Chapter 8: Breaking the Shell
Leo burst back through the front door, panting heavily, the heavy circular saw clutched in his trembling hands. The living room was eerily quiet, save for the muffled, frantic thudding coming from inside the dark wooden coffin. Maria was nowhere to be seen—she must have taken the exterior route around the house after realizing Leo had escaped through the garage.
He had seconds, maybe less.
Leo dropped to his knees beside the casket. The white floral wreaths surrounding it seemed to tilt menacingly as he positioned the heavy steel blade of the saw against the edge of the reinforced lid. He pulled the safety trigger, and with a deafening, high-pitched whine, the blade roared to life, spraying fine sawdust and the sweet scent of polished mahogany into the air.
He pressed down. The blade bit into the wood, screaming in protest as it fought through the thick outer layer of mahogany and the dense soundproofing material underneath. Sparks flew, illuminating his tear-streaked face in a manic, flickering orange glow.
""Hold on, Dad! I'm getting you out!"" Leo screamed over the deafening roar of the motor.
Inside the coffin, Arthur felt the violent vibrations shooting through the wood. The high-pitched whine of the saw was music to his ears, cutting through the suffocating darkness. Summoning every remaining ounce of strength, he pressed his face upward against the barrier, desperate for fresh air as the blade sliced closer and closer to the inner lining.
Suddenly, the front door burst open with a resounding crash.
Maria stood in the entryway, flanked by the broad-shouldered man from the sedan. Her hair was disheveled, her silk robe torn at the shoulder, and her face was twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury.
""Stop him!"" Maria shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at Leo.
The man lunged forward across the living room, his heavy boots crunching over the scattered white lilies.
Leo heard the footsteps closing in. He didn't look up; he threw his entire weight onto the saw, pushing the blade through the final layer of wood. With a sharp, cracking snap, the lock mechanism gave way.
As the man grabbed the collar of Leo’s black suit and yanked him backward, the heavy wooden lid popped open with a hiss of stale, trapped air.
Leo struggled violently against the man’s grip, his eyes locked on the interior of the coffin. There lay his father, pale, his eyes wide with terror, the black duct tape stripping away as Arthur gasped his first, ragged breath of fresh air into the room.
""Leo..."" Arthur wheezed, his voice broken and raw.
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The conspirator froze, his hands loosening on Leo’s jacket as the horrifying reality of the failed murder was laid bare in the well-lit living room. Maria stared down at the open casket, her face draining of all color, realizing the game was finally, irrevocably over.
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