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He's somewhat put off as soon as they enter the building, noting the absence of a receptionist. 
He might find the silence, the emptiness [i]peaceful[/i] if it didn't make the hair at the back of his neck stand so readily. He was not one to speak, not unless he had a reason to or unless he was making niceties but here and now, he almost asked if anyone else felt [i]off[/i]. He passed a glance around the room, well-lit, warm and [i]not quite inviting[/i] somehow. His gaze instinctively traveled to Bernard first, maybe because he didn't quite trust his own assessment but it was hard to make out anything damning in the older man's expression. 

He pressed his tongue to his teeth and then his gaze traveled to Linda. [i]Nothing there either. Maybe it's just paranoia. I didn't want to come today. I'm making up reasons to leave early.[/i] As the elevator came into view, he tried to qualm his discomfort and kept close to Linda. [i]Stanton will be there when we arrive. I'll project my daddy issues on him again and it'll be [b]fine[/b].[/i] However, as the doors slid open and he saw his own reflection in their passing, he realized his nails were digging into his palms. 

He stepped into the elevator, feeling claustrophobic and uncomfortable, he took to a corner. As the elevator moved through the building, he watched the faces of the other patients. He couldn't read [i]any[/i] of them. [i]I'm overreacting, I'm overreacting, it's the disorder, it's the paranoia, it's-[/i] The doors slid open and he saw the hallway stretch out before them. [i]Dark[/i]. He wasn't [i]afraid[/i], not really, but he felt [i]wrong[/i]. His head turned up as he looked down the hallway, flickering bulbs, hissing as they struggled to stay lit. 

The ones that couldn't stay lit were what caught his attention. [i]Burnt out[/i]. A power surge, maybe? [i]One strong enough to take out the whole hallway?[/i] He knew it was silly reasoning, the same desperate reassurances he liked to give himself when he was scared or sad, the same desperate reassurances he'd given himself when he'd lost people close to him. [i]But I haven't lost anyone, have I?[/i] As they walked down the odd, disjointed hallway, he started to feel as if someone had pitted him. 

And then he saw Stanton.

A sharp inhale, a gasp. "[color=a0410d]Mon Dieu.[/color]" He doesn't believe in God, he never has, but it makes him feel better to invoke the name of something larger than him. "[color=a0410d][i]Notre Père qui es aux cieux, que ton. Nom soit sanctifié, que ton règne vien-[/i][/color]" He cut himself quiet with another little inhale. [i]No, no, no-[/i] His hand came up to his mouth and he just [i]froze[/i] to stare at the face of the man who he had started to trust. 

[i]Trust, it was a funny thing, isn't it?[/i] He found his thoughts moving slowly, like rusty cogs turning. [i]Not given easily but lost like that. Weird.[/i]

He [i]entirely[/i] misses the exit of the dark figure, too fixated on the corpse before him.

Then, quietly, in English, he spoke again. "[color=a0410d]This is an ah- awfully theatrical way to kill someone.[/color]" His voice sounded wrong to him, slightly detached. "[color=a0410d]Who would.. want to hurt him?[/color]" He hadn't stopped staring, just sort of [i]stuck[/i] there.

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