The Imposter (30 page)

"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.

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.  Well,
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 be part of one
of them. 

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.

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 in.  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
Cafe?  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 had 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.

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.  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 be so frightened that the experience would be the best he 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.

As
the door creaked open and a shaft of light appeared from the overhead light,
Weston felt fear for the first time in his life.

Facing
him in the room was the drug crazed, raging face of Anthony Gavette.

Weston
was frozen in place.

Anthony
stared at him and said quietly, "I've been waiting for you, you slimy
bastard.  You took my Rose!" Then Anthony lunged at Whitset, knocking him
to the floor.