California Moon. Catherine Lanigan

Christmas carols being played on a stereo from a nearby apartment, Shannon said, “I don’t know about you, Valentine, but carols make me sad.”

      The cat looked up at her owner.

      Forcing a smile, Shannon said, “Hey, I can’t be really lonely if I have you, right? I mean, you could take me out for a holiday drink. And I know you’ve knocked yourself out shopping for the right gift to give me, just like I’ve got yours wrapped under the tree.”

      The cat stared blankly at her.

      “Yeah, right,” she replied glumly as Valentine went back to her meal.

      Flinging a single tear from her cheek, she said, “Let’s forget about the Christmas season. This is Tuesday morning. Just another morning…”

      The vision of John Doe’s face flitted across her mind as she sank into a wicker chair. Valentine jumped into her lap and Shannon stroked the feline’s back.

      “The weirdest thing happened to me today, Val. It’s John again. I have the strangest feelings when I’m around him. I don’t know what it is. I feel things so intensely when I’m in that room. It’s as if I know things about him that I shouldn’t. Today I sensed that he was in danger before it was really evident.”

      She shut her eyes, envisioning John’s face.

      “What if John weren’t like all the rest and didn’t go away? What if he…liked me. What if he was put in my life to make a change?”

      Valentine cocked her head to the side.

      “Nuts. You think I’m nuts? Well—” she lifted the cat to eye level “—you’d be right. There are no Prince Charmings, and besides, what the heck would I do with one of those anyway?”

      Valentine stared at her.

      “You’re right, Val. Fairy tales are for kids. You and I are women of the world. We know the score.”

      Suddenly, her face turned glum. Her eyes traveled beyond Valentine, to the window and the rain outside. She put the cat down and Valentine scurried away.

      Shannon rose and walked to the bathroom, “A hot shower is all I need. Maybe a foot soak. I could kill for a massage.” She rubbed the small of her back.

      Valentine followed her into the bathroom as she often did, hopped up on the closed toilet seat and watched. Shannon turned on the shower and steam formed instantly in the cold room.

      “I know, Val. It’s warmer in here with the shower on, but you have to remember that keeping the thermostat set low not only saves the environment, but costs less. And it’s important to save all that we can. Vital,” she reminded herself.

      The cat stood, stretched, and shook her head negatively.

      “Speaking of costs, we’ll pay bills today. That’ll be fun, won’t it?”

      Valentine gave Shannon a bored look.

      “Forget the bills. We could go to a garage sale this weekend and look for treasures. Maybe I’ll splurge and spend fifteen bucks.” Shannon never admitted to herself that possessions, material objects she’d purposefully sought out, examined and cherished, were an extension of her own psyche. She was far more fascinated with the mental exploration of attaching imaginary histories to her belongings, of having them provide her with a personal connection to humanity that she lacked.

      Each time she looked at a rocker or lamp, she would wonder, Where did it come from? Was the owner happy? Did they get rid of it for financial or emotional reasons? Did they want it back? Would they come searching for it?

      “Besides, it’s dangerous for me to become too attached to possessions. I’m just going to have to leave them someday, anyway.”

      Valentine curled in a ball and closed her eyes.

      “I’m serious. All my overtime this month will really swell my savings. I’m getting close to making our dream come true. Another twenty thousand and we can retire to Greece. We’ll have a blast there, Valentine.” She rubbed the cat’s head affectionately.

      “Finally, we’ll be able to run so far away no one will ever find us.” She sighed deeply as she rose and stared at her reflection in the mirror. “Freedom.”

      Shannon shook her head as if to brush away the cobwebs. “Don’t think about the past, Shannon.”

      She traced the beginnings of fine lines across her forehead. “God, thirty seems ancient. At least these dark circles match my mood,” she said, touching the shadows beneath her eyes.

      After her shower, Shannon wrapped herself in a plaid flannel robe and pulled on a pair of warm red socks to match. Of all her traits, she was glad she had regained her ability to fall asleep when necessary. It was the greatest cure for melancholy she’d ever found.

      It was raining harder when she closed her blinds and crawled into bed. She didn’t think about the fact that she’d saved John’s life. She didn’t think about running away, or about Ben’s increasing affection for her.

      All she thought about was escape. Dark bliss. Nothingness.

      But in her dreams, she found another life, another world. As she had every night since John was admitted to the hospital, Shannon dreamed of him.

      In this dream, when she kissed John, he awakened and kissed her back. She was stunned by the kiss. She had never been kissed in real life the way he kissed her in this dream. It was so unnerving that she told everyone on the staff that John had come around, but no one would take the time to listen to her. They thought that she was crazy or they ignored her as if she didn’t exist. She felt herself fading out of their reality. When she went back to John, he feigned being comatose until she came close. Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her again. The press of his lips was sensual and entreating, urging her to bond with him. She wanted to surrender to him, but she always broke away, her fears flapping around her like predator birds. John fell back into the pillows, unconscious again, leaving her feeling more lonely than before as she struggled to save him.

      Shannon tossed fitfully as the dream exhausted her.

      The alarm went off at two o’clock that afternoon. Staring at the clock she blinked once, then twice, her mind undecided which reality was best.

      What does it matter? John is a part of both.

      She flipped the covers across the bed and slammed her palm over the alarm button.

      “You’d think after five years I’d be used to starting my workday in the middle of the afternoon,” she grumbled and began her day.

      7

      Shannon Riley had saved John Doe’s life—twice. But no one in the hospital thought anything of it. Such heroics were commonplace. That was their job—saving lives.

      Only Ben thought she was exceptional. However, when he’d tried to make a point of it, standing with her in the hall outside John’s room, Shannon blew him off like winter wind.

      “I was just doing my job,” she said meekly, hoping to avoid conversation with him. “Just like you.”

      “Is it that you don’t like me in particular, or is it all cops?” he asked, holding out a cup of coffee.

      Shannon avoided catching his eye and quickly tried to change the subject. “What’s this?” She looked at the coffee askance.

      “It’s safe. Not the hospital rotgut stuff. I got it from the café across the street.”

      “What for?”

      “It’s a gift. You’ve heard of those?” he quipped with a smile.

      “But why?”

      “I’m trying to get to know you better.”

      “That part I understand. You shouldn’t spend your money