“Maam, please,” he said. “This is very difficult, but the process must continue.”
Kimberly held up her phone, her voice breaking.
“Look at this. Look at the video. Something is wrong.”
Brian grabbed her arm. “Kim, the camera just fell. You are exhausted and grieving. Let him rest.”
Sandra stepped closer with a soft smile.
“Dear, you are hurting yourself. The boy is gone. Please trust us.”
But a mother heart does not listen to comfort. Kimberly stared at the screen again. The image shifted once more. Slowly. Deliberately. The camera turned upward. Tyler face returned into view.
Kimberly eyes widened. The camera had moved by itself. Curtis noticed her expression and leaned closer.
“What am I seeing,” he murmured.
On the screen, Tyler fingers twitched. Once. Twice. Then his hand curled around the small camera. The picture steadied as if guided by intention.
Kimberly screamed. “Open it. Open the coffin now.”
Curtis hesitated. Regulations screamed in his mind. But the terror in her voice cut through protocol. He slammed the emergency stop and pulled the lever that raised the lid.
The metal creaked upward. Steam rolled out. Gasps filled the room.
Inside, Tyler moved.