Chapter 1 - THE GIRL INSIDE THE COFFIN
The funeral director’s hands shook as he approached the small white coffin.
“I need the parents’ permission,” he whispered.
Tomas Vasquez looked at his wife.
Rosa’s face had gone gray.
Her fingers clutched the stuffed bunny she had planned to place beneath Elena’s arm before burial.
Bruno scratched the coffin again.
A faint sound came from inside.
Not a knock.
Not exactly.
More like a fingernail dragging weakly across satin.
Rosa screamed.
“Open it.”
The funeral director released the first latch.
Then the second.
Marco tried to move toward the side exit.
Tony slammed him back against the wall.
“You stay.”
The funeral director lifted the lid.
Elena lay beneath white lace.
Her face was pale.
Cotton had been placed inside her nostrils.
Her hands were folded across her chest.
For one terrible second, she looked exactly like a dead child.
Then Bruno pushed his nose against her cheek.
Her lips moved.
A tiny breath escaped them.
Rosa collapsed against Tomas.
“My baby.”
I reached into the coffin and pressed two fingers against Elena’s neck.
Nothing.
Then I felt it.
A pulse so faint it could have been imagined.
But Bruno had not imagined it.
“She’s alive.”
The room exploded.
Tomas pushed forward.
Rosa screamed Elena’s name.
The funeral director backed into a flower stand and knocked it over.
Marco stopped struggling.
His face showed something worse than fear.
Recognition.
He had known this was possible.
“Tony, call my doctor.”
I looked toward the men guarding the entrance.
“Seal every door.”
“Nobody leaves.”
The funeral director raised both hands.
“I did not know.”
I grabbed the front of his suit.
“You put a living child in a coffin.”
“The hospital delivered her sealed.”
“The death certificate was complete.”
“I was told not to perform additional preparation.”
“Who told you?”
His eyes moved toward Marco.
Marco shook his head.
“Do not look at me.”
The director’s voice broke.
“Dr. Samuel Crane.”
I knew the name.
Crane ran a private emergency clinic near Flushing.
He also treated men connected to Victor Harlan.
Elena’s chest rose once.
Then stopped.
Bruno whined.
I lifted her from the coffin.
She weighed almost nothing.
Her head fell against my shoulder.
A small puncture mark showed behind her left ear.
Another marked the inside of her elbow.
“She was drugged,” Tony said.
Marco began talking quickly.
“I didn’t know they kept her alive.”
“I swear.”
Tomas lunged toward him.
I turned my body so Elena remained protected.
“Not yet.”
“He killed my daughter.”
“No.”
I looked at the weak child in my arms.
“He failed.”
My physician, Dr. Lucia Ferraro, arrived seven minutes later.
She entered carrying an emergency case and dropped beside the coffin.
“Place her on the floor.”
Rosa protested.
Lucia looked at her.
“If we waste time, she will die for real.”
We laid Elena on the carpet.
Lucia removed the cotton from her nose.
She placed an oxygen mask over the child’s face.
Then she examined her pupils.
“This is not a coma from the accident.”
“What is it?”
“A paralytic and a heavy sedative.”
“She may be conscious beneath it.”
Rosa made another broken sound.
Lucia prepared an injection.
“This should reverse part of the medication.”
“Should?” Tomas asked.
“I do not know the dose.”
She injected Elena.
Nothing happened.
Then the child’s hand moved.
One finger curled toward Bruno.
The dog placed his paw beside it.
Elena’s eyes opened halfway.
Her voice was barely air.
May you like
“Blue truck.”
Then she stopped breathing.
