Cast a Pale Shadow (12 page)

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."