As the doctor stepped through the door, he offered Trevor a faint smile and introduced himself by saying, "Hello. I'm Dr. Brown, and I'm in charge of your case, Trevor," and Trevor looked at him for a few seconds before finally answering.
"Hello… uh… how long was I unconscious? And what happened to my mother?"
Instantly, the doctor's expression grew more serious and his voice softened as he replied, "You've been unconscious for two days, Trevor. We believe that due to the stress and the shock from the fire, your body entered a coma-like state as a defensive response." He paused briefly, his face still heavy with concern, before continuing, "Unfortunately, Trevor… there was a fire at your house. You are the only survivor."
Those words struck directly at the eleven-year-old boy that Trevor now was, but even so he did his best to remain calm, murmuring, "Oh… I don't even know what to say…"
The doctor sighed and said, "I know this must be very difficult for you right now, Trevor. But don't worry. We've already contacted a relative of yours. He should be arriving soon."
Relative. That word caught Trevor by surprise because in his memories he couldn't recall anyone else in the family — it had always been just him and his mother — but still, he said nothing and decided to wait and see who this supposed relative would be.
The doctor continued, "Oh, and the police would also like to speak with you, Trevor. They have a few questions, but only if you're feeling well enough."
"Of course… I just need to wash my face and—" Trevor began, but suddenly a loud growl echoed through the room and he placed both hands over his stomach, clearly embarrassed by the noise it had just made, before adding, "Maybe… a little food wouldn't hurt."
The doctor let out a small chuckle at the situation. "Of course, of course. I'll have them bring you something." After that, he asked a few more routine questions and then left the room to continue his rounds through the hospital.
Trevor was alone again, so he slowly got out of bed and walked to the bathroom, and when he looked into the mirror he was a little surprised. "Wow… I definitely won't have any problems with my looks in the future," he thought, because in the reflection he saw a boy with short dark-brown hair and deep blue eyes. He spent a few seconds studying his own face before washing it and returning to the room, arriving just in time to see the same nurse from earlier entering with a tray of food, and although hospital food was far from the most appetizing meal in the world, Trevor didn't seem to care — he began eating without hesitation, because for someone that hungry, any food felt like a feast.
After finishing his meal, he agreed to speak with the police, and they didn't take long to arrive: two men entered the room, the first short with closely cut hair and a thinning spot on the top of his head, the second a bit heavier and wearing a thick mustache.
The shorter officer stepped forward and said, "Ahem… hello there. How are you feeling? We have a few questions for you, Trevor."
Trevor nodded and replied, "Hello. I'm fine, officer. You can ask."
The man pulled out a small notebook. "Well… what do you remember about the night of January second?"
Trevor thought quickly — he needed to come up with something, because he couldn't say that his mother had been attacked by werewolves; if he did, they would certainly think he was insane — so he said the first plausible thing that came to mind. "I remember waking up in the middle of the night… and seeing the house on fire." He lowered his gaze slightly and continued, "And my mother was on the floor… trapped under a wooden beam that had fallen." He took a deep breath before adding, "I couldn't do anything… and she told me to run as far away as I could."
The officer's expression grew heavier. "I'm sorry for making you remember that… but we need to finish our investigation."
"It's alright, officer," Trevor replied, clearly affected, but this time he didn't cry — he wouldn't lose control again.
The officer closed his notebook and said, "Well… I think that's enough for now," slipping it back into his pocket. "Your relative has already contacted us. He'll probably be here in a few hours."
Trevor looked up. "Sorry… but who exactly is coming?"
The officer answered, "Your grandfather," pausing briefly before finishing, "Lucius Belmont."
Trevor blinked in surprise and managed, "Oh… thank you, officer."
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