tictac teeth; part 1

The streetlight casts a pool light around me. It is dark, outside this circle, and I feel like I’m safer here in the light. I wipe my sweaty hands on my dress, my dirt stained fingers leaving streaks against the red fabric. I don’t want to keep going, but I have to get home. I take a deep breath, and start to run. My sandals make out a steady rhythm on the wet concrete, and my heart thumps along with a similar beat. My dress flies out in all directions, and long pale legs are revealed. The scarf I had tied around my long blond hair comes undone, and falls to the ground, but I don’t stop to retrieve it. I can see the awning that shelters the front door of my apartment building coming into view, and I can already feel myself sinking into my soft bed. I reach the doors, and push them open. But it is a different place. The once familiar plants, couches, and chairs that decorated the lobby are gone, and are replaced with old antique furniture. I am breathing deeply, as I look around the new room. “Where am I?” I think to myself, as I walk towards the big desk. There is a lone typewriter in place of the row of computers that once inhabited this desk. A man is behind the desk. As I get closer to the desk, I realize it is Barney, the concierge that is always at this desk. I breathe a sign of relief. Barney hears me, and looks up from his newspaper. His face breaks into a friendly smile.“Hello miss, would you like a room?” He says.
“It’s me Barney,” I say. “Don’t you remember? I already own a room.” I look at him hopefully, but he still has that idiotic smile on his face.
“Would you like a room miss?” He asks again. I groan and turn back to the sitting area. The carpets are red, with black and blue specks. The couches are blue, with strange lumps bulging under the fabric in some places. I move to the nearest wall, which is not decorated. Water trickling downward has left long, dark lines running along the wall. I place a freshly manicured finger on the wall, just the tip, so I can feel the wet concrete. I spot a painting on the wall, of a little girl, and an older woman, probably her mother. There is a slight resemblance to the mother in the little girls face. She has a long, pointy nose, and big, purple eyes. Her mouth is just a line. A thin line that might be smiling, but at the same time it could be frowning. She is wearing a black sweater, and a long, grey, pleated skirt. The sweater partially covers a red blouse. Her short, blonde hair is limp, and hangs behind her ears like a mop. Her mother’s hair is long though, and is swept up on her head in an elegant bun. The woman is smiling, unlike the little girl, and I can see the tips of tiny, tic tac teeth. I don’t know why, but I am drawn to this picture in a sort of way. I know there are some others scattered on the walls, but I don’t want to look at them, I only have eyes for the little girl and her mother. I hear footsteps behind me, and goose bumps break out on my arms and legs. “She is a beauty isn’t she?” I turn around slowly, to find myself face to face with a man. He looks pretty young, maybe 25 or 30. He is wearing an old suit, and it looks like it needs to be ironed. He has a melancholy look on his face, as he looks at the girl and woman.
“Did you know them?” I ask.
“No, they lived next door to me, never got out much, those two.” He sighs. “I hadn’t even spoken five words to them when the accident happened.
“What accident?” I ask, looking at his face for the first time. His skin is lined with creases and folds. His eyes are grey, and almond shaped. His mouth is just a small dash of pink on his otherwise pale face.