“A little.” A tired, sad smile. She gestured at the clothes. “These are a good fit.”

“Yeah, I thought they would be.” He shrugged. “They smell kind of musty, but they’re clean, I promise you.”

“It’s all good.”

Kitty climbed into the bed, wincing as she moved. Luke left the room and came back with a glass of water, which he set on the nightstand, along with his prescription bottle of Xanax.

“These’ll calm your jitters . . . help you sleep.”

“I’ll take two.”

She took them with a sip of water, then sank her head into the pillow and closed her eyes.

She was out a long time.

Luke looked in on her every now and then. The first time she was eerily still, breathing slowly. The cut on her forehead had started to bleed again—not much, just a trickle—and he took the opportunity to clean it with an antibiotic ointment, then close it with Steri-Strips and tape a gauze over the top.

Kitty had been more animated the next time he checked on her. She rolled her head on the pillow, whimpering, “Please, no,” over and over. Her body twitched beneath the sheets.

Luke sat on the edge of the bed and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Shhh,” he soothed. “It’s okay now. You’re safe.” And he stayed there until she settled.

He tried watching TV but couldn’t focus, so he cleaned the kitchen instead. A deep, into-every-corner clean. It was surprisingly therapeutic.

His mind buzzed with what might have happened to Kitty. Had she been mugged? Raped? Why didn’t she go to her own apartment, or call the police? The questions mounted, and the sad truth was there were too many possible answers. In the end, Kitty would either tell him, or not, and he would respect that.

He’d be there for her, whatever she needed.

It felt good to care about something again.

It was almost two a.m. when Kitty woke up screaming. Luke leapt up from the sofa—the TV was on but he hadn’t been watching it, not really—and bolted into the spare room. She’d clapped a hand over her mouth by the time he’d thrown the door open, as if aware her voice might alert the neighbors. They can see in, Luke thought with a chill. Kitty looked at him over the top of her hand. Her eyes were petrified circles, her chest pumping as she fought to suppress her cries.

“Hey, it’s okay . . . it’s okay, Kitty.”

She shook her head. Nothing was okay.

“You’re safe here. No one can hurt you.” He moved to touch her, to ease her, but thought better of it, so placed both hands on his own chest, over his heart. “I’m here, Kitty. You’re safe now.”