There was no clearer method for her to convey with only the miry funeral wagons of her dead soul pools, which without movement leapt and grabbed his bluebirds by their metaphorically flapping wings and forced their beaks to stare at her that, yes, I see that too and told you so, arriving in the same hollow limbo windchime tone. The lack of noise and motion between them seemed louder and more active than any actual conversation she had ever had. She lingered looking at him, desensitized by now but still alarmed, because she didn't want to look back at it.
By the time she'd turned back to check on it for both of them, the indistinct figure had fled, as it always did, as if playing a game of hide-and-seek. The tip of her tongue smashed as hard as it could into her canine, as she indicated toward her ear with a shaky index in such a way, that he might be able to surmise she was saying that he was lucky he couldn't hear them. And as the doors spread their metallic thighs at the first floor, she wrapped her hands into the bottom of her little miss sunshine shirt to create a knucklepouch, and motioned for him to go first. Of course, following faithfully after because she wasn't in the mood to trick him.
Hopefully while she was gone, a starlight murderer from the ocean glittered up to shore and spangled into her apartment to stab her into the other world. She left it unlocked for this very purpose, and held it opened for him to brave in first. Watch out for the broken mirror on the floor.