Damn it, I’m surrounded by those who worry about their fathers!

"Let us pray for him, for whether man or woman, we are all like flowers in the valley, blooming today but possibly wilting tomorrow. Human life is like a season—it comes and goes. Let us pray."

In the church, the priest solemnly recited the prayer.

Peter, dressed in a black suit, sat in the center of the pews, with Clark and Azu on either side of him.

The two boys, who had been bickering, reconciled after Azu's formal apology.

Azu tilted his head and quietly asked Peter, "Dad, what happens when people die?"

"Some believe we go to heaven or hell, while others think we are reincarnated like children."

"Carnation? Like Rose in Audrey Rose?"

"Not carnation—reincarnation."

Peter corrected his mispronunciation.

"Wait a minute!"

Peter looked at Azu. "Audrey Rose is a horror movie, isn't it? I told you, John, you're not allowed to watch horror movies."

Seeing Peter's stern face, Azu quickly blamed Clark.

"Clark told me about it—I didn't watch it."

Clark's face immediately grew more sullen.

He didn't like the atmosphere in the church. This was his first time attending a funeral, and the solemnity of the occasion filled him with a sense of awe and unease.

The priest on the podium finished his prayer.

With a troubled expression, Clark explained to Peter, "I saw it on TV by accident, Godfather."

"Mm-hmm, next time, you can ask an adult to change the channel."

Clark nodded obediently.

"Dad, is there more?"

Azu was eager to hear more about death.

While Clark had a deep respect for death, Azu seemed largely unaffected.

"Catholics believe in heaven and hell, but they also believe in a place called limbo, and another place called purgatory. Hindus and Buddhists believe in Nirvana—"

The two boys listened quietly.

Peter spoke even more slowly, "There may be many more beliefs, but the truth is, no one knows what happens after we die. People say they know because their faith leads them to believe it. Do you know what faith is?"

Both boys shook their heads. "No, we don't."

Peter explained, "It's like this. We're sitting on these chairs right now—do you believe my chair will still be here tomorrow?"

"Of course it will."

"Then that's a form of faith. You believe it will still be here, and I believe it too. Faith is trusting in what something is or will be. Do you understand?"

"Yes, we understand."

Clark nodded confidently.

Azu scratched his head and said, "But we don't know if it'll still be here. Maybe a chair thief could sneak in and steal it, right?"

Clark turned to Azu and said, "Then you don't have faith..."

"I believe in the same things as Dad, right, Dad?"

Azu looked up at Peter. "Dad, what do you believe in?"

"My beliefs?"

Peter paused for a moment.

What did he believe in? Money, power, or worldly authority?

It seemed he wanted all of these, yet none of them seemed all that important.

Just as he was struggling to answer, the priest's voice "rescued" him.

Hearing the priest call for the pallbearers, Peter instructed the boys before walking toward the front.

He greeted Louis Wilson, a man in his thirties wearing glasses.

Though Louis, Peter's cousin, bore the pain of losing a family member, he still seemed strong.

After exchanging a few pleasantries with his cousin, Peter glanced over to check on Clark and Azu.

But both of them had already run off somewhere.

Shaking his head, Peter turned his attention back to the coffin.

That afternoon, after the funeral, Peter drove Clark and Azu back to the farm.

On the car radio, Stephens' This Old House was playing.

"Dad, you'll never guess what we saw," Azu boasted to Peter. "We saw the dead person lying in the coffin!"

Hearing Azu's words, Peter immediately frowned.

"That's very disrespectful, John."

Peter scolded Azu, knowing without a doubt that he had been the one to drag Clark into it.

"I know I was wrong, Dad."

Azu hung his head and admitted his mistake.

Since he had quickly confessed, Peter didn't press the matter further, and soon the car reached the farm.

Late at night.

Ring, ring!

The phone at the farm suddenly rang.

Peter, already in bed, threw on his clothes and went to the living room to answer it.

"This is Peter Podrick. Yes, yes... I understand."

After hanging up the phone, Peter's brow furrowed deeply.

He dressed, went upstairs to check on Clark and Azu to see if they were asleep, then went back down to grab the car keys from the wall.

Outside, the night was dim, and a light rain was falling, pattering softly on the ground.

The headlights of Peter's car pierced the dark night as he drove quickly back to the cemetery he had visited earlier that day.

Several police cars were parked around the cemetery, their flashing red lights stark against the dark.

Peter got out of the car and walked to where the coffin had been buried.

A small crowd had gathered nearby, murmuring to each other.

"Louis."

Peter approached, greeting his cousin, whose face was now dazed.

Louis quickly came forward, flanked by two police officers.

Peter asked his cousin, "Louis, what happened?"

"It's little Terry—his body is missing."

Louis shared the news that caused Peter to frown.

Holding an umbrella, Peter walked to the grave, only to find it dug up, the body gone!

"Did someone steal the body?"

"We can't rule out that possibility."

A familiar-looking white police officer stepped forward to speak.

The man was burly, with sharp eyes.

"We meet again, Mr. Podrick. After all these years, you haven't changed a bit."

"You are..."

Peter looked at him in surprise. "Officer Ryan?"

The man was Ryan Schneider, the officer who had investigated the Walmart shooting six years ago and questioned Peter during the case.

"Yes, I'm surprised you remember me, Mr. Podrick."

Ryan stepped forward to shake his hand. "Sorry to bother you, but since you were one of the four people who carried the coffin, we'd like to ask you a few questions."