Novel & Cerita Cliff Burton Death

Tried to hurt them because of someone who wasn’t even alive. “You know (snickers) that was your father’s finger. I had kept it so I could use it one goddam day.” Despite being beaten up and hit mouth all bloody, Cliff laughed like a maniac, rolling on the freshly mowed grass. “I dug up his grave and snipped all of his fucking fingers out and butchered his dead body and fed it to the dogs. I buried the empty coffin back down, no one found out. You still didn’t know.” He snickered and another brutal kick laded to his right kidney.

He turned around and walked away before more could be said or done; he wasn't in the mood or headspace for it. Back inside the church, he found his mother now at the gallery talking with some women from the church. He approached them. The coffin was set to leave for the burial ground in thirty minutes from now, after which the reception would take place in the mansion. Burke had no plans to go to the burial ground; his father wasn't in the coffin, so he saw no point to it. This was all just courtesy. Bartholomew had died in a crash, and his body unfortunately wasn't recovered; the craft exploded into a million pieces.

Third-Person POV: Sophie's voice continued on the other end. "The fire was massive that day. By the time the firefighters put it out, the whole place was rubble. It's such a shame. Beckett was so young and died in that fire. At least you managed to save Mr. Miller..." The rest of Sophie's words turned into a buzzing noise in Vanessa's ears. The moment she heard that Beckett never made it out of the fire, she froze. Beckett was not rescued? He was dead?

The policemen, realizing something was off from their conversation, brought them in. One of the policemen addressed Clifford, "Mr. Holmes, based on what we know, your wife was hospitalized after she developed lobar pneumonia. She passed away the night before Easter. The hospital explained that her death was a result of a heart attack triggered by emotional turmoil, but things seem to be more complicated from the conversation you shared with Ms. Harding."

She looked at her brother, then completely out of his mind, then at Linda's lifeless body. Then, like something inside her snapped, her eyes rolled back and she fainted on the spot. Linda was dead. Nash was arrested right there. His life was, for all practical purposes, over behind bars. Shirley, unable to handle the shock, completely lost her sanity, reduced to someone who could do nothing but sit there, drooling and muttering. However, none of that had anything to do with me anymore. I took Amy's hand and walked out of that blood-soaked villa without looking back.

Trista leaned in close. It was no wonder nobody in the pack dared to mention the bastard son anymore. Crispin had died in an "accident" four years ago. The screen showed it clearly: Four years ago, Buddeberg Ski Resort. Fatal accident due to equipment failure... She didn't have time to analyze the gruesome crime scene photos. She just shoved the data into her flash drive. Right then, her phone buzzed. The sharp ringtone in the dead-silent study sounded like a gunshot.

My heart skipped a beat when I heard "burial plot" "I wasn't hearing things. When Claire went to file for a divorce, she was already arranging her final resting place." My voice cracked as I explained. "She mentioned the burial plot to me, and I snapped at her for being morbid." Anthony and Lilly held onto each other to stop each other from collapsing. The devastating truth sank in. Claire had been telling the truth all along. She was on her last breath, yet we had turned our backs on every desperate attempt she made to reach out.

All she could remember was her Gran's lap where she cried herself to sleep. Their neighbors chipped in so they could have Corbett's body flown home. The Nevada authorities said there was no foul play. Corbett died of suffocation. High alcohol level in his bloodstream. He must have been drunk and caught in a flash flood in the middle of the desert. Nobody believed it. But they didn't have money for an autopsy or a private investigator. So they kept their mouths shut and gave him a proper burial. The nightmare didn't end there. A month after they buried Corbett, Adele received another phone call.

"You have to let me help him. Just give me a few minutes, please. Then we can go home. But I need a few minutes. He’s not gone yet. He can't leave me. He swore he wouldn't. He promised me." I stare at her, trying to understand what she thinks she can do for him now. Clifton died the moment the dome came up. The only good thing we can take away from that is that it was painless and quick. He didn’t have to suffer. "Okay." I nod. If letting her stay with Clif's corpse a little longer would make her feel better, then I would let her stay. "Thank you," she whispers. She looks back down at Clif's barely recognizable face and places a hand and forehead down against his,