The image of this girl -- woman -- pale, immobile, covered in harsh chemical light and surrounded by the mechanical chirp of medical instruments seized Elias by the heart and shook him violently. Although his body remained as solid and steady as a bulwark before the diminishing stream of Charlie's stubborn words and actions, he was very much affected by the idea of her in worse trouble than he had seen her on the night of the blackout. He wanted to be sure she was safe. Needed. He needed to be sure she was all right.
In a blinding moment of clarity, he realized that she may have been suffering from the same thing as he, that night. There was no rational reason why this may be so, but he was learning quickly that life at Pax was nothing like rational -- at least, it hadn't been yet.
"I also suffered that night," he explained, his arms dropping again to his sides. "I wonder if we experienced similar symptoms. Perhaps we are being affected by something in the building. What can you tell me about what happened to you?"
Charlie. Charlie. He still didn't know her last name, and he still couldn't look her up at home. But the building was not so large. He could always check the mailboxes for a "Charlie". Surely there could not be so many as that. Pax did not seem to him to be very crowded. And the concierge surely knew her last name as well. It was simply a matter of asking him. He would have preferred that she tell him herself, but...
He also didn't understand why she wanted to quarrel with him. He naturally would not allow it. But he wanted to know why. He wanted, he realized, to know everything about her. It was different with her than it was with Ms. St. Giles, however. His interest in Charlie was protective -- nothing more. His interest in Ms. St. Giles ran toward protective, but then beyond, to hotter, darker places. Charlie fit in none of those places.
Elias frowned and crossed his arms again. His days and nights were turning odd.