Cast a Pale Shadow

chapter Sixteen

Trissa rested her forehead against the cold, metal bed rail and watched Nicholas -- Cole -- sleep. Her eyes burned with the salt of her tears and every muscle in her own body ached with fatigue. In the hours since Dr. Fitapaldi had left, Cole had not stirred, or muttered, or moaned with pain.

The nurses who came to check his vital signs and change his IV bottle seemed to smile a little more. They had lost the cool distance Trissa imagined they must have to maintain with a patient they would lose. Nicholas' thick lashes lay against cheeks that were pinker now, and when she stroked them with the backs of her fingers, they seemed warmer.

Her long discussion with Fitapaldi had caused her to miss Bryant Edmonds before he went on duty. So now she would have to wait until Dr. Cummings arrived for his rounds to find out if the improvement she saw was more than wishful thinking. She did not know if she could will her exhausted body to stay awake that long. She scooted her chair a bit closer and lowered the rail. She lay her cheek on Nicholas' hand and dozed.

"You should be at home in bed. You won't help him by making yourself ill." Bryant Edmonds' tone was dryly efficient, a prescription delivered. "He's out of danger now. The chart looks good. I could drive you home if you want. I'm on my way out."

Trissa raised her head and rubbed her eyes. "Dr. Edmonds. It's so late. I thought you'd already left. Thank you for the good news and the offer, but I want to be here when he wakes."

"I figured, so I brought you this." He held out a couple of danish rolls he had hidden behind his back. "They'll be in with coffee and juice in just a minute. I have a friend in the kitchen."

She smiled and took a peach-filled roll. "I am hungry. Thank you."

"May I join you?"

"Yes, if you like."

He settled in a chair near the window. She patted Nicholas' hand then moved her chair back so she could talk quietly with Bryant. He spoke first. "I wondered about this Dr. Fitapaldi you talked to last night."

Trissa shrugged. She and Fitapaldi had worked out a story. It did not include informing everyone about Nicholas' alarming background. "He's an old friend. He knew Nicholas in Michigan years ago. He was in town and came to visit."

"Yet I see his name on the chart. He received permission to consult on the case." Bryant picked four raisins out of his cinnamon danish and set them on the windowsill. After inspecting the roll closely, he took a bite out if it.

Trissa watched him repeat the process for his second bite before she responded to his comment. "Is that unusual? I told you, he's an old friend."

He looked up from his roll and studied her over the rim of his glasses. "He's a psychiatrist, Trissa."

"I know that," she answered without emotion.

He frowned and brushed cinnamon sugar off his chin. "Did the police catch who did this to him yet?"

"No."

"Do you know?"

"I have my suspicions."

She was amused to see his perplexity turning to exasperation as he failed to fluster her with his questions. "What kind of man is this, Trissa? Why has he come in here twice in a month's time beaten and battered, this time to near death? Where did all his scars come from? The man is even missing two toes, for Christ's sake!"

She glanced back at Nicholas sleeping so peacefully at the moment, and she smiled fondly at him, knowing he would excuse her next understatement. "He's had a hard life."

"I've worked two years in the ER and rarely saw anybody as banged up as he is. Anybody that survived, that is."

"Dr. Fitapaldi said he was a survivor."

As many as twelve raisins stood at parade rest on the windowsill by now. Bryant added three more to the display. "And this is the guy you want to pretend to be married to?"

"I don't pretend."

"Then I'd advise you to stay out of the way of shrapnel and flak. Sometimes it's the innocent bystander who is hurt worst of all."

"That won't happen to me. Nicholas is teaching me how to be a survivor, too."

"Dr. Edmonds?" an orderly stuck his head in to door to inquire.

"Yes."

"The kitchen sent up juice and coffee for you. Do you want it in here?"

"Yes, bring it in." He watched as Trissa wrinkled her nose at the steaming cup offered her. "Too strong?"

"No, I like it half cream is all. They never leave enough room in the cup."

Bryant took a deep gulp from his own cup and refilled it with some from Trissa's cup. "There, will that do?"

"Yes, that will help."

"There are other kinds of help I could offer," he said as their fingertips touched briefly in the exchange of cups.

"Help for Nicholas?"

"Help for you."

She smiled blandly. "I appreciate the help you've given already. The daily reports. The sweet rolls."

"That's not what I meant," he growled.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Are you?" He swallowed the last of his coffee and stood. "I have to get home now. It's been a rough night. Good luck. To both of you."

"Bye, Bryant."

It was the first time she'd called him that, she realized. It was a slip. "May I speak to you out in the hall for just a second?" he asked. She set down her cup and followed him. Before she had a chance to suspect what he was up to, he cupped his long fingers around her chin and kissed her, full and wet, on the lips. "Bye, Trissa."

Keeping her face a flat mask, she wiped his kiss off with the back of her hand. "Oh, before you go," she saw him square his shoulders hopefully at the soft sweetness in her voice. "Should I save your raisins for later, Dr. Edmonds?"

Like an exasperated bear chased out of a Yellowstone picnic area, he grunted and lumbered away.



*****



In his dreams, he held her and loved her as if the shadows of her past were long forgotten. Cole jolted awake. In his dreams--

But these were not his dreams...dancing in the facets of an emerald, making love to the rhythm of pattering water and flickering candles... He squeezed his eyes tight until the pulsing colors on his eyelids blocked the memory of the dream. When he opened them again, she was there, leaning over him, smiling.

"Cole? Are you feeling better?"

"Hmmm? Yes... uh..."

"Trissa," she whispered. "My name is Trissa..."

"I know. I just...The pain made me--"

"Brewer."

"Brewer?"

"Mrs. Nicholas Brewer."

"Ohhh," he groaned and closed his eyes again. Nicholas had done it this time. This was not an entanglement that was as easily unraveled as a job he didn't know how to do or a key to a car he couldn't find. A wife. What would he do about a wife?

"Cole?"

She called him Cole. It confused him to hear his name from her lips. Nicholas. Nicky. Nick. Those were the names she might know him by. "Why do you call me that?"

"It's all right. I know."

"You know what?"

"Everything. Fitapaldi told me."

He laughed, a dry, mirthless hack. "No one knows everything. Not Fitapaldi. Not even me." He would have turned away from her then but the cervical collar restricted him. He shut his eyes to her but felt her warmth as she drew closer and placed a light kiss on his forehead.

"Don't do that," he said, touching the back of his hand to the searing brand of her lips on his brow. "I don't like it."

"But I do, Cole."

"Nevertheless, we are strangers."

"Yes, I guess we are." She backed away from him. He ignored the grief in her eyes. He couldn't help that. She could not have Nicholas back. How could he be sorry for that and survive?

"Cole, I--"

"For the sake of appearances, it would be best if you called me by the other name."

"Appear... appearances?" she stammered, biting her lip and pressing the edge of her finger to the corner of each eye. "Yes. Yes, I understand. For appearances." The word itself seemed to give her pain. She tried to nod it away. He heard the catch in her throat when she spoke again. "Nicholas, I'm sorry my father hurt you so. You shouldn't have gone. If I had known what you were planning--"

"Don't cry," he said brusquely. "I don't remember any of that. Sometimes there is a benefit in forgetfulness."

"But the pain," her fingers stretched out to touch him. He warned her off with his frown.

"The pain is nothing. It's more reliable than breathing." Seeing the puzzlement on her face, he added, "To let you know you're alive."

An aide came in bearing the dinner tray, his first real meal since Friday.

"Will you need help with this?"

"I'll help him, thank you." The girl who was his wife lifted the metal lids revealing a cream soup, mashed potatoes, something that might be stewed chicken. A study in off-white. He saw a fleeting tautness in her jaw as she grimaced at the food then turned to him and boldly lied. "Looks delicious. I'll bet you're hungry."

"And I'll bet I still am afterwards. Are there any utensils? A straw?"

"A straw?"

"Yeah, why dirty the flatware for this? Anyway, I may have need of the knife later. To slit my wrists."

She winced. "Don't! Don't even joke about that, Nicholas."

When she thought he wasn't looking, she slipped the knife from the tray into her sweater pocket. "Do you want to sit up? I can crank up your bed."

"Yes, please. It might make dinner easier."

He held his breath and masked the pain that came when he bent at the waist. "That's good enough," he finally had to gasp.

"Oh! Should I let it down some?"

"No, I'll be all right in just a minute." He pressed his hand to his side while the pain gradually faded. The look of distress on her face was worse than the twinge in his gut. "Do you plan to watch me eat?" he asked sourly.

"I-I was going to help you."

"I have managed to feed myself for some twenty-five years. I don't need your help."

"Oh." She looked as if he'd slapped her. "I'll take a walk then."

"Why don't you go home? I assume the dark circles under your eyes are not normal for you. Haggardness would not be his style." Cole did not have the courage to look at her again, so he would not see her flinch as his insults hit their mark. He lifted a forkful of the white, lumpy stuff to his mouth. It was tuna, not chicken. He curled his lips in disgust and set it down.

She picked up her purse and a book from the windowsill and walked toward the door. "You won't push me away whatever you do or say," she said quietly. "I love Nicholas. I love you, Nicholas. I won't give you up."

After she was gone, he took a few stabs at the mashed potatoes then shoved the tray aside. His last clear, waking memory was of a November blizzard and sliding into death in a snow bank by the side of a road. But he had not been lucky. It had not been death at all that found him on that desolate highway. It was Nicholas, the thief of time. Now he, too, had deserted, leaving the encumbrances of a wife and a history Cole did not know.

Everything, she said. Fitapaldi told her everything. He would have to ask Fitapaldi to tell the same to him. Why should he always be the last to know?

"Mr. Brewer?" Cole looked up to see a round, florid face thrust into his room. "You up? Detective Chancellor, St. Louis Police Department. We need to ask you a few questions?"

"Come in." He had the sinking feeling that a part of his missing history was about to be revealed to him.

"We've been here before. This here is my partner, Detective Haskell." Chancellor was the older of the two. His partner had a skim of a mustache on his long upper lip. Both detectives wore ill-fitting suits. Chancellor's was baggy and brown, Haskell's gray had frayed cuffs that sagged at the heels. "But last time, you were dead to the world, so to speak."

"As good a way to describe it as any I have thought of."

"The docs say you'll recover. That's good news."

"Yes, I understand they hate to lose patients. Too much paperwork."

"Ha! That's true enough. Same holds true for us. We're investigating a death right now, as a matter of fact, and already there's been a flood of coroner's reports, witness accounts, evidence sheets, you name it, to keep track of. That's why we're here, you see. We have a bit of evidence to pin down. Maybe it's a clue. Maybe it isn't. But we can fill in one more blank on the report if you'll help us out. He pulled a brown envelope out of his brief case. "Is this your wallet, Mr. Brewer?" A black leather wallet slid out of the envelope to the blanket at Cole's knees.

Cole picked it up and opened it. "It has my name in it."

"Yes. Would you want to guess where it was found?"

"I did not even know it was missing. I have not been myself lately." It was amazing how you could tell the truth even when you had no idea what it was.

"Where was the last place you think you had it?"

"I don't know. In my pocket, I guess."

Haskell, the young one, who had been silently probing his teeth with a toothpick to this point, glared at him. "Nobody likes a smart ass, Brewer. Where did you have it last?"

"Thursday," he tossed off the day that he had gathered from overheard conversations had been the day of his beating.

"I asked where, not when."

"I don't remember."

"Like to try the backyard of 3303 Christian Avenue?"

"Is that where it was found?"

"Not exactly."

"Do I get another hint?"

"Calvary Cemetery. In the woods. Now, how do you suppose it got there?"

He had all he could do to tread water in this world he'd just awakened to, and these cops wanted to play guessing games. "Could it be that I was beaten and robbed and the wallet tossed there by the thug? I could offer my bruised body as evidence for that story."

"Yeah, except that it's full of money," Haskell said.

Cole would have laughed but he suspected it would hurt too much. "Then it can't be my wallet. I've never had one that was full of money."

Chancellor frowned at his attempt at humor. "And except that we have a body that points to another version."

"A body?"

"Yeah, buried in that very same cemetery. I don't suppose you care to admit you know whose body it is?"

"Uh, well, a cemetery doesn't seem like an unusual place to find a body buried."

"In an unauthorized grave," Haskell said. "It was the body of your father-in-law, Robert Kirk."

"What? What did you say?" asked a small, frightened voice at the doorway.

"Catch her!" Cole warned, but it was too late. Trissa was in a heap on the floor.

"Must be a family trait," grumbled Chancellor. "The news affected her mother in the very same way." Haskell towed her roughly to her feet and tapped her twice on the cheek.

"Don't touch her," Cole bellowed "Bring her to me." He didn't know why he wanted her. Bringing her close was no way to drive her out of his life. But she was supposed to be his wife, after all. He had to give a show of affection. Especially in front of two cops who were apparently questioning him about a murder.

Haskell hauled her over and plunked her, not too gently, on the bed. Cole gritted his teeth with the pain that came with the jostling of the bed. When it subsided, he found that holding her tightly against himself kept it in check. "Ring for the nurse." He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and blew gently into it. "Trissa? Wake up, sweetheart. Trissa?"

"Bad way to break the news, Haskell. How many times I got to tell you you're too abrupt?" Chancellor said.

"How was I supposed to know the little gal was at the door?" muttered Haskell.

Chancellor scowled at him and hitched a finger toward the hall to indicate it was time to leave. "We best be on our way. We got other stops to make. We were going to question your wife too, but she seems a bit overwrought."

The nurse arrived and hurried off again for smelling salts. Chancellor touched a finger to his forehead as if he were tipping a hat, and sauntered out the door.

Cole looked down at the warm, still bundle in his arms and frowned. It was a strange sensation to be holding this enchanting wisp of a woman-child so close. Ever careful to keep life at arm's length, he told himself it was just this once and for just this moment. As soon as the nurse came and as soon as she revived, he would see that Nicholas' little wife was on her feet and gone.

Though the exterior charm of Nicholas Brewer was still intact in Cole's face -- and he was not above using it when the need arose to cajole a surly shop girl into better service, or to finagle an extra helping from a waitress or two -- he had none of Nicholas' prowess with women. In truth, he had no prowess at all and had long since ceased testing its presence.

Nicholas, on the other hand, had no such restraints. He collected women like baseball cards. Cole had only to read their loving messages on their photographs to know that he treated them well while he had them. But then what happened to them? As always when that question surfaced in his mind, Cole shuddered and pushed it back down.

The nurse returned, and Trissa resisted her efforts to hold the bottle of smelling salts to her nose, fluttering her hands against it. Her squirming next to him sent an odd sensation through Cole, not like pain at all. He held himself rigid and moved away from her just as she came to full consciousness and realized where she lay. With an embarrassed squeak, she scrambled out of the bed and smoothed her rumpled clothes.

"All right now, dear?" asked the nurse.

"Yes, I've had some upsetting news. And I guess I'm more hungry and tired than I thought."

"It's no wonder. You've been here night and day. I think your husband will behave himself for us for long enough to let you go home and get some rest. Am I right, Mr. Brewer?"

"The very thing I've been trying to persuade her to do."

Trissa looked regretfully at Cole and sighed. "Very well. I'll go home when Augusta gets here."

"Good," said the nurse. "In the meantime, I'll see if I can scare up a sandwich and a piece of fruit for you off one of these lunch trays. Aren't you going to eat any more of this, Mr. Brewer?"

"Leave the pudding, I guess. And the coffee."

The nurse whisked away the rest of the tray and left them alone. Cole ate the vanilla pudding in silence, letting its cool, smooth sweetness slide down his throat like a balm against his scorched senses. Trissa turned her back to him and gazed out the window.

"I'm sorry about your father," he said at last.

Her shoulders sagged. "And I'm sorry to hear you say that. Nicholas would not have."

"Might he have... might I have killed him?"

She whirled to face him and he saw that her horrorstricken eyes contained the very same question. She wanted hugging and holding and comforting, but there was no one to do that now. Now that Nicholas was gone. She flickered like a spark from a chimney, wavering on the brink of flying away. Or dying.

Cole opened his arms to her -- a natural act, no more than any human would do for another human in distress -- and she flew into them. He did not know if it was a memory that stirred in him, or a fear, or a need, but he let his arms encircle her and he held her.



*****



Cole Brewer woke with his sweet, pretty wife asleep in his arms. Trissa's tear-streaked face was tucked against his chest and Cole's cheek nestled in her softly tousled hair.

He reached with his free arm to his bedside tray, wincing with the effort to reach a napkin. Dampening a corner in his pitcher of water, Cole touched the dried tears from her face, just as Dr. Fitapaldi appeared in the doorway.

"Trissa. Trissa, Dr. Fitapaldi's here." Trissa squeezed her eyes tightly and momentarily resisted his gentle awakening. But Cole ever-so-lightly tapped his finger to the tip of her nose and her eyes flew open. He did his best to resist the heart-melting smile she gave him. "Trissa, I think you've met Dr. Fitapaldi."

Slowly, mindful of Cole's injuries, Trissa crept from the bed, self-consciously tugging at her skirt. "Excuse me, Doctor, this is the second time today I've been caught in a compromising position."

"Sleeping, fully clothed, in your husband's arms is not what I would call compromising," Fitapaldi said. "I am pleased you two have resolved your estrangement."

"Nothing is resolved," Cole said.

"No," Trissa confirmed, shaking her head sadly. "Nothing." She clasped her arms tightly against her chest, took a deep breath, and let her words out in a rush. "In fact, we're in terrible trouble. My father has been found dead and Nichol -- we -- uh, no one knows what happened."

"Dead?"

"Murdered," Cole answered, his face like granite.

"You can't think that--" Fitapaldi began. "No, it's not possible. Cole would not be capable of such--"

"We're talking of Nicholas here, Doctor," said Cole. "Have you ever met him? How would you know what he is capable of?"

"But -- even if..." Fitapaldi paused, tugging at his brows, thinking. "Look at you, surely the police could see this could be no more than self-defense!"

"Yes!" cried Trissa, as if she now had the solution to the whole problem. "My father threatened him! I heard him. If anything, it has to be self-defense."

Cole shook his head. "He was buried, they said. In an unauthorized grave. That seems a bit beyond the limits of self-defense."

Trissa reached back to clasp Cole's hand as she turned toward Fitapaldi. "No! No, that couldn't be. He couldn't have done that. Nicholas is not a complete stranger to me. Not to me. He could never have done something like that. You have to believe me. I know him."

Fitapaldi approached and put an arm around her shoulder. "I believe you, my dear. I believe you."

Cole raised his eyes to the ceiling then shut them, unwilling to share in their theory or their confidence. "Could you get her home, Doctor?" he asked wearily. "She needs her rest. There is a long road ahead, I'm afraid."

Before Fitapaldi had a chance to answer, Trissa said, "I should wait for Augusta. I'm sure she'll be here any minute."

A woman Cole had no recognition of swept into the room and took Trissa's hand, giving her a motherly kiss on the cheek. "I'm sorry I'm late. I -- Oh, Trissa, honey, look at you. I should have insisted you come home last night. You look about ready to collapse."

She turned to greet Fitapaldi and Cole. "Good afternoon, Doctor. And Nicholas! What an improvement! A little green around the gills still, but, really, you look like a whole different pers -- oh. I mean you're so much better."

The woman Cole presumed to be Augusta dropped Trissa's hand to swoop down and engulf Cole in an eager hug.

"Oh, I almost forgot! I brought you some candy, some of those wonderful sorbets from Crown's. I wanted to bring Mavrako's Chocolate but I was afraid that would be too naughty. Sour balls couldn't hurt anybody, could they? I know how awful this hospital food can be. These should kill the taste." She reached into the large purse she had slung over her shoulder and pulled out a white paper sack that she plunked into Cole's lap like a bag of gold nuggets. "And, oh well, I couldn't resist. Easter candy was half price. So I got you a dark chocolate bunny. Dark because it's got more vitamins and less sugar. But just a tiny bunny. Promise me you'll only nibble the ears first until you see if it agrees with you."

Cole nodded dumbly as she delivered the chocolate bunny into his hand.

"Now, if no one objects, I'm going to take this poor child home and tuck her in bed and make her stay there for at least twenty-four hours." She turned to shake a finger at Cole. "And you, you take advantage of that time to get well enough to come home. Everybody misses you but I told them they all couldn't come in here to visit. Hospitals are for recuperating, not socializing. Are you ready, Trissa, dear?"

"Yes, Augusta. Dr. Fitapaldi, will you come by this evening? I need to talk."

"I will."

"Come for dinner, Doctor," added Augusta. "About six-thirty?"

"Thank you. I believe I shall."

"Good night, Nicholas." Trissa hesitated, one arm half in her jacket sleeve. Then she dropped the jacket to the floor where she stood and walked lightly and swiftly toward Cole. He read her intent but expected no more than a peck and primed himself to receive it.

Trissa had more ambitious plans. She leaned over bracing her hands on the pillow on either side of his head, trapping him as effectively as the collar he wore around his neck. She made a slow circle of tiny kisses on his face, zeroing in on her mark. Cole's fingers flexed open and shut on the bed, poised either to push her away or delve into her hair and stroke down the back of her neck.

When the true kiss began, a muffled grumble of surprise or protest escaped from him but was quickly lost in his effort to continue breathing steadily. But not even Cole's thick, tested, glacial wall of indifference could withstand the sweet, melting onslaught of this girl's determined kiss. His hands did reach up and hold her at last, if only for dear life. When she finally pulled away with a heartfelt sigh, he felt swamped in a befuddled mix of wonder, desire, and dismay.

Suddenly, inexplicably shy and pink to the tips of her ears, Trissa glanced at her forgotten audience and stepped back to take the jacket Augusta held out to her. "Um, I'm sorry, Cole. It's just that I learned to kiss from a very good teacher, and I don't think he'd be happy if I let my skills lapse for want of practice." She flashed a winsome smile that held more than a trace of saucy mischief and was gone.

"Amazing," Fitapaldi said. "I have to admire her resiliency."

"A human roller coaster," muttered Cole, gingerly easing himself to the edge of the bed.

"Should you be getting up?"

"I have to. I feel like I've hit a brick wall."

"I think you have. There will be no budging that girl now that she's made up her mind."

"We'll see."

Fitapaldi lent a shoulder while Cole boosted himself to his feet and took a few shuffling steps across the floor. Using a chair and the windowsill to support himself, he looked out at the blank, blue sky. "I don't remember any of it. I don't remember her. I don't remember her father. Hell, I don't even know what city I'm in."

"St. Louis."

"Yeah, that's right. That's what the police said. Jesus Christ, the police. Duncan's son also rises. It's what I always feared. Should we plead insanity and get it over with? It should be easy enough to prove."

"You are assuming that you killed him. I don't think you did."

"Yes, Dr. Jeckyl may not have, but what about Mr. Hyde?"

"Do you really think that's how it is? You have a good side and an evil side and no conscience that bridges both?"

"I don't know."

"Would that girl have fallen in love with Mr. Hyde?"

Cole pressed his forehead against the cool windowpane. "I don't know. I don't know."

"I know. She would not have. There is no Mr. Hyde in you."

"Does she love him?" he asked, in a low, flat voice, devoid of emotion.

"Do you doubt it? She kissed you like that and you doubt it?"

"I have nothing for her."

"What do you think she expects from you? She wants to love you. That is all. Let her."

Cole's whole body sagged. "I can't." He slumped against the windowsill and Fitapaldi assisted him back to the bed. "There is a lesson in all of this, if you care to note it."

"What is that lesson, Cole?"

"Above all else, a man must strive to cast a pale shadow. Otherwise the shadow takes over. Tell me, Doctor, am I the shadow now, or is he?" He smiled grimly when he saw that Fitapaldi had no answer. "How did you track me down here? We did not exactly part with promises to stay in touch."

"You called me an ambulance chaser, I believe," Fitapaldi chuckled. "It's been a long, hard chase, but I finally caught up with you."

"How long?"

"Eight months. But you're wrong. You have kept in touch. And not all of your messages have been as cryptic as the last one." He withdrew a folded envelope from his pocket and handed it to Cole.

Cole examined the envelope turning it over in his hand. It was a prop from a dream he only foggily remembered. To see it and hold it filled him with dread. "It's my handwriting."

He opened it slowly, afraid of its contents, and what he read seemed to confirm his fear. "'I am not certain how long it has been since I've seen him. Maybe he is dead. Maybe I am. The day has grown so dark that I can barely see. Cole Baker'"

"Maybe you should hold on to this for the trial, Doctor. Tangible proof of insanity. What does it mean? 'Maybe he is dead. Maybe I am.' Or does raving have to mean anything?" Cole carefully refolded the letter and put it back in its envelope. "I don't even remember sending it. Except in a dream."

"You judge yourself too harshly. They are merely the words of a man trying to reach out from the darkness into the only light he remembers. You must have written it when your waking self still functioned as Nicholas."

"My waking self? What an innocuous way of putting it, Doctor. Aren't you glossing over the facts here? The fact that I have no recollection of half of my life, the fact that I can wake, eat, sleep, breathe, and perform any and every type of depraved act then conveniently wash the slate clean by forgetting all of it?"

"I have seen no evidence of depraved acts, Cole. Was one of those depraved acts saving a young woman's life? Not once but possibly twice?"

"What do you mean?"

"Trissa. You are kindred spirits, it seems. Her background is different only in degree from yours. From the bits of the story she has given me and those I got from a counselor who spoke with her here, you -- or rather, the evil Nicholas -- rescued that girl from a suicide attempt after her father had--"

"No. I don't want to hear it."

"Why not? This letter you wrote to me, from out of the grip of your Mr. Hyde, is postmarked the day after she was admitted to this hospital suffering from injuries caused by that attempt. And a few days ago, as far as we can judge, Nicholas struck again. You went in that girl's place to meet her father despite threats to your own life and you were beaten to near death for your trouble."

With some effort, Cole pulled his legs up from the floor and pushed himself back in the bed. His arm flung over his eyes to shield them, he shut himself away from Fitapaldi and any version of the truth that contradicted his own. "And maybe killed her father in the process. I'm very tired, Doctor. Could you crank down my bed and turn out the light as you leave?"

"Very well, Cole, I will leave you for now." Fitapaldi shoved his hands in his pockets. "But I'll be back. And so will she. You're almost in sight of life now, Cole. You can't cast yourself adrift from it forever. I won't let you. And neither will she."

"We'll see," was all Cole would say.