It had been two days since Errol had returned to work. After he had spoken with Beauty about his past, he had found himself in a familiar state of dread. Speaking about it after spending so much time trying to hold back the memories had brought it all rushing back: the fear, the anger, the self-recrimination, and he had felt crushed by the weight of it. He had begun to wake sweating in the middle of the night, dreaming of a phantom gunshot and clutching at his throat.
The solution seemed to be taking time off from work while he settled things in his mind. He'd left a note for Beauty in the register and retreated to his apartment to center himself. Eventually, he felt up to interacting with people again. He didn't have to be strong enough to be the emotionless Grammaton Cleric any more; he only had to be pleasant enough not to scare off customers. He could handle that.
Curiously enough, he found the note where he had left it, and nobody had reported seeing Beauty recently. Odd. Perhaps she'd taken a vacation as well? Though he remembered her bemusement at the concept of vacations when he'd returned, and couldn't quite see her taking another one so soon.
He locked up, expecting nothing more from the night than another few quiet hours at home with a book and perhaps some music.