The Imposter (Alexandra Destephano Book 2) Page 3

  She heard him grunting while he pushed three more stakes into the ground, singing quietly to himself as he moved methodically through his tasks, clearing old leaves and trash out of his way and away from her. It was like he was cleaning house. For a moment she thought he had forgotten about her and she felt a bit of hope. But it was far-fetched. He turned to her, smiled sweetly, and bit her on her shoulder. Angie screamed and then her attacker hit her in the head with a piece of metal pipe.

  Angela felt the searing pain rip through her head and down into her neck and shoulders with the first blow. The second blow didn't seem to hurt so much. Her last conscious thought was how pretty the twinkling lights looked in the intensive care unit in the main hospital building. She could see them clearly from where she was and she wished she were working a double shift up there where everything was predictable, where the patients were harmless and appreciative. Then, finally, blessedly, she lost consciousness.

  Chapter 6

  “Oh, no, no ... no ... oh, no ... it can't be. It just can't be. This has to be a joke and it isn't funny. Stop telling me these things. Angie's at home right now taking care of the baby. She worked last night, she only works on the weekends. Today is Monday," Bridgett insisted.

  A short silence followed as Bridgett continued to listen to the voice on the other end of the phone. Her voice was confused, skeptical as she responded, "You've got to be kidding me. This is wrong, wrong, WRONG! It's not funny!" Bridgett's voice reached a fevered pitch as she continued to argue with the person on the other end of the phone for playing games with her about her sister. Finally, she slammed the phone down and marched into Alex's office, all legs, high heels, and long, blonde hair.

  Alex, the legal counsel for Crescent City Medical Center, looked up from her desk, startled to see her normally good-natured, fun-loving secretary glowering at her, full of rage. Bridgett could best be described as a blonde bombshell. She was tall and beautiful. She wore bright colors and survived a full day in the highest stiletto heels Alex had ever seen.

  Bridgett's big blue eyes flashed anger and her voice was clipped as she addressed her boss. "I'm so mad, in fact, I'm pissed. Somebody from the E.D. just called and told me Angie is a patient there and is all beaten up. It really isn't funny and it's a sick joke. I know Angie's at home taking care of Jessica." Bridgett glanced down at her watch and added, "Besides, it's 10:00 in the morning and she worked last night over at the Pavilion. I know, because I talked to her."

  Alex stared at Bridgett, confused by the conversation. "Who called you, Bridge,” Alex asked, her voice soft and concerned.

  “I've no clue. I didn't hear their name. I'm sure it's a mistake, but I am still pissed because they got the wrong person. They need to be more careful over there. Besides, I'm too busy for this stuff today. I love to have fun and cut-up, but not about sad stuff. This just isn't funny. It pisses me off." Bridgett fumed, her blue eyes stormy with anger.

  Alex and Bridgett heard a knock in the outer office and stared as the door to Alex's private office slowly opened. Crossing the threshold into her office were Dr. Monique Desmonde, the chief of psychiatry at CCMC, Commander Jack Françoise of the New Orleans Police Department, and Alex's old nemesis, Betty Favre, the chief nursing executive at CCMC.

  Alex felt a cold, numbing twinge in the pit of her stomach and the hair on her arms began to rise. She knew something was very wrong and surmised what was coming next.

  Dr. Desmonde gave Alex a hard look, shook her head negatively and turned her attention to Bridgett.

  Jack moved into a position behind Bridgett and gently directed her towards the elegant sofa grouping in Alex's office.

  Alex felt as though she were watching a perfectly choreographed production.

  Betty Favre stood uselessly to the side of the group for a moment, studying her bright red manicure, and then took a seat in a Queen Anne chair.

  Alex's heart was thudding as Monique motioned for her to join them on the sofa.

  Bridgett seemed transfixed, unable to talk. She looked like a tall, beautiful Barbie doll.

  Dr. Desmonde began slowly, "Bridgett, I'm afraid I've some bad news for you."

  Bridgett's eyes were blank as she stared at Monique, a beautifully groomed, dark-haired woman in her forties.

  Dr. Desmonde began gently, "Bridge, can you hear me? We must talk, now."

  Bridgett nodded her head slowly.

  Alex could feel fear and uncertainty crawling up her spine. Her knees began to shake and her heart was pounding madly. It was the same feeling she always had when something bad had happened. Alex felt her knees jerking so badly that she was sure they would cause her feet to jump out of her 4 inch heels.

  Jack touched her knee, realizing Alex's discomfort and offering support.

  Alex gave the police Commander a small, tight smile.

  Dr. Desmonde continued, her voice soft, her eyes meeting Bridgett's straight on. "Angela worked yesterday, Bridgett. She worked the 11am to 11 pm shift on the psych unit."

  Bridgett interrupted Dr. Desmonde. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I tried to call her last night. I called early in the evening, but she was working on the prison or forensic unit or wherever. We never spoke," Bridgett continued, the irritation in her voice unmistakable. "The idiot from the E.D. said she was over there and had been beaten up or something, said she couldn't speak so I didn't believe them." Bridgett turned and noticed Commander Jack Françoise at her side and addressed him, her brilliant blue eyes full of anger. "Commander, can you do something about this? Someone is harassing me about Angie,” Bridgett said as she started to rise from the sofa. "I've got to go. I have a ton of work to do." Bridgett rose from the sofa to leave, as if nothing real had just happened.

  Jack looked over at Dr. Desmonde who gave him a thumbs-up sign. He took Bridgett's hands in his own and said, "Bridge, it's not a joke. Someone hurt Angie after she left work last night. She was attacked and we didn't find her until this morning and ...."

  Alex's heart lurched at the sight of Bridgett's big blue eyes. They were filled with terror and uncertainty. Her pupils were huge, surrounded by liquid pools of white. Her long blonde hair created a halo around her head. Alex wasn't completely sure if Bridge understood what the police commander had said.

  Dr. Desmonde interrupted, "Angie's over in the E.D. They're going to take her up to surgery and I thought you might like to see her before she goes." Monique's voice trailed off, uncertain of Bridgett's level of comprehension.

  "Yes, yes, I would. Is she OK?”

  Monique continued, slowly as she shook her head, "No. Not really. She is very sick. In fact, she is in critical condition. She has a machine breathing for her, a ventilator, and she has some head injuries. She has lost a lot of blood. She also has some internal injuries and Dr. Goshette wants to do an exploratory to be sure she isn't bleeding on the inside."

  "How'd she get hurt?" Bridgett asked in a dazed and child-like manner as she looked around the room. It was clear to all of them that Bridgett really wasn't getting it.

  Alex couldn't help but be amazed at how good the brain was at screening out bad news.

  Being the psychiatrist that she was, Monique tried hard to work through Bridgett's shock and denial. She started again, "Bridgett, Angie was attacked and beaten last night after work. She is very ill. Do you understand?"

  Bridgett nodded impatiently. "Yes, you told me. I'd like to go see her now, if you don't mind. You said she was going to surgery, right?" Bridgett stared at Dr. Desmonde as if she was a moron for not understanding her.

  "Yes," Monique sighed. "Bridgett, you must understand that she has bruises and cuts on her face and that ....” Monique stammered, searching for words, "You must understand that she looks very different. Someone beat her badly. Are you sure you're up to seeing her?"

  Bridgett nodded her head impatiently. "Of course, Dr. Desmonde, of course I am. But it isn't all that bad, not nearly as bad as you say. Angie and I are twins. If she were hurting badly, I'd be hurting too. It's alw
ays been like that, since we were babies." Bridgett smiled and continued, "I'm really not worried, let's go." She looked around the group. "Hurry up! I just need to get my purse."

  Alex, Jack, and Monique looked at each other while Bridgett went into her office.

  Betty Favre had completely removed herself from the situation and was flipping through a copy of "Architectural Digest” she'd removed from Alex's coffee table.

  What an uncaring bitch, Alex thought silently to herself.

  Monique rolled her eyes at Betty, shrugged her shoulders and said, "Well, Bridgett doesn't really get it. Angela looks pretty bad, and believe me she is really hurting. The reason Bridgett isn't feeling any pain is because Angie is in a coma."

  Alex was startled. "Oh no, is it really that bad?" She searched the faces of her good friends and colleagues. Her crystal blue eyes locked with Commander Françoise’s dark ones. "Please say it isn't, Jack," she implored.

  "Wish I could Alex, but I can't. It's bad. It’s real bad. I'll fill you in later. Let's get Bridge through this part first." Jack lifted his large, bulky frame from the chair and moved into the outer office to help Bridgett gather her things.

  Dr. Desmonde added quickly to Alex, "Jack's right, Alex. Angie is pretty beat up. She may be bleeding internally. She has a skull fracture and some seriously broken bones. Her jaw is broken, as well. She was out there for hours before anyone found her. She lost a lot of blood and Lord knows how long she has been unconscious. Her crit, CBC are way down.”

  “Shsssst!" Monique put her finger to her lips as Bridgett and the Commander returned to Alex's office. "We'll catch up later.”

  Betty looked up from her magazine and spoke for the first time. "My secretary called Bridgett's husband and he'll meet us in the E.D. They're looking for Angela's husband. He is supposedly on his way.” Favre's voice was flip and tinged with sarcasm.

  Alex immediately moved into Betty Favre’s personal space to confront her, but Monique waved her away while she motioned for Jack and Bridgett to wait in the hall for them.

  "Later, Alex," she cautioned, "We have enough going on here and you're not dying on the Betty Favre hill right now." Monique glared at Betty Favre. "See me later, Ms. Favre. I want to discuss the concept of empathy with you. And I do mean it.”

  Alex smiled to herself as she watched Betty bristle with anger and then felt ashamed for enjoying the exchange. Dr. Desmonde was probably the only person at the medical center who disliked Betty Favre as much as she did and this behavior was so unlike Monique it was a bit shocking. They both had Favre’s number and supported each other when the nurse executive ran roughshod over the staff. Betty was uncaring, incompetent, inept and not very smart. Unfortunately, the CEO, Don Montgomery, didn't share their opinion of Betty -- most likely because they were very much alike. If you were to believe the hospital scuttlebutt, they were lovers. Gross, yuck, is all Alex could think about that rumor. It made her feel slightly sick.

  As Monique and Alex joined Jack and Bridgett in the hallway, Alex began to feel angry about what had happened to Angie. For three years, Alex repeatedly asked the hospital executive committee to at least move the psych units closer to the main hospital, if not into the main medical complex itself. Of course, Don had a shit fit over that one. He would never tarnish his "world-class, prestigious medical center, soon to be a health sciences center" with the likes of the crazy lowlifes of New Orleans and criminals with HIV. He had even declared at the Board of Trustees’ meeting that he would never turn CCMC into an insane asylum or increase the number of beds for the psychiatric community. Alex doubted if he ever knew how much he had appalled the Board or that he had made an enemy of Monique Desmonde for life, which was probably not a good thing.

  Needless to say, Alex had met massive resistance from both Favre and Montgomery, who had issued a joint press release suggesting that “psychiatry, while a necessary albatross to any hospital, was CCMC’s gift to the sick, poor, and disenfranchised mental cases of New Orleans". Monique had seethed with anger and it had taken her and Alex several bottles of Virginia wine to settle both of them. Alex had always been afraid that an accident like Angie's would happen and that someone, whether a patient, visitor, or staff member, would be seriously attacked in or around the Pavilion. Now it had happened.

  All four were silent as they waited for the elevator to the ground level E.D. The elevator seemed to take forever as it stopped on each and every floor. They were met at the nursing station by Sandy Pilsner, the nursing director of the emergency department.

  Sandy eyed her friends for some nonverbal direction. She moved close to Bridgett, took her hand, and said, "Bridge, Angie looks bad. Her face is black and blue, her eyes are swollen shut and she is hard to recognize. We have IVs and bags of blood hanging and she has a tube down her throat, hooked to a machine that is breathing for her. She'll be going up to surgery in a few minutes. We think she is bleeding internally because her lab results are so bad.”

  Bridgett smiled brightly at Sandy. "Is Angie talking you to death. I know how she is. She has never even been in the hospital, except for when Jessica was born. Do you think we can even count that?" Bridgett seemed totally out of it.

  If Sandy was surprised at Bridgett's lack of understanding, she didn't let on. She said very clearly, "Angie is not talking. She's not breathing on her own and she cannot talk to you. Bridge, do you understand me? She is very sick. Maybe she can hear you, but she cannot talk to you. There is also a possibility her assailant raped her."

  Bridgett didn't respond. Her expression showed no emotion and her affect was flat.

  Sandy glanced at Alex and Dr. Desmonde, who shrugged her shoulders and nodded her head.

  "Let's go, Sandy," Monique said gesturing forward with her hand. "We've got to break through this denial somehow."

  Jack's face was impassive.

  Alex knew him well enough to know that he was feeling phenomenal stress. She patted his hand for reassurance.

  The sounds of the E.D., the newly renovated patients’ rooms, and the spanking clean floors brought no comfort to Alex. As physicians and nurses glanced at her and offered tight smiles, she felt their pain. They all knew Angie and many had worked with her over the years at CCMC. They had celebrated her graduations from nursing school - first from Delgado at Charity Hospital and then LSU. They had celebrated her marriage and the birth of Jessica. They had worked side by side with her every day. Angie was one of the team, one of their team. She was their friend. She was one of their own, one of CCMC’s highly skilled and coveted nurses, and one of the millions of caregivers all over the world who gave endlessly and selflessly of their time, talents, and gifts every day.

  Alex noticed that Monique was eyeing Sandy carefully. They both knew this was especially hard for her. Angie had worked in the E.D. prior to the birth of her baby and Sandy had hosted her baby shower. Sandy had already lost her good friend and mentor, Diane Bradley, during the tragic accident in the emergency department just before Mardi Gras earlier in the year. Sandy seemed to be holding up pretty well.

  Nurses are tough creatures, Monique thought to herself. Much tougher than we docs.

  As they entered the patient bay, they walked slowly towards the bed.

  Bridgett looked hard at the patient in the bed and said angrily, "What in the world is going on? I don't know who this is, but it certainly isn't Angie. What kind of sick joke is this?” Bridgett's eye flared with anger at Alex.

  The next few seconds seemed like eons and finally Monique said gently, "Yes, Bridge, it is Angie. Look carefully. Her face is swollen, her jaw is broken, but it is Angie."

  "It is not, it is not! Why are you all doing this to me? I thought you were my friends." Bridgett’s enormous blue eyes brimmed over with tears as she stared at the faces of her friends around the bed.

  Sandy reached to remove the O.R. cap from Angie's head.

  When Bridgett saw the long, mussed up blonde curly hair, just like her hair only matted with dark, dried blood, she knew
and she began to scream, "Oh, no! Oh, no, no, ... PLEASE, no, it can't be. Angie, Angie, talk to me, please, Angie, please answer me.” Bridgett touched the long knife wounds extending from her sister's forehead all the way around her face. She looked at her friends around the bed. "Who did this? Who did this? It must be a monster. It looks like someone tried to cut off her face!" When she noticed her sister's Mother's Ring with Jessica's birthstone she began to sob. "Oh, no, she wanted that ring for so long and Johnny just gave it to her on Mother's Day." Her sobs became uncontrollable and could be heard throughout the E.D.

  Sandy and Monique pulled the sobbing Bridgett away while Alex and Commander Françoise stayed by Angie's bedside, continuing to observe her injuries.

  Alex, numb with shock, turned away, attempting to control her emotions.

  Jack gently touched her on her shoulder, "Alright, Alex, we can go. You've seen enough."

  "No, just give me a moment.” Alex drew a deep breath and turned to face Angie again. As she worked hard to dissociate herself from the body of her friend, she noticed some funny shaped marks on Angie's left shoulder, visible where her hospital gown had fallen to the side. She eyed them curiously and looked at the Commander. "Jack, what are these? They look weird."

  Commander Françoise shuffled uncomfortably. “It's a damn bite mark, Alex. The SOB bit her at least three times. He's a sick son of a bitch. I'd like to kill him. I will kill him when I find him," Jack hissed, as he felt for his holstered gun under his coat.

  Alex looked at Jack Françoise with alarm. He was working himself into a frenzy. Not good, she thought to herself. Ever since the spring, when Jack had finally gone to Dr. Robert Bonnet complaining of chest pain, Alex had been afraid that Jack's stress level and stressful job would cause him a heart attack or stroke. He'd done absolutely nothing Robert had recommended. Typical, stubborn Jack. He was still overweight, had high blood pressure, and had high cholesterol. He drank gallons of black coffee every day, and his diet was horrendous.