They Held My Funeral While I Was Still Breathing. Then My Seven-Year-Old Nephew Looked Into the Coffin and Said, “Mommy, Aunt Madelyn Is Looking at Me”
“Take it off her right now.”
And as my sister fumbled at the little clasp with shaking fingers, another memory surfaced through the fog — Christopher’s voice, low in the kitchen the night before, just before the dark took me: Don’t worry about her.
Tomorrow she won’t be able to stop a single thing we do.
Chapter 8 — Call the Police
When the paramedics reached me, one of them crouched down and asked, gently, if I knew where I was.
I looked past his shoulder — at the open coffin, at my mother shaking, at my sister pinned against the wall with her bare neck now, the necklace back in someone’s hand.