“I’ve got you!” Mitchell yells. He’s on the ground, lying down so he doesn’t lose his grip on me.
My feet feel the solid ground beneath me. “I’m okay. I have some footing.”
“I don’t trust that footing. The ground just let loose under you. It could do it again.”
“No, it can’t,” I say. “Not completely at least. I’m standing in a grave.”
“I still don’t trust it. Let me pull you up.”
“No. Not yet. I have an idea.”
“Piper, this is too dangerous. Just drop the shovel and give me your other hand so I can pull you out.”
Not happening. At least the pulling me out part. “I have to read the grave to see if Randall touched this one. Let go.”
“Are you insane? I’m not letting go of you!” His grip tightens.
“You’re going to have to. You’re holding my right hand.” I try to pull it from him, but he’s not relenting. “Mitchell, you are not my father, and even if you were, I’m a grown woman. You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do. Now let go.” I give a final tug of my hand, and he releases me. My feet are steady on the top of the casket. “See. I’m fine.”
Mitchell doesn’t move from his position, ready to grab me again if necessary. “Just hurry up and do this so I can get you out of there.”
I bend down and place my right hand on top of the casket.
A little girl no older than five places a rose on top of the casket and then skips back to her mother, who is crying onto a man’s shoulder. She bends down and hugs the girl, who clearly doesn’t understand the concept of a funeral.
I stand back up. “Nothing.” I look at the shovel in my left hand.
“Give me your hand,” Mitchell says.
It’s dark, and this could be my last shot to find something helpful tonight.
“Piper, don’t even think about it. We can take the shovel if you want. We’ll bring it back to your place. It’s safer to have a vision there anyway.”
But that would mean abandoning Lester. Leaving him for dead.
“Ask me questions.” My voice shakes. “I need to know if I can save Lester tonight.”
Mitchell huffs, but he obliges. “What’s your favorite flavor of coffee?”
“Toasted almond,” I say.
“What did we find in Maggie’s lunch bag?”
“An apple.”
“When was the last time you attended a church service?”
“When I was eleven.”
“What’s your dog’s name?”
“Jezebel.”
“Is Lester Chapman alive?”
“No.” Damn it. I stand up and reach for Mitchell, but he takes the shovel first so he can use both hands to pull me out of the sinkhole. “I’m sorry,” he says once we’re on our way back to the church.
“I’m starting to realize I’m going to lose more people than I save.”
“It’s the unfortunate truth of what we do.” Mitchell tries the doors on the church, but they’re locked. “I guess we missed Pastor Evans.”
We were searching for a while. “Let’s go. I’ll try to read this shovel at home, and we’ll hopefully find Randall Williams tomorrow.”
Mitchell drives us back to my place and immediately walks Jezebel for me. I wonder what Jez thinks of Mitchell and me. He’s always here, always taking her for walks. God, we have this totally dysfunctional relationship I couldn’t define if I wanted to. And I definitely don’t want to.
I lie down on the couch, clutching the shovel against my chest, and stare up at the ceiling. At some point, I drift off to sleep.
“You’re the worst one of all, Pastor. You harp about all our sins, but what about yours? You’re never satisfied. Never happy with what you have or what we give you. You’re gluttonous. One of the worst sinners, and you don’t even see it.”
“Randall, please,” Pastor Evans says from his bound position on the floor of the dark room.
“Come on now, Pastor. You of all people can’t possibly be afraid to die. Where is your faith?” Randall leans down and grabs Pastor Evans’s face. “Or are you afraid your sins will keep you from spending your afterlife in Heaven? Is that it, Pastor?”
Pastor Evans is visibly shaking now. “What do you want from me, Randall?”
“I want you to pay for your sins. I want you to beg for forgiveness.”
“Fine. I beg your forgiveness, Randall. Please, give me a chance to make this right.” The minister presses his palms together. Possibly praying or pleading. Maybe both.
“Ah, you are asking the wrong person. Though I see your confusion. My sin lies in my judgment and anger toward all of you. I will be judged for that. Just as you will be judged for your sins. We will both pay, Pastor. I promise you that.” He yanks Pastor Evans to his feet. “It’s time.”
“Time for what? What are you going to do?”
“Give you a proper burial as you exit this life and face your final judgment.”
“No. Randall, please.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve chosen a very special resting place for you. I think you’ll be pleased.” Randall pulls Pastor Evans from the utility shed on the church property and over to an open grave. The casket beside it isn’t empty. A skeleton deteriorated by time rests inside.
Pastor Evans screams.
I bolt straight up on the couch, letting the shovel fall from my hand to the floor. Jezebel barks, and I open my eyes to realize I’m screaming. I quiet, and she nuzzles her head under my chin.
Mitchell is squatting next to me.
“You stayed?” I ask.
“I was afraid something like this would happen.” He moves the shovel farther away from the couch as if he’s worried I’ll try reading it again. I’m not going to do that.
“Pastor Evans is the final victim before Randall takes his own life.”
Mitchell’s eyes widen.
“I saw Randall with him. He buried him in the church cemetery. On the new side. He’s using...” I pause to gulp in air since I haven’t taken a single breath since the vision ended. “He’s putting his victims in the caskets that are being dug up and reburied in the new section.”
“Oh my God.” He stands up and drags a hand through his hair. “Did you see where he buried Pastor Evans?”
“No. I only saw the open casket with the body. I don’t know where he buried it.” The work in the cemetery has ceased thanks to the investigation, which means Randall has the entire place to himself. We gave him the perfect opportunity to finish his plan. The thought makes me sick to my stomach. “We need to go right now. We can still save Pastor Evans.”
Mitchell grabs his keys off the coffee table, and we’re out the door with our jackets on in under sixty seconds. According to my phone, it’s 4:32 a.m. Too early to call Dad. Mitchell must not want to bother him at this time of the morning either because he calls the station for backup instead. I look up how long a person can survive buried alive. To my dismay, there are YouTube videos on this very thing. No wonder killers these days have no trouble committing crimes. Stupid people leave video instructions on how to pull them off. My fist clenches in fury as I discover we have about five and a half hours from the time Pastor Evans was sealed inside the casket. The problem is I don’t know when that was.
With the police light flashing on top of Mitchell’s car and the fact that there aren’t many cars on the roads at this time of night, we make it to the cemetery in record time. Mitchell drives right to the new section, and we jump out the second he cuts the engine.
“Look for a fresh grave,” I say. “Possibly an open grave, too. I don’t know if Randall put himself in a casket yet or is waiting until tomorrow.” So far, he’s only taken one person a night, but he must have realized work was ceased at the cemetery for a reason. He hasn’t shown up for work or talked to anyone but his victims in at least a day, so that could mean he knows we’re on to him. And that could have caused him to expedite the remainder of his plan.
We run through the cemetery to a freshly dug grave. Mitchell has the shovel we brought back to my place, and he immediately starts digging. That’s going to take more time than we have though, especially since there are too many new graves to begin with. We need the bucket loader.
I run over to it, but the key isn’t in the ignition. I race over to the utility shed since that’s where Randall had Pastor Evans. The key must be there. I pull the door open and search for a light switch. Once the room is illuminated, I spot a set of keys hanging from a hook on the wall. I feel the energy radiating from them before I even make contact. Randall’s rage is all over them. One in particular. I grab the key and hurry back to the bucket loader.
“What are you doing?” Mitchell calls to me.
“Speeding this up.” I allow myself to focus on the energy of the key. Images of Randall operating the bucket loader fill my mind. I mimic his actions as I insert the key and turn it to the right. I press the throttle forward a little, depress the brakes and clutch, and then press the ignition button above the key. The engine starts, and I push the throttle all the way forward.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Mitchell yells.
“No, but Randall does. Now be quiet.” I have to fully immerse myself in the vision to operate this machine. I allow the images in my mind to take over, and I drive the machine to the grave Mitchell is digging. He backs out of my way.
I scoop the dirt, which thankfully is soft thanks to the warmer weather we’ve been having. Once I hit the casket, I back up the machine to give us room and hop out to help Mitchell by hand from here. We have to use the shovel to dig around the edges of the casket so we can get it open. It takes both of us to pry off the lid. Luckily it’s not sealed tightly. Randall was using the weight of the dirt—six feet of it—to keep the caskets closed. I’m also convinced Pastor Evans was the only one who was buried while still conscious. Randall wanted him to suffer the most.
Mitchell opens the lid to see a woman I know is Maggie Burns. I turn away, not wanting this image of her to be burned in my brain forever. And that’s when I notice another grave, freshly dug and not recovered with dirt. “There! Randall couldn’t fully bury himself. That has to be him!”
Mitchell lowers the lid on Maggie’s casket and rushes over to the open grave with me. Mitchell tries to open the lid of the casket, but it won’t budge.
“He must have sealed himself in there somehow.” He wants to die, to punish himself for his sins, and clearly, he designed this casket to lock from the inside and be airtight.
Mitchell uses the shovel like a crowbar, which winds up breaking the wooden lid. We pry the lid of the casket up to see Randall’s face twisted in rage. He’s slow to move, which means he’s been buried for a while and the carbon dioxide he’s been breathing has slowed his body function significantly.
Mitchell immediately cuffs him before he can attempt to get away, not that I think he’d have any chance of doing that in his current state. He can’t even speak coherently. His words are nothing but mutters. And that means he can’t tell us where Pastor Evans is buried, not that I think he would.
“Piper, can you read him?” Mitchell asks me.
“Get him out of the grave. He needs medical attention.”
“What are you going to do? We have to find Pastor Evans.”
“We’re going to. Just get him out of the casket.” I can’t get on with my plan until Randall is moved since he’s currently occupying the space I need to read.
Mitchell hoists Randall out of the ground and reads him his rights before calling the station for backup.
I lower myself into the casket, which is creepy enough as it is, but considering it’s also occupied by a skeleton, this is downright horrifying. Still, I’m not touching Randall. Even handcuffed, I know he’d try to kill me somehow if I came into contact with him. I’d never get a good read with him struggling against me, and time is of the essence.
I close my eyes and pretend there isn’t a human skull next to my head.
“What’s wrong, Pastor. I thought you’d be happy to be buried with your very own grandfather. It’s really a lot more than you deserve, don’t you think? I mean, you were named after him. Or do you think he’ll be upset you chose not to marry and have a son to become Chandler Evans the Fourth?”
That’s all I need to see. “He’s buried in Chandler Evans’s grave.” I climb out of the casket, but getting out of the six-foot hole is a lot tougher. Mitchell moves over to give me a hand, while keeping an eye on Randall.
“Don’t even think about moving,” he warns him.
Randall doesn’t listen. He attempts to get up.
Mitchell grabs both of my hands and hoists me up. The second I’m out, Randall uses all his strength to lunge at me. We both fall back into the grave, the skull getting crushed under my back, causing jagged edges to dig into me in several places. Randall’s knee is pressing against my neck, squeezing the air out of me. I dig my nails into his leg, but he doesn’t let up at all.
“Get off of her now, or I’ll shoot!” Mitchell yells, his gun trained on Randall.
With my hands on him, I can read his emotions. He wants to die. If he doesn’t, his plan isn’t fulfilled. I can’t tell Mitchell that though because I can’t breathe or speak.
Mitchell fires a warning shot, and Randall’s body lowers closer to mine. I take the opportunity to ram my knee straight up into his groin. He groans but doesn’t let go. This can only end in one way: with one of us dying.