Wilson has yet to meet Erin; he's been around for a few weeks so he's seen her, but only from a distance, the tall tattooed woman on the other side of the deck wearing a mask or a headband or something. And yet, over his plate of surf 'n' turf snatched from a ghost's hand in the formal dining room he gets a sudden mental image of Erin (Bird Edition) eating a fruit cup on another deck entirely, like how he could always tell where Wendy left that creepy sculpture of an eye she made with moon rocks and a red gem by the oddly directional distant sensation of being watched.

It fades after a few moments, but that sure was weird.