When the funeral for Mr. Sullivan began, I could see that he’d been loved. The guests had filled the church, and the atmosphere was heavy with grief.
I’d only known Mr. Sullivan in passing but was aware of his reputation as a successful businessman, devoted to his son and his community.
Everything was going according to plan until the doors burst open with a loud crash, and in walked a young man dressed in the brightest green suit I’d ever seen. He was grinning from ear to ear—an expression wholly inappropriate for a funeral.
The guests turned, startled, and some murmured in shock. I quickly recognized him as Alex, Mr. Sullivan’s son.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I said, doing my best to keep things respectful, “as we’re here to honor Mr. Sullivan, perhaps we could ask Alex to rejoin us more appropriately dressed.”
But Alex only laughed as he strode confidently down the aisle.
“No need for formalities, Father,” he said, his grin widening. “I’m not here to mourn. In fact, I’m here to let you all in on a little secret.”
An uneasy silence swept through the room. Alex made his way to the front, standing by his father’s casket, and took a breath.
“This man right here—my dear dad—isn’t dead at all. In fact, he’s very much alive in this coffin.”
There were gasps and murmurs. I glanced at the guests, confusion and shock written on their faces. The funeral was spiraling out of control, but Alex continued, undeterred.
“You all think he passed in his study from poisoning, right? But I found something odd that no one could explain.”
He held up a mirror and placed it near his father’s mouth, and after a few seconds, he revealed it to the audience. There was a faint mist on the glass, and Alex’s face beamed with triumph.
“See? Dad’s breathing!”
Some of the guests looked uneasy, while others whispered, clearly unnerved. It took everything in me to remain calm as Alex reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe.
“I think it’s time to wake him up,” Alex said.
He leaned over the casket and administered an injection into Mr. Sullivan’s arm. A tense silence filled the room as we all watched and waited, hoping this was some kind of misunderstanding or miracle.
To my absolute shock, Mr. Sullivan’s eyes fluttered open. His breathing quickened, and he sat up slowly, glancing around in confusion and horror. Some guests screamed while others gasped.
A few even fainted.
I felt my own heart racing. In all my years as a priest, I’d never seen anything like this.
An hour later, I found myself at the police station, recounting the bizarre events to the officers. By then, the truth had come out. Mr. Sullivan, with his brother Carter’s help, had staged his own death. He had planned to vanish after faking his suicide to avoid prosecution for a tax evasion scheme worth millions.
He’d even prepared a new passport, a mistress, and a stash of cash in an abandoned house.
“I couldn’t let them get away with it,” Alex explained as the officers led his father and uncle into custody. “Not after everything he’d done.”
The strange events of that day reminded me that no amount of wealth or status could prevent the truth from coming to light, even in the most unexpected of ways.
