And for the one brief moment that her eyes were open before the darkness captured her, she had seen his face, unbruised, unmarked, and perfect, like an archangel on a holy card. Yes, Moira, he was the handsomest man on earth. But who on earth was he?
*****
Nicholas took a cab to work to pick up his car and explain to his boss why he wouldn't be in today, then hurried off to his rooms to shave and change. He was halfway down the back steps when he remembered he'd left his keys in the torn jacket he'd discarded. He found them stuffed in the pocket with the crumpled bus route map. He studied the map for a moment and found where Christian Avenue intersected the main route. He had stopped at that intersection on more than one occasion in his ramblings. Trissa had been just a few blocks away then. If he had known... if he had only known. Folding the map carefully, he took it with him.
As he drove down Grand and turned onto Broadway, his rage mounted until his grip on the wheel was so tight his knuckles ached. Rape, Edmonds had said. Attempted rape. And it was not difficult to deduce from Trissa's mother's tersely worded denials who the attempted rapist was. Of all people, Nicholas would know the devastation of such an attack.
He pulled the map out at the next stoplight, though the route was engraved on his heart. The mechanics of unfolding and refolding lent a structure to his thinking. Six blocks to Christian Avenue. Past the cemetery and under the viaduct. The black iron spikes of Calvary's fence ticked past him on the left. He was driving so he could not read the names on the massive stone crosses of the family plots as he did when he rode past them on the bus. But he knew them all by heart. Cantrell, Donnelly, Temme, Pizarek.... reciting them kept his mind off other things.
He drove slowly down Christian looking for the address. The house was a two story white frame with shades pulled in every window but the one on the top right. He imagined that was Trissa's room. Her mother might have needed the light to gather Trissa's things so she could cast them out. A concrete donkey and cart filled with the crisp brown heads of dead chrysanthemums graced the lawn next to the walk. A peeling white trellis twisted with the remains of last year's climbing roses partially concealed the porch. The name on the mailbox was Kirk.
It was easy to convince himself that no one was home. He did not want to risk a confrontation. The restraints on his fury were still too fragile, too freshly forged. Nicholas eased his car down the block and around the corner to the alley.
Fenced backyards with lawns the faded, nearly colorless, khaki of a colder than usual March just ending, ramshackle garages, and rusting trash bins lined the narrow alley. Trissa's mother was not bluffing. He saw the jumbled pile next to the trash bin behind her house immediately. A sad assortment of tattered shopping bags, a dilapidated black suitcase, and an old, red portable record player were this mother's parting gifts to her daughter.
Nicholas loaded them into the trunk, sorting out one change of clothing for Trissa to wear home from the hospital, and two gowns, and a robe and slippers in case she had to stay for a while. Remembering Judy's sour, accusing questions from last night, he looked for a coat but could find none. And where were her shoes and the blue backpack she always toted on the bus? Before he could let his common sense overtake his anger, he slammed the trunk lid shut and charged up the back walk.
The sound of his own fist racketing against the metal storm door of the back porch jolted his brain to think a moment. What if Trissa's father answered the door? Would he be able to keep himself from throttling the man?
And assuming he succeeded in giving him the beating he deserved, what would it accomplish? He was the trespasser here, and it would not be too difficult to persuade the police that he was also the kidnapper, or worse. He had no witness to say otherwise. Trissa didn't know him. Tom and Judy would be no help, and Dr. Edmonds considered him the perpetrator already. He could buy Trissa a new coat and shoes, and schoolbooks could be replaced. Was