Broken

Chap20~ Finding Wren

Lily and I began wandering around the lower story of his house. I went into the kitchen, Lily so close behind me, I could feel her breath on the back of my neck. We were walking around, going back to the entrance of the kitchen when we heard it. A loud thump upstairs.
"Wren?" I called out desperately. I took off, hurdling over his couch-well that was new- and took the stairs two at a time. I stopped so hard when I got to the top from the stench that hit me. It hit so hard, I almost fell straight back down the stairs. Blood. The smell lingered in the air. I couldn't smell anything else. From the amount I was smelling, someone had to be dead. Oh God. The thump, the stink; Wren. Anxiety and fear made my blood run cold. I began to make my way towards Wren's bedroom. If it was even possible, the metallic tang of blood got even stronger. I turned a corner to find blood streaked along the wall and staining the floor. The blood on the wall was in the shape of a handprint dragging along low to the floor. The dark red didn't look right on the pale green paint. It almost blended in with the brown carpet. The trail on the floor led straight back to his bedroom. Thoughts of the worst ran through my brain. All I could picture was Wren, terrified and bloody, being dragged down the hall, fighting to get a grip on the wall in a failed attempt to escape. I slowly moved down the hall. I registered the sound of Lily coming up the staircase as an afterthought, not reacting when she came up behind me. She let out a little screech and that made it official. This was no dream. There would be no waking up to find Wren alive and safe, wrapping me in his arms. Maybe no more Wren at all. Terror flooded through me, seizing me in its paralyzing grip. I tried to push through, but I could feel tears sliding down my cheeks. I kept going down that damned hall, eventually making it to the door. It was closed and also covered in blood. I grabbed the handle, tentatively pushing the door open. The door handle was sticky and my fingers came off of it painted red. When I cast a glance inside, I choked on my own sob, turning away from that room. It as a bloody mess. The walls and ceiling had blood sprayed all over, the blue paint just a backdrop. On the floor was a body. It wasn't Wren. I could have cried with relief, if I wasn't standing next to a dead person, of course. In fact I didn't know who it was. The man's throat was slit, the skin hanging open. He had cuts and bruises all over his body. I looked around the room, gathering enough courage to enter. There was a bloody handprint on the window sill, backwards as if someone was trying to stay in. The glass was shattered, broken bits still hanging on the edges of the window. There were small pieces all over the floor and a chunk sticking out of the dead guy's foot, stained red with blood. His face, a cut on the forehead, was frozen with an expression of pain and fear. I ran to the window, looking down. I saw a crumpled figure lying at the bottom. I'd recognize those features anywhere. The best part about it was that he was moving.
It was Wren.