The way to pick this one specific lock came to him like second nature. The quick series of clicks as he pushed the pins in place was proof enough of that, and he slipped his makeshift pick back into his pocket. He stepped into the flat, where he was greeted with the signs of 'yes, Chris is here' in the form of his suit jacket, still damp with blood, on the floor in front of the telly. Ray figured he knew where it landed originally, judging by the black smears on the screen. But he would think of that later.

"Chris!" he yelled, because now wasn't precisely the time for indoor voices. "You feelin' better?"

He doubted it, but there was no harm in asking. Besides, he wanted a verbal reply to make sure Chris hadn't slunk off to some corner and shut down until further notice. He remembered that very well - after they had been brought back, they had just gone into a more or less barely functioning state. It has been hell getting over that the first time, and he wasn't sure he was up for spending a while coaxing Chris out of trauma.

He had other things to do, after all. There was still a body in the trunk of his car, and he hoped Chris hadn't had a sudden curiosity to nose around the boot to see what all was in there.