I was standing above my husband’s coffin, my fingers trembling from dropping the last handful of dirt, when my phone vibrated. No caller ID. Four words that ripped through me: “I’m still alive.”…
The chilly November drizzle in Boston transformed Oak Hill Cemetery into a somber, gray landscape. Black umbrellas bobbed like a flock of crows gathered around the freshly dug grave.
I, Sarah Mitchell, stood staring as the mahogany coffin was slowly lowered. Inside was Richard—my husband. Or at least, that was all that remained of him after the horrific accident on I-90 three days earlier. The car had plunged into the ravine and burst into flames. The police could only confirm his identity through dental records and the wedding ring engraved with my name, still clinging to his charred finger.
“Sarah,” my mother whispered, placing her hand on my shoulder. “It’s time.”
I trembled as I stepped forward, grasping a handful of cold, damp earth. I didn’t cry. My tears had dried up the night the police knocked on our door. But deep down, alongside the pain, there was another emotion I dared not acknowledge: relief.
Richard was a powerful, wealthy man, but also a pathologically controlling one. Ten years of marriage were ten years I lived in a gilded cage, my every move monitored, my every message scrutinized.
I dropped a handful of earth. The sound of the earth falling onto the coffin lid echoed like a hammer hammering into my heart.
Thump. Thump.
It’s over. I told myself. I’m free now.
Just then, the phone in my black jacket pocket vibrated.
I intended to ignore it. Who would call at this hour? But it vibrated incessantly, persistently, like a warning. I secretly reached into my pocket and looked at the screen.
Unknown Caller ID.
A gut feeling told me I had to answer. I stepped back a few paces, separating myself from the crowd that was beginning to disperse, and put the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” My voice was hoarse.
There was a moment of silence on the other end. Only the sound of hesitant breathing and the whistling of wind through some crack.
Then, four words rang out. Four words that tore through my mind, making the blood in my veins freeze:
“I’m still alive…”
That voice. Deep, hoarse, and carrying that familiar, chillingly mocking tone.
It was Richard’s voice.
The phone slipped from my hand, falling onto the wet grass.
I don’t remember how I left the cemetery. Everything blurred in my panic. I drove like a madman to our lakeside villa.
If Richard was alive, then who was in that coffin? And why did he do it?
I rushed into the house, locked the door, my heart pounding as if it would burst. The large house was empty and cold. Richard’s sandalwood cologne still lingered on the curtains.
My phone rang again.
It was still an anonymous number.
I tremblingly answered, putting it on speakerphone.
“Richard?” I shouted. “Where are you? What the hell is going on?”
“Shhh…” Richard’s voice came through, eerily calm. “Aren’t you happy, Sarah? You just buried your husband without shedding a single tear. I watched you through binoculars. You looked… quite relieved.”
“Where… where are you?” I glanced nervously out the window, pulling the curtains shut.
“I’m very close. But that’s not the important thing. The important thing is that you do as I say, if you don’t want the police to know the truth about the night before I ‘died’.”
I was speechless. The night before the accident, we’d had a terrible argument. Richard had discovered my intention to divorce him and had threatened to take our daughter away forever. In a fit of rage, I’d yelled, “I wish you were dead!”
“What do you want?” I asked, trying to remain calm.
“I need cash. My account has been frozen because of this fake death. Go to the secret safe in my office, take $500,000 in cash, and bring it to the old warehouse at the harbor at 10 o’clock tonight. Don’t call the police. If you do, I’ll send them the security camera footage… the video of you secretly meeting your young lover.”
I collapsed to the floor.
Richard knew about Mark.
Mark was my fitness trainer. The only man who had ever made me feel loved during these hellish years. We had been meeting secretly, planning our elopement.
But… Mark had been missing for four days. He hadn’t replied to my texts, hadn’t shown up at the gym. I thought he’d run away because he’d been scared by Richard’s accident.
“Okay,” I said, tears welling up. “I’ll bring the money. But then you’re out. Out of my life forever.”
“See you tonight, my love.”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
10 p.m. Boston Harbor was shrouded in thick fog.
I parked my car in front of Warehouse No. 4, where Richard had arranged to meet. On the passenger seat was a travel bag containing $500,000. But in my jacket pocket, my hand clutched the small pistol Richard had bought to “protect his family.”
I wouldn’t let him torment me anymore. If he was dead on paper, I would make it a reality.
I stepped into the dimly lit warehouse. Only a single yellow lamp flickered in the middle of the high ceiling.
“Richard!” I called, my voice echoing. “I brought the…”
“The money’s here!”
Footsteps echoed from the shadows. A figure emerged.
It was Richard.
He was still the same, tall, arrogant, in his black suit. But half his face was bandaged, and he limped. He had indeed survived the accident, but not unharmed.
“Good, Sarah,” Richard sneered, approaching. “Give me the money.”
“Where’s Mark?” I asked, a terrible premonition washing over me. “How do you know about Mark?” “What did you do to him?”
Richard stopped, tilting his head to look at me. His remaining eye gleamed with cruelty.
“You’re smarter than I thought,” Richard clicked his tongue. “Who do you think is in the coffin at Oak Hill Cemetery?”
I recoiled, nausea rising to my throat. “No… no way…”
“Mark has a jawline quite similar to mine,” Richard said casually, as if discussing the weather. “And as a top-tier dental surgeon, altering his dental records before… stuffing him in your car and driving off a cliff was easy enough. A little gasoline, a little fire… and boom. Mark became Richard.”
“You’re a devil!” I screamed, pulling out my gun and pointing it at him. “You killed Mark! You killed the man you loved just to fake his death and get away with the insurance money?”
“Not just for the money, Sarah. It was to punish you.” “He wants you to live your whole life tormented by burying your lover under your husband’s name. He wants you to suffer.”
Richard stepped forward, unafraid of the gun in my hand. “I wouldn’t dare shoot, Sarah. I’m too weak.” “Give me the money and go home and mourn your gigolo.”
My finger trembled on the trigger. He was right. I had never held a gun.
Richard snatched the money bag from my left hand, then slapped me hard across the face, sending me tumbling to the floor. The gun flew away.
“Stupid woman,” Richard spat on the floor. He turned his back and limped toward the back door of the warehouse, where a speedboat was waiting.
I lay on the cold floor, watching his figure disappear into the distance. The pain of losing Mark, the humiliation, and the hatred flared up like a fire.
But then, I remembered something.
This morning, before going to the cemetery, I had received an automated email from Mark. A timed email. He wrote: “If you read this, it means something has happened to me. Richard has found us. He’s threatening me. Sarah, check the secret compartment under your spare tire.” “He left something for me.”
I checked. It was a tiny GPS tracker and a voice recorder.
I turned on the recorder the moment I entered this warehouse.
And more importantly, I wasn’t here alone.
Just as Richard reached for the iron doorknob to exit, blinding spotlights suddenly blazed from all sides, tearing through the night.
“POLICE! PUT DOWN THE MONEY AND RAISE YOUR HANDS!”
The loudspeaker boomed. Dozens of armed police officers stormed in from every corner of the warehouse.
Richard froze. He turned to look at me with utter terror.
I slowly stood up, wiping the blood from the corner of my mouth. I was no longer trembling.
“You called the police?” Richard hissed. “Are you crazy? Do you want us both to die together?” “I’m having an affair…”
“Adultery isn’t a criminal offense, Richard,” I said loudly, my voice sharp and resonant. “But murder, faking death, and extortion are.” “Did you think I came here alone?”
I pulled the small recording device from my bra. The red light was still flashing.
“Your entire confession about killing Mark and staging the accident has been streamed live to Detective Miller outside.”
Richard roared like a wounded beast. He was about to pull out the gun hidden in his jacket.
Bang!
A sniper’s bullet struck Richard in the right shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground. Police rushed in, pinning him to the floor and handcuffing him.
I stepped closer to him. Richard looked up at me, pained and angry.
“You… you deceived me,” he whispered. “I thought you loved him… I thought you’d be devastated…”
I leaned down and whispered the final answer into his ear, a truth I’d never told anyone:
“You were wrong about one thing, Richard.” “Mark isn’t my lover.”
Richard’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Mark is the private investigator I hired six months ago to gather evidence of your dirty money laundering schemes. We pretended to be having an affair to catch you off guard, to make you jealous and reveal your weaknesses. I never imagined you’d be so cruel as to kill him.”
Tears streamed down my face, this time for Mark – my brave teammate who had sacrificed himself.
“He died so I could send you to prison. And I’ll make sure you rot in there, Richard. You didn’t die in a car accident.” “He’ll slowly die in state prison.”
The police dragged Richard away. He screamed and cursed, but his shouts were quickly drowned out by the sirens of the police cars.
I stepped out of the warehouse, breathing in the salty sea air. The fog had lifted.
Richard had called me and said, “I’m still alive.”
Yes, he was alive. But life…His time was over. As for me, after ten years of being held captive in fear, tonight I finally begin to truly live.
