"Well, some good news, your temperature seems to be back down to normal," Charlie said as she tested Alastor's forehead a few days later. "Just in time too, I was worried you would miss the Hotel's Grand Reopening this weekend. How are you feeling?"

"Much better. I dare even say right-as-rain," Alastor replied, sitting up on the edge of the bed. He took hold of his microphone and used it to help him balance as he stood up. Soon though he found his own footing and lifted his staff as he picked up the clean shirt Charlie had laid out for him on the corner of the bedpost. He began pulling it on. "I am anxious to return to my regular activities."

"Are you sure you should be up and around so soon?" Charlie asked, standing up after him as he began buttoning his shirt. "I mean, yeah, that wound has at least closed up now, but what if you do something and it opens back up? Maybe you should take it easy for a few days more just to be sure."

"This is not my first time enduring this type of injury, My Dear, it will heal fine." Alastor replied firmly, as he straightened his shirt collar and began tying his bow tie. "I will be capable of removing the sutures myself when the time arises, your assistance is no longer required."

"Al, I just want to make sure you're okay. You had me worried sick for days. I just don't want you to hurt yourself again by not resting," Charlie argued. "Yeah, you may have gotten hurt like this before, but that fight with Adam and the exorcists was no joke! All it takes is one time for it all to go wrong, then all that luck of yours runs out..."

Alastor felt his cheeks grow hot, making him question for a moment if he might still have a slight fever. "Mon cher, I greatly appreciate your help over this endeavor, but I firmly request we never speak of this instance again," he turned around to face Charlie. "Do I make my point clear?"

Charlie stopped and stared at him a bit taken aback, "Oh, um, sure, I suppose if you don't want to talk about it--"

"I don't," Alastor interrupted her. "The events of this week never happened after this moment and all Hotel operations will return to normal. Do we have an understanding?"

Charlie wanted to object, because she felt like she had somehow reached Alastor over the course of the week and she wanted the momentum to keep going. She had hoped that Alastor might even start joining in on group activities to try to find redemption for himself, but now it seemed that was highly unlikely. His eyes had started to glow red with the bold X showing how he died appearing in the center of his forehead. Charlie closed her mouth with a sigh and conceded. "Alright, Alastor. If that is what you want." She headed toward the door. "I'll let you finish getting dressed in peace, then. I'll be downstairs with the others getting ready for the party tomorrow if you need me."

Alastor watched Charlie as she left the room and closed the door gently behind her with a quiet click before his demon form subsided. Close. That was far too close. Trying to keep his guard up through his delirium the past few days had been exhausting. A few times he knew he had slipped and showed a bit too much of himself, then Charlie sharing the same sentiment that his mother always had--in a weaker state of mind he might have slipped again. Granted, Charlie probably would not try to abuse any of that information, but he wasn't willing to take that chance.

Alastor picked up his coat, freshly laundered from where it had been set next to his shirt over the bed. Not putting it on right away however, he draped it over his arm and carried it to one of the armchairs near his fireplace. He sat down and laid the coat over his lap, folding over the left lapel and exposing the interior breast pocket. He ran his claws over the smooth dark red almost black lining. The blood had been cleaned out--at least as well as it could have been. Any other color of lining and there surely would have been an unsightly stain.

Alastor stared at the small pocket sewn into the thin silky fabric. He swallowed hard as he tried to work up the courage to find the handkerchief and put it back. His mother's body flashed in his mind again as he thought about the stain. He tried to shake it off, but every time he would then go to stand up and find where it had been placed the image would flash again in all its horrible detail, forcing him to have to start the ritual over. His heart pounded so hard it was starting to hurt, his breathing came too fast. Finally he simply gave up. He laid his coat back down over his lap and leaned against the back of the chair, turning his head to stare and the hellfire flickering in the fireplace. He tried to swallow the lump that was building in his throat and was threatening to cut off his air while he tried to build back his composure. Charlie having seen him nearly lose it was bad enough, the whole hotel didn't need a display.

Alastor sat there, staring at the vibrant green and yellow flames. He contemplated the past few days. He'd had a moment of weakness, sure. Ordinarily he was able to stave off the harsh memories well enough--his Life hadn't exactly been sunshine and rainbows after all. In Hell he had control. He had power. And he was quite good at what he did. People knew him. People feared him. He had much of this realm in the palm of his hand to direct as he pleased. He didn't have to fight for listenership; he had full control over the airwaves and could force the entire realm of Hell to listen to his escapades all day long if he so chose. Hell wasn't the worst thing to have ever happened to him.

This pep talk was enough to help his pounding heart slow. He was finally able to take a few deep breaths and dispel the tightness in his throat. He sat up, taking a moment to put his smile back on before he stood up from the chair. He shook his coat out once and pulled it on, buttoning it and straightening his collar and bow tie in his vague reflection against the crooked picture frame that hung near the fireplace. Then he rolled his neck and shoulders, just as he used to before going on air. It was showtime after all, and he still had a captive audience to entertain. With one final deep breath he took his microphone in hand and pulled on his wide showman's smile as he confidently strode toward the door.