Chapter 5 - The Resurrection
Adrian tapped the microphone. The church fell into absolute silence.
“Elena was a delicate soul,” his voice resonated through the speakers, dripping with manufactured sorrow. “She saw the world through a lens of anxiety that I tried desperately, every single day, to shield her from...”
My father pushed the heavy oak side doors open. The hinges groaned loudly, interrupting Adrian’s speech.
Three hundred heads turned toward the sound.
I stepped out of the shadows and walked into the aisle, my father right beside me.
The silence in the cathedral shattered. Gasps ripped through the room. Someone in the second row dropped a heavy Bible, the thud echoing like a gunshot. A woman near the aisle let out a piercing shriek.
I walked slowly, my heels clicking rhythmically against the marble floor. I didn't look at the guests. I didn't look at the flashing cameras. My eyes were locked dead onto Adrian Vale.
The color drained from his face with such violent speed I thought he might faint. His mouth fell open. The microphone slipped from his trembling fingers, hitting the podium with a deafening screech of feedback.
“E-Elena?” he stammered, stepping backward, nearly tripping over the floral arrangements.
Celeste scrambled backward, her hands flying to her mouth, her eyes wide with unadulterated terror. She looked as though she had seen a demon.
I stopped at the foot of the altar, mere feet from my own coffin.
“Hello, Adrian,” I said. My voice was calm, clear, and carried perfectly across the stunned crowd without the need for a microphone.
“This is impossible,” Adrian whispered, his eyes darting frantically to the closed coffin and back to me. “You... the car...”
“The sedative wasn't strong enough,” I replied, loud enough for the front rows to hear. “And you really should have checked for my locket before you pushed the car over the cliff.”
Chaos erupted in the pews. Reporters started shouting questions. Investors stood up in shock.
Adrian’s survival instinct kicked in. He lunged forward, trying to grab my arm, trying to play the relieved husband. “Elena! Oh my god, you’re alive! It’s a miracle!”
My father stepped between us, shoving Adrian back with surprising force for a man his age.
“Don't touch her,” Dad snarled. He raised his hand, pointing a finger at Adrian’s chest. “You’re done, Vale.”
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Dad pressed a button on the small remote in his pocket.
From the massive church speakers, replacing the soft organ music, came the crisp, clear audio of Adrian’s own voice from the night of the crash.
