Chapter Nine
Matt remembered the light first—late afternoon, angled just right, catching the stone of the church and warming it. The kind of light that made people slow down without realizing why.
Ted stood on the church steps, hands clasped too tight, fingers rubbing against each other in a loop he couldn’t break. He hadn’t stepped inside. He wouldn’t—not yet. Not without Matt.
Bella stood beside him, one hand resting protectively on her stomach, the other lightly touching Ted’s arm. Seven months along and glowing. Amidst the morning sickness and sleepless nights, Bella had been happy to be pregnant—until the past week changed everything.
“He said we should wait,” Bella said gently. “He’ll be here.”
Ted nodded, eyes flicking toward the street again. “He said he wouldn’t be late.”
Not accusation—anxiety.
Matt was rarely late, especially for something as important as his father’s funeral. But the emotional weight of the day, and the added strain of watching over Ted the pass few days, pressed on him. He kept telling himself five more minutes wouldn’t matter. He needed this workout to clear his head before he faced it.
The crosswalk signal changed. Matt didn’t move right away. He was lost in thought—his eulogy, his family, the responsibility of being the one they leaned on.
The sound didn’t arrive all at once. It came in layers. Pressure first. Then light. Then the world tearing open.
Matt saw the flash from down the block—felt it in his chest before his mind caught up. The air folded inward, violent and sudden, a concussive wave rolling outward from the church steps.
Glass exploded. Stone fractured. People vanished mid-motion. The front of the church ceased to exist.
Matt was running before he understood what he was running toward. Smoke swallowed everything. Dust thick enough to choke on. The rumble of the church collapsing into itself. People screamed louder. Blood where there shouldn’t have been blood.
The steps were gone. The place where Ted and Bella had stood—gone.
Matt shouted their names once. Then again. No answer.
He pushed into the cloud, hands searching, mind blank except for one impossible refusal: This isn’t happening.
The rubble answered differently.
The phone vibrated. Once. Twice. Again.
Matt sat rigid on the couch, breath shallow, the memory releasing him without warning.
Reality returned—sunlight on the lake, the sound of jet skis cutting the surface. People outside, alive, unaware of what had just passed through his mind.
The phone buzzed again. A fourth time. Carissa.