Nothing to see save an empty bin.
The room was in a quiet building and the emptiness only made it seem quieter.
The light was on – it shed a warm glow over half the room.
There was a sign of struggle but could have been mistaken for a hasty exit.
The sheets were crumpled and mixed up with the quilt.
The ceiling told the story, the fan spinning slowly moving the warm air around.
There was blood spattered across the blades and the ceiling but no sign of what had hit it.
What really happened here?
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