Revelation In The Rain

“Jolene was a good one.” A strange voice said. 

I stood in an open field. Cold, quiet and empty saved for the two people in black who stood before what I guessed was a grave. The voice sounded familiar but yet strange. It sounded like someone’s voice I’d heard over the phone years ago. 

“I still don’t know why you’re here!” Celine said. 

The familiarity of her voice grounded me in my environment. That was my mother. Between my mother and the stranger was a grave stone with flowers on it. 

And the person in the grave…

I screamed. 

My hands pressed my mouth against my face. No one flinched. It was like I wasn’t even there, they probably couldn’t see me—or hear me. I guess I was really dead. 

“She was part of our family.” The man said. 

“You never accepted her. You supported father and mother to kick me out.” Celine added. 

Father and mother? Was the man before her, her brother, my uncle? 

“Celine, there was nothing I could do.” He added. 

“You don’t deserve to be here”

“Please.”

“Don’t.”

“Just one minute. Allow me to pay my last respects to her.”

“You lost that right years ago. She doesn’t even know you. Don’t bother, she doesn't need your respect.”

“She may not know or remember me but I do.”

“Leave Eric, leave.”

Eric didn’t argue anymore. He dropped a single rose on the grave. 

He looked at Celine one more time before he walked away. I watched his back till he disappeared from the field. 

Celine stood there, her eyes filled with pain I’ve never seen before. I tried to approach her but I felt a strong gush of wind holding me back. 

“I’m so sorry. This was all my fault.” Celine said.

Sorry?

What was she sorry for? She never loved me or cared for me anyways. Why do I matter to her all of a sudden? 

“I should have taken better care of you.” 

I rolled my eyes. I turned, ready to leave but the sight of someone caught my attention. 

It was him. 

He stood behind Celine who was oblivious to his presence. He wore a black suit, his shoe well polished and the expression on his face was bland, as if he had had all emotions sucked out. He approached the grave with flowers in his hand.

Celine stood up, her gaze locked with his. Her face hardened. 

“John. John Ferguson?” Celine stuttered. 

It really was John. 

Why did he suddenly reappear after disappearing for years? Why was he alone? What happened to Molly? Why didn’t he come for me earlier? Why did he have to wait till I died before he came looking for me? 

My head was filled with questions I had no answers to. 

A loud slap landed on his face. 

“You have some nerve showing up here.”

John stopped.

His expression unwavered, his face had turned red from the slap. He looked at the headstone. His lips parted slightly, but nothing came out. No words. 

After a long silence, he said,

“I didn’t know.”

Celine lets out a bitter laugh.

“Of course you didn’t.”

She stepped between him and the grave, as if protecting what was left of the daughter she once loathed from the man who hurt her. 

“You lost the right to stand here the day you walked away with my other daughter.”

John lowered his eyes.

“Molly told me the truth.”

Celine froze.

Not because she was surprised Molly confessed but because of when.

She asked quietly,

“…When?”

John swallowed. “Three days ago.”

Celine’s expression crumbled for just a moment.

Then the anger returns.

“How convenient.”

John shook his head.

“I left her.” Another pause. “The moment she confessed.”

Celine studied his face. She was looking for deception but she didn’t find any. “Then why didn’t you come back two years ago?”

He looked towards my gravestone.

“Because I thought I had already taken Jolene with me.”

Silence.

He continued.

“Molly told me your family wanted nothing to do with me. She said you never approved of our marriage. She told me Jolene had chosen to leave all of you behind.”

Celine’s breathing grew uneven.

“And you believed her?”

John closed his eyes.

“I loved the woman I thought was Jolene. I had no reason to think she was lying.”

“Where is she?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Rain began to fall.

“I don’t know.” He glanced at the grave again. “When I left… she was gone.”

Celine stood there speechless. 

She brought out her umbrella as she held it over her head. “Farewell Mr. Fegurson. The only thing that ever tied us together is laying lifeless six feet underground.”

She walked away. 

I stood there as I watched everything unfolded. 

John stood there in the rain. He dropped his flowers and left. 

So that was the truth.

He never chose Molly

If only she’d confessed sooner

Just as I thought the cemetery was now empty, a man dressed in black stepped through the iron gates.

An umbrella shielded him from the relentless rain, hiding most of his face. His footsteps were slow and deliberate, the wet grass muffling every sound beneath his polished shoes.

There was something strangely familiar about the way he carried himself.

No.

It couldn’t be.

As he drew closer, my breath caught in my throat.

Darius.

He had come alone.

No bodyguards.

No assistants.

No expensive convoy waiting beyond the cemetery gates.

Just him.

His gaze never wandered. It remained fixed on the freshly turned earth before him.

He stopped in front of my grave.

For the longest time, he said nothing.

The rain drummed softly against his umbrella while droplets slid from its edges onto the bouquet of white lilies in his hand.

White lilies.

I almost laughed.

“You always hated flowers,” he’d once told me after watching me wrinkle my nose at a bouquet in the hotel lobby.

“I don’t hate flowers,” I’d argued.

“I just think people wait until someone’s dead before buying them.”

The memory stung.

How ironic.

Darius slowly knelt and laid the bouquet at the foot of my headstone. Then he reached inside his coat. On his hand was a photograph. 

My photograph.

It wasn’t one I’d ever taken.

I was laughing.

Looking over my shoulder as though someone had called my name. I didn’t remember that day. I didn’t remember anyone taking that picture.

My eyes widened.

Where had he gotten it?

Darius brushed a thumb across the edge of the photograph before he placed it gently beside the flowers.

He stared at my name carved into the stone.

His jaw tightened.

“I was too late.”

He lowered his head for a brief moment before standing once more. Without another word, he turned and walked away.

I remained rooted to the spot, staring at the photograph resting against my gravestone.

Who had taken it?

And… what did he mean…

Too late?”