Chapter Fifty

CHAPTER FIFTY

brAD TURNER HOLDS Ellen's hand firmly, as if he's afraid she will turn and run. He needs her here with him. How would it look if she deserted him now? It was touch and go whether she would come to the funeral with him at all, and he's angry at her for putting him through that, although he's had to hide it. That she could even consider such a public snub, at a time like this. But she's coming around. Thank God for the skimpy notes Kelly wrote; he'd left out so much damning information.

He looks out over the packed church. The coffin is up at the front, surrounded by flowers. It's difficult to pick out who people are, from just the backs of their heads. But that's Diana's mother, right at the front, bent over and sobbing quietly. There's a man beside her – Diana's father? And also in the front row, Evan and Riley, Diana's friends. That makes him think of Cameron and wonder where he is. He glances around and doesn't see him, but it's packed in here. Many of the people he recognizes as staff and students from the school. Kelly is there, in a rare family moment, with his wife and three difficult children. He spies Paula Acosta, and her daughter, Taylor. He bites his lower lip. She might be a worry. He continues to survey the crowd and spots the two detectives that he despises so much, Stone and Godfrey. Of course they're here, he thinks bitterly. And then he sees that little bitch, Zoe, sandwiched between her parents. His heart rate spikes.

Graham Kelly doesn't like being in church. Not with Diana lying in her coffin up there in front of him, people weeping all around him. Not with the guilt he's carrying on his conscience. Maybe he contributed to her death. And here he is in church, before God, sticking to a lie that he is finding it increasingly difficult to live with. Maybe he will have to tell the truth, even though he might lose everything. Maybe he will have to go to the police after the funeral and tell them what Diana really said, all the ugly things he left out of his notes. He's come to realize that he's a weak man, a coward, someone who runs away from problems. He didn't want to get involved; he wanted to pretend it wasn't happening. He didn't want to face things. Diana didn't want to go to the police, but he should have. He should have gotten rid of Brad Turner. He should have protected her.

Paula is standing beside Graham Kelly, her feelings in tumult. She has always found funerals difficult – who doesn't? And Diana was so young and died so horribly. Her husband is with her, their daughter, Taylor, between them.

She glances at Brenda Brewer, in the pew on the other side of the church. Her head is down and she's weeping throughout the service, clutching a tissue to her nose and mouth. Paula remembers how she was in her house yesterday, talking aloud to Diana as if she were an ethereal presence, sitting right there with them. It had made Paula uncomfortable, and afraid for the woman's sanity.

She can feel the distress coming off Kelly beside her. She is wound up tightly herself. She has not yet had the opportunity – and this is hardly the time and place – to tell him about Taylor's problems with his daughter, Sadie, and with Brad Turner. She's angry that her daughter had to experience this, and while most of her anger is directed at Sadie and Brad, some of it is for Kelly, who should have prevented it. She knows it will be difficult, but Taylor must tell the police what happened to her. This kind of thing can't be ignored. People like Brad Turner shouldn't be allowed to teach children at all. They shouldn't be allowed anywhere near them. And what if he's a murderer?

Brenda Brewer is trying to say goodbye. That's what funerals are for, and it's time to say goodbye to her daughter. She had a long, painful talk this morning with the minister. She was honest with him, and told him that Diana was still here, living at home. She told him her concerns – that Diana might never find rest for her eternal soul. She confessed her selfishness and guilt for wanting her daughter to stay.

He'd seemed surprised but had recovered his composure. He talked a lot about the Bible, and quoted Scripture. He tried to be comforting and reassuring, told her she should forgive herself for any selfish feelings at such a difficult time. But he clearly had no bloody idea how long Diana would be trapped in her shadow existence, a tortured ghost, or what it might take for her to find peace.

The service is over, and Riley realizes she hasn't listened to a word. The minister spoke, and Diana's father and Evan did a reading, and there were hymns and more readings, but it has all passed over her. She simply stared at the closed coffin the whole time, knowing that Diana was in there. At one point she felt herself sagging, when they were standing for a hymn, and Evan propped her up.

And now it is time to filter out to the graveyard. The pallbearers carry the coffin quietly and reverently out of the nave and down the aisle as the mourners watch. Now there are louder sobs and muted weeping. Riley can feel the tears streaming down her face.

She holds her mother's hand as they walk out of the church into the grey, blustery day, and follow the crowd to the gravesite. This is the part that Riley has been most dreading. She can feel her anxiety climbing; she is lightheaded.

They are gathered around the grave now. The freshly dug pit is in front of her, a deep, dark rectangle, like a gaping, monstrous mouth without teeth. Riley feels a tremor begin throughout her body. What is it about the burial that bothers her so much? The pile of earth beside the grave looms in the corner of her eye, somehow threatening. The coffin is lowered slowly into the ground. Evan is standing beside her. The minister speaks a few words.

‘We therefore commit this body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust …' His voice fades away.

She sees roses, soft and white, drift down onto the top of the coffin, silently and as if in slow motion. But then she hears a sharp chunk , as the first fistful of damp earth hits the coffin in the ground. She faints.

How many people get to observe their own funeral? Maybe more than we think. It's very difficult for me to watch. Imagine it for yourself, seeing the people who knew you, and how they react. It's upsetting seeing so much genuine distress. Of course, someone is faking it. Someone here might have killed me. Unless it was Joe Prior, who as far as I know is still in a cell at the police station.

It's my mother I feel the worst for; she is suffering the most, and she's the one who will miss me the most. She will probably never recover from this. My father – I doubt he cares that much. After my mom, it's Riley I feel the most for. This is tearing her apart. And Evan – he is clearly struggling too. Kelly seems tortured – I bet he's sorry now that he didn't listen to me. I'll never forgive him for believing Mr Turner over me. I dismiss him with contempt. I search through all the people who have come to see me off, looking for Cameron, looking for Mr Turner. I see Aaron Bolduc, my manager at the Home Depot, the one who always walked me to my car at the end of the night. I think he was sweet on me, but he was too respectful, too much of a gentleman to show it.

I find Cameron first. He's way at the back, staring at the back of the pew in front of him. There are tears in his eyes at least. Are they for me or for him? I don't linger because I find I can't bear to look at him. I turn away, and then I see him standing by the exit: Mr Turner. He has a cool, unmoved look on his face. He should at least be faking it. That must be his fiancée's hand he's holding. She looks far away, as if her mind is somewhere else. What kind of woman would be with a man like that? I look back again at Mr Turner, at that subtle smirk.

And suddenly, it happens again – the overwhelming fear – and I'm no longer in the church.

I'm back in my bedroom, the man in the dark outside my window, and I'm terrified. I move quickly away from the window and hit the light switch on the wall so the room goes dark. My heart is pounding. I sit on the bed and I'm fumbling around for my cell phone, but I've left it downstairs, in the kitchen. I freeze and listen, but I can't hear anything. I creep over to the window again and peek out. I don't see him. I don't know if he's gone, or if he's somewhere near. I haven't been down to lock up the house yet, and I know the back door is unlocked. And then I hear it opening, quietly.

I freeze. I'm quaking with fear, furious with myself for leaving my cell phone downstairs. I'm breathing so fast I think he must be able to hear me. But he already knows where I am. He saw me in my bedroom window. There's no lock on my bedroom door. I consider making my way to the bathroom and locking the door there. I don't know if it will hold if he tries to break it down. I can hear him now, his footsteps downstairs. My legs trembling, I decide to dash for the bathroom at the end of the hall. But I've waited too long. When I slowly open the bedroom door a crack to look down the hall, he's right there, standing at the top of the stairs. I try to slam my bedroom door, but suddenly he has his foot in it, and his hands are on the edge of the door. I see black leather gloves. I scream and retreat further into my bedroom; I won't be able to make it past him to the bathroom now.

And that's where the memory stops, his face in the dark, his hands on the door, the gloves, me screaming …

But now I know who killed me.

It was my teacher. Mr Turner.

I feel a fresh surge of grief and rage. I don't want to be here, on the other side of the veil. I want to be there, where I belong. I want to make him pay. I want to haunt that bastard Mr Turner for the rest of his miserable life – if I could just figure out how.