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humiliation ranked second to being alone.
    He sat down on the chair and held her hand. The strong warmth of his grip cut through the chill and helped her settle. "I won't leave until you go to sleep. Promise."
    She closed her eyes, so physically drained a wave of fatigue battered through her. "Sorry," she mumbled. "So sorry."
    His voice came out hard and determined. "I am too, sweetheart. But I'm going to make it right. I promise you're going to be alright."
    “W-w-will you talk to me? Just for a while?”
    He squeezed her fingers. “Yes.” He paused for a moment, probably scrambling for something to say to a victimized woman on the verge of losing it. How had this happened to her? Why? And how sad was it that a strange masked man was her only link to sanity right now?
    As if he sensed her need to focus, his voice wrapped around her, silky and tight as a cocoon.
    “I had a dog once. His name was Superpup.”
    She couldn’t help but respond. “You’re kidding me.”
    His lips tugged slightly upward. “Not. I was young when I got him and addicted to comics. Anyway, Superpup was part German shepherd, part something else. He was literally the worst dog on the planet. He ate furniture. He peed in the house. He couldn’t do any tricks. I remember trying to get him to roll over for treats, and he’d just stare at me with these patient, brown eyes that seemed to mock my ridiculous attempts to train him. But as awful as he behaved, he was always full of joy. Did you ever own a dog, Selina?”
    She shook her head.
    “They live in the moment. Happy with a bit of affection, a bowl of food, a nice walk outside. They’re simple creatures but have a different form of intellect. I always dismissed Superpup as failing his hero name, but adored him. We grew up together as best friends.
    “Superpup slept in the same place every night, downstairs in the living room. One night, he refused to leave my bedroom. I tried to drag him out a few times, but he sat his rear on the ground and didn’t budge. I yelled, tried bribing him with treats and toys, but nothing worked. Finally, I went to bed and left him where he was.
    “That night a burglar came through my window. I never heard him. The sound of growling woke me, and suddenly there was my sweet dog, snarling and crazed, as the guy tried to retreat out the window. Somehow, he sensed I’d be hurt. I think he saved my life.”
    The story fascinated her. His eyes seemed far away, stuck in the distant past, no longer with her. She remained silent, waiting for the end.
    “A few months later, he got cancer. We lost him quickly. And when I said goodbye for the last time, in a way I couldn’t even be sad. I knew I’d see him again one day—in another time, another place. But there were two reasons he came into my life, and I never doubted them.”
    “What reasons?” she whispered.
    “To save me from the night of the burglary and to teach me about love. Real love. The kind that’s real and true, with no thought to ego or benefits or safety. Superpup really did live up to his name, and I was different after that.”
    Her eyes began to close, weariness seeping into every bone in her body. For a little while, the image of what Superpup must’ve looked like drifted past her vision, away from the bad stuff.
    “Sleep, sweetheart.”
    His last words echoed in her mind before darkness pulled her under.
     
     

Chapter Four
     
    O N Monday, Selina stared at her computer screen and wondered for the hundredth time if she should go home.
    Every step she took throbbed with pain. Her face looked like a Halloween costume gone wrong: yellow bruises, puffy lips, and a blood-crusted brow. Make-up made it look worse, and she'd spent over an hour trying desperately to mask the truth of Friday night. Finally, she'd given up.
    The looks were horrible, but the questions were the worst. She briefly told everyone about the mugging. That she was indeed just fine, even though the bruises were still fresh.