I put the key in the lock. The click sounded dry and metallic. The little glass door opened. The earth-brown ceramic urn appeared before me. Engraved on it was the name *Marcus Gaines* and the dates. I picked it up with my hands. It was cold. Not the cold of death, but the cold of a lie. I put it on the ground and took out the hammer and screwdriver. The lid was sealed with silicone. I had to pry carefully not to break it. Sweat ran down my forehead. My heart beat with the force of a drum. If someone appeared at that moment, they would take me for a crazy grave robber.
*Crack.* A piece of silicone popped off. I held my breath and kept prying. After a few minutes of effort, the lid gave way. With a last push, it popped off. I held my breath and looked inside.
Empty. Not completely. At the bottom, there was a layer of dust and several construction stones the size of a child’s fist. No ashes, no bone fragments, nothing that resembled the remains of a cremated human body.
My legs failed me. I let myself fall to the ground, staring at those inert stones. Even though I expected it, seeing the truth with my own eyes was a shock. For five years, the whole family had been venerating a handful of rubble. For five years, my son and I had prayed to some rocks. It was a macabre joke of infinite cruelty.
I grabbed the camera and recorded the interior of the urn, focusing on every stone, every speck of dust. While I recorded, I spoke with a choked but firm voice. “Today, May 15th, 2024, I, Kesha Vann, wife of Marcus Gaines, have opened my husband’s urn in the cemetery of his hometown. Inside, there are no ashes, only stones. This is the proof that Marcus’s death was a fraud.”
When I finished, I put the stones back in the urn. I closed it and sealed it with strong glue I had brought. I did it all quickly without leaving a trace that the urn had been opened. I returned it to its niche and locked the little glass door. Everything returned to its normal appearance, but my insides were a raging sea.
“Mama, I caught a giant grasshopper!” yelled Malik from afar.
I dried my tears in a hurry. I fixed my clothes and smiled to receive him. “That’s great, champ. Let’s go now. It’s too sunny.”
I took him by the hand and we left the cemetery. Behind my back, the fake tomb remained standing, a monument to the deception of my husband’s family. But it wouldn’t remain standing for much longer. I swore it to myself.
We ate something quick at my uncle’s house and left for Chicago with the excuse that Malik had a stomach ache. On the way, I stopped at a roadside motel to rest. In reality, I needed a quiet place to review the video and think about my next step. In the room with Malik asleep, I connected to the Wi-Fi and started searching Facebook for Marcus’s old contacts.
I remembered he had a group of friends he always went drinking with. The closest was Darius, who they nicknamed “Buzzard.” The day of the funeral, Darius cried inconsolably. He even took my hand and told me not to worry, that he would take care of me and the boy. But afterwards, he disappeared.
I searched his name, found his profile. His photo was of a big motorcycle. I went onto his wall. He constantly posted photos of parties in bars and clubs. I reviewed his latest posts. A photo caught my attention. Darius raising a mug of beer on a patio. On his left wrist, he was wearing a watch with a metal band and a blue face. I zoomed in on the photo.
My heart raced. A Seiko Sports with a blue face. It was my wedding anniversary gift for Marcus. I remembered it perfectly because I myself had ordered our initials *K & M* engraved on the back. And what was more important, the metal strap had a deep scratch near the clasp from a motorcycle Marcus had. In Darius’s photo, although blurry, that scratch could be distinguished.
Why was Darius wearing Marcus’s watch? Mr. Tate, the intermediary, told me Marcus had lost all his belongings in the accident and now the watch was on his best friend’s wrist. There was only one possibility. Marcus had given it to him or Marcus was with him.
I kept looking at his photos. Darius often posted from an industrial park in Gary, Indiana, just across the state line. The pieces began to fit. The money transfers to my father-in-law’s account also came from that area. Darius was there. Darius was the accomplice, the one helping Marcus launder the money and contact his family. And probably Marcus was hiding close to where Darius lived or worked. I took screenshots of all the evidence. I already had the most important clue. Darius “Buzzard” was the key to finding Marcus’s lair.
