“Thank you Father.”
“Are you visiting someone there?”
“Oh no ... I start my internship today,” Edouard said, exuding pride.
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, shaking 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 waved to the priest and concentrated on his instructions. He slowed down at the crossroads then continued as directed. He noticed a magnificent chateau resplendent in a sea of green with a winding drive lined with poplars. Soon he came upon a large farmhouse set back from the road.
With growing excitement and an entire flock of butterflies in his stomach, Edouard 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.
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. All he could think about was his first impression with the Directeur, Dr Henri Vernier.
Edouard stopped the Renault and looked nervously at the imposing façade. “And what untold misery do you harbor within your confines?” he pondered, exiting his car.
He sucked in air at the obvious bad timing of his arrival. To the side of the building he could see several nurses and male orderlies accompanying 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 at the patient plucking a red rose from a bush and handing it to him.
Her sweet smile was replaced by a cold tremor, her face contorting 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 gave Edouard a strange stare. She shook her head as if to clear it.
How could she know his name? With some confusion, 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.”
Edouard dropped the rose and stared after Martha. How could she possibly know about his dreams? Could she have psychic abilities? 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 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.
Henri smiled amiably, looking at his fob watch. “Don’t tell me ... you got lost.”
Edouard glanced 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.” Henri stepped forward and offered his hand.
Edouard dropped 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 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 him.
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 tried 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. “Now allow me to help you with your luggage, my good fellow.”
Edouard 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.
For a split second Edouard faltered. 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 shuddered and heaved a sigh before following Henri into the institute.
Edouard was duly impressed with the large vestibule. His shoes echoed off the polished wooden floor. He nodded to the pretty receptionist behind her desk. To one side of the vestibule was a curved, ornate staircase.
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 at 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. He jolted again at the sight of a gruff orderly. The orderly slammed the door shut with a resounding boom.
Henri laughed at Edouard’s reaction. “Bonbon’s bark is worse than his bite.”
<
br /> Edouard was relieved and joked, “I hope I don’t have to find out,”
Henri elaborated while 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 Freud’s dream interpretations. He was eager to have a go himself. He stopped to admire several fine paintings adorning the walls. “Nice paintings ... the work seems familiar?” Edouard commented.
Henri looked from the painting to Edouard. “All of the paintings here were done by Ellise Moreau. She’s our local celebrity, you know.”
The party at the Ritz! Edouard frowned, remembering the Moreaus’ party. Oh how he wished he’d saved his dream woman, instead he had skulked away like a cowardly cur. “Ellise Moreau ... ah yes ... I’ve seen her paintings at the Moreau gallery on the Champs Elysees.”
“Yes. 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 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. “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.
Chapter 21
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 it 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.
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 did as ordered. Once done he followed Inspector Gerard into the kitchen, where he took more shots 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 recorded the scene of carnage laid before him in such a grisly manner.
The Inspector raised his eyebrows with interest, allowing the scene of slaughter to sink into his analytical mind. He paused, thinking whether or not the intruders had mopped up after them as there was not enough blood. Think, you damned idiot, intruders would not pause to do such a thing.
The Gendarmes returned from their hunt for the bullet. Both gagged at the gruesome sight.
Inspector Gerard crouched beside Ellise Moreau’s body to get a closer look at the strange puncture wounds on her neck. He frowned with curiosity at the two bloody wounds and dark smudges surrounding them. He noticed the overturned chair at her side and could see blood congealing around the outer edges of the seat eliciting a grunt of curiosity.
“Take close-ups of this one’s neck and the chair.”
The photographer complied with Gerard’s orders.
Inspector Gerard turned to his two subordinates. “Fetch the dust kit and check for prints. Pay particular attention to the French doors, the table, chairs, cutlery, dining room door and the phone in the hall.”
They saluted with a curt nod to Inspector Gerard before leaving the room.
The Gendarmes returned a minute later with Doctor Colbert, a short man with slate-gray hair and beak-like nose.
Gerard smiled at his old friend who loved all this detective work, a fan of Sherlock Holmes, an obsession they shared. Due to their likeminded interests, Gerard allowed him to moonlight as Auxerre’s medical examiner.
Gerard pointed to various places for the Gendarmes to dust for prints, not that they had any chance of matching them to the miniscule amount of prints on file back at the Auxerre Prefecture. He always attacked investigations with the most scrupulous of labors, and never left a stone unturned – not that he had ever had a case like this.
The doctor meticulously opened a black leather bag and snapped on rubber surgical gloves. He proceeded to inspect the body of Ellise Moreau, all the while informing Inspector Gerard of anything noteworthy.
“Incredible,” he remarked. “This woman has been almost completely drained of blood, presumably from these two puncture wounds in her neck and ....” He lifted Ellise’s arm to see another pair of punctures in her wrist and continued, “.... And from her wrist as well. Remarkable! Quite remarkable.”
“How so?” Gerard asked.
“Well, Inspector, I have bled many patients in my time, to relieve fevers and such, and I can say with certainty that it is impossible to inflict these wounds without more signs of blood on the clothes, and ....” The doctor paused to lift Ellise’s body and inspect the rug underneath her for blood. “.... As you can see, there is no blood on the floor around the body.”
“The chair .
.. she was sitting in that chair when the blood was taken from her.”
“That would be a logical assumption,” Doctor Colbert agreed, scrutinizing the blood on the chair.
The doctor noticed something and pointed.
Gerard and Colbert knelt to see congealed blood hanging from a gash in the dining table.
Colbert inspected the man’s body lying across the table. “This one put up a struggle ... see.” He pointed to the wound in Sebastian’s stomach. The doctor lifted the body to see a pool of congealed blood on the table sticking to Sebastian’s purple dining jacket.
Gerard saw the wound which matched the slash-like hole in the table. “Dear God ... he was skewered right through the table.” Nothing these days ever surprised him, until now. He thought for a moment, musing, “That took a great deal of strength.”
The doctor nodded with agreement then investigated the woman’s body. He inspected the wounds on her neck.
“Strange?” Doctor Colbert sighed. “Yes ... it looks like lipstick.”
“Indeed. I had drawn the same conclusion.” Inspector Gerard blew out his cheeks. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s pack everything up.”
One of the Gendarmes showed Inspector Gerard the useless chunk of metal that had once been a bullet.
He pocketed the mangled bullet. “That’s it for now ... help Doctor Colbert remove the bodies.”
While the six bodies were placed in the doctor’s truck, the Inspector searched the dining room with his keen sense of order. He thought of Ellise Moreau just sitting on the chair while her life’s blood was so meticulously drained from her. He scratched his head and thought about it for some time. Something nagged at him. Something in the dining room was not right.
He examined the room, now devoid of victims. He observed the table, and pictured in his mind’s eye, the Moreaus startled at the dining table when the intruders – and it had to be more than one – burst through the French doors. Why they slashed the painting above the fireplace was something he shoved to the back of his mind as unimportant.
Voracious Vixens, 13 Novels of Sexy Horror and Hot Paranormal Romance Page 26