Edward Cullen's expensive black shoes shined bizarrely against the filthy entry floor. Their tap-tap-tap echoed off the dingy walls as they traveled down the hallway. They paused in front of the old, worn down elevator before deciding that death by faulty elevator seemed a far to grizzly fate and moved to stairwell. They added a squeak-squeak-squeak to their repertoire as they climbed up three flights of stairs. They stumbled as they caught on the exposed lip of carpet, but finally they reached their destination. The shine of polished leather hesitated before the open door. They noticed obscurely that they had more of a polish then the cracked door knob. Slowly they scuffed over the threshold before coming to a grinding halt. The usual calm living room was trashed: tables knocked over, the ground was sprinkled with dirt and powder. Limp bodies were draped across various pieces of furniture and a heavy head lifted at the sound of the shoes' arrival.
"Tanya?" A voice asked from above the shoes. The owner of the shoes looked into a set of bleary eyes.
"Tanya?" He repeated his jaw clenched uncomfortably.
"Where's my son?"
Down the hall, a terrified scream shattered the silence.