One Rainy Night

TW: Death bed confession of a crime. Dark secrets are cast into the shadows of one's mind. Greg’s feeble body lay motionless in the hospital bed. His pale wrinkled face lacked the spark of life. Tubes and wires were connected all over his body turning him into a cyborg project. He glanced up as Trish his sister took hold of his hand. It was a gentle grip as the IV was taped to his paper-thin skin.

Coughing he murmured, “Good to see you.”

“And you,” she forced a smile while fighting the tears welling in her eyes. “It’s a pity your brothers are not here.”

He closed his eyes briefly, “I remember that night like it was yesterday. We were at Dickson’s party. I was being deployed to France the following day.” Clearing his throat, he reached for some water.

“You don’t have to talk about it now,” She handed him the cup. He wasn’t here for their funerals. The army offered him some leave, but he wanted to do his duty. We went from a family of five to just me living at home. Mum and Dad were never the same after that. Greg was at the party to say goodbye to his mates. He came home late that night and went to bed. The police knocked on the door early that morning, reporting our three brothers' bodies were found in a roadside gulley. They never found out who killed them. Police suspected it was a hit-and-run. Greg was gone when Dad got the news. Mum needed sedatives.

He held up the cup in his shaking hand, “The three crosses still stand on the side of the road after all these decades.”

Trish patted his hand, “Rest, take it easy.”

“No, I want to talk about it. They decided to walk home. I stayed to dance with Meg,” he coughed as he shuffled in the bed, “It was pouring rain. That storm was fierce, I couldn’t see anything. The muddy road was slippery.” His pulse on the heart monitoring machine started to beep faster.

“Breath, deep breaths,” Trish replied nervously, glancing at the machine beside her. After a deep breath, his eyes grew heavy as he drifted off.

Trish leaned back in the chair; her shoulders slumped as she sighed. The war took it out of him; he has made it to eight-two. I don’t know how much more his body can take. The cancer has spread to his liver. The doctors have stopped telling him what was wrong with him. When his body decides to let go, he has requested not to be resuscitated. As if they could get that burnt-out wreck started again.

Nurses came and went during the night. I’m the only family he has left. He got married but she left him decades ago. She may not even be alive anymore. They never had kids.

He woke in the early hours, silently staring at the ceiling. “How are you going?” Trish asked, standing by the bed.

“Look after those roadside crosses for me. I used to visit them every year,” he moaned, “Stormy weather reminds me of that night.”

“No problem. Do you want the TV on?”

He nodded, giving out a cough. She flicked through the channels, finding an old black-and-white movie with Greta Garbo. He always liked her. Over time he drifted off asleep again.

***

Memories of that night haunted Greg’s dreams. It was after midnight, and I had to be up early to catch the military train leaving at dawn. I had to get home and get some sleep. Thunder constantly rumbled as lightning flashed across the sky. The old Ford’s windscreen wipers could barely keep up with the rain. My pulse pounded, trying to focus on the road, knowing my younger brothers had walked home in this weather. I should have made them stay and I could have driven them home. 

His eyes sprung open and his pulse raced. The increasing medical alarms woke Trish sleeping in the chair in the corner of his room.

A nurse came in, injecting something into the IV line. His eyes were fixed on his sister as he fought off the drowsy sensation flooding his body.

***

He woke to his sister sitting beside him. “My old Ford truck is in an old barn on Darcy’s place.”

“Don’t worry about it.” After all this time. It will be a pile of rust, assuming the barn is still standing after sixty years.

His eyes kept blinking before he fell asleep again. Trish stared back at the monitor. His pulse was fading gradually. It won’t be long he will be joining his mum, dad and his brothers. I have a few years in me yet. The military funeral is all organised, so I have less to do this time around.

Waking hours later, he lay there staring blankly at the back wall as tears welled in his eyes. He reached out his hand as the heart monitor went erratic, beeping faster. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see them. I kill them.” 

His voice faded as the machine rang out in one continuous buzz. The peaks and valley became flat lines as a nurse pushed past Trish. Turning off the machine, the nurse looked at her watch. Trish stepped back up hitting the wall. Her body was numb as her thoughts went over the last few moments. A cold shiver ran over her body as her hands trembled. He killed them. Her peripheral vision went dark; her legs turned to jelly as she fell to the floor.

The next thing she knew, she was looking up at the ceiling and a nurse had an oxygen mask over her nose. 

***

It’s been six months since Greg’s confession. Trish stood in the cold rain on the anniversary of that unforgettable night, looking down at the three white crosses. Her tears blended with the rain running down her face. For over sixty years, he never gave up his secret. He never talked about his brother's deaths, but everyone put that down to war trauma. We didn’t see him for four years, who knows what horror he saw in Europe? Did he deliberately hide the truth, or was it locked away in shame? Goosebumps rose on her skin and her shaking hands were becoming numb. Shoving her fingers under her arms did little. The longer she stood there the more she shivered. Her hair stuck to her face as she returned to the car for warmth. Well, he has an eternity to make it up to Max, Bruce and David.

The End