It was dark. It was dark, and Laurence Dominic was a creepy bastard. But at least he was aware of it. He didn't used to be so odd, you know, but being boxed'll do that to you. He used to play golf.
He liked it up here, in the dark of the office, where he could stand in the corner like he always did. Waiting in the shadows. He wasn't watching her sleep, in fact, he wasn't watching her at all. Adelle Dewitt didn't need to be watched. No, he was just there because it was as good a place as any. There weren't many spots in the Dollhouse where he was still welcome; Rossum's employees tended to hold a grudge. But the offices, with it's grand desk and majestic windows, seemed to hold twice as many skeletons as his own closet. It made him feel safe.
It'd been a quiet night. Too quiet, he would have noted with a smirk, if he'd known what was about to happen. Dramatic irony had always been one of his soft spots. Then suddenly, he froze. A sliver of light, shot into the room, the murky glow of the sparse ambient lighting, left to perpetually illuminate the hall. He stared at the door, careful to avoid stepping into the light. Something was coming. And it wasn't good.