Eyes Wide Open

The sun hung low in the sky, casting shadows over the cemetery. It was a beautiful day, for a funeral. Mourners gathered at the top of the hill, circling the open coffin to say their last goodbyes, as Donna Hermann had passed—or so they thought. Her family, dressed in black, stood closest to the coffin. Blurry shapes hovered above her.

Muted voices drifted through the thick fog of her mind, distant yet familiar.

Donna Hermann wanted to scream.

She could see them—her children, her grandchildren, her so-called loved ones—standing around her, dressed in black, murmuring their final goodbyes. The sky loomed somewhere beyond them, pale and streaked with the fading sun. The coffin beneath her was lined with silk, and covered in a thick scent of Lily’s.

In the words of the pastor beside her, she was dead.

But she wasn’t.

She was right there. She could hear them. She could see them.

Panic surged through her, slamming against the walls of her motionless body. She tried to move—to twitch a finger, to part her lips, to scream—but nothing obeyed, she was trapped in her own body.

Frank was the first to give the eulogy. He was Donna’s first son, her golden child. As he spoke, his younger brother, Josh, stared silently at their mother’s body. Even in death, the old woman refused to rest. He remembered the doctor’s remark that no matter what they tried, his mother’s eyes wouldn’t shut. They had asked him if he wanted to sew them shut, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, and neither could his elder brother or younger sister.

“Are you Joshua Hermann?”

Josh blinked, snapping out of his thoughts and turning to the source of the voice on his left.

“Oh, just Josh, sir,” he said, clearing his throat.

Two men in black suits stood before him, wearing sunglasses and carrying an aura of authority. The one on the left spoke first.

“Nice to meet you, Josh. I’m Detective Foreman, and this is my partner, Detective Davis,” he said, extending a hand.

Josh shook it. “Thanks for coming out here. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did the right thing by calling the police,” said Detective Davis. “We’ll investigate this matter thoroughly.”

Josh offered them an awkward nod as he noticed his brother’s speech was about to come to an end.

“I’ll speak with you after the funeral,” he said, before walking up to the podium to give his own speech

The detectives stuck around, speaking to everyone who seemed like a person of interest.

“She was like a mother to me,” cried Sheryl Hermann, Frank Hermann’s wife. She clutched tightly to her tissues, crocodile tears sliding endlessly down her cheeks. Her husband comforted her by rubbing her shoulder, but he, too, was too distraught to be questioned properly.

Josh’s wife, Celia Hermann, had a lot to say about the entire family. She grumbled about how much Josh had suffered due to his and his mother’s disagreements over his marriage. “We haven’t been over in a while,” she muttered, “I only know that Frank and Millie were the ones in charge of her care after we left the house.”

“Can you tell us more about Frank and Millie?” Detective Davis asked.

“Sure thing,” Celia said. She turned to the boy sitting on her lap. “Won’t you go to Daddy now? His speech is about to end.”

She ushered away what looked to be a five-year-old boy—the spitting image of Josh Hermann. Once he was gone, she reached into her purse, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

“What would you like to know?” she said, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

Detective Foreman coughed. “Anything you could tell us that you think is relevant will do,” he said, waving the smoke away from his face.

Celia took a long drag before she spoke. “Frank is the golden child, you know. He can do no wrong in that old bag’s eyes. Even though Josh has been the one keeping the business afloat, Frank has always gotten all of the credit. And Millie…”

She exhaled slowly, tapping the ashes off the side of her chair. “Well, Millie’s got her own issues. Dating a scumbag like Cameron.”

“What was your and your husband’s relationship like with the deceased before she passed?” Detective Davis asked.

Celia sighed and pressed the cigarette into the armrest beside her. “I haven’t spoken to that woman or set foot in her house since she called me a gold-digging whore the day I gave birth to Gabe,” she said bitterly. “Josh always tried to keep the peace, though. He spoke to her as often as a son should.”

Detective Davis nodded, jotting down notes. “Right. Thank you, Mrs. Hermann. We’ll contact you if we have any further questions.”

He exchanged a few quiet words with his partner, and the two detectives split off into the crowd.

Detective Foreman found Cameron lingering near the back of the gathering, hands shoved into his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels. Unlike the rest of the family, he didn’t appear grief-stricken. If anything, he looked bored.

“Cameron, right?” Foreman asked, pulling out his notebook.

“Yeah.” Cameron barely glanced at him.

“How long have you been with Millie Hermann?”

“A couple of years. Nothing serious.” Cameron shrugged. “Look, man, I don’t know what you expect me to say. The old bag hated me, wouldn’t even let me within ten feet of the mansion.”

Foreman raised a brow. “Why didn’t she like you?”

“I’m a DJ,” Cameron said flatly. “You think Donna Hermann would’ve wanted her goody-two-shoes daughter with someone like me?” He flicked his gaze toward the casket, his lip curling slightly. “Not that it matters now.”

At the same time, Detective Davis approached two well-dressed men standing slightly apart from the family—Julio Hernez, a longtime business associate of Donna’s, and Ben Handover, her lawyer.

“Mr. Hernez, Mr. Handover,” Davis greeted. “Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Julio adjusted his cufflinks. “Of course, Detective. Though I don’t know what else to say. Donna’s death was… unexpected.”

Ben let out a sigh. “Truly unexpected. There was still so much to be done before she—” He stopped himself.

Davis caught the hesitation, his grip tightening on his notepad. “Before what?”

Ben hesitated, lowering his voice. “Before she finalized the changes to her will.”

Davis’s brow lifted. “What changes?”

“She mentioned wanting to reassess her assets and how they would be distributed, but she fell into a coma before anything was made official.”

Julio cut in smoothly, “Donna was very careful with her affairs. It’s a shame she never got the chance to put her final wishes into writing.”

Davis absorbed the information. A sudden death right before a change to a will? That was a clear motive for murder. But who in the Hermann family would have wanted Donna gone before she could make those changes?

His gaze shifted to the nearby staff. Ann, Donna’s longtime maid, stood with red-rimmed eyes, clutching a handkerchief. Beside her, Carlos, the butler, remained stoic, his expression unreadable.

Davis approached them. “Did either of you notice anything unusual in the days leading up to Mrs. Hermann’s passing?”

Ann sniffled. “She was in a coma, but she was showing signs of improvement. I—I never thought…” She shook her head, unable to continue through the sobs.

Carlos cleared his throat. “There were… tensions, sir. Madam Hermann’s children didn’t see eye to eye when it came to her care.” His eyes flickered toward Frank, Sheryl, and Millie. “Frank and Sheryl insisted she remain at home. Millie argued she’d be better off in a care facility.”

Davis frowned. “Sheryl was involved in Donna’s care?”

Carlos hesitated before nodding. “More than involved. She handled everything with the doctor. He wasn’t just hired for Donna—he’s been treating Sheryl’s family for years.”

Davis narrowed his eyes. That was a detail worth investigating.

Donna fought harder to be able to move but her body would not listen, she knew who had harmed her, she could tell them herself if she could just speak. Desperation clawed at her, and somehow, she forced her eyes to shift, darting around in search of anyone who noticed.

And someone did.

Gabe.

The little boy’s breath hitched. He didn’t understand death, not fully. He didn’t like funerals, didn’t like the way Grandma looked in the coffin. And he certainly didn’t understand why, if she was supposed to be asleep forever, she had just blinked at him.

“Mommy—” his voice trembled. “Mommy, Grandma’s eyes are moving!”

Silence.

Then, a soft chuckle.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Celia cooed, smoothing down his hair. “That’s just your imagination, honey. Grandma’s asleep.”

No, no, no! Donna screamed inside her mind. I’m here! I’m still here!

A new voice, warm and honeyed, drifted over the murmurs.

“Children and their wild imaginations, right?”

Donna’s blood ran colder than the silk beneath her.

Sheryl.

The woman who had put her here. The woman who had “killed” her.

And no one would ever know.

One by one, her family members approached to place flowers on her coffin. Some averted their eyes, others kept them tightly shut. No one dared to look at her face. And no matter how hard she tried to flicker her gaze, no one noticed.

Then, the last one stepped forward.

Sheryl.

Donna’s blood boiled beneath her frozen skin.

Sheryl smiled sweetly, crocodile tears welling in her eyes as she spoke about family, about bonds that could never be broken. Then, she leaned down, her lips brushing against Donna’s ear.

“I know you’re still in there.”

She pulled back just enough to meet Donna’s unblinking stare, a serene expression settling over her face. One hand caressed Donna’s cheek, as if in mourning.

“Don’t you worry,” Sheryl’s words seeped down her ear like a searing poison. “I’ll have Frank join you as soon as the inheritance comes through.”