He was on the landing this time and just stood still, one hand on the wall. Opulence, again, the sort he'd never experienced himself. A little girl with deep blue eyes, and her mother and father...
He'd know that family anywhere. He never forgot the faces of the people he killed, no matter how many there were. These, in particular, were etched on his mind. And the little girl. That sweet voice made small, the curve of her delicate nose mirrored in her mother.
The vision faded. He felt cold guilt settle in, a strange, unfamiliar emotion that seemed lately to be cropping up more and more often that he was less and less able to shake off. She had looked happy. Just a child, a child with everything, and nothing haunted in her eyes.
He didn't like it, didn't like how sick it made him feel, and he started back down the stairs. Whether these...things were real or not, he didn't want to risk being hit by another one while out in the open. He needed to go back to his apartment, and, when he was sure they were gone, maybe see if Boyd was still awake.