When we entered the room, it was completely trashed. At the side, a dejected bag slumped sadly over the floor, its contents spilling out and its Velcro torn to pieces.

The bed sheets were tangled, reminding me of gnarled thorn bushes, waiting to trap someone in their jaws. Ripped pictures littered the area around my partner and I.

I bent down and picked up a picture that had been so violently torn in half that it was frayed and tattered at the edges. I put the two halves together – a brown haired girl and a black haired boy smiled up at me.

“They ain’t smiling now,” my partner grunted, looking out the window – whose curtains had been fiercely pushed aside and was hanging agape, like a person’s mouth after a horrifying surprise.

“Sure aren’t…” I murmured, setting the torn picture on the desk before me.

Heavy metal music permeated the air around us; I took a step forward and stepped back as soon as I heard a grind against my shoe.

“Watcha got?”

“Mobile.”

I turned the cell over in my hand, observing.