The Imposter (Alexandra Destephano Book 2) Page 27

  Nadine looked at her firmly and said, "You've got to go, Alex. If you don't, you will never know if you were physically raped and the uncertainty will haunt you forever. You'll never recover emotionally from the experience." Nadine turned and prevailed upon Alex's relationship with Robert. "You've gotta go get checked out now and you and Robert can work through this together."

  Robert was nodding his head, aware of the implications that could result if Alex never knew whether she was forcibly raped by Whitset. "Nadine's right, Alex. We need to do all we can so we can work through this. I'll take you to Memorial Hospital in Gulfport."

  "Jack has made the arrangements, Alex. We'll check you in under an assumed name. No one will know you have been there. It'll be confidential. I'll go as well if you like." Nadine squeezed her hand.

  Alex looked from Robert to Nadine. She said to Robert, "Would you mind if only Nadine went with me? I'd rather you go check on Monique. Besides, someone will recognize you there."

  Robert was surprised and a little hurt. "Of course, Al, whatever you want. I am anxious about Monique. I'll see you back at your house around lunch time – okay?" He raised his eyebrows questioningly at Nadine Wells.

  "Yes, that will be enough time. She can even get a few hours sleep. We'll call your cell when all is done." Nadine thought how lucky Alex was to have a man like Bonnet on her side.

  It was after 5 o'clock in the morning when Nadine and Alex left Monique's apartment on Royal Street. Alex was about to ask Nadine if she could go home to take a shower and change clothes when she remembered that she couldn't. It would destroy any evidence they had against Whitset. It made her crazy that she didn't know whether she was raped or not. What kind of an idiot was she?

  There was little conversation between the women as they drove out Interstate 10 towards the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Alex slept most of the way, exhausted beyond belief. When they pulled up in front of Community Memorial Hospital, Alex said very simply to Nadine, "You know Nadine, no matter what they find, I have been raped." Her voice was teary. She sounded so fatigued and depressed.

  "Yes, Alex. You have been raped. You are absolutely right and how well I know."

  Alex looked at Nadine curiously as they entered the emergency room door.

  Chapter 32

  Weston Whitset was frantic. He was hiding, partly occluded in a doorway setback in the Quarter, a wine bottle in his hand, looking like most of the drunks at that time of the morning. He'd been running forever. He still couldn't believe that the police officer had barged into that shrink bitch’s apartment and he hadn't heard him! Damn the voices! If they hadn't been talking so loudly, he wouldn't have been taken by surprise. He cursed the voices out loud. Several people walking by looked at him curiously, but he didn't care because he figured they were as drunk as he was.

  Weston Whitset continued to think. It had just been getting good with Alex. He had been watching her for several months and gaining control over her had become his life's work. Sex with her was a necessity, "a driving obsession" is what that shrink of his in Alabama would have said. Weston knew she had wanted him too. He'd seen it in her eyes several times in the last couple of days. Of course, she had tried to hide it from the others. He had picked up on that. But, he knew she wanted him. Weston couldn't believe she had been playing hard to get over there at Monique's. She was acting like a tease. He hated prick-teasers! What a slut! Well, that had been part of her game. But, he had showed her, hadn't he? Just like the nurse pig. He smiled at the memory.

  Weston stayed in the doorway, drinking his wine. The voices were quiet now, allowing him to think without interruption. Well, at least he had killed the imposter shrink bitch. There was comfort in that. He had heard her skull crack! It was a beautiful sound -- better than any symphony Weston had ever heard. It had been wonderful! He had almost gotten off on the sound itself. Weston smiled as he remembered the terrorized look on her plastic face. The powerful, plastic shrink bitch. Her plastic, fake head had cracked under his trusty pipe. He loved it. Weston jerked his head up when he realized he was drooling again. The liquid had run down onto his shirt.

  Far in the distance, he heard police sirens. He guessed he had better keep moving. He felt panicked again. Where should he go? Where could he go? The voices were screaming at him, just screaming. He tore at his face and his hair, trying desperately to quiet them down. Then, he started walking. He stayed close to groups of tourists in the Quarter, attempting to blend in.

  His wine bottle was empty, and he needed a drink. He decided to duck into one of the bars, and he knew just the bar he was going to! It was on the other side of Dauphine Street. They would never look for him there! It was a male Vampire Bar and he'd been before. He just loved the place. So many people like himself. He checked his watch. It was almost 2:00 AM. One thing about New Orleans, you could drink 24 hours a day and the male Vampire Bar never closed until dawn. He was good for five or more hours. He'd figure things out by then, how to make his next move.

  Weston sat in the dark pub for several hours, drinking double bourbons. He enjoyed watching the men flirt with each other and pretend to feed on each other's blood. And the costumes, wow, so Goth, devilish, fancy, and expensive. Some of the guys were pretty funny, others … well … he wasn't sure about them. There was a rumor that the Sire visited this vampire club. Weston didn't really know what the Sire was, but he had been told that if the Sire chose you, well, you were set for life. He didn't really know.

  The men were really interesting in the way they communicated. The place was a regular tea room, lots of action. Men just came and went. All kinds of men, pretty men, studs, bodybuilders, executive types, Voodoos, Occults, and, his favorite, Daddies with little kids at home. He loved these the best. They were so perverse that he was envious of their skills. What double lives they led! They made it with their wives at night, were appropriate with family members and work, had kids, coached the Little League, and then they came out at night and acted out their perversions. It was disgusting, but Weston loved disgusting and perverted. He shook his head. The more he thought about it, the more it calmed him. It was a little wicked, and Wes loved wicked.

  He continued to watch the men. It was fascinating! It was entertaining to watch the men seduce each other. First, there was the eye contact, then the emotional seduction, then the preliminaries, then the fake blood sucking -- at least, he thought it was fake -- and then the trip to the restroom, or outside. Then, finally, came the release, Weston supposed. He guessed the alley behind the bar had seen some action. He smiled to himself. Maybe he should consider "crossing the line". Maybe he had been missing some good stuff all these years.

  Weston especially liked guessing who would emerge the most powerful of the dyad. Who was who? Who was in control? Who became obedient? Wow, the more he thought about it, the more excited he felt. He continued to watch the men flirt and preen for each other. Hell, maybe he should start playing the vampire part. He'd been 'into' it in his youth, but had gotten bored and left it alone for years. It looked to him like the vampire craft had grown a lot since the early years. Very interesting, he thought to himself.

  Studying these men really calmed him down and shut up the voices. He noted that he was usually right -- you could tell at the takeover who was the most powerful! Weston only wished he could have seen some of the kills. He could only fantasize. Weston had never been one for homosexual sex, but …. maybe he ought to consider it sometime. After all, variety was the spice of life. He smiled to himself.

  It was after 5:00 AM. Weston was the last customer left at the bar and the bartender offered him a blow job. Weston declined. The bartender, enraged at the refusal, told him to get the hell out. Weston complied.

  The voices were remaining quiet and now he could decide what to do. He had to make some plans. It would be daylight soon. Where was he going to hide? What was he going to do? Then, the next steps came to him. He knew exactly where he was going! He would be safe there for at least three or four days.


  He would be safe until this stuff died down.

  Chapter 33

  Jack Françoise was beat, angry, discouraged, and in so much emotional pain he could barely think. He knew he was in the worst possible situation a police officer could be. He recognized he was vulnerable and knew he should turn the case over to someone who was not emotionally involved. Of course, no one really knew that he and Monique were lovers, no one but Robert and Alex. It had been a secret. Was that only two nights ago they had celebrated at the Palace Café? Would he and Monique ever love again? Would they ever speak again? The possibility that they wouldn't, terrorized Jack and took him to an emotional place he had never been before, a place he hated.

  He could feel the hot tears pouring down his cheeks. He couldn't begin to describe the pain he felt when he looked down at Monique in the intensive care unit at CCMC. Her beautiful face was pallid, her bright eyes closed. The angry, red streak around her face made by Whitset's knife was clearly visible under the florescent lights in intensive care. The sight made Jack want to kill the man even more.

  One tube came out of her nose and was hooked to wall suction to keep her stomach emptied. The second tube was hooked to the machine that was helping her breathe. Every now and then Monique coughed, as if she was trying to cough the tube out of her mouth and nose. The nurses said that was good. When she coughed, her eyes opened up wide and they stared straight ahead. Her eyes looked terrified. Jack asked the nurse if she was blind. She assured him she wasn't, but Jack wasn't convinced.

  Every time the ventilator alarm went off, it scared Jack to death. He was afraid she had stopped breathing. The nurse explained that Monique was fighting the ventilator. She also said that Monique could probably breathe on her own, but the neurosurgeon wanted her intubated for the surgery and the first few days afterwards, just in case. So, the nurses sedated Monique to keep her calm and from fighting the tubes.

  Jack hadn't been able to stay in the intensive care unit for long. He felt helpless, useless even. He didn't understand what was happening and he didn't like the feeling. He gratefully accepted a cup of coffee from Monique's nurse and sat down in the Doctor's lounge to think -- and plan his revenge.

  A quick call to Headquarters confirmed what the Commander expected, the citywide manhunt for Whitset was so far unsuccessful. Where in the hell was that little pervert? What do the insane crazies do when they're scared? Where do the wackos go? Jack pondered these questions as he finished his coffee and left Crescent City Medical Center to begin his own personal manhunt for the bastard who had destroyed the love of his life and raped his best friend.

  Chapter 34

  Whitset knew the police were still searching for him. He ducked in and out of the darkened alleyways in the French Quarter. He crossed Canal Street and walked several blocks towards the lovely residential section that surrounded Crescent City Medical Center. He entered the hospital through the radiology department located in the oldest part of the main building. It was completely darkened and desolate. No one was around to see him and Whitset smiled at his luck. He rounded the hall towards the service elevators and pressed the button that would take him to the sub-basement.

  As the old very tarnished elevator groaned and creaked toward him, Whitset smiled at the cleverness of his plan. He told the voices how stupid they were and admonished them for bothering him earlier. After all, he was Weston Whitset, almighty and all-powerful. He needed nothing from the voices that had assumed the identity of his dead brother, Lester, so many years ago. It had been such a clever scheme, and it had worked so well.

  For years, Weston had masqueraded as his brother and held positions in psychiatric administration that permitted him to continue feeding his needs without fear. It had been a marvelous game. Weston smiled as he remembered the fun he had at other wackos’ expense. God, it had been good. All that sex, all the fun, always emerging on top, being in charge of an army of crazies. Weston emerged from the elevator with a dreamy smile on his face as he remembered his escapades. Everything had been just perfect until that damn, plastic, shrink bitch had begun to get in his way.

  Where had all these plastic people come from? He hadn't seen one for years. Now, he wasn't certain how many there were. But, of course, Dr. Desmonde had been the only one. He had killed her. Weston became sexually aroused again as he thought about cracking her skull.

  And, that damn nurse. She was a pig, but such a temptress. He had wanted her badly. He had to have her, and he had. It had been simple. It had been ecstasy. A night to remember.

  He would go back for more when things quieted down, he decided. He had enjoyed her terror so much that he had savored it. That's why he didn't kill her. He wanted it again, the high he got from her fear, from her terror. Angie, the temptress. Angie, the pig. He'd get it, soon, and when he went for her again, she’ll be so frightened that the experience would be the best he’d ever had. Maybe he would get her while she was still on the hospital ward. What a lark! What fun! That would be a real coup. Of course, this time he would have to kill her. Whitset smiled broadly at his ingenious plan. He wondered if she had woken up yet?

  He continued his fantasy as he walked through the darkened tunnel of the medical center. Huge steam pipes hissed at him as he walked by them. The sound was comforting. The steam cleared his mind. He carefully jumped around to avoid deep pools of water. He couldn't see the pools of water, but Weston could feel they were there. Weston liked knowing what was around. Every now and then, he waved and joyfully greeted a large rat or an enormous New Orleans cockroach. They were his friends. Several rats were albinos and had pink, inquiring eyes. They neither bothered him nor required anything from him. Hapless creatures. Helpless, like he made his victims. He loved hapless and helpless.

  Weston wished he had a light as he entered the stretch of tunnel between the Pavilion and the main hospital. It was pitch black. There was only a single light bulb about every 50 feet. The engineering people never entered this part of the tunnel. The heating and maintenance facilities for the Pavilion were located directly under the building itself. Weston cursed a little as he wiped the cobwebs from his face. He hated spiders. They reminded him of women who were both hateful and as dishonest as woven webs of intrigue around full-blooded men. Such a useless exercise, he thought to himself. No wonder they had to be put in their place. Women -- disgusting pigs.

  Finally, he reached the seldom-used elevator under the Pavilion. He smiled and congratulated himself on the ingenuity of his scheme. They would never find him, not right here in the Pavilion. The tunnel and the elevator were Weston's secret. He had used them many times to enter and leave the hospital secretly, most recently when he had "used" the nurse. He had even left the outside door to the stairwell open to confuse people. He smiled at his cleverness. He felt himself aroused again at the memory of his night with the pig nurse, Angie.

  The elevator opened into an old supply room, which was now part of one of the seclusion rooms. A thin wall and heavy metal door separated the supply room from the small seclusion cell. Of course, Weston had a key to the door. He was sure no one else did. He doubted if anyone even remembered the door was there -- except for the patients in seclusion, and no one listened to them.

  Weston remembered late last March when he had entered the hospital through the tunnel and the elevator. He had been surprised to find the seclusion room occupied by a young, beautiful woman who had just been admitted for severe depression. Of course, she had been suicidal and hostile, which is why the shrinks had secluded her. He would never forget the look of fear in her eyes when he entered her room through the metal door. It had been an unexpected surprise for him, too. A very pleasant surprise indeed, as it turned out. Of course, she had screamed, but the seclusion rooms were soundproof. How handy. How fortunate! And, his timing had been just right. He had entered a few minutes past midnight and knew he had a full two hours for fun before the next rounds by the hospital staff.

  It had been two great sex-filled and sex-crazed hours. The girl
had a beautiful body and Weston had used it fully for his convenience. He couldn't remember how many times he had gotten off, but it had been good. Ah, life was good, he thought to himself as he remembered his fortune. After the initial sex act, which never involved penetration, the woman had been submissive and even begged him to kill her. He had accommodated her by helping her slit her wrists. He hadn't wanted to and would've liked to have visited her again, but was afraid the shrinks might believe her story. She just hadn't been insane enough. Besides, the best sex of all had been giving it to her while she bled to death. That had also been the best part with the old lady, but she had been an imposter, so it really didn't count as much. She had been a plastic, old lady bitch, and she deserved that knitting needle just where he placed it.

  Ah, the power of it all, the supreme triumph. Orgasm for one at another's moment of death. Ultimate power, ultimate control. Didn't the shrinks call that something? Necrophilia or something? He liked the word. It had a pleasant ring to it. Several other times he'd enjoyed other "fruits" of the room, but had never derived the same satisfaction he had the first time. The first adventure was always the best for him. It was a great setup. Crescent City Medical offered him everything he needed, even a huge bonus at the end of the year for the cost savings he had instituted. His bonus would be even more now that the plastic shrink was dead.

  A sudden thought alarmed him. He broke out into a sweat. Suppose the room was occupied tonight? What would he do? Then he relaxed. It would only be a woman in the room. No problem. The seclusion room was on the women's side of the Pavilion. It was available only for female seclusion. No sweat after all. Cool. Maybe someone would be waiting for him tonight. Maybe even Rose. Weston breathed a sigh of relief. He was tired and the voices and all the whiskey had finally hit him. He was super human, but everyone had a limit. He walked off the elevator and inserted his key into the lock of the heavy metal door.