The first thing I felt was relief.
It lasted barely a second.
Then I realized what I was touching.
A pulse.
Jessi's pulse.
I kept my fingers against her neck because I was terrified that if I moved them, the tiny beat would disappear.
It was weak.
There were little gaps between the beats that frightened me.
I did not know what was happening inside her body.
I only knew she was alive.
And that she needed help.
I leaned closer to her face.
“Jessi, sweetheart.”
My voice broke.
“It's Grandma.”
She did not answer.
Her head rested against the white pillow.
Her hair was still perfectly arranged.
I hated how normal everything looked.
The coffin.
The flowers.
The dress.
The makeup.
All of it had been arranged around a child who was breathing.
I moved my hand from her neck to her shoulder.
“Can you hear me?”
Nothing.
I spoke again, a little louder.
“Jessi, it's me.”
I watched her eyelids.
For a moment, I thought one had moved.
I leaned closer.
Then her lashes fluttered.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
Her eyelids trembled again.
The makeup around them shifted.
A fine line appeared in the heavy powder near the corner of her eye.
I had never been so grateful to see such a small movement.
“That's it, baby.”
I tried to keep my voice steady.
“I'm here.”
Her lips parted.
A weak sound came from her throat.
It was not quite a word.
More like a breath that had trouble getting out.
Her chest rose slightly beneath the lace.
Then settled again.
I looked toward the stairs.
Arthur and Patricia were upstairs.
Some part of me still believed I should shout for them.
They were Jessi's parents.
They needed to know she was alive.
But before I could decide what to do, I looked down at her again.
Her eyes were barely open.
I could see only a narrow space beneath her lids.
Her pupils looked unusually large.
The dark centers seemed to fill almost everything.
She did not appear fully awake.
Her gaze drifted without settling on me.
I had seen Jessi tired before.
I had seen her ill.
This was different.
There was something deeply wrong with how little control she seemed to have over her body.
I reached beneath her shoulders.
I wanted her out of that coffin.
I wanted to hold her upright, feel her breathing, and get her somewhere she could be helped.
I slid one arm behind her back.
The satin was slippery beneath my hand.
Her body was limp.
She offered no help as I tried to lift her.
I expected that.
She was terribly weak.
I drew her gently toward me.
She moved a little.
Then stopped.
I tried again.
Her upper body rose slightly, but the rest of her remained fixed in place.
I paused.
I thought her dress might be caught beneath her.
The skirt was full.
There was lace and soft fabric everywhere.
Perhaps it had been tucked tightly around her.
I adjusted my grip.
Then I tried to lift her again.
She still would not come free.
I could feel resistance near her waist.
Not the ordinary weight of a sick child.
Something was holding her down.
I looked toward the lower half of the coffin.
It was still closed.
Until that moment, I had been so focused on Jessi's face that I had not given it much thought.
I let her shoulders rest gently against the pillow.
“I'm going to get you out.”
I did not know whether she understood.
Her eyelids moved again.
I reached for the lower lid.
My hands were no longer trembling with grief alone.
I was afraid.
I lifted it.
The hinges moved with a faint sound.
The satin lining came into view.
At first, I saw only the lower part of her white dress.
It had been arranged smoothly over her legs.
Then I noticed something dark crossing the fabric.
I looked closer.
It was a strap.
A wide nylon strap lay across her thighs.
Another crossed her waist.
They were not loose.
They were fastened tightly enough to hold her in place.
I stared at them.
I could not make sense of what I was seeing.
I had expected to find a fold of fabric trapped beneath the lid.
A caught ribbon.
Perhaps something from the funeral arrangements.
I had not expected restraints.
I placed my hand against the first strap.
The material was thick.
Rougher than anything that belonged with her delicate dress.
I followed it toward the side of the coffin.
It disappeared beneath the satin.
I pushed the lining aside.
The strap was attached to the wooden frame.
I checked the other side.
The same thing.
The straps had been secured deliberately.
They were not there by accident.
My stomach tightened.
I looked at Jessi.
She lay exactly where she had been placed.
Her hands were still resting near her chest.
Her eyes were barely open.
She was breathing.
And someone had fastened her body inside a coffin.
I could hear myself making a small sound.
I don't remember deciding to speak.
I only remember asking the empty room a question.
“Why?”
There was no answer.
I looked at the fastenings.
They were metal buckles.
Heavy ones.
Not the sort used on a child's clothing.
They looked strong enough to hold something much heavier than Jessi.
I tried to lift the strap near her waist.
It barely moved.
The buckle held it in place.
I reached for the second one.
The same result.
My mind went through several explanations.
Perhaps someone had been worried the body would shift during transport.
Perhaps there was a procedure I did not understand.
Perhaps funeral workers sometimes secured a coffin in a way families never saw.
I wanted one of those explanations to be true.
Then I looked at the straps again.
They were attached inside the coffin.
They crossed directly over Jessi's body.
They were locked.
This was not a simple precaution for moving a casket.
And Jessi was not dead.
I looked at her face.
A terrible thought began to form.
Someone had put her in there while she was still alive.
I did not want to believe it.
I wanted to believe there had been some dreadful mistake.
But mistakes did not explain the locks.
I reached for the first buckle.
I tried to release it with my thumb.
Nothing happened.
I pressed harder.
Still nothing.
My fingernail caught against the metal.
I pulled.
The strap tightened slightly against the dress.
I stopped immediately.
I could not risk hurting her.
I moved my hand back to her face.
“Jessi?”
Her lips moved.
I bent close enough that my ear was near her mouth.
I heard a faint sound.
“Grandma.”
I nearly collapsed against the coffin.
She knew I was there.
She knew me.
I touched her hair.
“Yes, baby.”
My tears were falling again.
“I'm right here.”
Her eyes shifted slightly toward my face.
I wanted to gather her into my arms.
I wanted to carry her away from that room.
But the restraints were still holding her.
I put my hand over hers.
It was hot.
So hot.
I could feel the fever even through my shaking fingers.
She tried to speak again.
Her breath was weak.
I leaned closer.
“Don't try too hard, sweetheart.”
But she was looking at me.
Her lips moved.
“I listened.”
I stopped moving.
Her voice was so faint that I had to bring my ear closer.
“What did you say?”
She swallowed with difficulty.
“I stayed quiet.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
I looked at the straps.
Then at her eyes.
Then back at the straps.
I had spent months being told she needed quiet.
That visitors upset her.
That she became distressed when people tried to see her.
Now she was telling me she had been quiet.
Not because she wanted to rest.
Because someone had told her to be.
I bent down.
“It's all right, Jessi.”
She seemed to struggle to keep her eyes open.
“Mommy told me.”
I felt my hand tighten around the coffin's edge.
Her next words came slowly.
She wanted to know whether she had done enough.
Whether she had obeyed.
Whether the punishment was finished.
I could barely understand what she meant.
Punishment.
That was the word I heard.
And once I heard it, nothing else in the room seemed real.
The flowers looked absurd.
The candles looked absurd.
Even the polished coffin seemed suddenly like something I had no right to accept.
Jessi had not described an illness.
She had described being made to stay quiet.
She had asked whether she could stop being punished.
I wanted to ask her a hundred questions.
What had happened?
Who had hurt her?
Why was she in the coffin?
Did Arthur know?
Did Patricia know?
But Jessi was six years old.
She was barely conscious.
Her breathing was too weak for me to demand answers.
I could see how difficult it was for her to speak.
I had to get her out first.
That was the only thing that mattered.
I reached down to the buckles again.
My fingers slipped against the metal.
I tried to force one open.
It would not move.
I pressed against the locking piece.
Nothing.
I could feel sharp edges scraping my skin.
I did not care.
I was looking for some release mechanism.
A button.
A lever.
Anything.
The buckles remained closed.
I looked at the strap over her waist.
I could not even slide my fingers beneath it easily.
Someone had fastened it carefully.
Not quickly.
Not loosely.
Carefully.
The thought made me feel sick.
I had helped raise Arthur.
I knew the house was his.
I knew Patricia was Jessi's mother.
I knew they had insisted their daughter was gone.
But I did not know who had placed those straps around her.
I did not know who had locked them.
I only knew that a child was breathing inside the coffin.
My granddaughter.
And she was frightened enough to ask whether she had been good.
I moved closer to her face.
“Listen to me, sweetheart.”
Her eyelids fluttered.
“You haven't done anything wrong.”
I could not be sure she understood.
But I needed to say it.
“Nothing.”
I touched her cheek.
“You're coming out of here.”
I looked down at the buckles again.
There had to be a way to open them.
Metal locks did not close without some kind of mechanism.
I pressed my fingertips around the edges.
I felt a narrow opening in the first buckle.
It was a keyhole.
I checked the second.
Another keyhole.
I stared at them.
A key.
I needed a key.
I did not have one.
But I knew I could not leave Jessi lying there while I searched the house without knowing where to look.
I looked around the coffin.
Someone had fastened the straps.
Someone had prepared them.
And whoever had done that would have needed a way to open them again.
I turned back toward the satin lining.
I began feeling along the inside edge.
For the first time, I was no longer trying to understand why this had happened.
I was trying to find the one thing that could get Jessi out.
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: I Found the Key Hidden Inside My Granddaughter’s Coffin, and the Sound From Upstairs Told Me I Was No Longer Alone
I Stayed Behind After Everyone Went Upstairs Because Something About My Granddaughter’s Funeral Had Been Troubling Me for Months
Part 3 of 15
