by Judith Lucci
The psychiatrist didn't respond, caught up in her own thoughts. A dozen possibilities were racing through her mind. It was clear in her professional judgment that Whitset had some sort of psychiatric disorder – only she didn't know what. She'd never seen evidence of any overtly psychotic behavior. He'd always seem grounded in reality, although he was very strange. Of course, her interactions with him were limited and minimal because, truthfully, she didn't like or trust him. Monique knew that psychotic patients were often highly manipulative and could cloak their behavior well. The only clinical behavior she'd witnessed had only just happened a few minutes before and she couldn't make a judgment based on just that one incident. She needed verification and validation of what she was thinking. Somehow, she had to figure out a way to corroborate her suspicions. Of course, there was the sexual thing he seemed to have with Alex, but that wasn't conclusive either. Monique didn't know and needed more time.
"Monique. For heaven's sake, what do you think?" Alex persisted and grabbed her arm, pressing for an answer.
Dr. Desmonde shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. "I don't know, Alex. It could be any number of things. There's definitely something wrong, but I just don't have enough information. Anyway, I need to call Jack and find out if he's checked Whitset out."
Alex was not to be mollified. "Do you think he has multiple personalities? That sure seemed like a child that came out in here!" Alex's voice was shrill, as she looked speculatively at her friend.
"I don't know, Alex. It's possible, but multiple personality disorder is pretty rare. If he has it, I guess we've seen at least two of them – the child and the sensual adult. Anyway, it's pure speculation on our part. Multiple personality disorder is extremely difficult to diagnose and treat. I think Whitset's more of a sociopath – he has a sociopathic personality or an antisocial personality disorder, as we call them now. Anyway, I’ve got to get out of here. I want to check in with Jack and go over to the Pavilion to check on things. Then I'll meet you over in Don's office."
"Okay, Monique. We've got about 20 minutes. Don't be late."
Monique nodded her head and waved at Alex as she left. Her mind was troubled as she walked back to the Pavilion. She was definitely suspicious of Lester Whitset. She couldn't casually blow him off anymore. She didn't think he was involved in the violence at the hospital, but she was troubled by the fact that he spent so much time with the patients, not to mention that he was her administrator. Her intuition told her something was very wrong with the man. He gave her an intense feeling of fear and free-floating anxiety, the origins of which she could not explain or articulate.
As she walked back to the Pavilion, Monique worked up an intense sweat. The August heat was stifling – it was hotter than hell. Even though she was a native of New Orleans, Monique could barely stand the heat. It weakened her. Sometimes she was convinced that it actually crippled her physically and emotionally. It almost assuredly brought out the worst in everybody – colleagues, patients, and families. As she entered the Pavilion lobby, she made a conscious decision. She was going to search Lester Whitset's office. Who would know? She'd never get caught if she planned it right! Right?
Monique used her unit keys to let herself into Pavilion I. Things seemed almost normal. She checked with the charge nurse, who reported that Jim McMurdie had remained in seclusion since he threatened suicide earlier in the day – directly after Whitset had confronted him with the bloody shirt. Monique knew Jim thought he'd killed the elder Mrs. Smithson. The police questioning had been hard for him, even though the officers had been gentle with their questions. After all, he had been one of them.
On the spur of the moment, Monique decided to check on him. She walked down the hall towards his seclusion room, where she ran smack into Anthony Gavette who blocked her path in the hallway. He looked belligerent.
"Hey Doc. What gives? They say you ain't coming to community today. Why not? Aren't we important to you anymore or are you more concerned with the dead people?"
Dr. Desmonde looked at Anthony. His face was tight and threatening. She said quietly, "Of course you are important. More important than ever. It's just that I have a meeting to go to, to see about getting more staff here so that we can all feel safer."
"Don't give me that crap, Doc. I feel safe. Plenty safe. Besides, I ain’t afraid of nobody. Ain't nobody messin' with me. I may mess with other people, but ain't nobody messin' with me!" Anthony's body language was tense and angry.
Monique looked up at Anthony, her heart pounding a little. She decided to push the envelope, asking him quietly, "What exactly are you saying? Have you been hurting someone?"
"Hell no, Doc. I just want you at that meetin' today so I can get my privileges raised another level. I'm ready to be promoted to step three so I can get the hell out of here. The nurses say you got to sign off on it. Right?" He looked at her expectantly.
"Yes, that's right, but we're not raising anybody's privileges around here now. We've got to wait for things to settle down a little bit and ...." Monique stopped for a second and looked straight at her often violent, schizophrenic patient.
He was getting mad, really mad. His face was red and his eyes were glazed over. He started moving towards her in a menacing manner. "Listen to me bitch, you useless, cold-blooded pig. I'm going to kill you. You hear, you Dr. Pig?" Anthony's voice was low, but threatening. His eyes were gleaming with an evil intent.
Monique knew she was in trouble. She felt her normal calm demeanor slip away. She knew she couldn't let him know she was scared. She never took her eyes off Anthony's face as she felt around her for something to throw for help. She wasn't close to an ASA red button. The nearest one was at least three feet away. She let her eyes wander for one brief second before she was convinced that no one was nearby. She only hoped someone was in the nursing station watching the security monitors.
It only took Anthony that one brief second to realize that Monique was frightened. Her fear gave him the edge he needed. The moment her eyes left his face, Anthony knew he was in charge. Quick as a flash, he reached out for the psychiatrist’s slender white throat and wrapped his huge hands around it. At first, he exerted only a little pressure on Monique's neck, enjoying the fear and terror he saw in her eyes. Anthony had a fleeting remembrance of how much fun killing was. He should do it more often. He liked the sense of power it gave him. He applied a little more pressure, watching her eyes dilate with fear at the certainty of her fate.
He began to talk to her in a soft, sensual voice, "You're a pretty lady, Doc. Wish I had time to get a little piece, but I guess there's not much time left in this life for us – at least for you. Maybe in another life. That's okay, though. Squeezing your neck is almost as good as ...." Anthony was surprised that he was so sexually stimulated. This killing thing felt good. He would do it more often, he thought, once he got out of this hellhole. He'd steal the shrink's keys and escape. The thought gave him another pleasure thrill.
Anthony applied a little more pressure.
Monique began to feel dizzy and felt her body grow weak. Anthony moved his face in position to kiss her and Monique became furious. In a last ditch effort to free herself, she brought her knee up sharply between his legs. He gave a yelp like a wounded dog when she kicked him. He grabbed his crotch, hurling profanities and vulgar epitaphs at her as he lay writhing in pain on the floor. Monique ran for the red button, pushed it, and then threw a stainless steel bedpan down the hall to attract attention.
Within several seconds, a powerful, young psych tech grabbed Anthony from behind and wrestled him back down to the floor. Anthony fell down on his stomach, moaning and holding his testicles.
In a matter of seconds, Donna Meade appeared with a syringe full of Haldol. As she squatted on her knees beside Anthony to inject his arm, the patient gave a huge yell, let go of his testicles, and grabbed Donna's crotch. In an instant, he had ripped through her uniform pants and pantyhose, while Donna lay writhing in pain on the cold linoleum floor.
Monique immediately retrieved the syringe and jammed it into Anthony's outstretched arm, sighing with relief when several additional psychiatric aides showed up and carted the angry patient off to the seclusion room on the far hall.
Dr. Desmonde immediately ducked into the utility room and returned with a blanket, which she placed over the moaning Donna Meade. Monique tried to talk with her, but the nurse manager was in too much pain. She also appeared to be shocky. Monique checked her pulse, finding it weak and thready and her blood pressure low. She ordered a stretcher and waited until two attendants had taken Donna over to the main CCMC emergency room. My God, what a day she thought. And, it's only 2:15 in the afternoon.
Sensing that the staff was now in control of the unit, Dr. Desmonde escaped to her office and locked the door. After forcing herself to calm down, she called Don Montgomery's office to tell them she was running late and would be over shortly. She breathed a sigh of relief when Leticia told her they were starting at 3 o'clock. The meeting was delayed for an hour because Bette Favre had a prior commitment – probably at the hairdresser, Monique thought ruefully. What a bitch! Thinking about Favre raised Monique's blood pressure and she actually felt better. She could handle Favre, no problem. It was some of the others that were scary. Favre was passive aggressive and a pain in the ass, but nothing like some of the other major players of the day.
After a few minutes, Monique’s thoughts returned to Lester Whitset. She was still tempted to search his office, but her eagerness had been waylaid by Anthony's attempt on her life. Besides, as Monique reviewed the scenario with Anthony, she considered the possibility that Anthony was a more likely suspect in Angela's rape and Mrs. Smithson's murder than either Whitset or Jim. Anthony was totally psychotic now. God knows what he could do.
Monique continued to think about Anthony. Anthony Gavette did have a history of malicious assault. But, was it sexual assault? Monique couldn't remember. Her heart fluttered once again when she allowed herself to realize how close she'd come to death. Another minute, and well ....
Monique shook off those thoughts and returned to Anthony. He was a diagnosed schizophrenic and did have delusional behavior. Besides, this was the second time in two days he had gone after a woman. Yesterday he'd tried to attack Rose in the community meeting. Monique had considered the behavior a manifestation of Anthony's jealous rage, but then, an attack was an attack.
Gosh, Monique continued to think to herself, was it only yesterday? It seemed like ages ago. Then, today, he had attacked her. That was certainly a notable escalation of psychotic behavior. Both assaults had been accompanied by profane sexual language. She dared herself to look at her hands – they were still trembling. She put her face into her hands to make them stop. She was still frightened, and frustrated, for tons of reasons, and she was scared. She'd never been scared on her own psychiatric unit before. These feelings were new and she didn't like them. She needed to talk to Jack, but she couldn't reach him. She felt defenseless and very vulnerable. Monique didn't like vulnerability, not at all.
Chapter 24
Alex was uneasy. She'd been put off when the meeting had been delayed. She, too, had decided that was another manifestation of Favre's uncooperative, passive aggressive behavior. Favre remained useless. Unfortunately, she knew that Favre's management style was similar to that of many nursing leaders. Favre neither supported nor appreciated the efforts of the great nursing staff at CCMC and rarely advocated for them in tough situations. Her style was more one of nepotism and fear. Hence, her nickname was Bigfoot in polite company, but she had more ribald nicknames that were used in the back of the cafeteria. With the initials B.F., it didn't take much imagination.
It was well known that Bette had pet nurses. One of the male nurses in critical care served as her on-call gardener, weeding her garden and mowing her lawn. Another nurse baked cookies for her every week and catered her dinner parties at no charge. Of course, they were rewarded – with favors, promotions, and extra time off. It was so unfair and so unethical. Alex just shook her head. This favoritism had to end.
Alex's thoughts turned from Favre to Whitset. She was convinced he was playing a large part in the current events at Crescent City Medical Center. She wondered if Jack had been able to find out anything on either Whitset or Anthony Gavette. She'd ask Monique after the executive meeting. Alex was so deep in thought that she jumped when her private phone rang.
"Alex here," she spoke into the phone.
"Alex, it's Sandy Pilschner. We've got Donna Meade over here in emergency." Sandy paused, waiting for a response from Alex. When none came, she continued, "Did you know there was another incident over the Pavilion?"
Finally, Alex squeaked out a no.
Sandy continued, "Apparently one of the patients whacked out and tried to strangle Dr. Desmonde ... Alex, are you there?"
"Oh, no, no. What happened?" Alex's voice was a whisper.
"I don't know much, Alex. The techs had to hurry back. They said the place was wild and they couldn't stay."
"Is Monique all right? Is she all right?" Alex repeated to herself in her anxiety.
"What?" Sandy seemed confused for a moment. "Oh, Alex, I'm sorry. I wasn't clear. Yeah, I guess she's okay. Dr. Desmonde isn't here. Donna Meade is. She's the one who's hurt. The tech said Dr. Desmonde seemed okay."
"How's Donna doing?" asked Alex.
"Well, I guess she's doing as well as any woman can – who's just had most of her lady parts ripped at. She's in a lot of pain ... and in shock, too."
"My God! I can't imagine." Alex cringed at the thought. “That's horrible, just hideous. Who did it?"
"Yeah, it is. Awful. No question. I don't know who did it. You know, Alex," Sandy paused briefly, "I would never work in the Pavilion. It's dangerous, and it's a hellhole. I think Angie hated it."
"I expect she did, I sure do. It is a hell pit. I understand perfectly, Sandy. Perfectly." Alex silently agreed with her. She would never work there, either.
"Gotta go, Alex." Sandy's voice was brisk. "We’ve got red blankets on the way in. Just thought I'd keep you up-to-date."
"Thanks, Sandy. I appreciate it," Alex said as she hung up the phone. She was in a state of bewilderment. She rubbed the chill bumps that had formed on her arms, as she thought about what happened to Donna and Monique. Something had to give up there or the whole place would spontaneously combust. I've got to call Monique, she thought to herself, and make sure she's okay.
Monique answered Alex's call on the first ring. She hoped her disappointment wasn't reflected in her voice. She had hoped it was Jack returning her call. Monique assured Alex she was not injured and promised she could see for herself shortly. Then, Monique decided to take the plunge. "Alex, do me a favor? Go over to Don's office and make sure Whitset's there. If he is, call me right back. I want to take a quick look in his office and I sure as hell don't want him to catch me."
Alex felt a quickening in her gut. "Monique, are you sure? Suppose someone sees you?"
"I'll be very careful, don't worry. Just call me back as soon as you get over there." Monique's voice sounded strong and steady.
"Okay, I'm with you. Give me about five minutes. Just be careful – promise me." Alex's voice was pleading and Monique detected a tinge of fear.
"Promise. You got it. Just call," Monique said as she hung up the phone.
Alex called Monique back a few minutes later and reported that the coast was clear. Latetia had confirmed that Whitset was in Don's private office and Alex had even interrupted them to be absolutely sure. She tolerated the ridicule in Don's voice with a small degree of triumph. At least Monique wouldn't be apprehended by Whitset as she quickly searched his office.
Dr. Desmonde walked quickly down the hall towards Lester Whitset's office, nodding briefly to staff, patients, and family members. She waved aside the questions of several staff, assuring them that she was okay and would return to the unit later.
She failed to notice the curious glances that several patie
nts in the day room gave her. It was completely out of character for Dr. Desmonde to rush. She was the coolest, calmest, most collected cucumber that most of the patients had ever seen.
Rose was relatively indifferent to the physician's movements, but was concerned. She'd been worried about Dr. Desmonde for the past few days and had heard through the patient grapevine that Anthony had just attacked her. Rose, in her confused and flustered state, really liked Dr. Monique. She decided the physician might need some help, so she decided to follow her.
As Monique entered the hall between Pavilion I and Pavilion II, she looked around furtively. The last thing she needed was someone reporting to Whitset that she'd been hovering and snooping around his office. Her heart froze when she thought of the possible repercussions, but she shook off the fear. Monique looked around again, just to be safe. The coast was clear.
She didn't see the waiflike profile of Rose peering at her from around the corner.
Dr. Desmonde tentatively turned the knob on Whitset's door. It was locked. Just my luck, she thought to herself. She thought for a second and then pulled the master key to the psychiatric unit from her pocket. She inserted the key into the lock, her heart pounding in her chest. She'd never broken into anything before. Please Lord, please Lord, let it open, she prayed to herself. She was in luck. The lock clicked with a slight turn of her wrist and she pushed the door open. She entered Whitset's office, closing the door softly behind her.
The first thing that struck the psychiatrist when she opened the door was the darkness of the office. The heavy curtains had been drawn over the double windows opposite the door. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noted that the office was immaculate. Nothing was out of place. Whitset's highly polished walnut desk was completely clear of any notes, files, or correspondence. The leather desk set and inkstand were easily visible. The round, leather container held four different colored ballpoint pens. Several pencils with sharp points were also in the container. A bookcase held several psychiatric reference books and several recent journals were on an end table, next to a pair of leather side chairs. All in all, the office looked like a magazine advertisement for office furniture. It was as if no one really worked in the place. It didn't even have a scent. It smelled like nothing. Monique sniffed again. Well, maybe it did smell like something. She could smell something metallic. It had a salty, metallic scent, kind of like old blood.
