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...step like the gun's a shield, held in front of me. Like I'm really safe behind it. I wish I could put down the bag without making myself even more of a target. Then I change my mind, because what if I left it and it vanished too? 

    I move slowly down the hall. Nothing happens, but I don't let that fool me into overconfidence. I know all about waiting for the perfect moment, I've done it a hundred times. You wait until they relax. Someone could be waiting for me to do the same.

    The bathroom door is a dark rectangle in front of me. It is a bathroom, because I can now see the tiles on the floor; thick with grime, like everything else in the Hobart residence.

You retreat to look for the body elsewhere

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