.
Each drop of rain hit my windshield like a bullet. It was pitch black outside, and the car's headlights were broken. I couldn't see a thing. Damn it, no! I hit something hard—a terrible, gut-wrenching sound.
I slammed on the brakes, jumped out, and saw another car, horribly mangled, on the side of the road. Its lights still flickered faintly, enough to illuminate the scene of destruction.
Steam rose like a ghost in the night. Beyond it, I noticed two human figures. One hung lifelessly, and the other sat slumped inside, unconscious.
Blood streamed across the asphalt, pooling around my feet. Thunder crashed so violently it seemed the heavens were collapsing, heralding my judgment day.
The young man in my dream screamed desperately.
"No! No! NO!!!"
.
Gabriel jolted awake.
"No!" he gasped, his body drenched in sweat.
The room was dark and eerily quiet, but his nightmares had been vivid. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breathing.
Nightmares were not new to Gabriel, but this one had shaken him deeply. He glanced at the clock on his bedside table—11:36 PM, the numbers glowing faintly in the dim room. With a deep sigh, he buried his face in his hands.
Moments later, he stood up. The adrenaline coursing through him made sleep impossible. He grabbed his jacket and decided to take a walk to clear his mind.
Gabriel's apartment was close to the city's central park. His late-night walks always led him to the same place: the fountain named after his father. Sitting at its edge, he would let the rhythmic flow of water soothe him as his thoughts wandered.
That evening was no different. He sat, gazing at the tiny droplets breaking away from the main stream, reflecting the city lights like scattered stars.
But his mind was elsewhere, replaying the nightmare. Or was it a memory?
The panic, the fear, the shame of that fateful night resurfaced. He remembered it all too well. Instead of helping, he had run. He left behind the scene of the accident and the lives shattered by it.
Gabriel's guilt felt like an iron chain, suffocating him under its weight.
The son of a hero, now a police officer himself, had sought his father's help that night. But instead of encouraging the truth, his father had orchestrated a cover-up. Gabriel hadn't simply been offered an escape; he had been ordered to follow the plan.
The scene was staged. The story rewritten. Responsibility shifted.
And Dorian's father became the scapegoat.
In the years since, Gabriel had tried to make up for it. Every act of kindness, every heroic deed, was a desperate attempt to balance the scales. But deep down, he knew no amount of good deeds could erase what he had done on that rainy, cursed night.
Suddenly, through the blur of the crowd, a familiar figure appeared.
Dorian.
Gabriel's heart sank. It felt like fate's cruel irony that they would meet at such a moment.
"Dorian," he called, forcing a smile that felt out of place on his usually stoic face.
The boy smiled back, though his eyes betrayed the weight of his troubles. That evening, Dorian spoke openly about his fears of losing his home.
Gabriel listened intently. The boy's innocence and earnestness only deepened his guilt. And yet, amidst the pain, an idea took shape.
He couldn't change the past, but he could change the present.
"I can lend you the money, Dorian," Gabriel said, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside.
Dorian initially refused, but Gabriel insisted, explaining it as a loan he could repay over time. Finally, the boy agreed.
As Dorian walked away, Gabriel remained by the fountain, gazing into the water. He couldn't rewrite history, but for the first time in years, he felt a flicker of hope—a chance for redemption.