Part Five: The Furnace
The employee returned.
“We’re ready, Mrs. Cole.”
Victoria’s tears started instantly.
“Please take care of him.”
“We will.”
The coffin moved once more.
This time the sound had changed.
No longer wheels on carpet.
Metal rollers now.
A mechanical hum.
Heat radiated through the wood surrounding me.
The furnace was close.
Too close.
I thought of everything left unsaid.
Of the employees who’d placed their trust in me.
Of my father teaching me to identify bourbon by its scent.
Of Owen beside me at our mother’s grave, both of us swearing nothing would ever come between us.
Then I thought of our last call.
I’d hung up on him mid-sentence.
Regret cut deeper than fear.
The machinery paused.
A button beeped.
The furnace roared awake.
The noise filled the space like a storm.
Someone started reading through a checklist.
Victoria sniffled somewhere behind me.
Harrison stayed silent.
I pulled together every scrap of strength I had left.
Move.
I commanded my hand.
Move.
A flicker of sensation reached my right thumb.
I pushed harder.
It twitched.
Barely.
No one caught it.
I tried again.
My nail scraped against the satin.
The sound was almost nothing.
The furnace door began to open.
Then a crash tore through the room.
A door slammed against the wall.
Footsteps pounded across the floor.
A man shouted, “STOP!”
The machinery cut off.
Voices erupted all at once.
“What are you doing here?”
“Sir, you can’t—”
“Turn it off!”
My heart lurched.
I knew that voice.
Owen.
Victoria sounded stunned. “You weren’t invited.”
“I don’t care.”
Harrison stepped in. “He’s grieving. Get him out of here.”
Owen’s voice rose above everyone.
“TURN OFF THAT FURNACE—ETHAN IS ALIVE, AND I HAVE VICTORIA AND VANCE ON TAPE ADMITTING THEY DRUGGED HIM!”
Everything went still.
A deep, total silence.
Then Victoria whispered, “That’s impossible.”
