Josh sucked in a deep breath, taking a few steps away from the doorway. "D-dad?" He called again, straining his ears to pick up any trace of his father. Everything was silent, except a light sound like a dripping faucet. He ignored it.
Finally he gathered his strength and walked into the living room, eyes searching for his father. Panic flared through him, making his stomach clench painfully. He frowned, and bit down on the inside of his cheek. Then he walked into the kitchen.
Josh staggered and nearly collapsed when he took in the scene.
His father was hanging from the ceiling, a rope atound his chest and under his arms. It wasn't meant to kill him, but to hold him up. The other end was tied around the ceilign fan. Suprizingly it held his weight.
But what had killed him was obvious. There were deep slashes in his wrists, and countless stab marks in his chest, stomach, and back. Blood dripped off of the end of his shoes, fingers, and clothes, and onto the floor slowly. Drip-drop. There was already a giant pool of blood under him; and his eyes were wide and sightless.
Josh slid to the floor, crumpling, and started to heave violently. He held his haid out of his face as he got ill, and tried not to cry. When he was finished, he sat up shakily, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. One tear slid down his cheek, but that was all he would allow.
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