There was only one word for the house that he now found himself. Old. Even the light in the room seemed years out of date, not to mention the décor. In the farthest corner of the main room, a large stain added to the age of the dilapidated, mud brown wallpaper, whilst on the other side the wallpaper had all but disappeared completely, leaving behind a mass of rotten exposed wooden to hold up the buildings infrastructure. This fact made him feel uneasy, but what he saw next was even worse. A small stain caught his eye, smeared across the door frame. It could have been like the others, except this was not old. It was fresh. His stomach turned as he entered the room where the blood stain came from. The door creaked as he entered, leaving an eerie silence in his wake as the young man set his eyes on the scene which lay before him. Blood. Everywhere. The young man, so strong stomached before now turned as bile rose in his throat. Unimaginable, the only word he could use to explain it.
He returned to the room seconds later, this time he was ready. As he looked around the room, in amongst the blood and flesh he recognised three things. One: a knife. Bloody like the rest of the room only, this blood seemed thicker than the rest, more physical and darker. A shiver ran through him, quickly followed by a wash of guilt. He knew why. He knew what had happened; he just needed to see it to believe it. Because maybe, just maybe... His thoughts were interrupted as his gaze landed on the object which lay a few metres from the knife. At first he couldn't make out the shape of it, all he could see was red and grey. It wasn't until he had looked at it for a good few minutes that he realised what, exactly it was. A pigeon. It seemed to be lying on its side, legs sprawled out infront of it, head facing upwards but there was one key difference between this pigeon and any other found dead on a street. This pigeon appeared with its insides, out. As realisation hit the man, he drew back in disgust but this time found the strength not to withdraw from his search. There was only one thing left in this room, but it wasn't what he was hoping it was. Instead it gnawed at the hole in the pit of his stomach. Eating away at the guilt, hopelessness and longing he now felt. In front of him he saw a bed. Well, mattress. Old and stained it fitted in with its surroundings. To an outsider, it would have seemed a pretty ordinary looking mattress, minus the blood stains. But to the young man it meant so much more. He couldn't, at first see mattress itself, only the blood stain which covered a good two thirds of its surface. His heart skipped a beat as rationality came into play. All he could think was the positive. Clinging onto any last hope, he had to... he couldn't be... It was only blood, no body... All thoughts, no hope.
A single tear ran down Dean's face as he mourned his lost brother.