“Legally speaking,” said attorney Patricia Klein, Eleanor’s longtime lawyer, “if there is reasonable doubt, the coffin must be opened.”
The cemetery fell silent. The gravediggers hesitated, then slowly released the clasps. When the lid lifted, a collective gasp rose from the mourners. There was no body. Only carefully arranged sandbags beneath white fabric.
Natalie staggered backward. Richard stood frozen, his face drained of all color. Charlotte covered her mouth as the truth struck with brutal clarity.
“She is alive,” Charlotte whispered.
Police sirens wailed in the distance. As officers arrived and began separating the crowd, Lillian stepped forward again, shaking violently.
“I was told to give her medication she did not need,” she said. “Sedatives. Increasing doses. I was told it was for anxiety.”
Charlotte felt memories align with horrifying precision. The confusion. The lost hours. The vacant stares Eleanor had tried to laugh away.
“I followed them the night they took her,” Lillian continued. “I know where she is.”