Carmen Saunders is put to the test in choosing between inclinations that she did not think she would reach and the permanent war waged in her heart when she meets the Bill Kaulitz, the man who she always dreamed of.
She fakes her own death as her w...
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Carmen stood outside the hospital, her eyes fixed on the entrance. The crisp air cut through her jacket, but her mind was consumed by thoughts of what lay ahead.
"Got your call, I'll be there," Bill said reassuringly.
Bill was running a bit late, it was unusual for someone so organized, punctual, like him. She clasped and unclasped her hands nervously, her gaze flickering towards the hospital doors every time they opened, hoping to catch a glimpse of Bill. Finally, she spotted him striding towards her, a folder tucked under his arm and a determined look on his face.
"Hi, Bill..." Carmen replied, her voice soft and tired.
"Hey, hey...You good?"
"Are we ready to go in?"
"Yeah, they're just finishing up. We can head in now," Bill assured her, gesturing towards the entrance.
Despite the somber setting and situation, Bill's presence brought a sense of comfort and security. Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she had to take a deep breath to steady herself. The butterflies in her stomach intensified, making her feel a bit light-headed.
"I am just a little bit nervous," Carmen admitted, wringing her hands.
"Is it okay if I am doing this?" Bill inquired, as he pressed with his thumb her wrist, wanting to ensure she was comfortable.
"Yeah, yeah, it's fine. Thanks!"
Carmen found herself momentarily distracted from the gravity of their task, her thoughts racing as she struggled to maintain her professional composure. The sight of Bill, combined with the seriousness of the situation, created a whirlwind of emotions that she tried to keep in check.
"Let's get going," he said, stepping forward with a determined expression.
"Good afternoon, ma'am," he and Carmen greeted, his voice steady despite the tension in the room.
The room was cold and sterile, its walls lined with medical equipment and stainless steel counters.
"We got the final results needed for the autopsy." The doctor stated, guiding Carmen and Bill in the autopsy room.
The fluorescent lights cast a harsh, unwavering brightness across the autopsy suite, illuminating the lifeless form of Lola's body. Her body lay on the steel table, covered by a thin white sheet, the burnt remains of her clothes in a sealed bag nearby.
"That's great! Can you elaborate?" Carmen asked.
"Of course, ma'am...Well, here's the paper."
Dr. Hayes, a pathologist, stood at the head of the table, her gloved hands poised over Lola's head. Her face was a mask of professional detachment, yet she could feel her own vulnerability thinking of how bad Lola died. She had seen countless victims in her career, but this death struck a deep chord.
