The day dragged on as Dean waited for nightfall to get near the apartment. Parking down the street, Dean shut the engine off and sat in the Impala for a moment. The street was quiet, lined with trees and illuminated porch lights.
The house in question stood dark, police tape fluttering gently in the breeze. Dean confirmed his flashlight worked and stepped out of the car. Walking back to the trunk, he opened it and lifted the hidden compartment lid. Scanning his options, he chose a knife and his typical pistol. Closing the compartment, he then shut the trunk and started making his way to the house.
Making his way to the back yard, Dean pushed the fence gate open and shut it behind him. Trying to not use his flashlight, he kept his hand on the side of the house and stumbled as he made it to the back corner.
Clearing his throat, he saw a gentle glow coming from solar lamps that led up the back porch. Following them quietly, he stepped onto the porch and to the door.
Taking his knife, he sliced down the crime scene seal. Next, he picked the lock and then entered the home.
The home was simply furnished, but held a statically charged air about it. Dean shook off the feeling and softly closed the door behind him. Keeping his flashlight low, he shined it through the kitchen and began the task of investigating the home.
Walking into the living room, he observed deep gouges in the hard wood that led to the stairs. Kneeling, he traced one gently and a spark of fear flashed through him, making Dean shiver.
Standing, he rolled his shoulders and started up the stairs. Chunks of wood were missing, causing Dean to skip sets of stairs at a time as he ascended. Stepping onto the landing, he shined his light down both ends of the hall before following the police tape that led to the main bedroom.
Turning the handle and pushing gently on the bedroom door, the police tape fell away and Dean was greeted by the sickly sweet smell of blood and industrial cleaner.
The floor was stained with blood, and various items were scattered around the room. It was clear that this was a violent death, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as he looked around the room.
Shining his flashlight slowly about the room, the beam of light danced across the footboard of the bed frame, revealing the center of the crime scene.
The bed was a mess of torn and bloody sheets, the mattress ripped open in several places. It was clear that the victim had died on the bed, and the struggle that had ensued had left its mark. The headboard was dented, and the pillows were scattered on the floor. It was a gruesome scene, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness for the victim and their family.
Dean covered his mouth and nose, trying to subdue the sickly smell of the room. It was clear someone had tried to do their best to clean up the blood, but it was honestly just so much.
"What the hell..." he whispered and stepped towards the headboard, noting the dark blood that had splattered the broken wood. Leaning closer, he reached up to touch a tuft of fur that had wedged itself between the cracks.
Police lights lit up outside, distracting Dean from his discovery. Cursing, he pulled the fur from the crack and stuffed it into his pants pocket. Retreating from the room, he closed the door as he had found it and started dodging down the broken stairs. Pacing his breath, he crouched and quickly made his way to the backdoor and exited the house.
Clearing the porch steps, he checked his options of escape before taking a running jump towards the back privacy fence. He felt confident in his speed and reached for the top of the fence.
The moment his foot made contact with the fence panel, the board gave under the pressure. Tumbling through the rotten fencing, Dean groaned in pain as he suddenly found himself on the ground. Authoritative voices called out, bringing Dean back to his senses as he struggled to stand. Checking his surroundings, he found himself in a residential alley and started briskly walking towards the road to circle around and make his way back to the Impala.
Pulling into the motel parking lot, he rested his head back and sighed. Holding his ribs under his jacket, he winced as he felt a bruise forming.
"I have got to stop thinking I'm Batman," he groaned and cut the engine. Slowly, he exited the car and walked up to the room door and unlocked it. Pushing the door open, he sighed as the feeling of anguish from the crime scene lifted from his shoulders.
Dropping his jacket over a chair, he began emptying his pockets and paused as he removed the tuft of fur. Twirling it in his fingers, his brow gently creased as he examined it.
The color was an oxidized red, the follicle coarse, and faded from the red into a black.
As he spun the fur in his fingers, Dean's mind wandered back to the house. So many questions and theories ran through his head as to what may have caused that sort of damage.
Setting the tuft down, he didn't even take off his boots as he flopped down onto the bed and fell asleep.
