Chapter 3

The cemetery was cold and damp. A small crowd of so-called friends and family gathered around two freshly dug graves. Two polished wooden caskets sat beside them, gleaming under the gray sky. It was a picture of sorrow. A perfect lie.

I stood at the front with Alex, holding his hand. The minister droned on about David and Mary Miller, about what good people they were, what a tragic loss it was for the community. I nearly choked on my laughter. Good people? They were monsters.

"...and now, we commit their bodies to the earth," the minister concluded, gesturing towards the caskets.

This was my cue.

In my past life, I had stood here, numb and weeping, as they lowered the empty boxes into the ground.

This time, I let go of Alex' s hand and lunged forward.

"No!" I screamed, my voice raw with calculated hysteria. "Stop! I have to see them one more time!"

Two of my uncles grabbed my arms, trying to hold me back.

"Sarah, calm down!" one of them grunted.

"Let go of me!" I thrashed wildly, putting on the performance of a lifetime. "Something' s wrong! I know it is! Let me see them!"

My outburst sent a ripple through the crowd. People were staring, whispering. My aunt Susan rushed to my side, her face a mask of embarrassment and anger.

"Sarah, you' re making a scene! Stop this right now!" she hissed.

"I won' t!" I yelled, tears of rage streaming down my face. They looked real enough. "They' re my parents! I have a right to say a proper goodbye! Open the caskets!"

The demand hung in the air, shocking everyone into silence.

The funeral director, a man named Mr. Henderson, stepped forward. He looked flustered.

"Miss Miller, that is highly irregular. The caskets are sealed."

"Open them!" I shrieked, my voice cracking. "I know you can! What are you hiding?"

I looked directly at my uncle Robert. I saw a flicker of panic in his eyes before he masked it with anger.

"She' s lost her mind," he said to the crowd. "Grief has broken her. Someone needs to take her home."

"I' m not crazy!" I insisted, pointing a shaking finger at the caskets. "If there' s nothing to hide, then open them! Prove me wrong!"

The crowd started murmuring. My demand, while wild, had a sliver of logic that was hard to ignore. A young police officer who had been standing at the edge of the crowd started to walk forward. I recognized him from my past life-Officer Davis. He was new back then, but he eventually became a detective. He was smart and observant.

"Is there a problem here?" Officer Davis asked, his eyes scanning the scene.

"This is a private family matter, officer," my uncle Robert said dismissively.

"It looks like a public disturbance to me," Davis replied calmly. He turned to me. "Miss Miller, what seems to be the issue?"

I took a deep breath, letting a sob escape. "I just... I have a terrible feeling. That it' s not them. Please, officer. I just need to be sure."

I looked so young, so broken. It was a convincing act.

Davis looked at Mr. Henderson and my uncle. "It' s an unusual request, but under the circumstances, it might be best to give the young lady some peace of mind. It will only take a moment."

My uncle Robert looked like he was about to explode, but he couldn' t argue with a police officer in front of everyone. Mr. Henderson, sweating profusely, reluctantly instructed his men to open the first casket-my father' s.

The latches clicked open. The lid was lifted.

A collective gasp went through the crowd. A woman screamed.

The casket was empty.

No, not empty. It was filled with sandbags. Heavy, coarse, brown sandbags, crudely shaped to resemble a human form under a white sheet.

Everyone stared in stunned silence.

Mr. Henderson' s men, their faces pale, moved to the second casket. They opened it.

More sandbags.

The silence was broken by a flurry of frantic whispers. The lie was exposed. Ripped open for everyone to see.

I stared at the sandbags, my mind flashing back to the truth. David and Mary weren' t in a car crash. They had meticulously planned this. They probably paid Mr. Henderson a hefty sum to sign a death certificate and stage this whole sham. They were probably miles away by now, laughing at how they' d fooled everyone.

My uncle Robert looked at me, his face a mixture of fury and fear. "You... how did you know?"

"You ungrateful child!" my aunt Susan shrieked, her earlier pretense of sympathy gone. "After everything your parents did for you, you dishonor them like this? At their own funeral?"

Dishonor them? The irony was so thick I could have choked on it.

I sank to my knees, burying my face in my hands, and let out a heart-wrenching sob. It was part of the act, but the tears were fueled by a deep, burning hatred.

"I didn' t know," I cried, my voice muffled. "I just had a dream... a horrible dream that they weren' t at peace. I didn' t know it was real."

I was the devastated orphan, the innocent victim of a horrific mystery.

Officer Davis knelt beside me, his expression serious. "Miss Miller, this is no longer a family matter. This is a crime scene."

I looked up, my eyes meeting his. I saw suspicion, but also a hint of compassion.

My plan had worked.

The first domino had fallen. And I had pushed it myself.