"The time has come," the funeral director checked the time and drew out his words. "Seal the casket."
At the mention of sealing the casket, a wave of heartache washed over Celeste.
Four pallbearers stood at each corner of the casket, hammer and nail at the ready, prepared to seal it at any moment.
The mourners stood in thirty neat rows, bowing in unison toward the portrait of the deceased.
The funeral director hosted the funeral.
Just as the nail was about to descend, Celeste suddenly pushed past her husband and flung herself onto the casket, sobbing, "No, don't! Don't nail it!"
Tears welled up in Alger's eyes, and he covered his face, unable to hold back his sobs.
Clutching the casket, Celeste tearfully asked the hundreds of mourners,
"Is there a chance—just a chance—that we got it wrong? That Crystal isn't really dead?
There have been many cases like this, haven't there? Everyone thinks the patient is dead, but they're actually still alive, still breathing.
