you? Help you? Help you?" Each barked question was delivered with rising inflection until the last ended in a scream. "You need help all right. But it's more help than I can give you. Your father will be scarred for life. Who's to help him?"
"I'm sorry. He tried--"
"He told me what happened. I don't need to hear what your twisted mind has made out of it."
Perhaps it was best that way. If you pretended it didn't happen, maybe, in time it will seem as if it hadn't. "How -- how is Daddy?"
"How dare you ask that question? Is that why you called?"
"Yes. I just -- I have to know."
"Funny, you weren't so concerned when you ran out of here. Where did you spend the night? Where are you now?" By now her mother's voice had the cold, metallic ring of brass. All the honeyed, bell tones of her first "hello" were lost in its harshness.
"In the -- at a friend's house." Trissa had to hold her breath to keep another sob from escaping.
"Fine. Then you can just stay there. I'll put your clothes in the alley. You can pick them up there."
Trissa could not stop her startled gasp. "The alley? Please, Mommy, let me come home. Let me explain." She squeezed her eyes shut but that did not impede the stinging tears. The receiver seemed suddenly too heavy to hold up and her arm trembled with the effort. Her head throbbed and spun. She gripped the side rail of the bed tightly with her other hand to keep her balance.
She could no longer decipher her mother's words. They seemed as implacable as the train bearing down on her. The train... The roaring train...The receiver slipped from her grasp, or was it taken from her? And it was not her mother's voice any more but--
"Hello." The man spoke calmly into the receiver, holding it out from his ear so Trissa could still hear her mother's screaming tirade.
"--and if you want them, I suggest you pick them up by noon. You know trash pick up is -- who -- who is this?"
"My name is Nicholas Brewer. I am a friend of Trissa's."
The train and its roar, the mournful wail of its whistle, the relentless rumble of its approach shuddering up through her knees melted from Trissa's memory at the sound of her name from this man. He had said it before, had called to her out of the darkness before. She remembered seeing his face loom over her in the darkness of a dream, his square jaw and kind brown eyes framed with blond waves like a Renaissance angel. He had to be a dream. Yet now here he was smiling at her while he held up one hand to caution her to silence. Who was he?
"What? Who? What have you done with my daughter? I'll have the police--"
"Yes, I am sure the police will be very interested to hear where and how I found Trissa last night."
Trissa gasped and shook her head wildly, the action setting the room into a dizzying whirl, but he put his fingers to his lips and crinkled his brow slightly. Something in his eyes made her know that he was bluffing.
*****
Nicholas moved a few steps toward the foot of the bed where Trissa could be spared the sound of her mother's venom.
"Why you God damned son of a bitch! Are you threatening me? My husband will have your ass in--"
"Surely we can discuss your daughter's welfare without profanity. I know we both have only her best interests at heart. As for your husband, I think it might be wise if you tried not to remind me of his existence right now, or I may imagine all sorts of causes for Trissa's bruises." Nicholas forced his voice to remain steady, investing it with sure, calm power, willing Trissa to surrender her panic to it. She sank back against the pillow and rubbed the tears from her cheeks with the palms of her hands.
"What?" her mother screamed. "What has she told you? She's lying. She--"
"She has no reason to lie to me. On the other hand, I have heard her beg you to let her explain. You refuse to let her. I require no explanations and I ask none."
"Are you trying to tell me how I should handle my daughter?"
"No. That would be senseless as you will not have the opportunity to do so again. I understand from your rantings that her things have been placed in the