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The body dropped. A large, bloodied tongue lolled downward, depositing the upper half of my friend's head to rest on his own chest. I looked up at the cat, who, incredibly, was squinting at me in a feline smile. He began to purr again, for purring was what that booming thunder had been.
He was giving Laurel to me as a present.
I lost consciousness once more.
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I woke to a burning sensation along one arm, and noted warmth to my back. The rest of me felt oddly chilled. I discovered the reason for this when I ran a cautious hand down my chest, midsection, and thigh. I was lacking garment.
My eyes opened, then squinted painfully shut. A thin beam of light, reflecting off the polished marble, shone too close to my elbow for comfort. There was altogether too much light in the room. The shutters were not closed. And it was day.
I began to panic.
Laurel's mauled corpse still sprawled before me.
Behind me, pressed in unconscious spooning, was the “beast” responsible. His fur had diminished to soft, pink skin. His face, though slaked with dried blood, was innocent and fair.
I noticed in passing he bore the high cheekbones of a Child, but not the pallor. I dared not wake him.
Gingerly, I moved from my spot, rose to my feet. I could feel the lightheaded side effects of stage one daylight poisoning. The switch to activate the protective shutters was upstairs, in my chambers.

Traversing the stairs proved difficult. My knees felt weaker with every stair; they felt as if they had been injected with hot liquid beneath the kneecap. I skirted the edges of sun patches, but less and less room remained as I rounded the curve in the staircase. I finally stopped at a band of sunlight, directly blocking my path. I drew a deep breath, then bolted for the other side. This ended painfully on my left ankle. I felt the pain shoot up my leg, and I stumbled. My chin struck a step, my teeth bit stupidly into my tongue. I slid down several steps, and lay in a pool of cheery morning light, naked and helpless.

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The burning began. I could smell myself cooking. My mind was adrift, and my haws shut quickly. The world was a milky-bright blur. I forced myself to concentrate on moving upward, grasping weakly at the banister struts. I arrived at the top, slowly but surely, crawled into the blessed cool of shadow, and lay in an afflicted heap.

It took me the worse part of an hour to regain movement. Bipedal motion was difficult, but no longer impossible. I could only focus on simple concepts in the state of stage two poisoning. My inner eyelids had receded somewhat, allowing slits in the veined white through which I could barely discern blurred shapes. Staggering, I crossed the last few feet to my bedroom.
The switchboard covered the side of my nightstand. It, my bed, and most of my bedroom was bathed in deadly sunlight. I cursed myself in a drunken slur, wondering distantly why I didn't have an emergency shutter button in every damned room.

I grabbed a nearby throw blanket from my loveseat, draped myself, and made a dash for the panel, sliding over my sun-heated bedsheets. My hand sizzled as it shot out to the switch. I fumbled, my heart thudded in quick panic for a moment. I found the bedroom shutter switch and pressed it with force. Healing cool slid up the bands of light on the carpet, and I was soon in safety.

I lay there for some time, purring in weak, strangled breaths. It was late in the day by the time I regained full cognizance.

My first action upon waking was to activate the remaining shutters.
Fully clothed in the first tee-shirt and pair of jeans I could find, I ventured back out to assess the damage done to my home.
I checked each guest room in turn... and found poor Chamomile in a jellied pool of her own dark blood. She had not died from blood loss; she had burned to death. It was my fault. Had I woken before sunrise...

It was not my fault. It was his.