I couldn't find the roulette machines, but I knew they were near where Pam and I entered the casino, so I retraced my steps and went back to the escalator that brought us downstairs after dinner. I stopped and looked around to get my bearings and that's when I saw Eric.

He came around the corner from the elevator banks that only hotel guests could use. He was in a black suit with an open collared light blue shirt and looked like a god. But I also immediately saw that something was wrong—he didn't look quite right.

When he saw me, he gave me a curt smile and extended his hand as he approached me and my heart sank. He wasn't exactly happy to see me. I shook his hand and it felt hot and sweaty. His face was also sweaty, but pale.

We made polite small talk—asked how each other was, and then he turned around and walked over to the escalator and threw up into a trash can. It was alarming, to say the least.

After he threw up, he sank to the floor on his knees and I knew something was very wrong. I went over to him and felt his face and he was burning up with a fever. He was also clutching his stomach and kind of moaning in pain. People were starting to gather around and I heard one woman laugh and say, "Someone's had a little too much fun."

Eric certainly hadn't seemed drunk when he greeted me, but I thought, even if he were, this is something serious. I called 911 and asked for an ambulance and while I was on the phone, a man dressed in a hotel uniform came over and crouched down to us.

"Sir, are you alright?" he asked Eric.

Eric kind of smiled and said, "Uh … no."

I hung up after being assured the ambulance had been dispatched. The hotel guy was talking into a microphone clipped to his collar and almost immediately, two other hotel guys showed up.

One of them was asking people to step back and the first guy was still crouched down with us.

"An ambulance is on its way. Are you a guest here at the hotel?" he asked Eric.

"Yes. My name's Eric Northman. There's something wrong with my stomach."

Hotel guy turned to me and said, "We've got this ma'am. You don't have to stay."

I realized he thought I was just some random woman who was helping Eric. I reached down and held onto the hand that Eric was bracing himself against the floor with. His other one was holding his stomach.

"He's a friend of mine. I'm staying with him," I responded, internally cringing because I knew that Eric most likely didn't consider me to be a friend of his. But telling the hotel guy that we weren't exactly friends but I'd blown Eric once at Universal Studios just wasn't an option.

The three of us sat there on the floor in silence until the EMTs arrived. I was very scared. Eric looked awful. He didn't say anything but every now and then, he would grimace and grunt a little in pain. It was horrible to sit there and feel so helpless.

It wasn't until we were in the ambulance that it occurred to me to call Pam and I was surprised at myself for not thinking of it sooner. I was just so focused on Eric and so worried.

Pam said she would head back to Caesar's to get her car and meet me at the hospital. Eric handed me his phone and asked me to call a guy named Felipe DeCastro and tell him he was sorry he'd missed their appointment but to explain what had happened.

Mr. DeCastro asked who I was and I gave him my phone number and told him I'd call him later and let him know what was going on. He sounded very concerned, naturally.

When we got to the hospital, I was sent to the waiting room while they took Eric into the ER. I waited alone for about twenty minutes until Pam arrived and I filled her in on what had happened.

The room was packed and I was very self-conscious about how we were dressed, but there was nothing to be done about that. My main concern, of course, was for Eric.

I got up occasionally and asked the woman at the little window if there were any news, but it was nearly four hours before a volunteer came over and asked if we were with Eric Northman.

We both stood up and said, "Yes!" at the same time.

"You're the friend who came in with him?" she asked me and I nodded. She looked at Pam and asked, "And you are …?"

"His sister," she lied.

"Oh, I didn't know he had a relative here. You can come back and see him if you'd like."

"Thank you," Pam said. She turned to me and said, "I'll be back."

I gave her a grateful smile and then watched them disappear through the security door.

Within a couple of minutes, I got a text: "He's okay."

I felt instant relief. I waited for about a half an hour before Pam came back through the door, smiling and holding a white plastic bag that said "Personal Belongings" and sat beside me.

"They're going to remove his appendix," she said.

"Really?" It was serious, but didn't seem too awful. "And then he'll be okay?"

"Oh yeah, as good as new. He's going into surgery soon. I have his wallet and watch and phone. He said to thank you for helping him, but that we should go back to the hotel. There's nothing we can do tonight. I told him we'd come back in the morning.

I looked up at the clock on the wall. It was almost 4 a.m. I debated about calling Mr. DeCastro, and decided I'd wait until a more civilized hour. I wondered if Eric had any other friends or family members that should be notified, but decided if he was alert enough to have a conversation with Pam, he had most likely been able to call whomever he needed to.

I gave the volunteer my phone number and asked her to call me if there was any news and she squeezed my hand and promised she would.

It felt amazing to get the makeup off my face and slip into my soft comfy sleep t-shirt after being in that tight outfit and heels for so long. Pam asked for an 8 a.m. wake up call and we both conked out.

I jumped up when the phone rang and picked it up, and then hung it back up when I heard the automated voice. Pam kind of groaned and rolled over. I went to the bathroom, came out and turned on a light and when I felt I had good sense, I called the hospital. Eric was in recovery and doing fine.

I asked when he would be in a regular room and could have visitors.

"Oh, we're not admitting him. As soon as he's ready, his sister will pick him up and take him home—or I guess to his hotel, since he doesn't live here."

"His sister?"

"Yes, she was here with him last night. I take it you're a friend of his?"

"Yes. I mean, I'm here with his sister."

Pam sat up and looked at me.

"When do we need to pick him up?" I asked into the phone.

"Oh, he should be ready soon."

"And we just take him back to his hotel? He's not staying in the hospital?"

"No, there's no need. His sister will have to stay with him for a few days, but we can give her her instructions when you get here. Shall I tell him you're on your way?"

"Yeah. Um … yeah, tell him we'll be there soon. Thank you."

I hung up and looked over at Pam. "We need to go pick him up."

"Pick him up? They're not keeping him?"

"Apparently not," I said.

"So, he can just go back to his hotel?"

"Well, yeah, but someone has to stay with him for a few days."

"Stay with him? Shit, I'm not really his sister. I have to be at work tomorrow. Why can't they keep him?" She threw the covers back and sat up, rubbing her face.

"I don't know. What are we gonna do?"

She looked around the room and bit her lower lip. "Let me think a minute. I can call and try to find someone to take my shows tomorrow, but if I have to miss more days than that … shit."

"Wait. You can't miss the shows. That's too big a deal."

She stopped chewing on her lip and took a deep breath before she gave me a saccharine sweet smile and said, "So, how big a deal would it be for you to take some days off? Think your new boyfriend would fire your ass?"

"Oh dear." It looked like I was staying in Las Vegas to take care of Eric Northman. This was not how I'd expected my weekend to go at all.