Cast a Pale Shadow

chapter Six





Trissa did not stir with the bustle of activity that brought another patient to fill the bed next to her. Nicholas watched the precision of the staff, the two orderlies and two nurses, as they shifted a motionless bundle from the gurney to the bed, attached an intravenous bottle to the rack they wheeled in and belatedly drew the curtain. When they left, only the new roommate's huffing intakes of breath made him aware of her presence beyond the green fabric wall they'd pulled into place.

Hunger gnawed at him around eleven, and he remembered he had not eaten since dinner the night before. The nurse's aid, Moira, peeked in to say she was going off duty and urged him to grab a bite.

"She'll likely sleep another hour or two. Now would be your best bet." It was another twenty minutes before he forced himself to take her advice. He whisked the wilting roses into the waste can and counted himself stupid not to have thought to put them in water. He would replace them and add a few daisies to the bunch. That might cheer her a little.

Rounding the foot of her bed, he smoothed a wrinkle out of her blanket and brushed past the curtain that partitioned the room. He intended only to nod a peremptory greeting to the silent roommate, but his eyes were unconsciously drawn to her. The shock of seeing her halted him abruptly, and he had to clutch at the curtain for stability.

She had the same coloring and was about the same size as Trissa, though the fetal curl of her position made her seem much smaller. Brittle shocks of hair bristled out from beneath the bandages that encircled her skull, and tubes invaded her chafed nose and her dry, cracked lips. She struggled to breathe, and her eyes were open but unseeing through stubby, crusted lashes.

Nicholas' own chest heaving with the effort to contain his emotions as he shifted his eyes from one bed to the other, flashing images of what might have been or what could yet be for Trissa if -- Oh, God, if -- He felt his rage rising and he had to get away from there.

He fled down the hall to the service elevator, smashing his fist again and again against the call button until the doors finally slid open for him. He pushed the safety gate aside and entered. Down into the bowels of the hospital and out into the dimly lit subbasement, he followed the glowing, red exit signs, twisting and turning through the maze of pillars and corners, possibly searching for the pathway to hell. He plunged at last through a door to the outside. Sunlight splashed down the concrete retaining wall opposite him, dazing him, and the pungent odor of the overflowing garbage bins made his stomach churn in protest as he gulped in air.

He picked up a cardboard box full of jars and bottles and flung it furiously against the wall, relishing the shatter of its contents in glistening shards, wishing it were Trissa's father he could so easily smash. Or his own. Or fate. Or memory.

It was this Nicholas that so frightened Janey and Beth, this dark, mad Nicholas, driven by his rages, black in his fury, cutting a swath of insanity. Pure insanity. Not magic. No magic at all, Doreen, just insanity, nothing more.

He spent his wrath on more boxes and bags until he was knee deep in his debris and his lungs ached with the effort. Cupping his hands over his mouth and nose, he inhaled until his breathing had reached its normal rhythm, until the veil of red lifted from his eyes and he was almost Nicholas again.

He kicked aside the rubble to make a clear patch of pavement, and he sank to the ground, wedged between the wall and the garbage bin. In just a moment it would be over, a cigarette or two, a soaking in the sunshine, rationality restored by the clear light of day, darkness conquered as it always was by the dawn.

He would rest awhile, then eat, and be back with Trissa before she awoke. It would be different this time. He had saved her and for once he had found someone who needed him as much as he needed her. Almost as much.

Fool that he was, reckless dreamer that he was, he believed he could ration these episodes of craziness. He had to. He could not have Trissa if he were hopelessly and irreparably insane. And he had to have her. Hadn't he promised her he would not let go?

"Brewer? Brewer, is that you?"

Christ, it was Edmonds. And here he was, crouched in the garbage, rumpled and unkempt, looking nearly as wild as he must have last night.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Nicholas hauled himself to his feet, making a concentrated effort not to limp as he came out from behind the bin. He dropped his cigarette and ground it out under his toe. "Having a smoke. Why? Am I off-limits?" Nicholas tugged at his jacket and jeans, trying to look nonchalant and succeeding miserably.

"Wouldn't one of the benches outside be more comfortable?" Edmonds regarded him suspiciously.

"Maybe. I'll have to try one next time." He shrugged and followed the doctor through the door. "And what about you? Do you always use the service entrance? I thought you were the hotshot doctor here, not some lowly custodian. Or are you dodging your throngs of fans?"

"Dodging seems more up your alley, Brewer. What, were there cops lurking in the lobby?"

Nicholas decided to ignore his needling. "I'm worried about Trissa."

"Admirable. Belated, perhaps but admirable. What are you today? Her brother? Uncle? Kissing cousin?" Edmonds' long strides and his familiarity with the subbasement's labyrinth forced Nicholas into a limping gait to keep up.

"I am, and will remain, her husband. I'm entitled to be kept informed."

Edmonds reached the service elevator waiting for him. Naturally. Nicholas stepped in after him. Edmonds punched the button for the floor and pushed the close door button. He leaned against the padded sidewall with his arms folded against his chest. "You will know when I know. I ordered more head shots."

"What does that mean?"

"There is a possibility that surgery may be necessary."

Nicholas swallowed, trying to force his heart back down his throat to its rightful place. "And the patient in the next bed? Did she have surgery?"

"You cannot compare the two. Each case is individual."

"Trissa is not a case, God damn you. Don't call her that." Nicholas took one pacing circle of the elevator to calm himself. Edmonds watched him. "It's too easy, don't you see? You strip her of her humanity with a word like that. From there it's just too damn easy to fill her with drugs and tubes and plug her into the wall like some machine. She's a human being, not some case for your charts and your reports."

"Calm down, Brewer. You've let one word expose a raw nerve here. No one wants anything like that for Trissa. No one expects anything like that. We merely want to take every precaution. The x-ray is just a diagnostic tool." The elevator lurched to a stop, but neither man moved to open the door. "We can't take chances with head injuries, you understand that, don't you?"

"Yes," Nicholas realized he had stepped too close to the edge and that Edmonds had perceived that. He had to be more careful.

"But if, and I am only saying if, surgery is warranted, don't you think it should be her parents who make that decision? Not some one with an unverified familial connection such as yours?"

"Unverified? I see, you expect a marriage certificate tattooed on my chest, maybe. Is this just your peculiarity, or is it hospital policy? " Nicholas stabbed at the button to open the door.

"She said she wasn't married, Brewer," Edmonds said evenly. "I asked her last night."

"She was in shock. Ask her again," Nicholas challenged.

"I could cite medical evidence from my examination that would support her first answer."

Nicholas detected a certain sleazy smugness that had crept into his tone and bristled to punch him in his smirking mouth for it. But he had to be careful. He had to maintain control. He stepped off the elevator and turned to face him, jamming a foot in the door to keep it from closing between them. "Playing doctor, Doctor? Your examination seemed to range rather far afield for a head injury."

Edmonds raised an eyebrow. "Standard procedure when there is suspected rape, Brewer." Nicholas glared at him as he removed his foot and let the door close.

"Like a bottle of God-damned milk," Nicholas muttered as he realized that Edmonds had not only scored the last point in their round but had deposited him on the wrong floor, certainly not on Trissa's doorstep. Edmonds would undoubtedly head straight there. More than likely he was there already, asking her the very question Nicholas had been stupid enough to dare him to ask.

"This scruffy gimp who has been hanging about making a pest of himself, does he happen to be your husband by any chance?" Nicholas could imagine his inquiring of Trissa in his oily-smooth bedside manner voice. "What was that? You never saw the crazy fool before in your life?"

"Damn! Damn! Damn!" Nicholas punched through the service doors to the hall. He was on the main floor just across from the gift shop and the cafeteria. He had almost forgotten they had been his intended destination before his unplanned expedition into the nether world for his little tantrum.

He'd slipped up again and naturally someone had been there to catch him at it. His life swam in the whitewash he had to use to hide his black times, but as always he managed to paint himself into a corner. And as always there was someone around to spot his tracks as he muddled his way out.

The air in the gift shop was pungent with roses and mums and the sweet smell of chocolate. Nicholas looked over the shelf of bouquets and picked one of pink rosebuds and daisies. He ordered it sent up to Trissa's room. He wondered if they'd arrived before or after Edmonds had talked Trissa out of trusting him. Before or after the police were called to haul him away.

He bought a sandwich in the cafeteria and ate it in the car after tilting the rear view mirror away so he wouldn't catch his reflection in it. The corned beef was tough and dry, pickled from some steer long past its prime, no doubt. It suited him. He remembered the bitter coffee from early that morning and decided this cup was brewed from the same old grounds.

From his spot on the parking lot he saw the third floor windows but he couldn't figure out if Trissa's room was on this side of the building. His odyssey through the subbasement had disoriented him.

What did it matter anyway? She was a lost dream, and he was suddenly too old to believe in happy endings. He washed down the last of his sandwich with the dregs of his coffee. Hunching down in his well-worn but warm navy blue jacket, he pulled his legs up on to the seat and went to sleep and dreamed of -- Janey?



As Nicholas circled the park, Janey nursed the last drops out of her Coca-Cola, tilting her head back and allowing her pink tongue to circle the rim and dart inside a time or two. She was hot and growing impatient. While he watched from the car, she unbuttoned the wide, white collar of her blouse, tugged her skirt up to mid thigh and rolled her socks down to the top of her penny loafers, patting the sweat from her sturdy legs and dimpled knees. The Coke she now cast aside so disconsolately must have long since grown tepid. But as the park melted into dusk, not even the disappearance of the sun diminished the steamy humidity that had made this day nearly unbearable. It was unusual heat for so early in May.

Janey lifted her heat-frizzled hair from her neck and fanned it with a piece of paper from her book bag. Her homework, no doubt. She was extremely heedless of it. She had left two folded sheets, covered with the essay he'd helped her struggle with, behind in his car the last time. It both amused and annoyed him to find she had inscribed "Nicky and Janey. Janey and Nicky" in her curly handwriting, dotting the i in his name with a heart, all along the margins. He thought she would be better at keeping secrets than that. Nicholas shook his head remembering it. He wondered how she'd explained the missing papers to her teacher. Probably with the same resourcefulness that enabled her to reach a belated senior year without anyone finding out she could barely read.

He parked the car out of her line of vision and approached her through the unmowed spring grass. Already, he thought he could detect the enticing scent of her, a blend of wildflowers and spice and Snicker bars that made his head hum with anticipation. Janey had the magic.

He heard her hiccup a sob and knew he had kept her waiting too long. It was hard to judge these things. The wait was important. He had to make sure she really wanted him. She had to prove it by waiting. He would never take anyone who didn't want him. Force was never involved.

"I'm here, Sweetheart," he said eager for that moment when she would turn and see him and the tears would dry from her eyes.

"Nicky! I knew! I knew you wouldn't forget me." In one self-conscious flurry of movement, she tugged at her skirt, brushed her tears from her cheeks and pushed her glasses up the sweat-glistened button of her nose. She licked her dry lips, and they trembled to a smile.

"Never," was all he could say, overwhelmed by her nearness, the need to touch her, and the knowledge that he couldn't, not here where they might be seen. "Janey, you're beautiful."

Her face, already flushed from the heat became radiant with his words. She took a tentative step toward him. With a barely perceptible frown of disapproval, he nodded toward the car. "Take your things to the car, Love. I'll wait here for a while and join you later. Did you write your note?"

"Yes, I mailed it after school." Janey bit her lower lip as he watched her decide to tell her next secret in a whisper he had to strain to hear. "Nicky, I think I heard it hit the bottom when I dropped it. I... I couldn't... It was too deep to reach to get it back."

"Have you changed your mind then?"

"No! No, I just... I'm a little afraid is all. And I forgot...I forgot to say I love you to my grandpa."

"Janey, we can wait. We can do this later."

"No, please! I don't want to wait. I don't want to be there when he dies. I can't bear it. He is the only one who... who ever loved me, and he doesn't even know who I am now. I can't watch anymore. I can't!"

"I love you, Janey." His voice was steady and confident, past the heart-stopping uncertainty she had thrown him with her doubts.

Janey halted her tears with a determined intake of breath and bent to gather her things, glancing up twice to catch his smile.

"That's my girl! Now, don't look back. Be patient and I'll be along shortly."

He heard the car door slam, and he crushed his cigarette into the dirt. Janey did not like him to smoke. She played his little mother when they were together, fussing and fretting over him. So much pent up love within her that he looked forward to drowning in it.

Nicholas noticed with annoyance at his carelessness that he had parked under a street lamp. His car was awash in its pool of light, Janey's halo of dark curls catching the glint of it as she kept her eyes obediently forward, not looking back. Luckily, he had remembered to obscure his license plate with a rag trapped under his trunk lid, and the car was nondescript enough that observers would have difficulty recalling its details. And anyway, Janey had sent the letter explaining why she was running away. She had ample reason. And she was of an age that, with such evidence as the letter, the police would be content to ignore her disappearance, or give it only cursory attention, if her neglectful mother even took enough notice to report it. Janey would be safe with him.

Nicholas roused himself, shrugging off the dredges of his dream. Why Janey? Why now when he worried what had become of her and would probably never know? Would the years bring similar troubling dreams of Trissa?

Not if he didn't go back.

Not if he fell asleep and let the darkness take over. Or if, when more dreams came, they were of the man who called himself Cole Baker.



*****



Dr. Edmonds warmed his stethoscope in the palm of his hand then loosened Trissa's gown to listen to her heart. "Breathe in deeply and hold it. That's good, let it out slowly. Okay, now in and out normally."

Trissa chewed her lower lip all during Edmonds examination, her eyes flitting to the door each time footsteps sounded in the hall.

"Where is your friend this afternoon?" he asked.

"Friend? You mean Nicholas? He went for lunch, they said. He was gone when I woke up."

Edmonds made a few notes on his chart. "I saw him downstairs when I came in," he said. "Is there anything else you want to tell me about your accident while he's not here, Trissa?"

"While he's not..." Was there a hint of suspicion in his tone? "Oh, no, you don't think he had anything to do with my fall, do you? No, no, that's all wrong! He was the one who saved me. It's just that... uh... I was running and I wasn't looking and I ran onto the tr -- I stumbled and--" Her voice constricted. She didn't dare tell the whole truth, yet her clumsy explanations seemed all wrong as the words sputtered out.

"And I tried to catch her before she fell, but we both tumbled over the embankment."

"Nicholas!"

Nicholas leaned over and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Hi, Sweetheart. You look much better. Did you have a good nap?"

"Yes. And I ate all my lunch."

"Then it must have been better than mine." The fingers of her right hand beckoned toward him and he clasped them. Their coldness melted in his warm palm.

Edmonds snapped his pen shut and folded his arms across his chest. "Two things, Mr. and Mrs. Brewer," he said, raising his brow toward Nicholas on Trissa's title. "The x-rays look good, so I don't think we have anything to worry about there. But I have asked a colleague, Georgia Pulasky, to come in and have a few words with Mrs. Brewer before I sign the release."

"Another of your standard procedures, Doctor?" Nicholas asked.

"No, it is not standard. And, Trissa, I hope you will be more forthcoming with her than you have been with me. We only want to help you, but to do that you will have to help us a little, too. Will you at least try?" He ignored Nicholas and spoke only to Trissa. She sensed antagonism between the two men. It confused her.

"I don't know what you want," she said.

"Just answer her questions honestly."

"Yes, Doctor."

"Thank you." There was a smug look of triumph on Edmonds' face. "I'll check in on you again, later. Good day, Mr. Brewer.



*****



Nicholas gave Trissa's hand a squeeze then released it to pursue Edmonds out of the room. "Doctor Edmonds, I need a word with you."

"I have rounds to make, Brewer. You've wasted enough of my time." Whatever pleasantness he had contrived to gain Trissa's trust was erased from his voice now that she could no longer hear it. He did not slow his pace down the hall, and once again Nicholas was forced into a limping gait to keep up with his long strides.

Ignoring the disadvantage, Nicholas injected a similar sharp aggression into his tone. "Then why not just release her and cease your damned meddling?"

"Release her to you? You probably have no more right to her than I do."

"Than you do? Is that it, Edmonds? Is that the reason for all your interest?"

"Don't be an ass, Brewer. My interest is only that of doctor for patient."

"And this colleague of yours? You didn't call her doctor. Just what is her interest?"

"She is a psychiatric social worker."

"Psychiatric--" Nicholas took a breath to control the snap of panic the word induced in him. Even so, when he spoke again, it tinged his voice. He wondered if Edmonds would detect it. "No, I refuse. I won't give my permission for that. You're not sending some shrink in there to play around with Trissa's mind."

Edmonds waved a hand to dismiss him as if Brewer's objections were no more than a petty annoyance. "Your permission is not needed. And probably wouldn't be binding if it were. I have the patient's permission. You heard her agree to talk to her yourself."

They had reached the end of the hall and Edmonds finally paused and turned to face him with undisguised contempt. "As for playing around with her mind, you've done your share of that, haven't you? Was that endearing scene in there just for my benefit, or are you always so loving with your wife? Somehow, I doubt it. Whatever happened last night, it has damaged that girl more than just physically. She's so overwrought she can't frame a straightforward response to a simple question. But then, you don't want her to be able to answer questions, do you?"

In a way, Nicholas felt more comfortable now that Edmonds had shed all pretense of civility. He knew Edmonds expected him to reply in kind, and it pleased him to muster enough composure to answer the doctor's outburst with cool, even-toned disdain. "You are an arrogant bastard, Edmonds. But then most doctors are. You have made a lot of assumptions about me and about the accident. For Trissa's sake, I regret I won't have the pleasure of showing you just how wrong you are. But I will promise you one thing. However long you dawdle with this release, Trissa came into this hospital with me and she will leave with me."

"That remains to be seen."

The doctor turned and shouldered his way through the door to the stairwell. Nicholas judged himself the victor in this round. But then, Nicholas had already made up his mind he was going to win. He had battled his way to that decision in the car when he had awakened with the image of Janey as fresh in his mind as the last day he'd seen her.

If he had dreamed of her, he did not remember the details of his dream. There was only Janey, smiling bravely and saying goodbye, neither of them anticipating it would be their last. It had startled him that the memory was so clear after so long. He'd driven away watching her in the rear view mirror as she fidgeted with her clothes, suddenly as unsure of herself as she had been the day they met.

It was her first day on her first job, and as carefully as they had prepared for it, Nicholas knew she was scared. He kissed her goodbye and promised her a celebration dinner as she scooted out of the car. He willed her good luck as he turned the corner and she was lost from sight. Forever. As easily as a car shifts into gear, his mind slipped from him and he lost the next six months. When he came to himself again, he was in another city, in another season.

He had called the number he remembered to be his and Janey's, but a stranger answered. He drove by her old house and saw strangers living there and to the library where they'd met without real expectation of finding her there. He hadn't the courage to seek her any further, to explain his abandonment of her, to beg her understanding. He had only the hope that she forgave him, and maybe, in time, convinced herself it was better that he left. But probably, she hated him. He deserved it. He hated himself for what he had done to her, however little control he'd had of the situation.

And out there in the car in the hospital parking lot, he'd almost let himself do the same thing to Trissa. But this time, he took control. He wouldn't allow it to happen again. He would not let go. He promised Trissa, and this time he would not let go. Neither Edmonds nor anyone else would change that.

When he returned to the room, Trissa stood at her bedside, her small body engulfed in her hospital robe and gown, her face veiled in her shining hair as she bent over the little suitcase he had brought her.

"Should you be out of bed?"

She looked up and smiled, the shyness of it melting his heart. "I feel much better now. I think I'll feel better yet if I get out of these things." She fingered the limp and wrinkled cotton that dipped and drooped about her.

"But you're in style.. That color is the latest thing.," he chuckled.

She tilted her head and squinted one eye shut to consider it. "No, it's just not me, I guess." She shook out a dusty rose dress and laid it across the bed and found a darker rose chenille cardigan at the bottom of the suitcase.

"I'll leave so you can change."

"No, wait, please. You brought these for me and I haven't thanked you."

"You don't have to."

"Yes, I do. I don't know how to repay your kindness and your -- bravery." She frowned. "There is so much I can't explain to you but you deserve an explanation. Especially since I have another favor to ask, and it's so hard to -- to--"

"Just ask." There was only the width of the bed that separated them, and he wished he could reach out and take her hands again but she held them clenched at her waist, rubbing her thumbs together.

"Can you loan me some money?" she blurted.

"Money?"

"I'll pay you back. I'll get a job and pay you back as soon as I can."

"But, Trissa..."

"It's just that I can't go home. I think you know that. And without money, I don't know where... it's just -- there's no one else I can think to ask."

Nicholas pulled out his wallet and scowled at its flatness. He hoped he had enough to make his point. "How much do you want?"

Her eyes widened as he tossed bills one by one on the bed. "I -- I don't know. I thought a hotel and a little for food."

"And transportation. You'll need to get to this hotel and eventually to this job you plan to find."

"Oh. Yes, I guess so."

"You probably will need enough to tide you over until the bruises fade. Job hunting is hard enough even when you don't look like a defeated prizefighter."

She chewed on her lower lip. He emptied his wallet and searched his pockets. Coins and wadded bills joined the pile already on the bed.

"And then there's the hospital bill."

"The hospital bill?" She slumped to the bed. "The hospital bill. What am I going to do?"

"You could come home with me," he suggested as he rounded the bed to sit next to her.

She shook her head and buried her face in her hands.

"Trissa, listen. I lied to these people here, and I'm sorry. I couldn't think of what else to do. You needed help and I was afraid they wouldn't help you without consent. I didn't even know your name, so I..."

She jerked her face up sharply. "But you did! You did know my name! I heard you calling me. On the tracks. You called my name! Who are--"

"Mrs. Brewer?" a woman's voice inquired from across the room.

Trissa had no reason to respond to that name that everyone insisted on calling her but she turned toward the doorway. Nicholas feared she was now recalling just why he frightened her. He reached for her wrist and held it firmly for a moment, his eyes burning into hers as he whispered, "I had to lie, Trissa. I had to. Trust me." He released her and dropped his hands to his sides. Trissa trembled.

"Mrs. Brewer, I'm Georgia Pulasky. Dr. Edmonds asked me to stop by. Mr. Brewer." The woman was a robust blond with pale freckles crowding her face and the backs of her hands. She nodded and smiled a greeting at Nicholas then fixed her eyes steadily Trissa's face.

Trissa raked the money off the bed and, clutching it in one fist, she pushed it at Nicholas. "I think Dr. Edmonds wants me to talk to Mrs. Pulasky alone, Nicholas," she said steadily, her voice a register higher than before.

His shoulders slumped as he nodded, shoved the money in his jacket pocket and turned toward the door. "I'll wait -- outside. Uh, will you want to talk to me also, Mrs. Pulasky?"

"I don't expect so, Mr. Brewer," the woman answered and dismissed him.