Driving in the back of a police car had never been on Laurence’s list of things to do in his life, and while he wasn’t under arrest, he couldn’t imagine it would have been a pleasant experience no matter the circumstance. The seat was hard, and the plastic was coarse, and the doors just seemed to closing in on him.

He’d have much rather driven his own car but he suspected it would have reflected quite badly on him if he’d told the officers he wanted to drive himself given the fact that he knew they’d seen the empty bottles in the kitchen, and probably smelled them on his breath.

He didn’t feel very drunk though.

He didn’t really feel much of anything.

Laurence had been planning on spending his evening privately, relaxing and finally working out some of the stress that had built up over the past few weeks. He was going to pretend like nothing was wrong, drink himself silly, and have a good night’s rest.

How foolish of him to think he’d be given any such thing.

The two officers who had arrived at his door had politely offered their names and asked if he was alone. Laurence had answered earnestly, too surprised to think about making any sort of excuse about why they should leave so he could enjoy his evening.

Something about the way they looked at him just made his stomach twist up.

‘I’m sorry to inform you—’ the moustached officer had began, and he immediately thought they were going to be telling him that they found Tobias’ body. But—no, that didn’t make sense, Tobias was purified. Were they declaring him dead? Yes, of course, that made sense.

Oh, but.

‘—were in an accident…’

Who? –Who was? No, he said ‘were’, not ‘was’. Plural.

He stared blankly, trying to recount what he’d missed.

The officers were staring at him; the older, moustached one stoically, and the younger one as if he were expecting something more.

“I’m sorry,” Laurence had said into the silence, and he’d had to ask them to repeat it.

This time he listened, but it hadn’t really clicked the second time, either.

They’d said his parents were in an accident, but that was preposterous, he’d just spoke to his mother a few hours ago. Texts, but. It was still her. The police officers said it was an automobile accident, tried to explain some details that didn’t quite register or make sense to Laurence. There hadn’t been another car, no animal. They’d found the car flipped, crunched badly. Two bodies inside, difficult to recognize on appearance.

But Laurence had confirmed their names, the car they drove.

The officers said it was his parents. They said he needed to go to the hospital.

Or maybe they’d asked? Laurence hadn’t really felt like he’d had a choice.

Ever the obliging son, all family duties that fell into his hands, he maintained. He felt like he was in a stupor; it didn’t register that he should have grabbed his phone, or that he should have locked his apartment. He would have left without his shoes if he hadn’t tripped over them on the way out.

It was a silent ride the way there. Laurence was vaguely aware of the officers trying to ask if he was okay, if there was anyone he could call, trying to explain what to expect—but he couldn’t really hear them. He recognized voices, but not what they meant. Even his own thoughts seemed vague and sloppy.

It couldn’t have been the alcohol; any of the pleasant high he’d had disappeared the moment he’d opened the door.

The drive there, while not long, was excruciating. It felt like it would never end. His mind was dragging so slowly, but moving so fast.

Certainly, this was a mistake. A prank? It wasn’t very funny. His parents were safe drivers, they took the back road, they were careful. They weren’t the sort to drink. There wasn’t even another car—how could there have been an accident? Cars didn’t just flip. They must not have been back in the city yet if another car wasn’t involved. Destiny City didn’t have a single road that didn’t have at least someone on there, he expected. But the roads all leading into the city had fences and railings to keep animals out. His father would have hit a deer, he wouldn’t have swerved. What, then—a youma?

Outside of the city, no.

It didn’t make sense.

He debated with himself for the whole fifteen minutes of eternity that it took to arrive at the hospital.

Even at this hour, it was bustling.

But then, Destiny City never slept. They had people working around the clock. There were no quiet hours here, not at Destiny City Memorial.

The officers were out of the car, escorting him inside. They asked him some basic questions, and he knew he answered, but even a single sentence later, he couldn’t recall any of it.

The smell of the hospital made him feel ill; it wasn’t particularly different from the pharmacy he worked in, but something about being here…

Maybe it was the lights. The bright, buzzing, fluorescent lights.

He was lead through the hospital, from one busy lobby to another bustling hallway. Into the elevator with four other people, and the officers. He had expected to go downstairs, but the officer pressed the fourth floor and he found himself perplexed—and hopeful.

Had he misunderstood?

Not ‘bodies’, then. There must have been a mistake. You didn’t keep living bodies—people—anywhere except for the morgue, right?

The door opened. He stepped out. Only one officer, the older one, accompanied him. The younger one stayed in the elevator and pressed another button. He was gone before Laurence realized there were only two echoing footsteps, down an empty hall.

It seemed so much more lonely, coming from the crowded first floor to this.

…The air was cold and still, and he wished he’d brought a jacket. Why was he here again…?

They stopped in front of an open door—an office. A woman was inside, a little older but with a kind face. She looked like the friendly sort, like she could have been a good kindergarten teacher. She had a gentle demeanor about her, and Laurence found himself shuffled in.

Janice Caldwell—grief counselor. She worked with the morgue, something about…something…

The haze had slipped over Laurence’s mind at that point in time and he nodded. He let her coax him into a seat across the desk, let her talk to him about what she did. What she was going to do.

She reiterated what the officers had probably told him, only there was something about her voice, the way she carried herself, that made it easier to listen to her.

There was an automobile accident. Two bodies were recovered, an older male, and an older female. One wallet and one purse, both containing identification, had been found on the scene. The car was registered in his father’s name. The license plate was his.

Laurence had nodded dumbly.

There police officer had taken a seat in the far back of the room, though Laurence didn’t know why. He didn’t care; as soon as the officer was out of his line of sight, he forgot about him.

The woman had two photographs, and she placed them face down on her desk. She explained calmly that ‘the couple’ had been recovered, that they were with the coroner. She had explained that they had sustained massive injuries during the crash, but she had done so, so very carefully. It was easy to pretend like she was talking about strangers. Laurence could process her words.

She explained that they might have been able to wait until morning to make this call, that she was sorry this was so late. She didn’t outright say it, but he suspected she might have if his parents hadn’t been on the news so much recently. Of course the police would be trying to hurry to get this taken care of, his parents had been pushing and shoving their way through every office for information on Tobias, on any leads.

There was more that she wasn’t saying ,but she had carefully worded that the nature of the accident had left the car mangled. She didn’t say them, she said the car. But she had explained the injuries. Darkening bruises would be forming soon, so they’d cleaned up what they could and taken pictures early on. The man would have a broken nose, and the woman’s cheek had been shattered in the collision. They had lacerations, cleaned.

She told him he could turn over the pictures whenever he was ready, but he didn’t move.

A few seconds ticked on, and though his mind had caught up with him, he couldn’t bring himself to move.

Was he still hoping that he’d turn over the pictures and they would be someone else? Was there really even any chance that they were anyone else?

He’d swallowed.

The room was silent; nobody moved. He wondered if he should be more frantic than this, but all his emotions seemed to have welled up.

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” he said, if only because it honestly sounded like they had everything under control. They had the car, the identification. They could do DNA testing too, couldn’t they?

…But he knew how expensive those things could be. It would be so much cheaper, so much less time consuming, just to have him look at the pictures and confirm.

And yet, his hand wouldn’t move.

The stillness was almost uncomfortable, but the woman across from him just smiled softly. “We just need to be thorough. I know it’s hard. If you don’t want to do this now, we can do it later.”

“No,” he shook his head just slightly. “…No, I’m already here.” It wasn’t going to change the photographs.

Another few seconds of stillness and he managed to find the strength to move his hand to rest atop the desk.

A nagging voice in the back of his head told him to just do it. Just get it over with. There was going to be a note on the back of the papers that said ‘Haha, just got you’. Probably Tobias, it would be just like him to screw with him like this.

It was a joke.

This was all a joke.

Laurence reached both hands across the table and flipped the pictures over simultaneously.

In that split second, relief.

Those were not his parents.

He exhaled, relaxing. It was a joke. It wasn’t his parents. Not his father’s stern, exasperated expression. Not his mother’s amused, but never quite completely pleased with him smile.

They were strangers, whose injuries—while disturbing—were not as bad as he’d prepared himself for.

Of course, his father’s broken nose had smushed into his face and he looked so much less imposing, and his mother’s cheek wasn’t even that bad, should could have hidden it with some nicely curled hair, like she did for Christmas and—

Oh.

Wait, no.

Those were his parents.

He stared in cold dread as another moment of silence passed. He was frozen, trapped in abstract horror as the realization dawned. Externally, he was stoic; nearly no emotion passed across his face sans the recognition. Internally, he could not make sense of his thoughts. There was a strange, metallic screeching that hurt, and yet, he almost willed it to scream louder, to deafen the thoughts, the rationale and reasoning.

His fingertips brushed across the glossy surface of the photograph, and he found himself illogically confused that he could not feel skin.

He could not find his voice; he nodded, and he was minimally aware of the woman across from him exhaling and nodding.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said gently. “I want you to know that I’m here for you, you can stay here with me as long as you like.”

The police officer stood; he had his information and his part was done, apparently. But there was still a nagging in the back of Laurence’s thoughts.

“May I see them?” he asked, surprised at the question because he really wasn’t sure he’d even asked. It was his voice, piercing through the shrill screeches of his mind, but he felt like it had come from his lips without permission. Like he was being puppeted by some other thing.

…But, let that be the case. He didn’t want to deal with this. His body was cold and it felt like he’d dressed in the wrong skin before stepping out for the evening. Like an oversized coat, damp with rain and some foul stink, he was trapped in the shell of something that was not him.

…But it was okay, because if it wasn’t him, he didn’t have to deal with this.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said again, softer. “You won’t be able to see them until they’re finished examining them.”

A vague awareness gripped him; he finally tore his gaze from the pictures and he looked up at her face. “What do you mean?”

“They’re still with the coroner, I’m afraid. It will be a few hours, at least.”

“I don’t understand,” he said slowly.

Thunder struck violently outside, and he could have sworn the lights flickered—but Janice didn’t flinch. An earthquake shook the building, and Laurence could feel the violent tremors below his feet, through his body. If he’d been standing he’d have toppled over, but strangely, nothing in the room moved. The window in the room, dark sans the light of the city, suddenly turned black. A wave of water burst through, spraying hot, lava-like mist over his face, burning through his skin, his clothes.

He did not move.

Janice did not move.

He blinked, and everything was gone.

Except for the photographs on her desk.

Janice licked her lips, a stalling technique. Her eyes flicked to the police officer who lingered in the back of the room.

“There were some questions about the incident,” Janice answered carefully. “We just want to be thorough.”

“It was a car accident,” Laurence said slowly.

“Right, of course,” Janice smiled gently. “But I’m sure you have questions, too.”

Questions. Like, how did this happen?

His skin was crawling and he forced himself to nod. His father had an immaculate driving record, fast reaction time, steadfast caution. If it had been a stroke or some other medical ailment, he needed to know to add it to his medical records. If it had been anything else…

…What else could it have been?

His parents had no enemies.

Well, no. They probably had many, but none that would harm grieving parents who had just lost their favorite…

Laurence’s stomach churned.

Who was going to tell Tobias? And how?

Laurence had to be strong. Emotions, weakness, was not a luxury he could afford. He needed to come up with a plan. He needed to know what had happened.

He needed to know that these weren’t photoshopped pictures, needed to figure out what the next step was supposed to be.

Going home wasn’t an option; he didn’t want to be alone. He couldn’t call Gale, he couldn’t imagine actually talking to anyone about this. No one important. And she’d already been there for him for so much. She deserved a break, she couldn’t handle being his emotional support all the time.

He could handle this.

He had to.

Another moment passed and he asked, “May I stay here until they’re finished?”

Janice’s expression remained compassionate, but there was something sad, disappointed. “It’s going to be at least a few hours, Laurence. Absolutely, you can, though.”

“It’s fine,” he said, forcing himself to stand up. “…I’ll wait.”

“You don’t want to stay and talk?”

“No, not right now.”

She reached across her desk, business card in hand. “I’ll be here until seven, but there are other grief counselors on hand, so if you’re ready to talk and I’m not here, please don’t hesitate to speak to the front desk, they’ll get you set up. All right?”

Laurence nodded with little enthusiasm. “Thank you for your time.”

He stood, eyes falling on the photographs on the table. It felt strange, to leave them on her desk. Like he was abandoning his family. Like he could still keep them with him, like they were still there, if he could only take those photographs with him, but…

You couldn’t carry around photographs like that.

And what would he even do with them?

…What was he even going to do about any of this?