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to be a detective to see that a Hawthorne streetwalker couldn’t afford the outfit she was wearing. He followed procedure nevertheless, pulled out his cuffs for effect, and asked her a few questions.

“What are you doing out here all alone at this time of night?” he asked. “This is a dangerous place for a young lady.”

“I’m taking the Fifth,” Petula rebuffed him, both unwilling and unable to explain. “I know my rights.”

The officer just shook his head and stared at her. He’d only been on the force for a short while, but he was experienced enough to know he’d get nowhere with her.

“Take me to your leader,” Petula uttered, confusing sci-fi with CSI as she extended her arms straight out in front of her and put her wrists together, offering herself up for arrest.

“This is just a warning, Miss Kensington,” the officer said. “You’re not under arrest, but I don’t want to see you around here again.”

“Really?” Petula said, her tough demeanor melting in relief. “Thank you, Officer, ahhh…”

Petula strained through her shades to read the name from his badge. No need to be so formal any longer, she figured; besides, he was kind of cute.

“Officer Beaumont,” he proffered with a little smile. “Charlie Beaumont.”

“Thank you, Charlie,” Petula said gratefully, hanging her head ever so slightly.

“Stick with your blondetourage next time,” Beaumont said, sarcastically referencing The Wendys, to indicate he knew more about her than she would have thought. “There’s strength in numbers.”

“They’re not blond,” Petula corrected sheepishly, stroking her own locks. “They’re just brunette with highlights.”

Officer Beaumont walked away silently and returned to his vehicle to answer another call that was just coming across his police radio.

Petula got in her car and drove away slowly. Beaumont followed behind till she cleared downtown and then peeled off toward the next thruway exit. As she watched him turn away, she realized for the first time that night just how lucky she was that he was around.

Petula was never one to go out at night unaccompanied. Strength in numbers, but not for the reason Officer Beaumont cited. She needed to have her every decision supported, witnessed, and celebrated. It was kind of a like that whole “if a tree falls in a forest and no one hears it” thing. As a precautionary measure, Petula never set foot in a forest, thereby completely avoiding the possibility of falling alone.

What exactly did she think she was doing down there alone anyway? Dumping a bag of her used clothing on the street for a bunch of degenerates to pick through? Did she have some kind of death wish? Now that was an interesting bit of self-analysis.

Maybe she did. After all, this weird behavior pretty much dated back to her coma. She’d recovered physically, but she was not the same as before. She kept having all these thoughts—these feelings that were totally alien to her. She had become more observant of the world around her and far more aware of and compassionate toward others and their troubles. Frankly, it was irritating.

Petula first started to notice her change of heart at Christmas. In the past, her time was spent window shopping and making notes about things she wanted, i.e., demanded, which she would then pass along to family and friends as a courtesy. She would even register on websites for their convenience, or to ensure that she got exactly what she requested in the right size. It was the season of giving, after all, and she liked to give her loved ones plenty of options.

But last Christmas, each time she visited the mall, the bells of the Salvation Army volunteers stationed at every door seemed to ring louder, until it was almost deafening to her. She found herself dropping pennies at first, then dimes, quarters, and even dollars into red kettles all over Hawthorne in a fruitless effort to make it stop. She was brought into painful conflict