We waited.
Silence.
A couple of minutes passed.
"Maybe I was wrong," said Roger, stepping away from the tree.
I stood back up, brushing off my shirt, and gave him what I deemed to be a suitably dirty look. "Just for that, you're the one searching the corpse for the key. Put on the gloves."
"Let me give that idea full consideration before I reject it," said Roger. He pretended to think for a moment. "Okay, now I've rejected it."
"If we're dividing the money equally, we should divide the duties equally. And since I've done about seven-eighths of the digging, I think it's only fair that you should have to reach into a corpse mouth if it becomes necessary."
Roger shook his head. "Weren't youan archaeology major for a couple weeks? You should have no problem handling dead things."
"I'll flip you for it," I said, taking a quarter out of my pocket. "Call it in the air." I flipped the coin into the air.
"Heads."
I caught it. "Tails," I lied.
"You're lying."
"No I'm not," I lied again.
"Rock, Paper, Scissors," Roger suggested. "It's the only fair way."
"Oh, yeah, real fair.Like I haven't seen you make your selectionjuuuuuuuust a bit late before."
"How about we both search together?"
"Sure. Why don't we call in some friends, make a group project out of it?"
I picked up the shovel, lifted it above the padlock, and brought it down as hard as I could. There was a loud clang as the padlock broke.
"Now," I said, "I'm going to open this coffin, and one of us is going to have to get the key. I'll make you a deal. I'll get the key if you mow my—"
A bullet fired upward through the lid of the coffin, nearly grazing my ear. With a surprised yelp I leapt out of the grave as two more gunshots were fired from within the coffin, splintering the lid.
Roger dove for cover. "Whatthehell ?!? "
Then there was a loud screaming. It sounded like attempts at words, but they were completely incoherent. As I scrambled out of the way of any more potential shots,whomever was inside began to pound on the lid.
Another gunshot.
More screaming.
And then I heard the lid fly open.
Chapter 3
MICHAEL ASHCRAFT—if this was him—sat up with the loudest shriek yet. He looked about thirty, with black hair that stuck out like a fright wig. His eyes were open wide, as he swung the revolver around wildly. He squeezed off another shot, but was obviously just firing at random, not trying to hit anything.
"Calm down! You're going to be all right!" I assured him, feeling oh-so incredibly stupid as I said it.
Michael's screams stopped and he began writhing back and forth, whimpering. Being buried alive is obviously not conducive to good mental health. Roger and I remained motionless for a long moment, unable to do anything but watch.
Finally I spoke up. "Michael, can you hear me?"
His head began to jerk violently from side to side as he began babbling gibberish. He slammed the barrel of the revolver against the side of his head, but I couldn't tell if it was a suicidal impulse or an insane reflex.
"Listen to me, Michael," I said. "We're here to help you."
He continued bashing the revolver against his skull. I flinched with each blow, but kept my voice calm. "Michael, can you understand what I'm saying? Stop beating the shit out of yourself if you can understand what I'm saying."
Michael dropped the revolver. Blood trickled from the lacerations he'd given himself. He began making a sound that was either laughter or sobbing—I couldn't tell.
He looked at me. That is, he turned his head toward me, though his eyes remained wild and unfocused.
"Who did this to you?" I demanded.
He resumed shrieking.
"Michael, who did this to you?"I repeated, even though I could barely hear myself over his screams. He continued like that for another thirty seconds or so, then died down and began whimpering again.
"We need to get out of here," Roger whispered.
"We can't just leave him like this," I insisted. "You go getJennifer, I'll stay here and see if I can get through to him."
"Think he has any more bullets in that gun?"
Michael lifted his hands and began to rub his eyes. I could see that his fingers were raw and bloody, the nails cracked, and a quick glance at the bottom of the coffin lid revealed that it was covered with deep scratches that hadn't even come close to breaking through. Once again he started in with those nerve-shattering screams.
Then, without warning, he curled his fingers into claws and ripped out his own eyes.
"Jesus!" Roger gasped.
My stomach gave a horrible lurch as I jumped up and rushed over to the grave. Michael's head lolled back, bloody sockets glistening, and he almost looked as if he were going to smile. Then he collapsed.
I could barely bring myself to touch him for fear that he might spring back to life, grabbing for my throat, but I worked up the courage to reach down to his wrist and check for a pulse. There was none. His heart probably gave out.
Roger's hand was pressed tightly over his mouth and I actually expected him to burst into tears. He just sat there, trembling.
"He's dead," I told him.
Roger gave an almost imperceptible nod.
"What do you think we should do?" I asked.
"Kill Jennifer."
"I'm serious." I really needed something to drink. I walked over to the cooler and grabbed a beer. My motor skills weren't at their best, and it took me three tries to open it. I took a long gulp, draining most of the can. "Should we ditch Jennifer and call the cops?"
Roger shrugged.
"We need to decide something. Now, if we call the police, we're going to have some big-time explaining to do. And if we tell them what really happened, even if they don't accuse us of trying to kill him we're still in serious trouble."
"We'll have to lie to them."
"And say what? That we just happened to be passing through the park with our digging supplies when we heard a lunatic screaming underground and decided to give him a helping hand?"
"We could say...I don't know what we could say. Leave me to my nervous breakdown, okay?"
I cracked my knuckles. "We need to cover this up, literally. We need to rebury him. And then find out for ourselves what the hell is going on."
"We know what's going on! That freaky chick buried her husband alive!"
"Maybe.But why would she have us dig him up?"
"She probably thought he'd be dead by now."
I shook my head. "Why would she need us to get the key if she was the one who buried him? It doesn't make any sense."
"There may not even be a key! This whole thing could have been an assassination attempt on us!"
"Oh, sure.I know if I wanted to kill somebody there's no better way to do it than hire him to dig up a coffin holding an insane guy packing heat. C'mon, Roger, we have to be logical."
"I'm sorry, it's just that my sense of logic gets messed up when I watch somebody rip out hisfreakin ' eyeballs! Jesus Christ! Can you imagine what it'sgotta be like to be buried alive like that?"
I was trying not to. I closed my eyes for a few seconds to clear my thoughts, and then took a deep breath. Oxygen was usually beneficial in situations like these. "Okay, the first thing we have to do is search the body."
"Yousearchthe body."