Cast a Pale Shadow (8 page)

"Don't mind her," Tom said. "We were having some words, if you know what I mean, when we seen you coming out of the woods."

"How much longer?"

"A few blocks is all."

Trissa stirred a little, and Nicholas feared that she would come to and say something to further arouse Tom and Judy's suspicions. He worried, too, that getting help at the hospital would not be all that easy. She might look too young for them to believe she was his wife, and without any proof, how could he convince them he was? An ambulance with its lights flashing but no siren sliced passed them, and Nicholas peered beyond it to see the hospital. The neon of the emergency room sign glowed a welcome.

"This is it," Tom said as he pulled the car to a stop behind the ambulance. "Need some help carrying her?"

"No, thanks. I wish I could pay you but I don't--"

"That's okay, Jack. The doctors will be picking your pocket soon enough. Glad to be of help. Hope everything turns out all right."

"Thank you. And I didn't beat her, Judy. I would never."

"Right," snapped Judy, slipping back into her rightful place in the front seat as he left it. "And she looks young enough to believe in Santy Claus, too."

The sudden brightness of the reception area dazzled him and before he had sorted out the bustle of activity there, Nicholas was relieved of his burden by a brawny man in a white coat. Nicholas' arms served as safety net beneath his until he deposited Trissa on a waiting gurney.

"What happened?" the man asked as he began examining her, taking her pulse, and gently lifting her eyelids to check her pupils.

"She fell and hit her head." He would leave out the train for now. The train would be hard to explain.

"How long has she been out?"

"Twenty minutes." It seemed like a lifetime. "Yes, it's been about twenty minutes."

"And these bruises? They're all from the fall?"

For the first time, in the bright light of the emergency room hallway, Nicholas could see them clearly, angry red and darkening bruises on her arms and on her cheek, neck, and jaw. Some showed the clear outline of fingers. "My God, Trissa," he whispered, his heart seething to know someone had mistreated her so.

"Well?"

He had to be a doctor. No intern or assistant could muster such imperious authority into one cold syllable. Nicholas had had enough experience with doctors to both respect and resent their power. "Yes. I guess so. We both fell, tumbled down a gravel embankment. She got pretty banged up."

"You're not such a pleasant sight yourself. Check her in at the desk. I'll take care of her here. I might need to ask you some more questions later, so don't run off," the doctor advised.

"I won't. I wouldn't."

"Yeah." An equivocal frown creased the doctor's brow as he studied Nicholas through black, unreadable eyes. "You called her Trissa?"

"Yes. Yes, Trissa." It might be best not to tell this skeptic that her last name was Brewer in case she came to and told the doctor otherwise. Nicholas wondered if it might be better if he fulfilled the doctor's expectation and did run off. Sooner or later more questions would be asked, and his jumble of lies and truth and half-truth seemed so unbelievable that he would clamp himself in jail if he were a cop.

He watched until they wheeled Trissa out of sight, then approached the desk warily. Torn between his concern for Trissa and his growing apprehension for himself, he replied to the admissions clerk's questions with a recital of what he knew.

"First name?"

"Trissa."

"Last name?"

"Brewer," he lied.

"Age?"

"Eighteen." It was a guess

"Relationship to the patient?"

Nicholas glanced toward the room where they had taken Trissa and was startled to see a policeman loitering at the door, his hat under his arm, chatting amiably with a nurse.

"Sir, your relationship to the patient?"

"Husband." Nicholas's voice cracked on the lie. It seemed to be one he was stuck with. He watched the policeman out of the corner of his eye while the clerk typed the lie into fact.

"Religion?"

"Uh. Mine or hers?"

"The patient's."

"Catholic." She traveled with a Catholic college crowd, so it was a safe assumption.

"Insurance?"

The policeman moved off at last toward the waiting room area where he sat down with the nurse. Nicholas relaxed a little and turned his attention back to the clerk.

"Pardon?"

"Do you have insurance?"

"Yes. Uh, well, I have it. From work. But it doesn't cover her. Don't worry, I'll pay. I don't have a lot with me tonight, but--" He could sell his car if he had to. Whatever was needed, he would get it for her, if only he could help her.

"That's all right, Mr. Brewer. Arrangements can be made. Your wife is in good hands. Dr. Edmonds is one of our best residents. If you will just sign this treatment permission and release." The clerk handed him a pen and the completed forms.

Nicholas glanced over them then signed below the line that read "I attest that the above information is true and accurate to the best of my knowledge." There was a loophole there, he guessed. What little truth he had given was the best of his knowledge. That his knowledge didn't cover all the pesky details they asked for was not really his fault. Still, his hand shook slightly as he finished his signature.

"Why don't you take a seat in the waiting room, Mr. Brewer? I'll have someone see to your abrasions."

"Can't I see her now?"

"The doctor will call you shortly."

"But I--"

"Please, take a seat."

The only seat to be taken was the armchair across from the cop and the nurse, so Nicholas ambled in that direction slowly, hoping another would vacate. He stopped to get a drink at the water fountain, to read the Emergency Room Rules and Policy posted on the wall, and to sort through a stack of tattered magazines. Just as he was about to sit down, a nurse appeared with a first aid tray.

"Mr. Brewer?"

"Yes?"

"If you'll come with me, please."

He followed her to a small treatment room and for the next ten minutes, she cleaned and medicated his injuries. He did not realize until he winced from the sting of the medicine how extensive they were. His left temple and cheekbone were thoroughly scuffed and abraded along with the knuckles of his right hand and the palm of his left.

"You're limping. Should a doctor have a look at your leg?"

"It's an old limp," Nicholas assured her and thanked her for her care.

Before returning to the waiting room, he stopped at the restroom and got a first look at himself. His face was not only skinned and tinted red with antiseptic down the whole left side but a bruise colored the corner of his eye. It was no wonder that Tom and Judy and the doctor jumped to the conclusions they had.

The clerk had promised him Trissa was in the best of hands. Maybe now would be the time to leave. But, he shrugged, what would be the point? They had his address and his place of employment, and his signed and dated confession that he had brought Trissa to this hospital. Unless he was willing to run and keep running until he was well out of town, he might just as well stay here and see how everything turned out.

Maybe, just maybe it would all turn out right this time. How could it get any worse?

Before he had the chance to consider that question, Nicholas hurried out of the restroom. He had to see Trissa. If they wouldn't tell him where she was, he would just have to go looking for her. He had found her before, hadn't he? And she really had needed him, hadn't she?

"Mr. Brewer, I've been looking for you." Dr. Edmonds was leaning against the wall outside the restroom, like a cat waiting at a mouse hole. "We should go somewhere and talk."

Nicholas felt himself crumbling, and he braced himself with one hand on the doorframe. He had difficulty summoning the breath to speak. "My God, is she--"

"She'll be all right. We will keep her overnight for observation, though. Most likely by morning, she can go home. And that's what we need to talk about."

"Can't I see her first?"

"She's sleeping. Follow me."

Nicholas considered balking but was too uncertain of his standing to do so. There was something in Edmonds' voice and posture that made him doubt the wisdom of questioning his authority. And he could not forget that policeman. He followed him to a lounge at the end of the hall.

"Take a seat. Coffee?"

"Yes. Black."

Edmonds brought two steaming paper cups and took a long, leisurely drink of his own. Nicholas had the uncomfortable feeling of being the mouse to his cat again. Edmonds studied him through horn-rimmed lenses that gave his dark eyes a sharp intensity. Nicholas felt he intended to see him squirm before he deigned to speak, but he was determined not to give him that satisfaction.

"What is it you have to say to me? I would very much like to be spending my time with my wife."

"Is that so? And where might she be?"

"You know better than I."

"Do I? I didn't believe your story when you walked in here and I have even less reason now. That girl is not your wife, is she?"

Nicholas did not answer but met Edmonds' accusing gaze without wavering.

"You know what I believe, Brewer? I believe you tried to rape that girl. And when she resisted you beat her and you beat her good. The only reason you're not under arrest right now is because she denies it. And because she won't give me her name so I can call her family to take her home."

"She--" The word escaped before he was able to choke it off. Rape. Was that what happened? Was that what drove her to the railroad tracks?

"Does that surprise you? She says she fell. The same story you gave." Edmonds took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. His authority seemed to evaporate, and for the first time, Nicholas saw before him a man more puzzled and weary than threatening. "And frankly, I can't understand why a rapist would carry his victim to a hospital and wait around to see how she is."

"That would be a little insane, wouldn't it?" said Nicholas, feeling complacent enough to use a word he almost never spoke out loud. No use putting ideas in people's heads.

"I admit you haven't heard the whole truth here tonight. But I would never hurt Trissa. I promise you that, Dr. Edmonds." Nicholas drank the last of his coffee and stood. "I want to see her now."

"Room 320," Edmonds said. "But Brewer, if I ever see her in here again with a mark on her, I won't wait to hear your stories or your promises. Do you understand me?"

"Yes. Fully." He left his empty cup on the table, shoved in his chair, and strode away from him with an air of jaunty confidence that was all pretense. He didn't see Bryant Edmonds' clenched fist reach out and smash his cup flat. But he heard it.

Chapter Four

Tormented by doubts, Nicholas sat at the foot of Trissa's bed through the night. He had moved the chair out of her direct line of vision. He didn't want to startle her if she should wake and see him there. His scuffed face and disheveled clothing would not make a good first impression. His already fragile confidence seemed to wither with each hour that passed, the wisdom of his waiting decaying into folly. Eventually he was no longer sure whether it was sympathy or apathy that had motivated the night duty nurse to allow him to remain in Trissa's room all night.

"She's not critical. It's not usually allowed," had been her first response to his request.

"I understand that. It's just that I haven't spoken to her since the accident. I'm worried she might wake and not know where she is or how she got here. She'd be frightened by that, don't you see?" His mind raced to devise more reasons if this one failed to convince her. He had no intention of relinquishing his hold on Trissa, however tenuous. If she awoke and he wasn't around to plead his case, he feared he wouldn't be given another chance. He simply had to stay.

Yet, he'd been surprised when the preoccupied nurse had shrugged and sighed, "Suit yourself. It isn't my job to throw you out." The victory seemed too easy to count as foreshadowing. He had won this time, not through his charm but through her weariness.

In the dim light from the hall filtering through the partly open door, the dark purple of Trissa's bruises stood out against her pale skin and the stark white sheets. The tracks of shed tears still showed on her cheeks, and he wondered how long she had cried alone while he was being detained by Edmonds. He kissed two fingers, touched them lightly to her hair, and began his vigil.

He shifted restlessly in his chair as his body made him aware of the jarring he had taken in his tumble over the tracks. Eventually, he slumped down to a position that, despite his best intentions, soon had him dozing, his head bobbing like the marionette of a drunken puppeteer.

Nicholas found his dreams visited by the shades of his own troubled memories. He was on the railroad tracks again, this time on a trestle that narrowed in one direction to a vanishing point. There was no escape to either side, for the trestle spanned a deep, rugged gully with a ribbon of river twinkling with starlight far below. Acrid smoke billowed up behind him, and he whirled to see the rails burning, sputtering and sizzling toward him like twin fuses.

"I can get you out of this, Nicholas. Take my hand, jump with me." Doreen's voice was filled with exhilaration, and he was surprised to feel her so close where seconds before he had been alone. He turned to look into her beautiful, beaming face and, as always, it suffused him with light and joy. She kissed him and tossed back her gypsy-dark curls then gripped his hand tightly and he yielded to her gentle tugging. They teetered on the brink, the wind from the chasm swirling her skirts wildly about her knees. "Don't be afraid. There's no other way. Look! The fire is getting closer. Jump with me, Nicholas. Fly with me!"

"Doreen, this is crazy. We'll be killed."

"Yes, crazy, that's what we are. Now, Nicholas, now." She grabbed his other hand and yanked him toward her for a kiss so deep he didn't notice as she angled their bodies precariously over the edge until she set them spinning into space. Still joined by their kiss and clasped hands, they seemed caught by the wind for a while as they dipped and swirled like falling leaves.