Oh.

Oh she-- really went out the window?

He hears her land with a thud and somehow he thinks he might not be dreaming after all. Head tilting a bit, looking out the opened window, he doesn't go to check at the window. Instead, he turns to head downstairs, knife still clutched in his hand. He passes the photograph then and notices that it's different now. That she's in it. That they're both having a weird, artificial smile when people ask you to smile to take a photo, but not the kind of smile he would have produced at gunpoint. Which of course is strange since he doesn't smile.

Padding down the stairs quietly, still trying to make sense of it all, he has to leave his knife on the counter next to the door where he normally puts the keys to grab and turn the doorknob. Pushing the door open, he takes two steps outside but lingers in the doorway instead of approaching her. Scowl firmly affixed, glaring, but looking like he's all bark and not much bite for the moment.

"Who the hell are you." And what is she doing in that photograph, with him, in his fake house, with those fake clothes?