Chapter 7: The Race to the Bay
The linoleum floor of the hallway blurred beneath Julian’s running feet as he sprinted toward the rear of the funeral home. Behind him, Evelyn’s sharp voice rang out, commanding Dr. Vance to stop him, but the doctor’s hesitant footsteps lagged far behind. Julian took the corner wide, his shoulder clipping the wooden doorframe, but he didn't slow down. He burst through the double swinging doors that led into the secure preparation and transport bay.
The large garage-like room was brightly lit by harsh overhead fluorescent strips. In the center of the room sat the polished mahogany casket, resting on a hydraulic trolley. The heavy lid was still screwed down, but the specialized transport van was parked backward against the open loading dock bay, its engine idling with a low, rumbling drone. Two burly men in black suits stood near the rear doors of the van, holding heavy straps, looking confused as they argued with a local police cruiser parked just outside the loading doors.
A county sheriff’s deputy was standing by his patrol car, writing notes on a clipboard while questioning the driver about an improper permit for out-of-state transport.
Julian didn't hesitate. He rushed across the concrete floor toward the casket, shouting at the top of his lungs. “Stop! Open this box! She’s alive! They’re burying her alive!”
The two men in black suits froze, turning abruptly toward Julian with alarmed expressions. The sheriff’s deputy snapped his head up from his clipboard, his hand dropping instinctively to the holster at his hip as he strode toward the open bay doors.
“Sir, step away from the casket immediately,” the deputy commanded, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. “What is the meaning of this disturbance?”
“Listen to me!” Julian yelled, reaching the trolley and pressing his hands flat against the wooden lid. He could feel a faint, resonant vibration through the wood—a rhythmic pulse that confirmed Clara’s heart was still beating inside. “Her name is Clara Vance-Hayes. Her mother and Dr. Marcus Vance poisoned her with a paralytic agent to fake her death. She is inside this box, breathing right now!”
The deputy stopped ten feet away, eyeing Julian with skepticism mixed with caution. He looked at the two transport men, who were shaking their heads vigorously.
“He’s delusional, Officer,” one of the men said smoothly, stepping forward to block Julian’s access to the hydraulic lift. “The widower is in severe shock following the funeral. We have all the proper county permits and medical certificates signed by Dr. Vance himself.”
“Ask to see the medical examiner’s independent report!” Julian countered, his voice cracking with desperation. He pulled the bronze key from his coat pocket and held it up. “And ask them why they have a key to a private holding facility at Oakridge Estate inside the lining of the casket!”
Before the deputy could respond, heavy footsteps echoed behind Julian. Evelyn walked into the bay, flanked by Dr. Vance. Her composure was immaculate, her expression a masterclass in sorrowful maternal dignity. She dabbed at the corner of her dry eyes with a black lace handkerchief, looking every bit the grieving mother dealing with a mentally unstable son-in-law.
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“Officer, I am so sorry for this,” Evelyn said softly, addressing the deputy with a trembling, refined voice. “Julian has suffered a complete psychotic break following Clara’s sudden heart failure. We are trying to get him the medical help he so desperately needs, but as you can see, his grief has turned erratic and dangerous.”
The deputy looked from Evelyn’s sorrowful face to Julian’s wild, desperate expression, the scales tipping heavily in favor of the established, wealthy matriarch.
