"He was my rock when I cried, my playmate when I laughed, and my hero when I needed to imagine that one existed for me."

― Richelle E. Goodrich, Dandelions: The Disappearance of Annabelle Fancher

In moments of stress I often imagined a book character from my childhood years exacting revenge upon the man who had raped me. It was a fruitless imagination, asking a vision to tear apart someone who had wronged me in the most intrusive way possible. I had long since disowned the idea of a friend who did not posses a real body. I had learned to forget the idea of revenge and settle with bitterness.

However, in recent days, I could not help but entertain the notion once more.

I was sitting in a cold, dark police station. A place I should have visited three years ago. I laid my head back against the wall and waited for the officer assigned to my case to approach me.

I remembered the day of the rape with apprehension, preparing myself. I knew I would have to recount every detail of the event. I could feel the tears welling in my eyes. Even after all these years.

Sirius Black was my childhood hero. As a child I had reveled in the fact that we both were outcasts in our own families. He, a "sympathizer" of those of unworthy blood; and I, a rejecter of religious ideation in a family of fanaticism. Both looked down upon for our choice of paths.

While I was never physically disowned from my family, I became emotionally disconnected from them. They believed in God; I didn't. They believed in a harsh gospel; I didn't. I was godless.

I imagined a picture of Sirius in my mind, here with me, at the police station. My rapist also became visible as I let the daydream linger. Sirius approached the man with strength I had not before imagined. He grabbed him and held him up by the neck into the dim lights of the police station. "You bastard. You deserve to die." Jonathan.

I sat comfortably with the image, letting the comfort of a dead assailant wash over me for only a moment. It was a dangerous thought to entertain.

The memory of being raped came into my mind and my heart began to pound so that I felt it in every appendage. I took a deep breath. Two deep breathes. Imagining the revenge. My heart slowed.

A door slammed in the precinct and I jumped. I stood up, ready to be taken away by the officer. But no one came. I returned to my seat.

I leaned back in my chair and took to the old habit I had entertained when I was a child. I closed my eyes and imagined a conversation with my non-existent hero.

"They say I'm a bad person. That when I'm good, it's only because I once believed in God."

"You, a bad person?" Sirius scoffed and blew some stray hairs out of his grey eyes. "That's a joke, right?" He smiled at me. I had always imagined his smile to be as the crescent moon. "You're one of the best people I know. And it isn't because you used to believe in some God."

Sirius took a long drag from his cigarette, something I imagined him to do frequently. I imagined his lungs to be full of smoke. The smell of cigarette smoke in real life brought with it the aura of Sirius, the power, the strength, and the loyalty. "You give to others. You help others. You're loyal. Isn't that what being a good person is all about?"

He blew the smoke away from my face. "Don't let them get you down," He said.

I looked down the long precinct halls, wondering what was taking the officer so long. I had been at the station nearly two hours and it was the middle of the night. There must have been much commotion around the city tonight.

I remembered the fated conversation with my mother. She had come to pick me up from university for the summer. The emotions built up inside me until I could no longer hold them captive. We were about to leave my apartment for the last time when I held her back by her right shoulder.

"God's not real! At least…I don't think so." I paused. "But…I'm still a good person."

My mother said nothing and only gazed at me while a stone cold stare. "You are good because you once believed in God. People need to believe in God to be good. Why else be good?"

I closed my eyes, feeling my own tears well. As I had many time before in a difficult situation, I imagined Sirius close by. In this case, standing behind my mother, looking me square in the eyes.

"Be you without apologies, Joss." He said to me. "You don't need to say sorry for this." Sirius's stance was as firm as his words. He wore all black, as usual, and a cigarette was held in his right hand. "Disagreeing with your mother does not equal hatred."

I opened my eyes, halting the memory. A police officer had approached me and lightly touched my shoulder. "Ms. Ian? I am officer O'Malley. Are you ready to come back?"

Suddenly, a new memory flooded my brain. I was on the floor. He was on me. I was crying. Every detail came to memory. Jonathan.

I turned to leave the precinct. I couldn't do this. When I turned away from the officer, I saw Sirius looking at me. It was all I needed to turn back around.

I nodded my head and quickly tried to gather my things, brushing the memory aside. My heart was pounding. Why had I decided to do this? There was no way I could go through with it. I began to breathe quickly. I felt a hand on my shoulder. Sirius, I thought. But the hand only belonged to the officer.

The officer stood patiently. When I was ready and he held out his hand, guiding me to the room we'd be in.

…

I pulled my car up to my apartment that night. I sighed and leaned my head back once more.

"What's wrong, jossian?" Sirius's imagined voice infiltrated my mind. I looked over to see him sitting in my passenger seat. Legs crossed, cigarette in tow. I opened the window for him.

"Nothing…" I spoke aloud. "I feel good. Thank you." I said. "The amount of relief that came with the night's events made me feel lighter.

I imagined Sirius's embrace like I had many times before. I exited the car, locking the doors behind me.

The moon lit my path as I walked to the door of my apartment. I glanced up at the crescent moon and smiled.