"But this is my mother."
He turned toward the coffin.
Then he noticed something beneath the flowers.
A tiny scratch.
Almost invisible.
On the side of the coffin.
Noah moved closer.
The scratch looked fresh.
Three short lines.
Then three more.
A pattern.
His heart began racing.
He knew that pattern.
Claire had taught it to him when he was seven.
It was their secret way of writing the letter N.
Noah's face went white.
He whispered:
"Mom..."
And from somewhere beneath the flowers came a sound.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The entire room went silent.
Nobody moved.
The rain continued against the tall windows.
The quartet had stopped playing.
Even the candles seemed unnaturally still.
Noah stared at the coffin.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
This time everyone heard it.
A woman screamed.
Someone dropped a glass.
Daniel took one step backward.
Victoria covered her mouth.
"Open it," Noah whispered.
Daniel immediately shook his head.
"No."
"Did you hear that?"
"Noah, you're imagining things."
Victoria stepped forward.
"Daniel."
He turned toward her.
"What?"
"I heard it too."
Daniel's jaw tightened.
"Grief can make people hear things."
"Three times?"
He said nothing.
The funeral director approached cautiously.
"Mr. Whitmore, perhaps we should—"
"Nobody touches the coffin."
Daniel's voice was so sharp that the man stopped.
Noah looked at him.
"Why?"
"Because this is a funeral."
"No. You're afraid."
Daniel stared at him.
For the first time, Noah realized something.
Daniel wasn't grieving.
He was terrified.
Victoria noticed it too.
She walked toward the coffin.
Daniel blocked her.
"Victoria, stop."
"Move."
"I said stop."
"You don't get to tell me what to do."
She looked directly into his eyes.
"What are you hiding?"
Daniel didn't answer.
Noah suddenly noticed another detail.
There was a small ventilation valve on the bottom of the coffin.
It had been covered by a decorative strip.
He remembered seeing the same kind of valve on medical transport boxes.
His heart pounded.
"That's not a normal coffin."
The funeral director looked confused.
"What?"
Noah pointed.
"That."
Everyone stared.
The decorative strip had begun moving slightly.
Not from the wind.
From inside.
Victoria stepped back.
"Daniel..."
He still said nothing.
Noah ran toward the coffin.
Two guards tried to stop him.
But Victoria shouted:
"Let him go!"
The boy reached the lid.
His fingers touched the polished wood.
"Mom?"
Nothing.
Then—
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Noah began crying.
"Mom, I'm here."
Another sound came from inside.
A weak scraping noise.
The funeral director finally understood.