Chapter 3
"Get the shovel!" William roared, his former stoic composure completely shattering into primal, desperate instinct.
He grabbed the heavy silver shovel off the floor, jamming the metal blade into the crack made by Clara moments earlier.
Julian’s face turned ghost-white as he backed away toward the side exit of the cathedral.
"Stop him! He's desecrating his own son's body!" Julian screamed to the confused mourners, but no one moved.
William threw his entire weight onto the shovel handle, snapping the heavy brass locks with a thunderous metallic crunch.
He ripped the white coffin lid open, flinging it back against the altar rail where it crashed into splinters.
Lying on the plush satin cushion was twenty-four-year-old Ethan Vance, his face pale, his lips blue, but his chest rising in shallow, rapid breaths.
Ethan’s eyes fluttered open weakly, staring up at his father through a haze of heavy sedative poison.
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"Dad..." Ethan choked out, his voice barely audible under the cathedral arches.
William fell over his son, tears streaming down his face as he pulled Ethan’s shivering body into a tight, desperate embrace.
