Crescent City Chronicles (Books 1-3)

by Judith Lucci

  Nadine and Josh nodded their heads as she spoke, asking questions to clarify and expand her statement.

  Josh seemed satisfied and looked at Nadine for direction.

  Nadine picked up on his cue and said to Alex, "You described how Whitset pushed you to the floor and ripped your clothes. You didn't tell us what he did to you."

  Alex looked confused. "What do you mean I didn't tell you? I told you everything that Whitset did!" Her voice was angry, defensive.

  Nadine persisted. "You've got bruises on your face, a black eye, and an injured shoulder. Did Whitset hit you when he had you on the floor?"

  Alex looked thoughtful. "Why yes, I suppose he did. Who else could have possibly hit me?" The tone of Alex's voice implied she thought Nadine's question was ridiculous and stupid. Her tone was condescending, very much unlike Alex's normal voice.

  "Did Whitset do anything else to you that you haven't mentioned?" Nadine continued to look thoughtfully at Alex, who shook her head negatively.

  There was a silence for a few minutes while Nadine and Josh reviewed their notes.

  Robert continued to stroke Alex's hand. He smiled at her gently and said, "It's almost over, Al. Soon we'll go."

  She smiled back. She was so tired. All she wanted to do was take a shower and sleep.

  Nadine looked up from her notes and said, "I have another question for you, Alex. Listen carefully and answer me as best you can. It's important."

  "Okay, Nadine. But, hurry up. I'm tired and I want to get cleaned up so I can go to CCMC to check on Monique."

  Nadine could tell that Alex was getting impatient. Nadine's dark eyes searched Alex's deep blue ones as she asked the question in a matter of fact manner, "Did Lester Whitset rape you?"

  Alex was flustered, her voice angry. "Nadine, I told you everything that happened that I can think of. Don't you understand that I'm tired and I want to go home? I've been awake for over 24 hours."

  Nadine continued to look steadily at her. She asked again, "Did Lester Whitset rape you, Alex? Did he penetrate you?"

  Alex jumped angrily off the sofa, her injured shoulder drooping. She shrieked at them, her voice loud and quavering, "I told you everything I know. I want to get out of here, now." She looked around frantically for some means of escape. Her eyes rested on Robert, and she said to him, in a small and broken voice, "Robert, please make them leave me alone. I said everything I can remember. I want to go home. I want you to take me, please!"

  He felt his heart constrict as he looked at her, her eyes liquid pools of grief. He felt his reserve melting. She was so dejected, so sad. He glanced over at Nadine Wells, who gave him a dark look that clearly told him to keep his mouth shut.

  He looked back at Alex and said gently, "You've gotta answer Nadine's question. It's important to know whether Whitset actually raped you. If he did, we need to get you to the emergency department for an examination."

  Alex became hysterical. "No ... no ... no ... I'm not going anywhere. Don't you hear me! I'm not going anywhere! I've told you what I know and I am leaving! Don't any of you try to stop me!"

  Nadine stood in her way. Her voice was crisp, chilly. "Calm down, Alex. Shut up and stop all the noise, now! None of us wants to hear it. Just answer the question."

  Robert was becoming more and more uncomfortable with the line of questioning. He thought Alex was being harassed. He was about to interrupt and protect her when Josh Martin placed his hand on his shoulder in restraint and shook his head.

  Nadine asked again, her voice clear, "Did Lester Whitset rape you, Alex?"

  She dissolved into tears. She was sobbing so hard her shoulders were shaking. Her voice came out in large gulps. She was hyperventilating.

  Robert held her in his arms, reassuring her that it made no difference to him. He told her over and over that he loved her.

  Finally, Alex calmed down a little and said in a small, still voice that was almost a whisper, "I don't know. I just don't know. I can't remember!"

  Nadine leaned over and put her arms around Alex. "It's all right if you don't know, Alex. A lot of women don't know. They can't remember. They repress the terror of what happened to them." Nadine continued to offer her reassurance for several more minutes until Alex calmed down.

  Alex clung to Robert's hand and turned to face the police officers. "You mean there are other women who don't know if they have actually been raped or not?"

  Nadine smiled and responded, "Yep, Alex. That's right. You are certainly not alone in this. What's important now is that we get you examined so that we can tell ..."

  Alex shrank from the thought of a rape examination. It was so humiliating and embarrassing. She remembered having to do them when she worked in the emergency department. "No, no, I won't go."

  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 so 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 five 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 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 a.m. 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 tearoom, 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 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 a.m. Weston was the last customer left at the bar and the bartender offered him a blowjob. 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 make 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 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, walked 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 t
owards 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'd enjoyed her terror so much that he 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.