“You are late.”

Richard Harrington’s heavy-lidded stare stopped me as I entered Dr. Keating’s office for my second session. I looked around the near-empty room.

“Where’s everyone?”

“They left.” He settled back against the upholstery of his wing-backed chair. “They tired of waiting.”

“And Dr. Keating?”

Richard snorted. “The good doctor thinks you and I might benefit from a private discussion.” He crossed his booted ankles and steepled his fingers thoughtfully. “I doubt the woman’s logic, but I am curious.”

I nodded and dropped onto the sofa, the creak of leather loud against the quiet. A cold finger of unease traced up my spine, and I shivered.

“You fear your creations?” Richard chuckled. “Interesting.”

I shook my head. “I do not fear my characters. That’s just silly.”

“Is it?” Richard watched as I fidgeted on the sofa, my anxiety rising. “Maphap tis why you procrastinate so.”

My anger flashed. “Do not judge me, Harrington! You are nothing without me. I can’t help that my brain is in a perpetual fog. I sit at the computer, staring at the screen until my eyes hurt, and nothing comes from it but nonsensical gibberish!” I returned his cold stare with one of hotly simmered self-doubt. “My plot has reached a dead spot. I’m stuck.”

His brow rose in irritation and he leaned forward, his words clipped. “Yes. Tis why we demanded this blog. To force your hand.” He shook his head, his scornful gaze scouring me.

“I fear failing you… all of you.” I sighed.

His mouth twisted into a scowl. “So do not fail.”

I stared at him as his insultingly simplistic advice hung in the air.

“Do not fail? That’s your advice?”

“Failing is as much an option as succeeding. Choose wisely.”

His words lingered, taunting me with their truth.

After a long moment, Richard spoke, breaking the tense silence. “So, why are you late to the blog this week?”

I swallowed past the sudden lump in my throat. “Sonny died a few days ago.” My voice broke, grief mixing with anger, cutting my throat like swallowed glass.

“My condolences.” Richard’s tone gentled. “Sonny was a magnificent creature, and the most loyal of dogs.”

I could not speak as tears paraded down my cheeks and splashed onto my clenched hands.  A handkerchief appeared in front of me and I grabbed it, crying into the large monogrammed linen square as my shoulders shook and sobs tore from my swollen throat.

Later, Richard waved off his sodden handkerchief as I tried to give it back. “Keep it.” He settled back into his chair and looked toward the corner where his bull mastiff stretched out, snoring.  He nodded at the dog. “I am forever thankful for him.”

“He is a part of your back story,” I said hoarsely.

“Yes. And he is also the greatest of gifts.” He gazed fondly at Dog. “Without him, I am naught but a two-dimensional antagonist. With him, I am more.” His lips curled in a melancholy smile. “Dogs believe we are better than we are, and see naught but the good in us, however small. To them, we are always heroes.” He reached over and patted my hand. “Your Sonny was no different.”

Dog snorted awake, and heaved himself upright, tail wagging. He padded over to Richard and bumped against him, demanding a head rub.

Richard scratched his dog’s broad head thoughtfully. “You may want to add a brief synopsis of your story to this blog of yours, so readers know who we are.” He rose from his chair. “Come Dog. Tis time to go.” He crossed the room to the door and stopped, his hand on the knob. “Your words will come, Mistress,” he said quietly. “Of that, there is little doubt.”

He was gone before I could thank him.