I was at a local art gallery with Charlotte when she excused herself to go to the bathroom. She was gone for a while and when she returned, she was pale and shaking. She said, “We have to go. Now.” She seemed really out-of-sorts. I asked, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” I honestly thought she was ill. She said, “I had an ‘episode’ in the bathroom. We have to go.” “An episode?” “An explosive episode. There. Happy now? Can we go?” “Y-yes. Yeah.” She half-ran ahead of me, out of the place. We had taken separate cars and she booked it to hers and drove off. What was strange was that I wasn’t sure why she had told me that we needed to go. She had basically just led me to the parking lot and drove off on her own. Therefore, as I wasn’t done inside the gallery, I went back in to finish browsing. I half-expected some disturbance among the gallery staff regarding the discovery of an “explosive” event inside the bathroom. But it never happened and I never heard from Charlotte again.