As Mad Madeline left, Julian's shaky grip on the knife released, and he let it clatter to the floor harmlessly. All he wanted to do was to go home and maybe drink until he forgot what happened today. The ring, now cleaned from the disgusting mess that had caked it, was now placed in one of his jacket pockets, and the towel was tossed onto the table. "Come on, Charlie. Let's go," he said softly, any hint of his former banter gone.

He stepped out of the kitchen and saw Charlie crumpled to the floor. "Damn," he hissed. A quick inspection told him she was alive, but she wasn't about to be moving any time soon. Julian reached down to pick her up and grunted. She was heavier than she looked, but to be fair, Julian typically did not pick up heavy things in his daily routine. He struggled to find a good way to carry her, finally settling for a princess carry. 

Julian strained as he took each step, and moved as fast as he could out the door, not caring what he knocked over in the process. Once outside, he collapsed to the ground against the building, still holding Charolette close, pressing her head to his chest as he gasped for air. Panic was now allowed to set in, and he clutched the woman as if she were the only piece of safety in the world. A tear fell, then another. What had he just witnessed? Who the hell was that? 

A few minutes passed, and Julian collected himself again. He wouldn't be able to go very far while toting an unconscious woman; if his strength didn't give in first, someone was bound to ask questions. He shook Charlie gently and whispered her name, hoping she would wake up, all the while cradling her in his arms.