coffin.
Detective Ruiz fired back.
Richard turned and ran.
Two men in dark suits appeared from a side corridor as if they had been waiting for the signal.
They tackled one of the funeral workers.
The other pulled a hidden pistol from his coat.
“Run!” Ruiz shouted.
Chaos detonated.
Ethan crawled toward the coffin.
His hands shook so badly he could barely climb over the broken wood.
He reached for Claire’s face.
Her eyes filled with tears.
He ripped the tape from her mouth.
“Mom!”
Claire gasped.
Then she grabbed his wrist with surprising strength.
“Ethan…”
“I’m here.”
“No.”
Her voice was almost inaudible.
“Listen to me.”
“What?”
“They know.”
“Who?”
Claire looked toward the doors.
One of the dark-suited men was bleeding on the floor.
Another was gone.
Richard was gone.
Claire swallowed hard.
“They know you heard the knocks.”
Ethan stared at her.
“I was supposed to be buried.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
Claire closed her eyes.
“Because your stepfather needed everyone to believe I was dead.”
Detective Ruiz climbed into the coffin beside them and cut the restraints from Claire’s wrists.
“How long have you been conscious?”
Claire looked at her.
“Long enough.”
“Who did this?”
Claire’s expression changed.
Fear.
Not fear of Richard.
Something deeper.
“Detective…”
“Yes?”
“I can't tell you here.”
Ruiz frowned.
“Why not?”
Claire stared toward the ceiling.
“Because the person who ordered this is standing in this room.”
Ethan looked around.
The guests were still shouting.
Some were fleeing.
Others were calling the police.
The priest was crying.
His aunt stood against a wall.
The florist was on the floor.
The funeral director was staring at Claire as if she had risen from the grave.
“Who?” Ethan asked.
Claire grabbed his shirt.
“Don't look.”
“Mom—”
“Don't look at them.”
Her voice cracked.
“Because one of them is waiting to see whether I say their name.”
A siren wailed outside.
Then another.
Detective Ruiz stood.
“We're getting you out.”
Claire nodded.
But as Ethan climbed from the coffin, something caught his eye.
A small black envelope had been taped beneath the coffin lid.
His name was written on it.
ETHAN.
He quietly pulled it free.
Nobody noticed.
Not even his mother.
He slipped it into his pocket.
Outside, police cars surrounded the funeral home.
Inside, Claire Parker was finally breathing free air.
But Ethan couldn't stop thinking about the three knocks.
Three taps had meant I love you.
Now they meant something else.
A warning.
And whoever had trapped his mother inside that coffin had known exactly what those knocks meant.
Because the envelope in Ethan's pocket contained a single sentence.
Written in Claire's handwriting.
IF YOU ARE READING THIS, TRUST NO ONE.
May you like
And beneath it was a name Ethan had never seen before.
MORROW.
