Dante's Fire(6)

"I found your purse. Your license gave me the address."

"Why didn't you wait for the police?"

He hesitated. "I didn't know if you were ready. I wanted to check your  injuries first, let you get your bearings. If you'd like, I can take you  to the police station to make a report."

The memory of hands ripping at her, touching her was too much. She  shuddered and clutched the blankets in an effort to ward off the  horrible feelings. "Where are they? What happened to them?"

"I tied them up. Sirens were close by so the police probably took them into custody."

Selina shook her head, and then stopped as the shooting pain stabbed  behind her eyes. "No, there was more. I remember … I remember..." she  trailed off and reached for the misty tendril of memory. "Fire. There  was fire."

"Perhaps you imagined it."

The image exploded before her in slow motion. Screams. Flames. A symbol  marking burnt flesh. "You caused a fire. They were marked with something  strange on their arms, and you said something..."

He sighed deeply. "Okay, so you did see it. Selina, listen to me. I  can't explain what happened in that stairwell. All I can tell you is  they will never be able to hurt another woman again. Ever. I swear to  you on everything I hold dear."

Selina would've blamed the whole messed up evening on a bad dream, but  her head throbbed, her stomach ached, and bruises covered her body. It  had all happened. It was all real. She had almost been gang raped, and  if it hadn't been for this man, she could've still been there.

She usually believed in logic, hard work, and success. But right now,  she believed in only one thing. Dante. The man who saved her. Her words  broke on a whisper. "I don't understand what's happening. How could you  have-have done those things?"

He nodded. "I'm going to ask you to trust me. I only want to help you. Will you let me?"

The warped reality of the scene hit her. She didn't know this man who  wore a mask to cover his face. He'd come in a burst of fire, brought her  home, and swore he meant no harm. What if it was a set up? He had her  ID, her keys, and the power to do whatever he pleased. If she was smart,  she'd thank him, ask him to leave, and deal with the aftereffects  herself. Like she always did.

Alone.

Her body shook as if gripped with fever. God, she was so tired of being  alone. Yes, it was her choice, but tonight, she needed someone to help.  Her mind was so foggy and confused; she didn't trust herself not to  shatter in a million pieces if he left.

As if she now lived in an alternate universe where superheroes lived and  little green men were ready to take over the planet, Selina nodded.  Agreeing to trust this stranger with her care. Usually fiercely  independent, she ached body and soul with a fear she'd never  experienced. She craved someone gentle to tell her what to do, someone  to take care of her. Just for a little while.

Just for tonight.

"Thank you, Selina." His hand reached out and gently stroked her swollen  cheek. She stiffened, and then consciously relaxed as she realized he  wouldn't hurt her. "I treated you for shock and put a robe over your  clothes. No broken bones, but I need to take care of these cuts. I need  to ask you something very important."         

     



 

He leaned forward. She sucked in her breath at the dark swirling depths  in those twin orbs. Like quicksand, Selina fought to keep from drowning  in the raw mixture of emotions he revealed. More vulnerable than she'd  ever felt in her life, she waited for him to speak.

"If you want, I will take you to the police. They'll take a report, and  examine you for evidence. A rape kit. They will check for witnesses. You  may be asked to identify your attackers in a lineup, and then a case  will be brought against them. This is our law. Society's justice. We may  not like it, but it's the only system we have in place."

Her body convulsed. God, she couldn't do it. She may die if she laid her  gaze on them again. But didn't she need to press charges? Tears sprang  and leaked from her eyelids. "What will happen if I don't go to the  police?"

Dante reached over and took her hand. "They'll go free." Those eyes  burned and blazed with scorching heat. "Even if they go free, they've  been marked for life. They'll never be able to touch a woman in violence  without extraordinary pain. They will never be able to hurt another  woman again."

It was official. She'd been transported into a science fiction novel  where villains were marked by mysterious burning symbols and strange men  sat in her bedroom. She gave herself up to the night and the paths it  took her.

"As long as I know they can't attack anybody else, I don't want to go to the police."

"Okay. Let me clean these cuts."

"I want to shower." Her lower lip trembled. She needed hot water to  cleanse the dirt from her body. And the feeling of grabby, hurtful  fingers.

Dante nodded and held out his hands. "Let's get you into the bathroom."  He helped her in and turned the shower to hot. "I'm going to be right  outside the door if you need help."

"Thank you."

Knowing he was close helped soothe her anxiety. Her fingers shook so  hard, she could barely get out of her ripped jeans. The button hung  lifelessly from one strand of thread where the men had tugged to free  it. The thought floated somewhere in the recess of her mind, unable to  hurt her yet as she finished undressing and stood under the steamy,  stinging spray. She washed her body with a clinical, detached air, put  on fresh underwear, and wrapped herself back in the plush terry robe.

"Dante?"

"Here." He stepped into the foggy powder blue and white bathroom and  motioned her to sit on the toilet seat. With competent, brisk motions,  he examined her cuts and applied cream and bandages. His touch was  clinical, like a doctor, and calmed her. Finally, he led her back to the  bed and tucked her under the covers. Then brought a washcloth wrapped  in ice, and pressed it to her swollen cheek and jaw.

"Do you want to talk?" he asked.

Selina wondered if she'd ever want to talk again. Or laugh. Or want to  go out into the world. Or put on another pair of designer jeans. Or have  a drink with her team at the bar. She almost felt worse at the moment,  because the tears wouldn't come. Just a dry, waning grief that shook her  body like a thunderstorm. She shook her head, unable to speak.

Dante didn't seem to care. "Rest."

He stood up and she shot forward on the bed. "Don't leave!" Selina  despised her helplessness and need, but the 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."