The Wood Splinters
The heavy iron head of the mallet crashed into the dark polished wood, sending white lily petals scattering across the stone church floor.
A doctor in a white lab coat pulled the tool back and struck the lid a second time, wedging the head deep into the seam. She threw her weight backward, snapping the seal and levering the black casket wide open.
A woman in a dark dress lunged forward, reaching out with both hands to grab the doctor’s shoulders. Shouts echoed off the stained glass windows as relatives rose from the wooden pews, pointing and shouting for someone to intervene.
Inside the white satin lining lay a young man in a dark three-piece suit, his hands folded across his waist. His eyelids remained shut, his skin pale against the fabric.
Checking For A Pulse
The doctor dropped the tool against the floor with a dull thud. She stepped up to the edge of the box, ignoring the outstretched hands behind her.
She pressed two fingers flat against the side of his neck, directly over the carotid artery. Her gaze dropped to the rise and fall of his chest, counting the seconds beneath her palm.
A woman in a silver satin dress gripped the doctor’s forearm, digging her fingernails into the white sleeve. “He was declared dead,” she said, leaning in close. “You have no right.”
The doctor pulled her arm free and pointed directly down into the casket. The young man’s eyelids flickered open, his dark eyes focusing straight up at the vaulted ceiling before turning toward the white coat beside him.
The Scent Of Bitter Almonds
He drew a slow breath through his parted lips. “She knew I was alive,” he whispered, his voice dry and raspy.
The woman in silver took two steps backward, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes widened. A tear tracked down her cheek, smearing her mascara as an older man with silver hair made his way slowly down the center aisle, leaning heavily on a carved cane.
“Sedative overdose,” the doctor said, turning to face him. “She drugged him.”
The older man halted at the foot of the casket, raising the silver tip of his cane toward the woman in the silver dress. He demanded the full story without blinking.
Her knees buckled beneath her. She dropped directly onto the polished floor tiles, her purse slipping from her grip and spilling open beside her knees. Between ragged gasps, she admitted she had only wanted the inheritance.
A Hand Reaches Out
Two uniformed police officers pushed through the double doors at the rear of the sanctuary, their boots clicking against the marble. They moved down the aisle in step, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from their duty belts.
One officer took the woman’s wrists and pulled them behind her back, fastening the metal ratchets shut. She twisted around toward the older man, crying out that she loved him, but he turned his back on her without answering.
The doctor rested her hand against the young man’s lapel as the family clustered around. She explained how he had phoned her two nights prior after detecting the scent of bitter almonds clinging to her perfume—a signature trace of cyanide. Together, they had planned to fake his final decline to expose the deed in front of everyone.
The older man took both of the doctor’s hands between his own and bowed his head slightly in thanks. From inside the satin lining, the young man reached up, his fingers brushing against hers, and whispered an invitation for the following evening.
Her lips curved into a soft smile, and she nodded down at him.
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