Grave Intent (38 page)

The walls surrounding him shuddered, and the
casket lid slammed shut.

Michael quickly pulled his legs in, stood,
and threw a fist into the air. “What more do you want from me?” he
screamed. “What—”

The casket suddenly shifted beneath him.
Startled, Michael grabbed for the chains, but missed as his shoes
skated over the coffin’s smooth surface. His legs flailed into a
split, and he dropped down hard in a straddle, his left foot
jamming between the coffin and vault. So much pain exploded through
Michael’s body it stole his voice, and his mouth simply opened, and
tears welled up in his eyes.

Another shudder sent the casket shimmying
closer to the vault wall, sandwiching his left ankle firmly between
concrete and bronze. With ragged, gasping breaths, Michael tried to
pull his leg up, but couldn’t. The pressure only increased against
his ankle.

“S-s-stop!” he cried.

A shower of leaves rained over his head, and
deep, hoarse laughter rolled into the tomb.

Anger sent a burst of energy through Michael,
and he flung out his arms. “What the fuck do you want,
goddammit!”

Different voices answered with snorts and
chuckles, bellows and squeals of delight. The collected volume of
them rose to a delirious pitch.

“Ellie!” Michael cupped his hands around his
mouth to gain volume over the taunting laughter. “Elllllieeee!”

Abruptly, every sound above him ceased.

Michael peered up, stunned by the silence.
The wind no longer blew across the top of the grave. The only
movement was the swelling colors from a rising sun. He no longer
saw any trace of the crimson light.

He wet his lips, then called out nervously,
“Ellie?”

More silence.

“Ellie!”

When Michael still didn’t hear anything move
overhead, he leaned over and groped for the chains. His fingers
fell short of reaching them by two feet.

“Ellie! Ellie answer me!”

The silence that came back to him crept into
Michael’s heart and made him more afraid than he’d ever been in his
life. Had he been too late Ellie? Had they killed her because of
some stupid technicality? Because he hadn’t put the coin back in
the casket before sunrise?

Unless it be returned to
her
before
rising of second sun, there will be death without mercy.
The
old man’s words thundered relentlessly in Michael’s head. He’d
said, returned to
her—her
—not returned to the cemetery or
even carried into the grave, but returned to
her.

“Ellie! Jesus, Ellie, answer me!”

If only he’d left for Carlton sooner instead
of wasting so much time trying to reach Janet by phone.

“Ellie Marie Savoy, answer me!”

If only he would have driven faster.

“Answer me, baby, please!”

If only he’d have run from the cop and
through the woods quicker.

“P-p-please—El—”

Michael felt something large and thick ball
up in the middle of his chest. It rolled upward, threatening to
smother him, then exploded out of his mouth, voiced in a sob. He
fell onto his back, covered his face with his hands and cried, deep
racking sobs that lifted his shoulders off the casket.

“Oh, G-God—not my little girl,” Michael
gasped. “Pl-please, n-not my baby. I’m begging you, take me,
please, take me instead!”

The sound of his weeping echoed against the
crypt walls and washed back over him again and again until it
seemed like a multitude cried with him.

After a long while, Michael slid his hands
away from his face, completely drained, so empty. He stared up from
his prison into an orange hued sky and knew he would forever hate
sunrise.

Barely giving thought as to how he’d get out
of the crypt, Michael let his eyes roam along the outside rim of
the grave. They settled on a small figure standing near the left
corner, just above his head. Arms quickly lifted over the figure’s
head, hands clutched, and Michael caught the twinkle of sunlight on
crystal. He blinked, heard a grunt, then watched the hands thrust
downward, releasing something. It tumbled—tumbled—crystal
head—tail—hooves—then smashed against the casket near his foot.

The coffin immediately shifted away from the
wall, releasing Michael—his foot—his mind—his eyes—

Ellie stood near the edge of the tomb,
rubbing her eyes with a fist as though she’d just wakened from a
deep sleep. She looked down at Michael and gave him an exuberant
smile. “Mornin’, Daddy.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Janet
asked, swinging her crutches over a crack in the sidewalk.

Michael waited for her to catch up. “I don’t
think it’s so much want to as have to,” he said. “But you didn’t
have to come with me. You and Ellie can go back to the van and
wait. I won’t be long.”

“And leave you in a cemetery by yourself?”
Janet chided. “No way, buddy. Last time I did that you nearly
destroyed the place.”

“Yeah, well, you know men and their
toys.”

She grinned. “I just don’t think you were cut
out for tractors, Crip.”

“Hey, you calling me crippled, Crip?”

“A knee brace doesn’t count. You’re the one
with the walking cast.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got crutches. That makes
you official—Crip.”

Michael’s laughter rang out strong and clear
in the warm September afternoon, and the sound of it made Janet
sigh with contentment.

They walked in silence for a while, watching
Ellie skip from tomb to tomb a few feet ahead. She jabbered
brightly and patted headstones as if the people beneath them were
long lost friends.

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Michael said,
pointing his chin toward Ellie.

Janet shook her head. “Amazing’s more like
it. I can’t believe how quickly she bounced back, especially with
her remembering most of what happened. How many other kids do you
think could do that?”

“Not many. Hell, even I’m still having
nightmares over it.”

Janet squeezed Michael’s hand gently.
“Sometimes it seems like it happened two hours ago instead of two
months.”

“I still can’t believe it happened at
all.”

“Look, y’all,” Ellie called. She pointed to a
squirrel scurrying up a tree, then clapped and did a pirouette
before moving on to the next row of crypts.

“Don’t go too far,” Janet called after
her.

Ellie waved and detoured to a nearby knoll
where she began to pluck wild flowers.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of strange,
though?” Janet asked Michael quietly.

“What?”

“How fast Ellie got over everything. I mean,
look at her. After all she’s been through, you’d think she’d be
petrified of cemeteries.”

Michael smiled, then hobbled closer to Janet
and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Could it be you’re the one
afraid of cemeteries now and think she should be?”

Janet stuck out her tongue playfully. “You
studying psychology in your spare time?”

“Yep, correspondence course.”

“Okay then, Dr. Savoy, can you blame me for
developing the phobia? Remember, I was the one stuck in the van,
watching, and hearing mind you, World War III erupting in this very
cemetery.”

“Sounds like phobia material to me,” Michael
agreed. His face grew somber. “Heard from Theresa lately?”

“Yeah, she says Heather’s still seeing Dr.
Orazio.”

“Is he helping her?”

Janet shrugged. “Some, I guess. Theresa said
Heather’s nightmares aren’t as frequent, but she still can’t take
the girl out when it’s foggy.”

Michael sighed.

They took a left down another concrete
sidewalk, and Janet stopped, resting on her crutches. “I’ll give
you some alone time and catch up with Ellie. We can meet you over
by the gate when you’re done.”

“Since you’re here, would you mind sticking
around? You don’t have to, but—”

“I’ll stick to you like glue if that’s what
you want,” Janet said, then reached over and squeezed his hand.

Michael squared his shoulders and nodded.

They walked a few rows farther until they
reached aisle R, then turned right. Three graves down, Janet
spotted a plain concrete tomb. It held a granite plague that
identified the body beneath it as Lester Vidrine’s. She felt a
chill run down her back as she remembered how the man had been
found; shoved behind the hedges near the back of the funeral home
with his throat ripped open. He’d had one hand missing and half of
his abdomen eaten away. An animal attack, the coroner had said. But
the bite marks had been so large and unusually shaped, they were
never able to identify the type of animal.

Janet squeezed Michael’s hand again when they
finally stopped at a flat gray stone tomb with a statue of The
Praying Hands mounted at the foot. A wide marker rested against the
head of the tomb like an opened book, and engraved across the
middle were the words:

Michael lowered his head, and Janet felt her
heart break for her husband. She could only imagine how difficult
this was for him.

After a long while, Michael said, “Figured
I’d better come over and tell you myself, Dad. We . . . we’re
leaving—town I mean.” He took a deep breath. “There’re too many
things for me to try and work through here. I’m—I’m not just
talking about the deal with the Stevensons. There’s a whole lot
more to it than that. You know you and I always did have trouble
getting along, so it’s not like I’m leaving great childhood
memories behind or anything. But. . . but don’t think I’m only
blaming you. I’m not. I’m sure there’re a lot of things I could
have done differently, too.”

Janet’s eyes welled up with tears as Michael
paused and toed a clump of grass. She felt his palm begin to sweat
against hers.

“Okay, so here’s the first part of the hard
part,” he continued. “I’ve sold the funeral home. Sold it to Chad.
Remember, the apprentice? He’s newly licensed now and . . . yeah, I
know what you’re probably thinking, but I didn’t do it just to piss
you off. I swear. I wanted to make sure the place went to somebody
who’d take care of it and do a good job with the families in
Brusley. Chad’ll do that. He even kept Sally on. He wanted to keep
Agnes, too, but she wouldn’t stay. She said she couldn’t bear to
even look at the place anymore, especially after she’d found
you—well—you know—in that casket.”

Michael squeezed Janet’s hand hard and looked
away from the grave. “You always were one to do things big, Dad,
but how in the hell you wound up in that mahogany is beyond me.” He
looked back at the marker. “Then there’re the bullet holes in the
lobby—the wrecked door in the selection room—what the hell happened
in there?”

Michael blew out a loud breath as though
trying to rid himself of the memory “Okay, so here’s the second
part. I’m leaving the funeral business. Figure I’ll go be a plumber
or something, who knows. I just want to spend more time with my
family. They’re . . .” He looked over at Janet, tears raining down
his cheeks. “They’re the two most important people in my life, and
I want to be able to spend as much time as I can with them.”

Janet gave him a tentative, teary smile.

Michael sniffled and turned back to the tomb.
“Well, look, I won’t draw this out any longer than I have to, Dad,
knowing how you hate mushy shit and all that.” He reached into the
pocket of his jeans, pulled out two small items, and rolled them
around in his hand. “Just figured you might like to have these.”
Michael bent over and placed an old Zippo on one side of his
father’s headstone and his graduation pin from Delgado Mortuary
School on the other.

Rubbing his chin, Michael looked away again.
“Guess that’s it, huh, Dad? Be seeing you around.”

Janet waited while Michael peered down at his
feet, stalling. She sensed he had more to say.

After another long pause, Michael looked up
at his father’s grave. “In case you didn’t know,” he said, his
voice breaking. “I love you. I always did.”

Janet bit back a sob as Michael tugged on her
hand, signaling he was ready to go. She wanted so badly to take
away his pain.

They walked in silence to the center aisle of
the cemetery, then Michael let out a deep sigh and put an arm
around Janet’s shoulder. She knew it was his way of letting her
know he’d be all right. She smiled up at him so he’d know she
understood.

Wiping away tears, they headed to the west
end of the property, where Ellie was placing a handful of wild
flowers atop a black marble tomb. Janet glanced over her shoulder
toward the front gate, where they’d parked the van and U-Haul.

They were leaving a lot behind. The funeral
home, her flower shop, which she’d sold to Bertha Lynn, but most of
all too many horrible memories that would always remain fresh if
they stayed.

Janet knew starting over wouldn’t be easy. A
new town, new career for Michael, a new home. All hurdles they had
to face, but not one of them impossible. She felt as long as they
had one another, they could face anything.

She turned back and spotted the sun riding
low on the western horizon. Oh, yes—they could face anything at
all.