Author's note:
Here comes a romance of roughly 19k words. As is often the case with my stories, and typical romances even more so, there's not much sex in it and only towards the end.
My thanks go to my editors. Stattion for his help to make the storyline consistent and fluent and Joffa for his spelling, grammar and punctuation expertise.
I hope you enjoy it and please remember to leave a vote or even a comment.
+++++
'Fucking hell', I swore to myself as I walked back to my studio from the meeting with my professor for analytical chemistry. He had summoned me to his office for an early morning meeting to discuss various options for my term paper. He was exceptionally meticulous as this was the last paper before I would start on the thesis for my Masters. He had already told me that anything but a perfect score would be unacceptable.
Fighting against the wind which beat freezing rain into my face, I kept a close eye on the street. Cars were running at a crawling speed as the road was covered with a thin layer of ice which had been smoothed by the strong wind. I saw more than one car slither or fail to stop at a red light and was wary of a driver losing control of his vehicle and sliding right into me.
Fifteen minutes after I had left the professor's office, I arrived at my studio flat, just in time to prepare myself a late breakfast or an early lunch. Quickly checking the contents of my fridge, I heated some left-over mushroom risotto from the evening before. I was halfway through my lunch when the doorbell rang.
Curiously, I went to open the door. My best bet was that it was one of my friends, looking for a study partner. I looked through the peephole and stopped short when I saw two police officers in full uniform standing outside the door.
This was not good. I wasn't a Saint but to the best of my knowledge, I hadn't done anything that would warrant a visit from the police. Nervously, I pressed the handle and pulled the door open.
"Good afternoon, Officers."
"Good afternoon, Sir. Are you William Hazelwood?"
I squinted a little, suspicious of what they wanted but as I still didn't know of any misbehaviour, I had no reason to lie.
"Yes, that's me."
I tried to read their body language and countenance and what I saw wasn't very encouraging. They weren't looking for me in connection with a crime or an offence. But what other reasons could they possibly have to come here?
Mom! Dad! Carla! No! Not Carla! Not my sister!
"Could we please come in?"
"Carla. Please tell me that Carla is alright."
It was barely a whisper that made it out of my mouth.
"We think it would be best if you sat down, Mr Hazelwood."
I swayed. My bloodstream was being flooded with adrenaline and my sense of balance was rendered dysfunctional as my pulse rate increased and pumped the adrenaline though my body. My eyesight deserted me and I saw nothing but the faces of the two officers, the edges of my vision black and fuzzy.
A strong hand grabbed me by my shoulder and I was led into the studio and carefully sat down on my couch. There weren't many options as my studio consisted of a saggy single bed, a shabby desk with a rickety chair, a wormy wardrobe, and a worn-out sofa in front. A tiny bathroom and the even tinier kitchenette completed my realm.
'They entered my apartment without permission,' shot through my head before I remembered that they most likely weren't trying to search the place. My circulation normalised a bit or at least stabilised and I was able to form coherent thoughts again.
"Thank you for catching me. What's wrong with Carla?"
"We are sorry to inform you that your parents were involved in a car accident this morning. They were both taken to the hospital within minutes. Unfortunately, the injuries your father sustained were too severe and the medical staff were unable to help him. Your mother is alive but in critical condition. We have been instructed to take you to the hospital."
It took me a minute to understand what they just told me. Dad was dead and Mom was severely injured. In critical condition. That sounded ok. In the TV-series, patients in critical condition usually survived.
"What about Carla?"
"Sorry, we don't know who that is?"
"My sister. Was she in the car?"
"We don't have any information about anybody else being in the car. I think it's safe to assume that she was not present."
Frantically, I tried to come up with a plan on how to proceed. My sister was eleven years younger than I was. I had been an early surprise for my parents when they were barely twenty years old. They put in a lot of effort in raising and providing for me. A few weeks ago, during my last visit at home, they had told me that their marriage had been on the brink more than once in those early years due to the pressure it had put on them. After everything had stabilised and they had found more things they had in common than just me, they had decided to try for another child.
When Carla arrived, I was already eleven years old. During the pregnancy, I hated her. Or maybe disliked her. But once she had come home from the hospital, l soon fell in love with her and became a protective and doting big brother. When she had grown up a little and our parents wanted to have a calm evening to themselves, I always volunteered to babysit her.
What should I do now? Carla was eleven. If our parents weren't there to take care of her, nobody would. What would happen then? Most likely, she would either be given to foster care or a children's home. That wouldn't do.
"I need to go home. Immediately."
