Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  The voices were loud again, screaming at him. Whitset entered a bar and ordered a double whiskey, which he downed in rapid time. He had a second drink. It was now almost 10:30 p.m. He walked over to the wall phone in the bar and dialed the psychiatrist’s phone number. She answered on the first ring. He could see her cold, plastic face talking to him. Her lips were just as red as his teacher’s had been – taut, thin, and inflexible. He would change that. Soon. She said hello three times before he hung up. He decided to have another drink or two for the road and the work ahead.

  29

  Monique was unnerved by the hang-up phone call. She pressed redial, but no one spoke or answered her repeated “hello”. There was just a dead, ominous silence. Whitset listened on the other end of the phone, relishing the increasing panic in the shrink bitch's voice.

  Monique tried to convince herself that she was being paranoid. It could've been anybody – even a wrong number. In desperation, she dialed Jack's home phone and cell again. No answer. Then she paged his beeper, entering her number with the 911. She waited fifteen minutes for a return call, but her phone didn't ring.

  Jack, Jack, where are you, she said to herself. I'm frightened half to death. I have to find you. I have the answers you need. Monique, her hands shaking, looked up the non-emergency phone number of the NOPD in the New Orleans phone directory. Finally, after an endless amount of time, she was connected with the watch officer. He chuckled when she asked for Commander Françoise.

  The watch officer said, "The commander sure is popular tonight, Dr. Desmonde, and you're the second person looking for him. He's out of New Orleans. He's investigating a crime over in Alabama. He's been gone and unreachable all afternoon."

  Monique was panicked. "Has he called in?"

  "Nope, not since six o'clock this evening. Said he would be unavailable until morning."

  "Can you reach him? It's really urgent." Monique was working hard to keep the hysteria out of her voice.

  "No, ma'am. If the commander could be reached, he would've left a number. If you need help, I'll send a blue and white over,” the watch officer offered, trying hard to be helpful. He felt sorry for the poor lady. He knew something was very wrong.

  "No, no. I'm all right. I'll call a friend." Monique managed to say, as she was fighting for control.

  "Listen, Dr. Desmonde, if you're in any danger, just tell me. I'll send a car over. The commander said that if you called and needed anything, I was to give you everything you needed, plus more."

  Monique smiled at the watch officer's remarks and said, "What I need is Jack Françoise. I'll call a friend to come over. Thanks. If the commander does call, please tell him to call me stat."

  "Huh, stat? What do you mean?" The watch officer didn't understand and he'd picked up on the frantic sound of Monique's voice.

  "ASAP. As soon as possible," Monique clarified.

  "Yes, ma'am. I will. Take care now. Good night."

  Monique laughed a little hysterically. "Yes, I will. Thank you."

  After Monique hung up the phone, the watch officer radioed the mobile unit closest to Monique's house and asked them to drive by periodically. They assured him they would. It was a good move on the part of the watch officer, a very good move. Besides, he didn't want to piss off the commander. He'd done that once before and was, to this day, stinging from the rebuke. No one ever wanted to mess with Commander Jack Françoise – not because he was a commander, but because he was Jack Françoise.

  Monique decided to call Alex and was relieved that she was coming over. Alex had a good analytical mind and would help her sort out what she needed to do. Finally, after an endless period of time, she heard a knock at her door. Alex was standing on her porch. Monique noticed the silver Mercedes with the lights on out front.

  "Alex, thank goodness. I'm so glad to see you. Who's in the car?"

  "It's Robert. He dropped me off. He was over for dinner and we—”

  "Oh, I'm so sorry," Monique interrupted her. She looked at her friend. Alex looked lovely. Her eyes were as blue as the denim work shirt and jeans she had hastily donned for her late-night visit. Her beautiful face was flushed and her eyes were shining. Monique didn't think she had ever seen Alex look so ravishing. She continued, "I interrupted something, didn't I?" Her voice was apologetic.

  "Monique, it's okay. I'll tell you about it later. What's up? You look scared, frightened to death. I’ve been trying to find you all evening. Where were you?"

  "I was so angry after the executive committee meeting, that I decided to go to City Park and walk off my frustrations. Then, I went over to the Art Museum to see the Monet exhibit." Monique paused for a moment, capturing in her mind again the beauty and elegance of the French artist's late works at Giverny. "It was magnificent … and sad. Alex, you really must go."

  "I will, I will. Then what happened?" Alex asked impatiently.

  "I went to the Pavilion. It's a good thing I did. One of my patients had been raped, Rose, remember her?"

  Alex's heart sank. Another attack and rape. When would it end? "Of course I know Rose. Is she okay? Who raped her?"

  "Physically she's okay. She won't tell who did it. One of the psych techs found her lying in her bed whimpering. She wasn't in the day room for supper. That's when they went to search for her and found her sobbing. I tried to get her to tell me who did it, but she just looked at me and cried."

  "Was it Jim or Anthony?"

  "No, impossible. Both of them were locked in seclusion. I don't know who it was. Anyway, we sent her to the emergency department. She hadn't returned to the unit when I left...." Monique's voice trailed off.

  Alex pondered her comments. "I can't imagine who did it. With Jim and Anthony locked up, our saga has a new twist. I guess we'll know later." Alex looked at her friend. She had become very quiet. She was sitting on the sofa, twisting her hands.

  "Monique, what else happened? What else do you know? Tell me, for goodness sake!"

  "This sounds crazy, Alex. Bear with me, but it's true. Whitset is not Whitset."

  "Huh, what! What the hell are you talking about? For heaven's sake, Monique, spit it out. Make sense." Alex's voice was snappish. After all, her friend had just interrupted the first potential sex she had had in years.

  "Stop interrupting me, Alex. I'm doing my best." Monique paused for a moment, as if getting her facts straight. "This afternoon when I searched Whitset's office, I noticed the diplomas on the wall were dated 1963 and 1965. Whitset doesn't look old enough to have graduated that long ago. So, I went to my office and looked in the personnel file at his resume. He lists his date of birth as being 1951. It's inconceivable that he could have graduated with a Master’s degree in 1965. Whitset is an imposter. I don't know who in the hell he is, but I'm convinced that he's parading around as a psychiatric administrator without the education."

  Alex was quiet, taking all of this in. Finally, she said, "Who do you think he is, Monique?"

  Monique shook her head. "I don't have a clue. I think he's probably a former psych patient who somehow got hold of the real Whitset's degrees and has been pretending to be him for years! Unbelievable, isn't it?"

  Alex sighed deeply. "Yes, it is, but it does explain his outbursts this morning. He's definitely a crazy."

  Monique glared at her. "Come on, Alex, cut me some slack. You know I hate that term. It's unfair to label people like that."

  Alex waved Monique's objections away. "Okay, sorry. Anyway, we have an unbalanced, possibly very mentally ill man running our psychiatric service. Now, that's a real legal problem! Monique, did you find anything else in his office that could lead us to figure out who he really is?"

  "Alex, I'm freezing to death. Do you mind if I open the French doors for a few minutes? Maybe we could go outside for a few minutes so I can warm up." Monique's teeth were chattering, more from fear than the air-conditioning.

  "That'll warm you up. It's still in the high eighties out there. Hot and sultry. Nope, I don't mind. Let's do it."

/>   Monique unlocked the deadbolt on her French door and walked out on the balcony.

  Alex followed her. It did feel a little better. Alex was cold too.

  "Do you mind if we sit out here for a few minutes? I promise I won't keep you out here long. As soon as we warm up, we'll go back in." Monique rubbed her arms, as if to rub away the uncertainty and chill bumps.

  Alex smiled, "Of course not. These chairs look pretty comfortable." Alex seated herself. "Monique, this is really a lovely balcony." She admired the perfectly manicured, flowering plants in hanging baskets. "You're quite a gardener."

  "As are you. Yes, I love working out here. It's a great stress reliever. Where were we?"

  Alex thought back for a second. "I had just asked if you had found anything else in Whitset's – or whoever he is – office?"

  "No. Place was obsessively neat and clean. It was very dark in there. Drapes were completely drawn. There was nothing else significant."

  Alex pressed for more. "Tell me everything you remember about the office, Monique. Was there any correspondence on his desk, books, anything like that?"

  Monique thought hard. "He had some current psychiatric journals and textbooks lying around. The most significant things were his degrees. Of course, I could've missed something. Someone knocked on the door when I was in there. I thought I was going to have a heart attack! Scared me to death! My heart was racing!"

  "What did you do?" Alex could imagine Monique's fright and it bothered her immensely that someone knew she was in there. "Who do you think it was?"

  "It could've been the cleaning staff. Anyway, I crouched under his desk for a few minutes."

  "Did you go through his desk drawers?"

  Monique raised her eyebrows at Alex and laughed, "Of course, I did. I was playing super snoop. It was the usual stuff. Oh …" Monique's voice trailed off again.

  Perceiving that Monique had remembered something, Alex urged her. "What, Monique, what else did you see?"

  "It's probably nothing. His bottom right drawer was locked. There was a fine gold chain hanging out of it. It looked like a woman's gold chain. I only noticed it because I was hiding on the floor beside his desk." Monique's voice was noncommittal as she told the story to Alex.

  Alex's head had started thundering. She felt the hairs on her neck stand up. Her entire body went weak all over and she felt dizzy. She said to Monique in a strained voice, "Monique, are you warm enough to go in? I'm feeling really warm!"

  The psychiatrist couldn't see Alex's face in the dark, but she distinguished the change in her voice. She knew something was wrong. She said, "Sure, I've warmed up. Let's go in and have some ice coffee."

  Neither woman saw the crouched body of Lester Whitset hidden behind the latticework and a massive copper planter at the end of the balcony. He'd heard every word the women had said and he was enraged. The voices were screaming in his head. Kill … Kill … Kill. Whitset was drenched with sweat. Would the voices ever stop?

  30

  Alex could barely breathe as she entered Monique's living room. She was weak and trembling all over. Monique looked at her strangely. "What is it, Alex? What is it?"

  For once, Alex was too frightened to speak. She was speechless.

  Monique instructed her in an authoritarian tone of voice. "Alex, take some deep breaths and calm down. You've got time. What you've got to say will keep until you get control of yourself." Monique sounded stronger than she felt. She was terrified at the look in Alex's eyes. After a minute or so, Alex was able to speak.

  "It's Whitset. It's Whitset," she gasped, stopping to take a breath. "Monique, Whitset's the one that raped and beat Angie!" Alex gasped out the words, her heart racing and pounding in her chest.

  Monique stayed calm. She faced Alex, standing by the French doors. "Whitset? How do you know, Alex? What makes you so sure?" Monique noted the fast pounding and beating of her own heart.

  "Because … because … the chain, the gold chain you saw, goes to her cross, her religious medal. Bridgett brought it to me today in the office. I took it to a jeweler this afternoon to have the chain replaced." Alex was so weak from her discovery, she wasn't sure she could stand.

  Monique felt the force of the earth coming down on her shoulders. She could hardly speak. She was so frightened. She was about to ask Alex whether she thought Whitset was involved with Mrs. Smithson's murder, when, to her horror, her French door opened and Lester Whitset entered her living room carrying a long metal pipe.

  Alex turned and froze in place. Monique looked like a marble statue. She was transfixed. All color had drained from her face.

  Whitset stared at Monique. It happened again. She was so white. She was plastic. Once again, right in front of his eyes, she had turned to plastic. So, he had been right. The voices were screaming at him to kill the shrink. Lester watched in horror and fascination as Monique's face assumed a hard, shiny appearance. Her green eyes turned into emerald green plastic ovals. Lester could hardly stand what he was seeing.

  He stared at the psychiatrist and said in a cold, measured voice, "I'm going to kill you, you shrink bitch imposter. They are telling me to!"

  Monique spoke to him through her pale plastic lips. Lester was startled because she could speak. He had never heard an imposter talk and it confused him. Once they turned, they lost their voice, but, he recognized her voice. Yes, he said to himself, it's her, it's still the shrink bitch. Even though she's plastic, she is the same bad person.

  Whitset made no response to Monique's question. He continued to look at her, a slow smile spreading across his face. He looked very pleased with himself. Finally, he turned towards Alex and said to her in a slow and sexy voice, "Alex, I'm so glad you're here." He shook his head a little, as if to clear it. "As soon as I take care of her, we can leave. I wasn't sure you would meet me."

  Whitset raped her body with his eyes and returned to her face, his eyes boring into hers. Alex ventured a look at him out of the side of her eyes. His intent was clear. Whitset meant to rape her. A large amount of spittle had again gathered at the side of his mouth and had begun to run down his chin.

  Alex stood mutely trying to decide the best thing to do. Whitset moved closer to her, reached out and gingerly touched her. She flinched at his touch.

  Whitset became angry. He gawked at her, squinting as if to see her better. Was she one of them too? No, she didn't appear to be. Her face stayed the same. He reached out and touched her face. It was warm and soft. She didn't move. Lester was satisfied. Alex was real. She wasn't an imposter like the bitch standing next to her.

  Alex stood there, like a dead person, while Whitset began to run his hands over her body. He put his face next to hers and started to kiss her. She was overwhelmed by the smell of whiskey.

  Suddenly, he pulled back in anger. He was furious. He screamed at her. "You whore! You slut! You've been with somebody else! Who is your lover? Who have you been with, whore?" Whitset was dancing around with rage, waving his lead pipe madly.

  Her voice was frozen. She tried to talk, but couldn't. Only grunts came from her throat. She looked frantically at Monique.

  Monique had been contemplating the best approach to use with Whitset. She decided to try a blunt one – one that would catch him off guard and give them an opportunity to defend themselves.

  Monique addressed Whitset, her voice hard. "Whitset, what are you doing here? Don't you know the police are watching this place? They're probably looking for you by now."

  Lester looked at Monique and laughed, the sound of a maniac – a loud, piercing, surreal laugh. "Shut up you bitch imposter! Just shut up!" He moved towards Monique and pushed her hard against the sofa. She fell backwards on it. "I'll take care of you in a minute." He turned to Alex and said in a sad, soft voice, "How could you do this to me, Alex? How could you betray me? You know I want you. I love you. We've been special for a long time. How could you be with someone else?"

  "Lester, I didn't." Alex finally found her voice and it was soft. "You look so
tired. Why don't you just sit down for a few minutes and I'll get you something cold to drink. Then, we'll talk."

  Whitset smiled at Alex, the same slow, seductive smile that gave her chills. He said softly, "You're a bad girl, Alex. You're very naughty. Very, very, naughty. Lester's going to make you pay for being naughty."

  Then Whitset began to sing to her, once again in that childlike voice that rhymed.

  “Alex is a bad, bad girl,

  Bad as all girls in the world,

  Lester's going to make her pay,

  Lester's going to have his way, way, way, way….”

  The sound of his voice and the emphasis on the word "way" froze Alex's blood. She stood paralyzed with fear as he approached her.

  Whitset’s stride was broken, disjointed, as he moved towards Alex with an evil and threatening look on his face. He hurled himself towards her, the lead pipe raised in fury. He swung the pipe at her head, but Alex ducked, barely missing contact with the lead. She felt the cool rush of wind whistle by her ear. The stark realization of what was happening propelled Alex into action. She moved behind the chair, ducking another swing of the pipe.

  Monique came to life and attacked the administrator from behind. She jumped on his back, her arms around his throat as she shoved her knee up into his groin. With a loud yell, Whitset threw her off and she fell to the floor, striking her head on the edge of a marble table.

  Whitset laughed at her as he clutched his groin. "Look at you, you plastic bitch. I see your plastic head did not split. As soon as you wake up, I'll really fix you. I'll split that plastic head!" Then, he began to laugh again – the high pitched, rumbling laugh of a maniac. The sound was the most evil cacophony that Alex had ever heard. She bent to the floor to help her friend.

  Just then, the phone rang. It rang three times, as Alex, who was sitting on the floor by Monique, and Whitset each looked at it. Finally, Monique's voicemail clicked on and Alex heard Commander Françoise’s voice.