Chapter 6 - The Midnight Raid
The rain had softened into a thick, clinging fog by midnight as Miller and I crouched behind the overgrown iron fence bordering the rear alley of the St. Jude Municipal Archive building.
In the backseat of the truck, parked two streets away in an underground commercial garage, Lily was safely sleeping under the care of Sarah—a trusted retired nurse and former neighbor who had agreed to watch her after learning what Vance had done.
"Utility access latch is right here," Miller whispered, pointing his tactical pen-light toward a rusty iron grate embedded in the brick foundation wall.
Using a heavy crowbar from my truck, we pried open the grate. The smell of damp stone, old paper, and stale air rushed out. We dropped down into the narrow subterranean passage, our boots squelching softly in shallow mud.
The utility tunnel stretched for two hundred yards beneath the street, built in the early 1900s to carry steam pipes between civic buildings. According to my father’s mental map, the north branch broke off directly into the basement storage vaults of the Beatrice Memorial Funeral Home.
We navigated the dark, dripping corridor in near-total silence, relying on the muted beam of Miller’s flashlight. Five minutes later, we reached a heavy iron door stamped with old municipal seals. The lock was rusted, but a few precise blows with my crowbar snapped the latch.
We eased the door open.
We were standing in the chilly, concrete basement of the funeral home. Rows of wooden caskets, surplus embalming supplies, and old floral arrangements filled the shadows. Above us, the faint, muffled sound of footsteps echoed through the ceiling boards.
"Two guards on the main floor," Miller whispered, checking his earbud receiver, which was monitoring local police frequencies. "Harrison's men are sitting in a cruiser outside the front entrance."
"Where is the preparation room?" I asked.
"Down the hallway to the left," Miller pointed toward a set of double steel doors marked PRIVATE - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
We moved quickly through the shadows. I gripped the crowbar tight, my heart hammering like a war drum against my ribs.
I pushed through the steel doors.
The room was brightly lit with harsh fluorescent tubes, smelling strongly of formaldehyde and industrial disinfectant. Sitting on a stainless steel transport gurney in the center of the room was Clara’s mahogany casket—the lid closed, sealed with temporary transport latches.
Beside the gurney stood my Aunt Beatrice, wearing a dark apron, holding a clipboard and speaking quietly into her cell phone.
"...yes, Mr. Vance," Beatrice was saying, her voice trembling slightly. "The incinerator unit is pre-heated. As soon as the private transport van arrives at the rear bay, we will process the body. There won't be anything left to examine by morning."
"Over my dead body, Beatrice," I said, stepping into the white light.
Beatrice gasped, dropping her clipboard to the floor with a loud CLATTER. She turned around, her face instantly draining of all color as she backed against the metal counter.
"Alex?!" she squeaked, her hands flying to her mouth. "How... how did you get in here?!"
Miller stepped in behind me, raising his service weapon. "Beatrice Vance—or rather, Beatrice Miller-Vance, as your secret corporate shell registry lists you—you are under arrest for accessory to murder and destruction of evidence."
"You don't understand!" Beatrice cried, her hands shaking violently. "Vance promised to clear the funeral home’s bankruptcy! If I didn't help him, he was going to take everything I owned!"
"You sacrificed my wife for a building?!" I roared, closing the gap between us and backing her against the wall. "She was family! You watched Lily grow up!"
"I didn't kill her!" Beatrice sobbed. "Derek did it! Derek gave her the drink that Vance provided! I only agreed to handle the final arrangements!"
The confession hung in the air, sickening and absolute. My own brother had administered the toxin under Vance’s direction.
Before I could process the wave of nausea that washed over me, a loud mechanical hum echoed from the far wall. The heavy steel roll-up door of the rear loading bay began to rise.
A sleek black corporate van backed into the bay, its headlights cutting through the glare of the room.
The driver’s side door opened, and Derek stepped out, accompanied by two of Vance’s armed corporate enforcers.
"Aunt Beatrice, is she ready?" Derek called out, stepping into the light. He froze mid-step as he saw me standing beside Clara’s casket, holding the crowbar, with Miller standing next to me with his weapon drawn.
"Alex..." Derek breathed, taking an instinctive step back.
"Put your hands up! Both of you!" Miller shouted, aiming his gun at the two corporate guards.
Instead of complying, the guard on the left reached into his suit coat for a silenced firearm.
BANG! BANG!
Miller fired twice, taking down the first guard instantly. The second guard lunged behind the van, returning fire as bullets shattered the glass jars on the counter above our heads.
"Get the casket!" Derek screamed frantically, scrambling into the driver's seat of the van. "Vance said don't leave without the body!"
I didn't hesitate. I grabbed the handles of Clara’s stainless steel gurney, threw my entire weight against it, and rammed it straight into the open rear doors of the van, locking the caster wheels in place.
I jumped into the rear of the van, grabbed the secondary steel crowbar, and swung it with everything I had into the glass divider separating the cargo bay from the driver's cabin.
The glass exploded into a thousand shards. I reached through the broken frame, grabbed Derek by the collar of his suit, and yanked him backward over the headrest into the cargo bay.
"Alex! Please! I'm your brother!" Derek shrieked, hitting the metal floor hard, blood spilling from his nose.
I pinned him down with a knee to his chest, glaring down into his terrified, weeping eyes.
"You ceased being my brother the moment you put poison in my wife’s glass," I snarled.
Outside, the gunfire ceased as Miller flushed out the remaining guard.
May you like
Five seconds later, the distant, rising wail of state police sirens began to echo through the night air. Miller had bypassed Harrison entirely and called the State Attorney General’s special task force.
The siege at the funeral home was over. But the man who ordered the kill was still sitting in his executive penthouse, believing his wealth made him untouched by the law.
