Whoa. Ok. I knew that prologue was short but it did look a little longer on the Word-sheet…

-Ok, I'm not going to be superficial and say that its shortness is making me update when I was gonna wait for a week to do that (I don't have enough on stock to update too often)

-No, it's that addiction. You ever find yourselves logging onto your computer five times a day, checking your e-mail ten times each time with butterflies in the belly, quivering lips and mad-eyes? I'm telling you, if everyone could write, no one would do drugs…

And on that note I must thank you, who reviewed… (tears up) I love you guys! (sniffling)

Jolly001: Thank you so much! I don't what it is but it's really fun to write those author's notes ;) …… I'm overdoing them though, ain't I?

Missy: (bows) Thank you; here is more and longer chapter!

Lady Emily: Thanks for being the first to review my new story!

bhar: Thanks a bunch! (pointing at myself) I wrote "chilling" and "effective" (nodding proudly) I'm so proud of myself! I do agree with you though, I suck at chapter titles, I don't know why I bother with them, I guess it's because I'd like to think they (indirectly, sometimes) can tell a lot about the chapter… but be warned; even cheesier chapter titles to come, e.g. the one below…

Here comes the answer to your question!

At the bottom of the bottle

2. Lost Hearts

Joe Hardy, the blond, blue-eyed, (usually) vivacious 16-year-old, lazily made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen where his older brother Frank –who was dark haired and dark eyed and a little bit taller –and their father, Fenton –a tall and dark haired man, who was a famous private investigator –were already seated at the table, eating their breakfast.

"Good morning, sleepy-head," Fenton greeted when the blond youngster slumped into a chair.

"Mrning," he mumbled back, pulling the sleeve of his shirt over his hand and then taking the box of Cheerios and shaking it –finding it almost empty.

"You know, dad, I hope mom comes home soon before you'll get charged with undernourishment by social services," he then complained as he poured the remains of the cereal into a bowl.

The 17-year-old Frank looked up from the sport section of the news paper he was reading. "Yeah, dad, when does mom come home?"

"Should be either today or tomorrow," the detective replied, sipping his coffee. Then he looked at his watch. "Aren't you getting late for school?"

Frank shook his head. "Nah, not really, Joe's unusually early up, we've got enough time –especially if you lend us the car... you don't need it, right? You'll be working at home?"

"Yeah, yeah, you can take it. Still, I can't wait for you to get your own car," Fenton sighed.

"Well, that makes the two of us, then," Frank smiled.

"Excuse me? Three, I believe it is," Joe said with his mouth full, raising a hand to place emphasis on the words, and then: "Hey, can I drive?"

"I don't know, Joe. It started freezing again last night and the roads are slippery and you're not properly awake yet," Frank said.

"Oh, please, Frank. Give me a break. I am so much better driver than you," Joe glared at him.

-"Maybe when you are properly awake, which you aren't right now. I'll drive. You can drive back home."

Joe sighed deeply and leaned back in the chair. "All right, whatever, mommy..."

Fenton turned his head away to hide the grin on his face. "All right, you two, less talk, more hurrying so you won't be late for school, ok?"

Joe sighed again and threw his hands into the air. "And here I thought mom-free days were every guy's dream-come-true..."

The brothers were just getting ready to leave the house when the doorbell rang. Frank was standing closer to the door and opened it.

His eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, hey, Chief Collig, come in... Is something wrong?"

The middle aged, gray eyed police chief stepped into the house, holding his cap with both hands, his lips drawn into a thin line and his expression hard but unfathomable.

"Hello, boys, is your father at home?"

Fenton immediately came out of the kitchen. "Yup, I'm right here. Something's going on? We can talk in the living room…" he turned his attention to his sons, "You better get going..."

-"No," Collig cut in and then continued more softly, "No, Fenton... they should stay here, they need to hear this too."

Instantly a variety of options of what might have happened sprung to Fenton's mind. It was probably something concerning his work, maybe a serious threat to the community of Bayport, or perhaps a case that the police couldn't solve and needed a new pair of eyes? It had to be something bad since Collig looked so grave. Someone he had put behind bars had been released or had gotten out and wanted revenge?

Or –Fenton's stomach knotted up –something had happened to someone he knew… And the worst option, something had happened to Laura. But he thought that was very implausible and ruled it out. That couldn't be it.

But it was. None of them would believe it at first. –None of them would believe it at all. The three of them sat on the couch dumbfounded; their brains unable to comprehend the chief's words.

"But... but it can't be...it's...no..." Frank pleaded Collig with his eyes.

"I went to the scene myself, and I saw..." the chief looked away, not wanting to describe the blue, open eyes, the red, frozen pool of blood that had leaked to the ground between the joints of the car and its door.

"It was a car crash?" Fenton asked, still too shocked to understand.

Collig shook his head. "No, not a crash…. I don't know very much yet, the forensics is looking into it right now."

-"Where is she?"

"The body has been moved to the morgue for further examinations," Collig bit his tongue. He was starting to sound too technical when he was supposed to sound like a supporting and understanding friend. But he was having a hard time understanding, himself.

Laura Hardy was his good friend's wife. –She was a friend to him.

But he was a cop. He tried to distance himself from the horrors of his work by making it sound impersonal and cold but in this case he knew he couldn't do it that way.

Fenton wanted to argue. 'Hospital. She should rather be in a hospital than a morgue. That just didn't make any sense.' But he didn't say anything.

"Can… can we see her?" Joe asked.

Collig, prepared for that question, nodded. "Yes. I'll drive you to… -down there."

XOXOXOX

The white cover was pulled off her face. That's when the real shock hit them.

Fenton drew a sharp breath and felt the bile rise in his throat and he shook his head vehemently. "No…no…. Oh God, don't let this be true…"

Frank's eyes welled with tears but he bit his lip and contained the sobs, threatening to erupt from his chest, knowing that if he started crying he wouldn't be able to stop.

Joe was unable to breathe. A cold chill crawled up his spine. When he asked if they could see her, he hadn't expected to see this. He had been looking for a confirmation of some sort of a prank or misunderstanding: Anything. -Anything else but this.

Ezra Collig stood behind them and felt his own resolve weaken.

Then Joe suddenly took a deep but shaky breath and stepped closer to the body of his mother.

He needed all the self control he had not to break down. There was no life in her eyes. It wasn't right.

He stroked her bruised cheek with a trembling hand. It was so cold. That wasn't right either, or the strange bend of her neck.

Joe looked up at Collig. "Can I close her eyes?" he asked in a small voice.

"NO! No, it's not true!" Frank screamed, "It's not true! I won't believe it, wake up, mom! Wake up….! Please…." and then he completely broke down and started crying so the heavy sobs tore into his chest with such force it hurt to breathe and it felt as if his lungs were burning.

Fenton wanted to do the same. Break down and cry. But he couldn't. He had to stay strong for his boys. So he wiped the tears off his cheeks and wrapped his arms around his older son and whispered into his ear. "Shh, son, it will be all right…it's all going to be all right…" 'Who am I kidding,' he then thought to himself glumly, 'Of course it's not going to be all right.' He swallowed. -Had to stay strong.

Joe bent down and kissed her on the forehead, before closing her eyes. 'I love you, mom.' He didn't say it out loud. He felt his own tears start to fall as he stood looking at her. She seemed more peaceful when her eyes were closed. Almost as if she was only sleeping.

-Almost. He sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

Fenton heard, looked up and held out his hand to him. Joe moved into his embrace next to his brother and the father and sons grieved together.

XOXOXOX

The world was still in a haze later when the three of them followed Collig to his office at the police station.

The chief gestured for them to sit down and sat down himself behind his desk.

"So..." Fenton cleared his throat when he realized his voice was cracking, "What do we know so far?"

"Not so much... I, I mean, I could tell you the exact details of...uh, of how she…died... but I'd like to spare you from that..." Collig said.

"I meant the car. Had it been tampered with in any way?" Fenton asked.

-"The report hasn't been turned in yet, I'm expecting it any minute now though."

"But is there anything we can do?" Frank asked.

Collig shook his head. "No, Frank, I'm afraid not."

"But…there has to be," the dark haired boy insisted, grimacing in frustration.

"I'm sorry, Frank. There just…isn't," Collig said as gently as he could.

"But…." Frank groaned in anger and leaned back in the chair.

"Son… calm down," Fenton said, squeezing Frank's shoulder.

Collig turned his attention to the younger boy who was sitting next to his brother, staring straight ahead and hadn't said a word.

"Joe…" he began but was interrupted by a knock on the door and then a police officer stuck his head through the door way.

"Excuse me sir, but we have the report if you want to take a look at it."

"Yes, thank you, Riley. Ask the receptionist to fax it to my office, please," Collig said.

"Yes, sir," said the officer and left with a curt nod.

Moments later the fax machine by the window beeped and buzzed and a piece of paper slid out of it.

Collig reached for it and quickly skimmed over it.

"Let me see it," Fenton said and held out his hand.

Collig looked up. "Do you really think that's wise, Fenton?"

"Do you really think I give a damn about what's wise right now, Ezra? Give me that," Fenton snapped back and motioned for Collig to hand over the report.

The chief shook his head and sighed but pushed the sheet over the table.

Fenton skipped to the line that read:

Approximated cause of death: Internal bleeding/bleeding to the brain/spinal damage

He closed his eyes. Cause of death… Death. Death. It echoed in his head. He forced himself to breathe steadily before he continued to read.

Approximated cause of incident: Icy conditions, ill view.

Other remarks: Loose rubber on windshield wipers, causing ill view.

"Is that why it happened?" Fenton looked sharply at Collig. "The rubber was loose?"

Collig shook his head. "I don't know, Fenton. I don't think we'll ever get to know exactly why it happened. We can only observe, assume and surmise."

XOXOXOX

When they left Collig's office Fenton noticed a man standing by the reception seeming very agitated. He was middle-aged, tall with silver gray short hair and stubbles of beard.

Collig saw where his friend was looking. "Fenton, this is Mr. Terry Wyatt," he introduced, "He was the first to arrive at the scene this morning and notify us."

Mr. Wyatt –who had looked towards them when he heard his name –approached slowly and stopped in front of Fenton.

"I am…very sorry for your loss, Mr. Hardy," he said and held out his hand and in his green eyes there was genuine compassion.

Fenton stared at him for a moment before nodding and shaking his hand. "Thank you," he mumbled huskily.

Mr. Wyatt smiled a little though it looked more like a grimace and turned to the boys and simply nodded. Then he looked at Collig.

"Is there anything else I can do to help, Mr. Collig?"

"No. Thank you, Mr. Wyatt. You may go home now," Collig answered and shook the man's hand. Then he laid his hand on Fenton's shoulder. "I'll drive you back home."

XOXOXOX

"Who do we kill?" Joe asked, when they came out of the police station, his eyes dark with repressed fury.

Fenton and Collig both looked at him surprised.

"Son…" Fenton began.

"There has to be someone who's responsible for this. There has to be some clue somewhere," the blond boy continued with fierceness.

His father looked at his older son for support, knowing that he somehow always knew how to talk to the younger one.

But Frank's eyes expressed similar emotions; Anger, confusion; the need to find a culprit.

Finally Fenton sighed and took a step closer to the brothers, laying a hand on their shoulders. "I promise you boys, we will…do what we can."

XOXOXOX

Erm. Ok, if it's bad, then all I can say to my defense is that my mom hasn't died on me yet and dealing with the loss of a loved one is not the main point of the story (although a big point, I suppose…)

This time I will not update for seven days at least (if the withdrawal symptoms don't finish me; remember my speech about reviews earlier?). So please review!