The interior of Gretel's apartment was ransacked; furniture was everywhere, except where it was supposed to be. Anything that wasn't bolted down was shifted, on its side, or across the room. The table lamp had been destroyed, and there were faint smears of blood in the vague shape of handprints glowing red from the sunlight on the window.
And in the corner by the kitchen, a disheveled figure draped in long, mussed dark hair and a nightshirt that hung to her thighs and off one shoulder. It was also streaked in blood, mostly from her hands and fingernails that had been tearing at the walls and broken on glass, as well as from cuts and scrapes on her legs from running into the mess of broken furniture. The instant Gretel's crazed eyes found the Sam at the crack in the door, she let out another unearthly screech and tore straight for him, uncaring of the obstacles in her way.