Chapter 4 - Threshold of the Inferno
The hearse came to a complete stop.
The engine idled with a deep, rhythmic thrum that vibrated through the metal frame of the casket. Outside, muffled voices exchanged brief, clipped greetings.
“Papers signed?” a gruff, unfamiliar voice asked.
“Right here,” Olivia’s voice replied, crisp and devoid of emotion. “Direct cremation, no viewing service at the facility. Just straight into the chamber per the deceased’s final written instructions.”
“Got it,” the man grunted. “Park the car around back by the loading dock. We’re running right on schedule. Furnace number two is already preheated to twelve hundred degrees.”
Twelve hundred degrees.
The words struck my ears like hammer blows. Twelve hundred degrees of roaring, consuming fire designed to reduce flesh, bone, and identity into a handful of gray dust in less than forty minutes.
The rear doors of the hearse flew open with a loud rattle. A rush of cold, damp air flooded the compartment, carrying the faint, sickening scent of scorched metal, natural gas, and old ash.
Hands grabbed the brass handles of the casket.
“Easy on the turn,” the crematory worker muttered to his partner as they dragged the heavy mahogany box out of the vehicle.
The sudden tilting motion nearly dislodged my left hand from my suit pocket, but I locked my paralyzed fingers downward with every ounce of stubborn desperation I possessed. My fingertips grazed the cold, hard edge of the platinum signet ring.
Got it.
I managed to hook my index finger through the heavy band of the ring, pulling it loose from the pocket just as the casket was set down on a set of squeaking metal rollers.
“Where do you want this, Mrs. Marcelli?” the worker called out.
“Right onto the transfer table,” Olivia’s footsteps echoed sharply on the concrete floor just a few feet away. “Mason, do you have the receipt?”
“Here,” Mason’s voice answered, sounding entirely too calm for a man about to watch his former patient burned alive. “Let’s get this over with. The rain is starting to pick up.”
The metallic rattle of the rollers resumed.
The casket moved forward, sliding off the loading platform and into the dim, cavernous interior of the crematory holding room. The ambient temperature dropped sharply, replaced almost instantly by a rolling wave of dry, suffocating heat radiating from the massive brick and steel incinerator units lining the far wall.
Boom.
The heavy iron door of the furnace opened somewhere to my right, unleashing a wall of roaring thermal energy that made the wood of the casket creak and groan under the sudden thermal stress.
“Slide her in,” the operator instructed.
I was lying inches away from the threshold of the incinerator.
Through the thin veneer of mahogany and the quilted satin lining, I could hear the terrifying, jet-engine roar of the gas burners eating oxygen inside the chamber. The air inside my coffin was now searingly hot, scorching my throat with every agonizing, shallow breath I managed to drag into my lungs.
My heart was hammering so violently against my ribs I thought my chest wall would crack.
Now. Do it now.
With my left hand clutching the heavy platinum signet ring inside my pocket, I dragged my arm upward against the fabric, positioning the metal ring directly against the inner lid of the casket, right above my face.
If I couldn't speak, if I couldn't move my legs, if I couldn't open my eyes...
I had to make a sound that could not be ignored.
The casket rolled forward. The front tip of the wooden box crossed the threshold into the searing heat of the metal chamber.
The automated hydraulic arm engaged with a heavy clack, preparing to push the entire box deep into the heart of the fire.
With a frantic, tearing surge of adrenaline that defied the neurotoxin paralyzing my nervous system, I slammed the heavy platinum ring upward against the wood.
Thud.
A dull, heavy knock echoed inside the hollow chamber.
May you like
The hydraulic arm paused mid-stroke.
Outside, total silence fell over the room.
