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Here lies a beloved sister. May she rest in peace.

Son of a bitch.

The gloves on my hands felt like tissue paper as I started to dig in the gravel, in rocks that’d been settled in the middle of a dirt rectangle in the ground.

More people arrived, and more hands started digging.

When our fingers hit wood, a bolt of hope shot through me.

That hope died a fast death when we were able to get the lid of the box free and she wasn’t moving.

But just as fast, her eyes snapped open and she started to scream.

I reached into the box and pulled her into my arms, falling flat on my ass in the dirt and gravel behind me.

“Shhh, I got you, Jess. I got you.”

She started to sob, and each tear that slid down the length of my throat felt like I’d been stabbed directly in the heart.

Two hours later, Jessamy was sedated in a hospital bed and once again too still for my liking.

She hadn’t wanted to be sedated, but they hadn’t been able to break her free of her never-ending panic attack.

Shelby sat in the seat next to Jessamy’s bedside, holding her hand.

That was when a frazzled-looking woman rushed in, looking terrified.

I stepped into her way, and she pointed at me. “You will let me into my best friend’s room, Sheriff!”

“Opie?” I asked.

She nodded.

I stepped out of the way.

“Tell me everything that happened.”

I did, not leaving anything out.

“Her brother needs to be shot,” she hissed. “Kill him execution-style.”

Shelby snorted.

She brushed past me and went to Jessamy’s side, picking up her free hand. “You’re Shelby?”

Shelby nodded.

“Glad you’re here,” she said. “Black, was she…”

I knew what she was asking, and I was happy to answer with a firm, “No.”

They hadn’t touched her like that.

Only thrown her into a box and buried her alive.

Though there’d never been any danger of her running out of air. There was a PVC pipe that’d been inserted by her feet that allowed for plenty of air flow.

Ophelia picked up her hand and started to cry. “Her fingers…”