Their Favoritism Resulted In A Cruel Outcome Chapter 05
When Connor carried me out of the detention center, the grounds were swarming with reporters and fire trucks.
Some people lifted their phones, thinking he was carrying out a rescued bride.
He was carrying a corpse.
The Worthington family had arrived in four cars.
Now, that was nowhere near enough.
My father called every funeral home in Charleston, his voice cracking as he demanded the best coffin for each of us.
The funeral director turned pale when he heard that more than a dozen people had died at once.
“Sir, we can’t supply that many today.”
“Then contact the entire state.”
“I want the best wood.”
By the end, his voice was barely a whisper.
But my grandmother used to say she hated those black, high-gloss coffins.
My mother hated the cold and had long ago said that when her time came, she wanted a gravesite that caught the afternoon sun.
Lauren loved fresh flowers.
Rachel used to say that if the baby she carried was a girl, she would make her a little red dress by hand.
Hannah always joked that she would live to be ninety and fight Molly for the bouquet at her own wedding.
None of them had imagined dying in an abandoned detention center, or choosing coffins for themselves.
The firefighters carried them out one by one.
Their clothes were soaked with water and fire-suppressant foam, but the soot couldn’t be washed from their faces.
My three brothers knelt beside the police line.
James held Lauren, trying to wipe her face.
“You hate having anything on your face,” he murmured.