"Where are they?" he asks Sherlock and Bella.
Bella looks to Sherlock.
"Room 415," he says, having checked the records while the front desk lady was asking Bella if she shouldn't be calling the police.
Charlie hammers on the door. "POLICE! OPEN UP!" he hollers.
"Arthur Mallory," says Bella helpfully.
Arthur adopts the general demeanor of a startled rabbit.
He sees Bella, and he double-takes at the family resemblance to Charlie, and goes white as a sheet.
"Dad, this is him," says Bella. "He kidnapped Giles and drugged me and locked me in a house with a vampire I had to talk my way past."
"You," says Charlie, "are under arrest -"
While Bella's fire wand is sitting on the hotel room nightstand, the square is in Arthur's hand.
And he looks at Bella with absolute venom, and, knowing not what he holds, wishes that the vampire had torn her throat out.
Bella slumps to the floor. And there is blood everywhere.
"Oh, well fucking done," Sherlock snarls, crouching down beside her. [Juliet, dear Juliet—]
"Bella," exclaims Charlie - but he's not a paramedic. "Ambulance to the Holiday Inn," he snaps into his radio, and he sets about cuffing Arthur, who is at least as stunned as everyone else.
But if it weren't the only way out he sees, he wouldn't even be bringing it up.
[don'twannadie] She coughs up blood; it joins the general font. [maybei'dbelikeyou]
He bites a small wound in the side of his wrist and presents it to her mouth.
"Sherlock," says Charlie, as Bella makes a valiant effort to swallow, "what are you doing?"
She's gotten a few mouthfuls down.
She can drink no more.
Charlie barks more detailed instructions for the paramedics into the radio.
And, standing up: "If it's all the same to you I'd rather not hang around to distract the paramedics."
But when he takes her pulse there's nothing. He weeps over her until the paramedics arrive, to go through the ritual of rushing her to the hospital and pronouncing her dead.
Charlie's backup escorts Arthur away.
A scant hour later, Bella's body mysteriously disappears.
The safest place to put her, Sherlock decides, is Milliways.
A few days later, someone opens her eyes. Is it Bella? Maybe!
"Mmmmm, hello," says Bella, stretching. "Well. Probably time to find a new place to -" She snickers. "Inhabit. Fucking Watchers would never let me be. Best of luck, new girl," she drawls, raising an imaginary toasting glass.
"Should've broken Shell Bell's arm and apologized after if she felt so bad about it," snorts the new Bella. "Megalomania and no follow-through, bad combination."
"Pfft. No. And do what with it? That was her gig. She wanted to take over the world and keep it as a pet, be sweet to it, cute li'l world she could take for walks and bring to all the Bell parties to be smug about and win the blue ribbon for best in show? Or 'most improved', maybe, what she had to work with. I don't wanna do that. Don't see the point."
"Who says I have one? For one thing wouldn't I need a life, wasn't it you saying we're not alive - But why're we talking so much, that's dull, luv, c'mere."