I could almost feel the exhaustion in my friend’s voice. It was something I had heard coming from him countless times over the years. However, what I detected now was different in a way far worse than anything I could describe. Not only did Ben sound tired, he sounded ancient, on the verge of feeble. But beyond even that, his tone held a percussive note of unimaginable emotional pain.

I feared I knew what was causing that anguish but chose to ignore the fresh twist in my gut. There was a question I knew needed asking, but because of his tone I dreaded the answer more than anything. I simply couldn’t bring myself to advance the query, so I danced around the subject as if doing so would make it magically disappear.

“We just got here, Ben,” I half stammered. “We’re at the seventh floor waiting room. Where are you?”

“I’m…downstairs…in the chapel,” he droned out the answer, pausing randomly before falling completely silent.

I closed my eyes as the dark portent in his words crept along my spine, making me physically shiver. Ben was devoutly secular. He claimed a belief in God but in the same breath noted that he despised organized religion. For him to be in the chapel was a harbinger of the worst kind. I waited for him to continue, but after several heartbeats my chest began to tighten and I forced a single word past the lump in my throat, “Ben?”

His voice cracked as he said, “Yeah…listen Row…I’ve got some bad news to tell ya’…”

Tuesday, December 20

10:37 A.M.

Sacred Heart Cemetery

Saint Louis, Missouri

CHAPTER 2:

The procession from the funeral home to the cemetery had been long, both in its physical size and the time spent covering the distance between the two locations. Several squad cars from the county police department provided a somber escort, light bars flickering out of respect, as our pace was unhurried.