Immediately following Ruby’s outburst, Bo stood, asking Ruby to hand over the gun. She refused at first. Then Ruby did something Quinn had never seen her do before—something no one had likely ever seen her do before. She cried. But not just any cry. It was a mouth-propped-all-the-way-open, full-fledged wail.
A fury directed at God.
At Evie’s killer.
At all those who listened.
The congregation looked on in reverent silence, sympathizing with her pain. No one spoke. No one moved. Everyone just waited.
When the tears stopped, the gun seemed to melt out of Ruby’s limp hand, clattering on the hardwood floor below. Bo retrieved it, passing it off before escorting Ruby back to her seat, where her friends did their best to calm her.
A half hour later, the funeral was over. Quinn sat on a bench at the back of the room, patiently waiting until everyone departed, hoping for one final farewell before Evie’s body was carted off to its final resting place.
But who was she kidding?
Evie may have occupied the same space Quinn occupied now, Evie’s lifeless body decaying inside the confines of an ornately designed wooden box, but her spirit was gone. Quinn could say whatever she liked. Yell if she wanted. Scream. Sob until her tear ducts ran dry. None of it would make the slightest difference. Evie would never hear a word she said. These last moments together, they weren’t special. They weren’t reserved just for her.
They were over.
The closed-casket ceremony didn’t give Quinn the closure she needed. Evie’s death still didn’t feel real. Standing now at the front of the room, hunched over, hands pressed onto the lid of the casket, she felt like she was at a funeral for someone else, like she’d been at the wrong place the entire time.
The decision not to leave the casket open had been the right one. The only one. As the details of Evie’s murder slowly emerged, Quinn learned Evie’s death had occurred in the evening, inside Evie’s home. She’d been murdered while soaking in the bathtub, robbed from a fighting chance to retaliate. The murderer shot her in the face once, and then fired a couple additional shots to ensure the deed was done. Whoever killed her didn’t just want her dead, he wanted to make sure she stayed that way.
He was a butcher. A coward. A cold-blooded killer willing to slaughter a mother while her only child played in the next room. Standing beside Evie’s coffin now, Quinn suffered an unspeakable void, felt the beginnings of an unquenchable need building inside her. A need for revenge.