Edouard leaned out of the car window to see the rather portly priest, possibly in his late fifties with short graying hair, partially concealed by a black hat. To Edouard’s embarrassment the priest had to hitch up his long black cassock, revealing his pasty white lower legs to prevent a fall off what was surely a woman’s bike.
Edouard guessed the priest probably couldn’t lift his leg over the centre bar of a man’s bike, so he had opted for the feminine version out of necessity.
A horse approached, prompting Edouard to look at a robust farmer steering a cart. The farmer tipped his cap and laughing derisively.
“Cassock-monger!” the farmer shouted.
The priest waved an angry fist at the farmer. “Damn you, Busson!”
“Sorry about that Father, but you see I’m ….” Edouard said, distracted by the farmer.
“That’s quite all right young man. No harm done. What can I do for you on such a fine day?” The priest smiled with good spirits. He looked up to the heavens and frowned. “Although I do believe a storm is on its way … possibly tonight.”
Edouard looked up to a clear blue sky, with only a few light fluffy wisps of clouds stretched by the racing winds of the upper atmosphere. He looked back at the amiable priest and explained, “I’m afraid I’m hopelessly lost. I’m trying to find the Douvrey Institute.”
The priest nodded. “Ah the Institute … well it’s not that far … you just ....” He pointed down the road. “.... Come to the crossroads, cut straight over and follow the road for .…” The priest thought before continuing, “.... For two kilometers, pass the Busson farmhouse.” He crossed himself and muttered under his breath. “You can’t miss it. Then take the next right for about one kilometer ... the second left and voila, you will see the sign for the Institute.”
“Thank you Father.”
“Are you visiting someone there?”
“Oh no ... I start my internship today,” Edouard said, exuding pride from every pore in his body.
The priest laughed. “Ah, so you’re the young upstart that Henri is so excited to work with. You must be Edouard Clavet?” He offered his hand in friendship. “Dear me, where are my manners … Father Papineau at your service, free of charge, of course?”
Edouard laughed as he shook Papineau’s hand. “I charge by the hour, Father.”
Father Papineau gave Edouard a friendly wink, nodding his head. “I can see we will get along handsomely, young man. I look forward to an after dinner debate with you and Henri on my favorite subject … the confessional versus psychotherapy.”
Father Papineau shook hands with Edouard once more before tipping his hat to him. “Au revoir.” He pushed off and cycled away with a wobble that slowly became more orderly as he picked up speed.
Edouard smiled a thank you to the receding Father’s back then put the Renault into first gear and drove off, passing the Father with a wave. In the rear view mirror, Edouard was shocked to see Father Papineau trying to wave back, causing a severe wobble from the bike. He thought about helping the priest but he was already so late.
Edouard slowed down at the crossroads. The sign pointed for Douvrey at five kilometers. He looked both ways, revealing an empty road, and crossed the junction onto the road to Douvrey. He slowly drove past a magnificent chateau resplendent in a sea of green with a winding drive lined with poplars snaking its way to the front door. Soon he came upon a large farmhouse set back from the road.
With growing excitement, and an entire flock of butterflies in his stomach, he turned onto The Douvrey Institute driveway. The wild country hedgerows and trees were replaced by manicured bushes lining a long winding drive. Magnificent lawns were dotted with grand cedars, their heavy boughs almost caressing the grass with splayed fingers of bristling, dark green foliage.
As Edouard came round a curve, he finally saw the splendid institute, set like an island of stone in a sea of green. He slowed down to give himself time to take it all in.
His eyes gazed upon the majestic chateau of grey stone, the brightly painted shutters that matched the lawn, the numerous flower boxes bursting with radiance of bloom, the circular towers at each corner and finally the massive oak doors to keep patients locked inside or to prevent unwanted intruders. He could not be sure. All he could think about was his first impression with the Directeur, Dr Henri Vernier.
Edouard stopped the Renault at the ominously huge front doors and looked nervously at the imposing façade.
“And what untold misery do you harbor within your confines?” he pondered.
He checked his fob watch that told him he was nearly an hour late. He sucked in air at the obvious bad timing of his arrival. What’s done is done he thought, stepping from the car to look up at the institute. To the side of the building he could see several nurses and male orderlies walking with patients in the pleasant gardens. A piano playing Debussy added to the mood.
One middle-aged female patient with a profusion of wildly flowing silvery hair, wearing a drab grey hospital gown, waved at him. “Philippe!” She ran towards him.
An extremely attractive blonde nurse hurried after her.
He smiled as the patient plucked a red rose from a bush and handed it to him.
Her sweet smile was replaced by a cold tremor, her face contorted into a frown. “You’re not my Philippe.” Her face went blank. She spoke in a flat faraway voice. “She is looking for you, Edouard.” The woman frowned as if she had no idea what she had just said. She shook her head as if to clear it.
Very puzzling? How could she know his name? With a confused frown, he stared at the red rose in his hand. Memories of the previous evening in the florist flashed across his mind. He smiled to the female patient, excusing it as mere coincidence.
The nurse grabbed her charge. “Sorry about that, Monsieur. Come now Martha, you know he isn’t Philippe ... he’s having his treatment.” The nurse escorted Martha away, but Martha could not take her eyes off Edouard.
Edouard waved at her, sniffing the rose’s scent.
Martha waved to him, looking quite sad. “We will be eternal, Edouard.”
He dropped the rose and stared after Martha with a look of total shock. How could she possibly know about his dreams? Could she have psychic abilities? A sudden flashback invaded his confused mind where Edouard first laid eyes on the woman with red hair, silhouetted in the doorway. He snapped out of it, the image fading like the sun on scorched retinas. Just a coincidence, he thought. “Eternal!” Edouard whirled around. Where did the word come from? He looked up at the chateau and frowned.
“Damn it, you’re so late. A fine first impression, indeed,” Edouard said to no one in particular. He stretched aching muscles.
He closed the car door and opened the boot to remove his luggage. A suitcase in each hand, he walked towards the front door.
The institute door opened and Doctor Henri Vernier stepped out onto the worn stone steps wearing a white hospital gown over a grey suit.
Edouard recognized the man from a seminar some years back. He noted the Directeur’s imposing height and well-tanned features. There was an air of immediate authority to his manner. The head of the institute stood six feet tall in his gleaming, black leather shoes. Quite fit for a man in his fifties, with grey wavy hair, gold-rimmed spectacles on his nose and a finely trimmed pencil-thin moustache. He had the look of a man who frowned on tardiness.
Edouard smiled nervously and walked with luggage in hand towards Henri.
Henri smiled amiably, looking at his fob watch. “Don’t tell me … you got lost.”
Edouard looked nervously at the Director. “Hopelessly lost, I'm afraid. I must have taken at least a dozen wrong turns before Father Papineau pointed me in the right direction.”
“Ah ... the good Father ... he does have his uses. We are a little out of the way here. I’m afraid this isn’t Paris, where one may depend on the fortitude of a taxi driver. No matter, you're here now.” He stepped forward and offered his hand.
Edouard dro
pped his luggage and nervously shook hands. He was most impressed with the strong grip. “I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d get the chance to work here.”
“I hope you will be content to stay with us for some time, Doctor Clavet? I’ve heard nothing but high praise from Claude … I’m sure you’ll fit in nicely, here.”
Edouard was momentarily taken aback by the reference to that monstrous director back at the Paris University Hospital. That man had done everything in his power to ridicule Edouard.
Doctor Vernier laughed in good nature. “I assure you, Claude is not the ogre he makes out to be. He was most impressed by your insistence on using Janet’s trauma methods on your patient.”
Edouard was quite astonished to hear such high praise bestowed upon him by the ogre. He managed a smile. “I can see I will fit in nicely here, Doctor Vernier … but please, call me Edouard. I'll reserve Doctor Clavet for my patients.”
“Excellent. Now come inside, Edouard. I'm sure you must be eager to freshen up after your journey.” Henri leaned down and picked up one of the cases.
Edouard looked awkwardly at Henri holding the suitcase.
“Thank you, but I can manage, Henri,” Edouard said, trying to wrest the valise from Henri’s strong grip.
Henri laughed at Edouard’s awkwardness. “One thing you should know about me, my dear young man, is that I don't stand on formality. I hope I didn’t frighten you by my stern welcome. We’re one big happy family … it helps the patients to relax.” Henri nodded to Edouard who released the suitcase. The Director continued to say, “Now allow me to help you with your luggage, my good fellow.”
The young doctor smiled and picked up his other valise. He felt more at ease now that his first impressions of Henri were pleasantly dashed. More importantly he felt at home.
Henri turned to go inside.
Edouard faltered for a split second. He shook his head to dispel the disturbing image of the woman with red hair scratching with bloody fingernails at a door. She screamed his name for help. He momentarily shuddered and heaved a sigh before following Henri into the institute.
Chapter 24
EDOUARD WAS DULY impressed with the large vestibule. His shoes echoed off the polished wooden floor. Even more impressive, the receptionist gawped at him, eyes wide in unmistakable invitation. By the look on her face she was ready for some serious love play. He was gratified to see her give him a welcoming smile, slightly raising her eyebrows. He had to stop when the tip of her tongue licked her full red lips.
Edouard smiled at her with his bedroom eyes. He could see himself nuzzling her between her legs all night long, if she so wished. The receptionist suppressed a giggle and with a shocked look busied herself with a pile of files on her desk. Edouard went red-faced when Henri gave him a smirk and a cough to continue.
To one side of the vestibule was a curved, ornate staircase. Several closed doors gave the vestibule a feel of being hemmed in with no escape. Edouard paused as a door opened.
A rather matronly nurse in her forties, with a pleasant motherly face, escorted a male patient up the winding stairs. She nodded curtly to Henri and smiled to Edouard.
“Nurse Collette ... may I introduce you to our new intern, Doctor Clavet.”
Nurse Collette hovered on the stairs. She looked a little irritated but managed to smile to Edouard. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Doctor Clavet.” The nurse proceeded at a slow pace up the stairs, speaking softly to the patient while opening a door.
Cries of despair billowed from the open door, causing Edouard to flinch. Edouard jolted again at the sight of a gruff orderly. He knew he shouldn’t have, but it was a purely reflex reaction. The orderly slammed the door shut with a resounding boom like thunder.
Henri laughed at Edouard’s reaction. “Bonbon’s bark is worse than his bite.”
Edouard was relieved and joked, “I hope I don’t have to find out.”
Henri elaborated as they ascended the stairs. “The poor devil was terribly wounded during the final months of the Great War. A grenade had taken most of his face. I did my best to treat him for shock, but after the war he attacked several women for refusing sex. He was brought here where I successfully used Janet’s techniques to cure his post traumatic depression. Ever since, Bonbon has attached himself to me like a lost puppy.”
Edouard was gratified that Henri was such a devout exponent of Pierre Janet, the founding father of traumatic stress treatment, now sadly ridiculed in favor of Jung and Freud’s dream interpretations. He was eager to have a go himself. He stopped to admire several fine paintings adorning the walls. One painting depicted fields full of sunflowers, resplendent under blue skies of varying hues.
“Nice painting ... the work seems familiar?”
Henri looked from the painting to Edouard. “All of the paintings here were done by Ellise Moreau. She’s our local celebrity, you know.”
Edouard frowned, remembering the party at the Ritz. The pit of his stomach churned at his lack of manly attributes. “Ellise Moreau … ah yes … I’ve seen her paintings at the Moreau gallery on the Champs Elysees. Isn’t the gallery run by her husband, Sebastian?” Edouard had a brief flashback of Sebastian’s confrontation with that beast.
“Small world, isn’t it? They live not too far from here. Perhaps we may get the chance to dine with them.” He winked. “Their dinner parties are most lavish affairs, though sometimes a little too decadent for my tastes. But first ….”
Edouard nervously interrupted with some over-eager, faux pas while waiting for Henri to open the door at the top of the stairs. “If you like, I'll be ready to start my duties after I freshen up.”
“Good gracious no … I won't hear of it. You must be very tired after getting so hopelessly lost. I must insist you freshen up and take a tour of the institute … then you may join me for lunch in my quarters. We should get to know one another first, and I need to catch up on what my dear friend Claude has been up to. There’s plenty of time to get familiar with your duties later.”
Edouard nodded in agreement, following the Head of the Institute through the door into a long corridor with many doors leading off, each with a sliding metal cover.
The walls, floor, ceiling and doors all gleamed sterile white. No paintings adorned these Spartan walls. The row of windows, showering the corridor in bright light, had bars preventing injury or escape. At each end of the walkway was a large, highly polished steel mirror placed at an angle at ceiling height.
Edouard was relieved to see such necessary precautions, should a violent patient try to surprise a member of the staff by coming up behind them, undetected.
Nurse Collette exited one room and nodded curtly to Henri and Edouard while she locked the door.
“How is Philippe coping with the aversion therapy, Nurse Collette?”
She stopped for a moment and put on a stern face. “He’s not vomiting so much now, Doctor Vernier.”
“Wonderful … that’s wonderful. We’ll have him off the sauce and able to cope on his own in no time.”
Nurse Collette nodded to both doctors before descending the stairs. She gave a cursory glance at the mirror.
“Aversion therapy?” Edouard asked.
Henri took Edouard by the arm and led him to another staircase leading to the upper floors of the institute and to the living quarters. “All in good time, my dear fellow ... all shall be revealed after a good meal.”
Edouard momentarily faltered. He heard his name being called out and frowned. “Did you hear someone calling my name?” He looked behind him to see the corridor was empty. “Edouard we are Eternal.” Edouard shivered with cold sweat trickling down his back. A coil of snakes squirmed in his stomach. His lips went as dry as toast.
Henri gave his new intern a curious look.
Chapter 25
IT WAS NOW quite late in the morning. Inspector Gerard, a tall man in his fifties with short graying hair, extinguished his pipe by tapping the embers upon the heel of his shoe then dropped i
t into the drab grey overcoat he always wore. This habit was evident by the burn marks on his coat pocket.
He stood with legs apart and arms akimbo beside the body of the butler slumped on the front steps of the Moreau Chateau. The large hole in the front door had splinters pointing outwards. He shook his head and smiled sadly down at the butler with most of his head blown away. They must have used a forty-five, he mused. And if there was one thing Gerard loved, it was the mystery of death.
From the parked black Citroen emerged two young Gendarmes and a middle-aged, paunchy, balding photographer carrying his tools of the trade. All four entered the chateau, careful not to disturb any evidence that might help catch the evil monsters capable of perpetrating such an atrocity.
Inspector Gerard pointed to the bullet hole in the front door. “You two search the driveway for the bullet.”
Both Gendarmes immediately set about their task, checking the gravel for the tiny lump of lead.
Inspector Gerard looked around the hallway with his keen detective’s eye. He indicated to the photographer to photograph the front door where the butler’s brains had stuck in thick gobbets.
“Start at the door and leave nothing to chance. Photograph everything, no matter how trivial.”
The photographer nodded and proceeded to take several shots of the butler from various angles, paying particular attention to the blood sprayed up the interior of the door. He followed Inspector Gerard into the kitchen, where photographs were taken of the cook and housemaid sprawled on the floor with large bloody holes in their foreheads.
The photographer followed the Inspector into the dining room and casually took photographs of the scene of carnage laid before him in such a grisly manner. He photographed the male servant with a bullet hole in his chest then he took shots of Sebastian Moreau slumped across the dining table, finishing with several photographs of Ellise Moreau sprawled on the floor.
The Inspector raised his eyebrows with interest, allowing the scene of slaughter to sink into his analytical mind. He removed a pencil from his overcoat and jotted down notes in his notebook, looking closely at the corpses. He paused in thought at what he had written – “where is the rest of their blood? Perhaps the killers mopped it up?” He scratched out the last sentence, shaking his head all the while. Think, you damned idiot! Intruders would not pause to do such a thing.
The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels Page 190