As Carl ascended the stairs he heard the pounding of the door. He figured it had to be Mrs Davidson. He know she was safe, but something wasn't right. He quickened his pace a little as he reached the second floor. He quickly walked the short length of the hallway past the insurance offices to the next flight of stairs. He took the remaining flight of stairs two at a time.  He had his keys in hand before he reached the door.  The pounding continued as he unlocked the door.  He carefully pushed the door open, not wanting to bump her with it.<br/><br/>Greeted with panic, Carl forced himself into a calmness.  He was about to reach for her forearms to steady her, and guide her back to the couch when she shrank back down to the floor.  He felt really bad for the dame, but had no idea how to handle one who was about to go off the deep end.  In all honesty, he didn't know how to handle women, period. Thus, the bachelor life. What he did know was, this one needed help. Help on several levels. He was determined he would provide all the help he could, fees be damned. Someone had done a serious wrong to this poor kid who's only crime was trying to earn an honest living.  Or so he hoped, anyway.<br/><br/>Apparently her husband hadn't answered the phone. It made sense that she would see disaster at every opportunity, given what he just witnessed, and what she had just been through.  He tried to appear more calm than he actually was in hopes it would rub off on her. As he removed his suit coat, he tried to reason with her. "He was probably in the shower or something."    He hung his coat on the coat rack , closed the door and turned to her. She looked so broken.  Frightened. Confused. He took a deep  breath and let it out slowly. Then he squatted down in front of her at a non threatening distance. He held out a hand as an offer of support. An offer of comfort. And an offer to help her back to the couch. "Come on. We'll call the cops then try your husband again."