*****
God, this man frightened her. This man she did not know, yet who knew her soul better than anyone else ever had. This man had risked his life to save one she was not sure was worth saving. This man looked at her now, and Trissa felt herself melting under the unbearable warmth of his gaze. She suddenly wished she had not insisted on walking alone the few feet from the nurse's station. She wished she had let Moira wheel her all the way from x-ray as she had cautioned her would be best. She wished the room wasn't spinning and her legs weren't disintegrating and....
"Up, up, up, Little One, I've gotcha! Oops, we've gotcha!" Trissa felt Moira's sturdy presence from behind, but it was her stranger-savior who scooped her up and carried her to the bed. Moira pulled the covers aside, but he tucked her in. It was Moira who adjusted the shade to block the sun from her pillow, but it was the glare of his unwavering eyes that blinded her, making her shelter her own eyes with the palm of her hand.
Really, he frightened her more than the approaching train had. Its promise was certain, final. His was so unknown.
"I'll leave you two alone now," she heard Moira say.
"Wait!" she heard next and was not certain whether it came from his lips or her own. They moved away from her in hushed conversation to the hall, and Trissa buried her head in the pillow, better to hide the tears from him when he returned, tears he would not understand and she could not explain. She heard his quiet footsteps as he circled the bed, picked up the fallen roses, and set the bedraggled bouquet on the windowsill. And then he waited, his arms folded, leaning against the radiator.
"Thank you," she said finally, pulling herself up but not trusting herself to look directly at him. "I mean, for the flowers."
"I'm sorry they're a little crushed."
"And--" she added with a quick, sharp sigh, "and for me."
"A little crushed as well, I'm sad to say."
"I don't know how you could -- or why -- or why you'd want to -- I -- I'm sorry. You could have been killed." Her whole body shuddered with the sobs that broke over her, but without a word he stepped toward her and enfolded her in his arms and rocked her while she cried. "It would have been better if you hadn't. It would have been over by now. It would have been over."
"But the world needs you, Trissa. It couldn't let you go. I couldn't let you go."
In confusion, she looked up at him through the blinding blur of her tears. What impossible faith did he demand of her? Her leaving would be of such small import to the world, the hushing of one heartbeat among so many billions. What could it matter when no one cared? God, how her head ached, how her heart thumped with such deafening regularity in her brain! How she wished it would stop and leave her in peace.
She buried her head against his arm, soaking his sleeve with her relentless tears. Her fists clenched at the soft wool of his jacket as he rocked her patiently, cradled her so gently, mindful of her bruises. And since it hurt so much to think, she surrendered to his lulling comfort. Maybe it was not him she had feared but the life he had restored to her. But she would not think of that now either. Thought seemed to be drowning in this battered brain of hers, sinking in the pain and the constant roar of the train.
*****
Her crying slowed and stopped and her ragged breathing gentled a bit. Limp with exhaustion, she slipped into fretful sleep, but when he made moves to settle her back against the pillow, she clutched at him. "Please, don't let me go. You said you wouldn't let me go."
"I won't," he whispered.
With her eyes still closed, she spoke to him, in a dreamy haze of a voice. "Who are you, Nicholas Brewer? Who are you?"
"Someone to take care of you."
"Forever and always?" she asked with the questing faith of a child.
"And ever after that." She slept then. The nurse's aide said that she would. The painkiller would make her drowsy all day. Beyond that, she would tell him nothing. There were x-rays taken. Her continued dizzy spells were a concern, but the doctor would have to talk to him about that.
"Don't worry, Mr. Brewer, we are doing all that we can for her." It was a sentence that sent an immediate chill through him. All that we can implied that there was something they could not do, didn't it? The thought made his precarious optimism seem as bent and mangled as his poor bouquet.
It made jagged sense to him that he would find her just to lose her. It was the wretched pattern of his life -- found and lost and found and lost again. But what twisted God would seek to illustrate his point with such cruelty? That was an insanity more difficult to accept than his own.
When he felt, at last, that she slept soundly enough, he nestled her back on the crisp, white sheets, drew his chair up to the bedside and sat watching her. Remembering his promise, he kept one hand lightly on her forearm, not letting go.
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."
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