Chapter 1 - The Fire and the AwakeningThe roar of the crematorium burner was a living, breathing monster just inches beneath the floorboards, its iron belly hungrily waiting for my flesh.
I lay trapped inside the polished satin-lined prison of my own casket, my mind screaming with a terror that tore at the edges of my consciousness, while my body remained a stubborn, locked cage. The paralytic Olivia and Mason had slipped into my cinnamon coffee hadn't completely worn off; it had left my motor neurons paralyzed, turning my muscles into lead while hyper-sensitizing my nervous system to every agonizing detail.
I could feel the vibration of the rollers beneath the casket as the cemetery attendants pushed my final resting place toward the roaring furnace doors. I could smell the sickeningly sweet scent of funeral lilies mingling with the scorched metallic tang of industrial gas flames.
And then, I heard Olivia’s voice, cold and triumphant, murmuring just outside the wooden barrier.
"Just push it in," she instructed the technician, her hand brushing casually against the polished oak lid as if she were checking luggage at an airport. "We have a lawyer waiting at the mansion to sign over the probate papers by midnight."
"Are you sure there won't be any complications?" Mason asked, his voice low, betraying a brief twitch of nerves. "A closed-casket service is one thing, but full incineration—"
"Stop second-guessing yourself, Mason," Olivia snapped back, the venom in her tone cutting through the thick air. "The death certificate is signed by Dr. Vance, the coroner is paid off, and Ethan’s family is three states away. Once the oven doors close, there is no evidence left. No blood work, no toxicology, nothing."
The metal rollers squeaked. The casket shifted forward.
A sudden blast of intense, blistering heat washed over the top of the oak lid, radiating downward like an open oven door in hell.
Not yet, my soul roared against the heavy walls of my paralyzed flesh. Not like this. Not to these two parasites.
In that fraction of a second, as the automated conveyor belt clicked into motion to slide me into the incinerator chamber, a massive surge of adrenaline—fueled by pure, unadulterated rage—ripped through my central nervous system. The paralytic agent fought against my adrenaline, but my left hand jerked violently inside the satin lining, my fingernails scratching a sharp, frantic scritch against the inner wood.
"Wait!" I forced a sound out—a ragged, choked gasp that sounded less like a human voice and more like a dying animal's rattle.
Outside, footsteps froze instantly.
"Did... did you hear that?" Mason whispered, his voice trembling.
"It's just settling gases," Olivia dismissed coldly, though her footsteps stepped back from the console. "Push the button."
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With a final, desperate heave of my will, I slammed my shoulder against the inside of the lid. The wood groaned. The latch, weakened by a hasty manufacturer defect, snapped open half an inch. Fresh, breathable air rushed into my lungs, burning my throat like fire.
I opened my eyes, staring straight into the blinding glare of the crematorium lights, and let out a scream that froze everyone in the room.
