by Judith Lucci
Don went off in a fit of temper. "Bonnet, you mean to tell me that patients believe that if this shit is taken away they'll die?"
Robert nodded and said, "Yes and there are... were... affidavits from professionals documenting patients who have died when their charms were removed. In fact, there are still many conjurers and voodoo priests all over Louisiana. Voodoo is a religion here and a way of life for many people." Dr. Bonnet's voice was firm, but polite.
Don's tirade continued, as he sneered at the board members. "That's the stupidest, most idiotic thing I've heard. This is some crazy shit and now I'm convinced people in this town are ignorant."
Several board members stared at him, their faces showing anger and contempt at his denigration of their city.
Alex noted the stares and attempted to defuse the situation. She looked at Gottfried LaSalle whom she thought she knew very well. “Gottfried, surely you don't believe this?"
"Ms. Destephano, I know this is hard for you and the others. But, I'm well aware that voodoo is readily practiced in New Orleans. Dr. Bonnet is correct. I haven't learned much about it, but I'm smart enough to acknowledge its presence and also smart enough to stay away from it." Mr. LaSalle looked at Lena Marquette. "Anything on this subject you'd care to share with the others, Lena?"
Lena shifted uncomfortably in her seat, looked pained, but said, “Many people have told me that my mother died from a curse placed on her by a Voodooienne, or Voodoo Queen. My mother fired her for not taking good care of my little brother. She also refused to write the Voodoo Queen any reference letters so she couldn’t find a job anywhere in the city. Within three months, my mother was dead. She'd been a healthy, robust woman and had never been sick a day in her life. They did an autopsy but never determined the cause of death."
Elizabeth broke a long silence. "Do you believe it was a curse or voodoo magic that killed her?" Elizabeth was on the edge of her seat waiting for Lena's response.
Lena shrugged her shoulders and clasped her hands. "What's the difference? Dead is dead. No one was able to explain it. We found voodoo artifacts around the house during the time she was ill. Every time we found a new gris-gris, my mother became sicker. Finally, our gardener found a fish buried in the back yard. Following voodoo custom, my father cut it open, and there was a slip of paper with my mother's name on it." Lena was becoming uncomfortable, her face marked with red.
"What was the fish for?" Alex asked her voice astounded.
Lena continued her voice quiet. "Voodoo legend says that if you put someone's name inside of a fish and bury it in their back yard, that person will die. My mother was only 33 years old. She lost her mind and went insane at the end from terrible body pains that doctors couldn't diagnose or treat. She just got horrible stomach pains and died. None of the pain medicines worked and the doctors tried everything. Our priest did his best, but he said the black magic was too strong. So yes, Alex, I do believe in the power of voodoo. Its spell killed my mother when I was 11 years old and I have missed her all of my life." Lena sobbed quietly into a tissue.
Alex was feeling like all of this was a bad movie. It was surreal. These were smart, educated people, leaders in the city. The aristocracy of New Orleans and they believed in these hideous spells. It was unbelievable. She looked at Andre Renou. "Mr. Renou, do you know of any reason why someone would place a curse on Mrs. Raccine?
Mr. Renou looked uncomfortable and perplexed. "No idea whatsoever."
Alex said, "Could it be a political maneuver, maybe a group angry with the Governor? A special interest group? Has he upset anyone lately?" Alex remembered her conversation with her grandfather and pressed the aide.
Renou replied, "No, not to my knowledge. Don't know. I don’t think so, but I'll look into it. There is always some fringe group that is angry."
Alex searched Renou’s face as well as the other faces at the table. She could hardly believe that Gottfried LaSalle, Lena Marquette, Robert Bonnet, and John Marigny actually supported the possibility that voodoo was responsible for the tragedy at CCMC. Also, Alex couldn't overlook the behavior of Christina Baptiste. Even Andre Renou had not questioned the possibility that voodoo could be the cause of the crime.
Dr. Ashley said, "Well, I guess we know why Ms. Baptiste left. Does anyone have suggestions for dealing with the situation? I have no experience in dealing with voodoo."
Alex shrugged her shoulders and said, “Me neither. Let me work with our staff and John Marigny. I'll tell you one thing though... I'm not in favor of suggesting to the media that we have a voodoo incident at CCMC. Anyone disagree?"
"Yes, I disagree completely," said Mr. LaSalle.
Alex turned toward him as he continued to speak.
"Ms. Destephano, it makes no difference what you say to the media. If there's news that a rooster was involved in Mrs. Raccine's situation, all of New Orleans will know. I suggest that you be honest with them. And, another thing, Alex...” he began.
Alex attempted to give him her full attention, but her brain was moving at a million miles a minute, “Yes, Gottfried.”
“This is important. Pay attention to what I am saying. This isn’t over. This voodoo curse now includes all of CCMC, patients, staff, doctors, nurses, and therapists, as well as all of us in this room. That’s why Bessie, the nursing aide, left the hospital early this morning. That’s probably why Christina left as well. To learn about the curse and give it credence and power is to accept the curse and all of us here have done that.”
The silence in the room was deafening. The group just stared at each other.
Finally, Kevin Anderson looked at Gottfried LaSalle and asked, “What do we do?”
“I suggest you contact your parish priest. Your administrators,” Gottfried looked at the CCME staff, “should contact the Archdiocese of New Orleans as well as the departments of religious studies at our local Universities for further insight.”
Alex was clearly subdued as were the other members of the board of trustees. “I will. Thanks, Gottfried, we will do that,” Alex said, closing her legal pad.
Dr. Ashley stood, "I suppose we can stand adjourned. Don, anything else from you?"
Don shook his head, once again staring at the floor.
"In that case, thank you all for coming on short notice. We'll keep you posted."
On the way out of the conference room, Gottfried LaSalle whispered to Alex and Don. "You know that the voodoo is under the influence of someone else who apparently wants to damage this hospital. I doubt the Voodoos are acting on their own."
Alex gave him a strained smile. "Thanks, Mr. LaSalle. We'll keep it in mind. We'll keep you updated."
"Bad business, bad for business," LaSalle muttered on his way out.
Don glared at the remaining board members. “Yeah, this is just fucking great. These people are fucking lunatics. We’ll be out of business in a year if this doesn’t go away. Nobody in this heathen, God-forsaken town is coming to a cursed, Voodoos hospital.”
***
Raoul DuPree, his heart thudding, leaned against a doorjamb outside the coronary care unit. He'd seen the evil one and the ordinary man in the lobby and, on an impulse, followed them. He strained, his heart beating furiously, to hear their words behind the half-closed door in the empty patient room.
The ordinary man was speaking, his voice low. "Board's freaked, particularly Bonnet. Eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw me there. You ready to do him?"
The ponytailed man groaned, and once again inwardly cursed this stupid man and his boss who had sent him on this mission. "Patience, patience. All things in good time."
Raoul could hardly hear him, his voice was barely a whisper. He pressed his ear closer against the door.
The ordinary man's voice rose. "Dammit, I want it done. Don't mess with me, man. You got your money, a slick million." He slammed his fist against the wall.
Raoul jumped when he heard a thump in the room. Sounded like a chair being moved. He peered around the door and saw an overtur
ned chair. The evil one held the younger man against the wall, his knee in his crotch, and the leather strap pressed against his neck. The ordinary man's eyes were wide with fright.
"Shut up, you fool. Don't rush me. No one rushes me. Never speak to me again," the evil one rasped, throwing the ordinary man against the bed.
Raoul moved away from the door toward the utility room. The evil one left the room and glanced at him on the way out.
Raoul was terrified and turned away from the ponytailed evil man. Hope he doesn't recognize me from the restaurant, he thought. Glad I have on this isolation gown and mask. But, what should I do. Should I warn Dr. Bonnet? Raoul continued to struggle with his conscience and what was the right thing to do as he went into the next patient's room.
Chapter 6
Alex found a note from Bridgett when she returned to her office at three. She'd left for the day, saying she didn't feel well.
On Alex's desk was an early edition of The Times Picayune. The headlines were, in the biggest boldest type font Alex had ever seen. "Grace Raccine Voodooed at Crescent City Medical Center: First Lady of Louisiana unresponsive".
Alex read the account, amazed at the accuracy of the press regarding the incident. The press knew everything, and that unnerved her. As she was contemplating how this could have happened, her phone rang. Dreading the worse, she answered it and was surprised by Mitch's voice.
"Hey, I just saw the papers, so I'm surprised I got you. Bet you've had a rough day." His voice was warm and sensitive.
"Yeah, it’s been pretty awful. Things are unbelievable."
"I'm sure. Feel up for some company this evening? I'll bring over dinner and we'll relax a little, unwind some."
Mitch's voice sounded so concerned and kind, that Alex almost cried.
Alex paused to contemplate her options. She was seeing Granddad at four-thirty and she was already physically and mentally exhausted. She was tempted to say no, but she hesitated to say that, once again unsure of their relationship. Besides, it would be good to see someone objective from outside the hospital.
"Sure Mitch, my place at seven. We need to make it an early night, though. Tomorrow could be as bad as today and today was pure hell. Today took the cake. It couldn't have been much worse."
"Great. See you at seven." Mitch sounded pleased.
Mitch's phone call raised Alex's spirits significantly. She found herself looking forward to the evening.
***
At 5:00 p.m., while walking down Bourbon Street to his apartment, Frederico bought the evening edition of The Times Picayune. He was ecstatic as he read the CCMC article. When he reached his home, he made himself a drink and called Salvadal on the phone.
"You saw the paper?"
"Yeah. You must have a guardian angel, Petrelli." Salvadal smiled and thought how stupid and what an asshole the Mafia boss was.
Frederico hung up and went back to the bar downstairs to celebrate.
Alex was physically beat and emotionally spent when she left CCMC at four in the afternoon. She decided to call Martin's Taxi to pick her up and take her the short distance to the Palm Court to meet her grandfather.
As the big white Buick pulled to the hospital circle, Alex was pleased to see that Martin himself was picking her up.
"Hi, darling. Bad day, I bet. Saw the papers. Thought I'd hear from you, so I kept myself open. That’s some bad business at the medical center, real bad. My wife's cooking gumbo tonight, but it'll keep. Who's responsible for this stuff at the hospital?"
Alex still could not believe how fast native New Orleanians could speak, particularly those from the Ninth Ward with a dialect all its own. The entire verbal exchange with Martin took less than three seconds and covered three topics. Fortunately, Alex was getting used to the Cajun dialect and rapid speech and understood him.
She smiled at Martin. "You tell me. Some Voodoo Queen I guess. I need to go to Palm Court to meet my grandfather."
“We’ll be there in 10. You okay?”
Alex pondered her next question carefully before asking it, probably because she was scared to, or didn’t want to, hear Martin’s answer. “You're from this city, Martin. Do you believe in voodoo?"
Martin hesitated several moments before answering. "Don't knows if I do, don't knows if I don't. I never paid voodoo no mind. Choose not to know about it. But there're some who believe in it mightily and they live by it and practice it every day, people you'd never think believe in it, rich people. Word has it there's lots of voodoo groups that meet every week, you know, like church."
"You've got to be kidding." Alex was appalled. By this time, they were pulling out of the parking lot.
"Traffic's heavy. Yeah, yeah, darling, you wouldn't believe them who believe in the hoodoo. I hear that some of the best families in New Orleans, all up and down the Avenue do it, I mean, practice it. Don't know names, though," Martin added quickly, seemingly afraid to be implicated.
"I'm just surprised it's so prevalent here. I know nothing about it but I can’t imagine people believing in some archaic African religion in the twenty-first century. It blows my mind. Besides, I thought it was just for tourists, you know, entertainment for tourists."
"You ain't from here. You couldn’t know. It's New Orleans stuff. How's the Guv's wife?"
"She's holding her own. Hopefully she'll be okay," Alex said with forced brightness.
"Horrible thing. Ms. Raccine's a great lady, good to everybody. Can't imagine somebody ‘fixin’ her," Martin said, shaking his head.
"Fixing?" Alex said.
"You know, cursing her, hoodooing her, hexing her. She never hurt nobody, but she's helped a million people. Maybe somebody is trying to get back at the Governor—probably because he’s not crooked enough for some folks."
Not everybody, Alex thought as they pulled up in front of the Palm Court. "Thanks for getting me. Go home to your gumbo."
"Want me to get you tomorrow, darling? Wouldn't mind at all. I'll pick up my first load at the airport and zip over to your house by seven. You should save your energy. No telling what's coming." He gave her an ominous look as he opened her door.
Alex laughed and then replied, “Thanks, Martin. Nothing could be worse than today. I'll call you."
"Get some rest, Alex. Nothing you can do when these things happen. What happens, happens. You can't do nothing about it!"
Alex felt anxious as she left the cab and her stomach knotted up. She'd never heard Martin say anything negative. He was the most positive, upbeat man she'd ever talked to. Maybe it's not over but certainly nothing this bad can happen again.
***
Alex paused to admire the beautifully decorated hotel lobby of the Palm Court Hotel as she searched for her grandfather. The marble floors were gleaming and the oriental rugs accented them perfectly. She spotted her grandfather sitting in the far corner of the lobby bar and checked him out briefly. He looked good, impeccably dressed in a dark blue business suit and his silver hair gleamed. He had what she supposed was a tumbler of Jack Daniels in his hand.
She approached him from behind, hugged him, and placed a wet kiss on his cheek. The smell of bourbon and aftershave permeated her senses. It was comforting. Old Spice. Granddad had been wearing Old Spice since she could remember. The memory took her back to safer times and made her feel warm and safe.
As Adam Lee stood to return the hug, she said, "You look great, maybe a little too skinny." Alex couldn't resist and she hugged him again. He was such a rock of stability to her. She needed that today.
Adam held her tightly and said, "You're looking a little rough around the edges, girl. What the hell's going on at that damn hospital?"
"Wish I knew," Alex said, as she ended the hug.
"Want a drink? Looks like you could use one."
"White wine, Pinot Grigio, please."
Adam motioned for the waitress and ordered the wine as Alex settled on the sofa next to him. "Well, what's the story at CCMC? Paper said Grace was still unresponsive."
> "She is unresponsive. I checked before I left. It's a mess over there." Alex's eyes filled with tears as she continued, "It's just awful, Adam. Who could do this to Mrs. Raccine?"
"Don't know. What's with this voodoo shit? Paper said she'd been voodooed. Isn’t that some sort of crazy, ancient, African crap?"
"Yeah, that's right. There’s a curse against CCMC. Can you believe it? Even members of the board of trustees believe in voodoo, credible, educated people. The police think the same thing."
Adam stared at her, mulled this over, and nursed his drink for a few minutes.
"Voodoo or not, somebody's behind it. Someone is after the hospital and/or Grace Raccine. The question is why. Why hurt Grace Raccine?"
Alex shrugged her shoulders. "Don't know. Maybe they are trying to get to the Governor, but it’s bad press for the hospital no matter what the reason is. The place is a mess. Staff isn’t reporting to work and patients are transferring to other hospitals. There’s some sort of crazy archaic belief that if you acknowledge the curse then you become vulnerable to it and many people believe this and are trying to ignore or escape the voodoo curse by staying at home."
"Humph, this sounds like bullshit to me! Sounds like some folks want some days off with pay. Shit, don’t let the Jihadists know or they’ll switch from terrorism to voodoo!”
Alex cracked a smile at her grandfather’s prediction and said, “In addition to everything else, our census dropped 38% today due to transfers and patients leaving against medical advice. Unfortunately, this will affect our bottom line if it continues, not to mention our reputation.”
Adam nodded his head in agreement and sighed deeply, “Bad for the hospital. Makes it seem unsafe. Good for George Raccine. Makes the public feel bad for him, sympathy, I would think. It could increase his chances of re-election or a senate bid."
Alex could feel chill bumps jumping out on her arms. "You don't think..."
Adam interrupted her, his voice brusque. "Don't know anything except that somebody's going to benefit from this, Alex. Question is who. Something's up with George. He's different, going soft on major issues, especially crime and illegal drugs. He keeps changing his mind on everything, waffling on major issues. It’s like he's preoccupied or something. I got little satisfaction from him when we talked yesterday."
