Chapter 4

A week later, Brian stood before Andrew' s massive oak desk, his face pale and his hands trembling slightly.

"Sir, we found it."

Andrew looked up from a contract, impatient. "Found what? Her new boyfriend' s address?"

"No, sir." Brian swallowed hard. "She was cremated at the municipal crematorium two years ago. Her ashes were interred at Calvary Cemetery, section D, plot 112. Her brother and sister... they visit every year on her birthday."

The air in the office grew heavy. For the first time, a shadow of something other than anger crossed Andrew' s face. It wasn' t belief, not yet. It was a flicker of confusion.

He didn' t say a word. He just grabbed his car keys and stormed out of the office, leaving Brian standing alone.

The rain was coming down in sheets when Andrew arrived at Calvary Cemetery. It was a gray, miserable day that matched the cold stone markers all around him. He found the plot easily.

It was a simple headstone, nothing fancy.

[Gabrielle "Gabby" Johns. Beloved Daughter and Sister.]

Beneath the name, protected by a small, laminated cover, was a photo of me at nineteen. I was bright-eyed, holding my first guitar, a cheap acoustic my dad had bought me from a pawn shop. I was smiling, full of dreams that had not yet been crushed.

Andrew stared at the headstone for a long, silent moment, the rain plastering his dark hair to his forehead. His two security guards stood a few feet back, holding large black umbrellas, looking uncomfortable.

"Dig it up," he ordered, his voice flat.

The guards exchanged a look of disbelief. One of them, a burly man named Frank, spoke up.

"Sir, we can' t do that. It' s illegal. It' s... desecration."

Andrew turned his head slowly, his eyes locking onto the man. The look in them was terrifying.

"I didn' t ask for your legal opinion. I gave you an order. Dig. It. Up."

Reluctantly, the men retrieved shovels from the trunk of the car. The wet earth made a sickening sound as they broke through the sod. They worked in silence, the only sounds the scrape of metal against dirt and the relentless drumming of the rain.

It didn' t take long. They unearthed a small, polished wooden box.

Andrew snatched it from them before they could even brush the dirt off. He fumbled with the lid, his fingers clumsy with a strange urgency. He pried it open.

A laugh escaped his lips. It wasn't a happy sound. It was triumphant, manic, and utterly unhinged.

"Hah! I knew it! I knew she was playing me! Look!"

He shoved the open box towards Brian, who had just arrived, his face a mask of dread.

Brian peered inside.

"It' s... it' s empty."