Monique Desmonde, still standing at the wall-mounted board with her statistics clearly in sight, looked at the group and quietly, but assuredly, said, "I disagree completely with Mr. Whitset. The Pavilion is a powder keg. Anything could happen up there at any time. In fact, it already has."
The silence was deafening and no one spoke.
Montgomery looked at Whitset for help and support, but Whitset didn't seem to be paying attention.
Monique continued as she locked eyes with Don Montgomery and said to him, "Don, don't take this as a threat. Take this as a fact. If those new positions are not approved by noon tomorrow, I will personally call a press conference. I'll tell them, as the former chief of psychiatry at Crescent City Medical Center, just how unsafe patient care is here. I'll tell the press in great detail about the attack and rape of Angela Richelieu, mentioning her commitment to her work, her unpaid overtime, and the unavailability of a security guard to walk her to her car. I'll also talk about the death of Mrs. Smithson in great, gory detail. I'll describe her injuries – the way in which the knitting needle protruded from her mouth and the fact that her face had virtually been eradicated by her murderer. I'll also mention her patient call light – about how it was covered with her blood and how it was disconnected from the wall. I'll tell the press how Mrs. Smithson, as an elderly, loving grandmother and great-grandmother, frantically called and called for help while she was being brutally raped and murdered because there were no available staff to come help her. I'll tell them where the staff was, both of them. I'll tell the Times Picayune and the Associated Press how both of our staff members were on the prison unit trying to prevent the inmates from raping the new admission."
Monique stopped for a few moments and looked at the group, as if surveying the effects of her words. Then she continued, pulling down the neck of her blouse. "Finally, I'll show them my neck, my bruises. By tomorrow, this redness will clearly delineate the hands that tried to strangle me an hour or so ago on the nursing unit. Then, I'll describe the patient attack on the nurse manager. Good story, don't you think?" Monique's pale face was red with fury, anger, and wrath as she continued, "It should keep the tabloids busy for several weeks. Trust me, if you think our Mardi Gras press was bad this year, wait until this hits TV, radio, Facebook and burns up Twitter and the local news all over the country. It will go viral in a matter of several hours. I may even uplink a YouTube video of my injuries!"
Montgomery looked as though he were going to cry, "Monique, no! You wouldn't do that! You couldn't!" He was pleading with her.
"Don, I can and I will. Count on it. I want an answer by noon tomorrow. I want the positions at mid-to-upper salary scales and I want to hire them myself." Monique gave Lester Whitset a sideways glance as she left the room. His look chilled her to the bone, but she didn't care. She was on a roll. "I don't need Mr. Whitset's assistance with any of the human resource issues. As a matter of fact, I would prefer Mr. Whitset not interact with the patients at all," Monique concluded, as she shut the door behind her.
Alex glared at Whitset. She was shocked, but pleased at Monique's ultimatum, although she was afraid for her. The look on Whitset's face was one of unmitigated hatred and rage. Alex was scared for her friend and her heart raced at the potential danger Monique could be in.
As Whitset watched Dr. Desmonde leave the conference room, he saw her turn into one of them. When she had given him that glance, he had seen it. She was one of them. An imposter. Whitset felt his heart speed up. A hot flush came over him. He was sweating. Could he be wrong? There were so many lately. No. He'd seen right. Right in front of him, Monique Desmonde's face turned into plastic – just as he thought it had earlier in the day. Then, he hadn't been sure, but, now, he was positive. Whitset found himself becoming nervous and agitated. He felt like he was being suffocated. He had to get out of the room. He looked around at the others. They looked okay. Their faces had real skin. Suddenly, he got up from his chair and left the room. The noise and screaming in his head was all he could stand. There was no way he could stay for idle conversation.
Don watched him leave and said sarcastically, "Great, he's a lot of help. What a piss poor manager." He turned to Alex.
"Do you think Monique will go to the press? Will you help me?" His voice was pleading, even begging.
Alex hated Don's pleading, whiny voice. She was silent for a few moments. "I don't know, Don. Dr. Desmonde is a woman of principle. She feels strongly about things in the Pavilion. She's felt strongly for a long time. In addition to the security issues, she's convinced that the treatment milieu is inappropriate for optimal clinical outcomes. She maintains that mixing ages and placing depressed patients on the same unit with acute psychotics is inappropriate and substandard." She paused for a few seconds. "Yes, Don. She may indeed go to the press. Robert, what do you think?"
Robert Bonnet looked at Alex and Don. He nodded affirmatively. "No question about it – I'm sure she'll go. I've known Monique most of my life. What Alex says is absolutely right. Besides, she has nothing to lose, and a great deal to gain—”
Don interrupted, reverting to his little boy destructive act. "Nothing to lose! Hell, I'll fire her ass! I'll jerk her privileges! I'll black list her from every hospital in town!" His eyes gleamed in anticipation of destroying Monique.
Robert laughed at him. "Montgomery, Monique Desmonde is one of the leading psychiatrists in the United States, with an impressive international reputation to boot! Besides, she said she would quit. She's known globally for her work with adolescents and more recently, she's built quite a reputation for herself as a forensic psychiatrist. For God's sake, Montgomery, she's a consultant to the CDC and NIH on mental health issues. She can get a job anywhere. She could write her ticket to Hopkins or Harvard tonight and be there next week."
"I'll be damned if she'll get one in New Orleans. I'll see to that," Don ranted and threatened.
Robert snorted at the CEO. "You are powerless on this one, Don. Monique's currently an attending professor in psychiatry at Tulane, has staff privileges there, and an open invitation to head the service at Oschner. The only reason she has stayed here is because you got the state contract and she was interested in building her forensic practice. You'd better give her what she wants."
Don looked dismal. "I can't. I really can't. It's Whitset's decision – it's in the contract."
"That's BS, Don. You are in charge of CCMC. Where's the contract? I've never seen it!" Alex was furious. "You shouldn't be entering into agreements with other groups without my advice. That is what you pay me for!" Alex looked at him disdainfully. Don was such an idiot and an appalling leader.
"I'll have Latetia copy it. See if you can work around it." Don looked scared. "Alex, please talk to Dr. Desmonde. Make her change her mind. She'll destroy us!"
"I'll talk with her, Don. But you best talk with Whitset. He's the problem."
"I will. Let's get out of here. You all think about this and let me know what we should do." Don dismissed the rest of the executive team with a wave of his hand. He disappeared into his private office and shut the door tightly.
Alex and Robert walked slowly towards her office, talking quietly to each other.
Robert said to Alex, his voice low and serious, "You know, Al, Whitset really bothers me. He looks crazy himself. Did you see the way he looked at Monique? At Liz? I swear, I think he’d like to kill them both."
"Yeah, I know, and probably me as well. The man absolutely chills me to the bone. I think there's something wrong with him, too. Monique thinks he probably has some type of personality disorder. I know Jack was going to run a check on him today. By the way, Robert," Alex said, lowering her voice to a whisper, "Monique was going to search his office this afternoon. That's why she was late getting to the meeting. Intuitively, I think she believes he's involved in some of the stuff in the Pavilion."
"Do you mean Angela or Mrs. Smithson?" Robert looked shocked.
"Oh, no, I don't think so. She's just concerned that he spends so much tim
e with the patients. She thinks he agitates them or something. Causes patient outbursts. Anyway, I'm going to go over there and try to see her.”
26
Whitset felt confused on his way back to the Pavilion. He had taken several wrong turns in the main hospital. The voices were screaming in his head. He was so hot, so terribly hot. He stopped to sit on a bench in the shade to rest for a few minutes, but it was still stifling. It'd been a hard day for him. He'd been up a long time, almost twenty-four hours. He always felt bad when he didn't sleep well and the voices seemed to wear him down more. He placed his face between his hands, pleading with the voices to leave him alone. He was too tired to listen to them. Besides, he was worried about all the imposters that were showing up. They were ganging up against him. There were so many, three in just the last few days. Before that, it'd been years since he had seen one of them.
Lester began to think back. He'd never forget the first one he'd met. It was at school, a teacher of his in Alabama. He had been twelve years old then. She'd been mean to him and ridiculed him in front of the class. He'd wet his pants and everybody had laughed at him. He could still see their faces – all of his friends. Their mouths were huge and their lips painted red like the red of a clown's mouth. They were leering at him. They were making fun of him and taunting him repeatedly. They'd even made up a rhyme. He could hear it now. They had sung it to him on the bus over and over again:
“Whitset, Whitset, can stand no stress
Whitset, Whitset is a real big mess
Whitset, Whitset is such a mess
Whitset, Whitset just peed his pants!”
Lester couldn't stand it. After that, the kids never left him alone. He'd become the class whipping boy. He began to hate school and retreated into himself. Then, one day, his teacher had kept him after school and made him write on the blackboard 300 times, “I will pay attention in class'. He remembered being mad and feeling completely powerless. He had completed his punishment and turned around to face his teacher … and then it happened. He saw her turn to plastic! He watched her face become hard and immovable. He saw her eyes turn into two inflexible pieces of blue plastic. He watched in horror and fascination as her lips became fixed in a red, stiff, hard smile. Her hands, below the cuffs of her blouse, had also turned to plastic. Her nails turned a shiny pink plastic, like seashells. Then, they told him to do it … the voices … and he had. He felt triumphant! After all, she was an imposter. It was his responsibility to "do away" with imposters. His voices said so.
Then there was a huge blank in his life. Whitset didn't remember the next few years. He thought he'd been in school trying to learn to behave better. Anyway, he hadn't seen any imposters for a long time. He could only remember one other one and he pushed her out of his mind. He had loved her and she had laughed at him. Finally, he saw her turn to plastic, too. And then, well, he had had to do it. Even if it was his brother's wife. He felt tingly at the memory. He liked the feeling he got when hurting other people.
He got excited now just remembering the feeling of squeezing her neck. God, that was such a long time ago. It was too painful to remember, but the pain felt good and energized him – at least, for a while. Suddenly Whitset felt tired. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and awoke with a start! Had someone spoken to him? They must have because he had heard a voice. It was five o'clock in the afternoon. People were walking from the Pavilion towards their cars. He looked over at the yellow tape and wondered what it was doing there in the trees. Then he remembered. Oh yeah, the nurse. He remembered that night and pleasure riveted through him. He got chill bumps all over his arms. He could feel the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Lester shook his head furiously. He didn't want to think about that now. He had to get control back. He was much too tired and his head was beginning to ache.
Whitset rested a few minutes longer and then finished walking to the Pavilion. The air-conditioning in the lobby felt so cool. The blast seemed to revive him. So very cool. He sat on the grey vinyl bench for a few minutes. He began to feel better, much better. His strength came back and his head cleared. He pushed the elevator button, unlocked the door to Pavilion II, and headed towards his office. It was pretty quiet. Everybody was in the day room eating dinner. Rose, the waif, waved at him from her room when he walked by. Whitset didn't respond. He continued the walk down the hall towards his office.
He opened his office door. Immediately, he knew. Someone had been in here. Someone had been in his office. He could smell it – no, not it, her. It was a female smell. Just a slight, slight odor. He felt himself getting angry. Who had been in his office? He began to hyperventilate as he looked around carefully. Nothing seemed to be disturbed. His desk drawers were still locked. He took out his keys and opened his bottom right drawer to check his stash. It was there. He breathed a sigh of relief and began to calm down.
His relief was momentary. He was furious about the invasion of his private space. He stalked out of his door and locked it securely. He walked into Rose's room. Why not? Her room was the closest to his office. Maybe Rose saw something. She was lying on her bed and gave Whitset a shy smile in greeting.
His voice was charming, honey coated. "Rose, it's your good friend, Lester. How are you doing?" Whitset gave Rose his best smile. He sat next to her on the bed, holding her hands. “I like your blouse. Is it new?" His voice was soft and sensual. His eyes rolled up and down her slight body.
Rose nodded her head. Her eyes transfixed on Whitset’s face.
"Give Lester a big smile and then Lester will give Rose a big kiss," Whitset said in a childish voice as he moved closer to her.
Rose smiled at him. She didn't really like Lester, but she was so lonely. Besides, once he had made her feel really good. Just a couple of nights ago. They had done the dirty thing or, at least, they had almost done the dirty thing. Somehow, Anthony had found out and that was why he had been so mad at her yesterday. Somehow, Anthony knew she had been with Lester. Rose continued to smile and think. Men usually just ignored her, except for Anthony. He said he really loved her. She didn't really know. Men had said that to her before and, besides, Lester was being nice. She kissed him back.
"That's good, very good," Lester's voice was soft, almost a whisper, as he continued to kiss Rose over and over. His hands undid the buttons on her blouse. Rose gave a little sigh as Lester's soft hand reached for her tiny breasts. As he continued to kiss and fondle her, he asked her softly, talking baby talk to her, "Did little Rose see anybody go into Lessie's office today? You know, when I was at the meeting?"
Rose didn't say anything, but Whitset picked up on the almost imperceptible stiffening of her body. He continued to kiss her, kneading her breasts and fondling her body. He said sensually, “Lester knows that Rose knows who was in his office. Rose had better tell Lester if she wants him to stay and play with her."
Rose was silent. Whitset immediately withdrew his mouth and hands from her body.
Rose moaned in disappointment. It was cold where his lips had been and she shivered. She opened her eyes wide and looked at him. "Please, Lester, please. It feels so good. Please play with me," she begged.
"Only if you tell Lessie who was in his office this afternoon. That's only fair. Then, I'll play with you all night. That's only fair." Whitset's voice was indignant, self-righteous.
That was all Rose needed to hear. She asked in her little girl voice, "Promise, Lester? Do you really promise?"
"Scouts honor. I promise. Tell Lester and we will play with each other all night." Whitset gave Rose another long, lingering kiss.
Rose, her eyes closed, said softly. "It was Dr. Desmonde. She was only in there a couple of minutes."
Rose opened her eyes as she felt Whitset's hands turn cold. His face was white and his eyes were dilated. She was frightened. She wished he would get up, but he just laid there, his body was so cold that she was freezing where she had been so warm a few minutes before.
Whitset was beside himself with anger. God, he hated tha
t shrink bitch. She'd been a pain since his first day. Always wanting to do things right. Always wanting more staff and more supplies. Always wanting to disorder Lester's perfectly ordered life. Today she had gone too far. She would pay now.
He continued to think, becoming angrier by the minute. First, she'd threatened to close down the hospital and now she'd broken into his office. Then, she turned into an imposter. She was one of them. In his anger and fury, Lester ripped off Rose's polyester slacks and thrust himself into her. He needed a release. Please, somebody, anybody, give me a release, he cried to himself. Let me make it this time. Let me get off! It was such a big deal for him sometimes. Then, other times, it wasn't a big deal at all. The uncertainty made him mad and unsure of his sexuality. He lusted for power and obedience at all times. That also included the obedience of his body.
He continued to go at it. Please, he deserved it today. He needed the release. It had been a horrible day. He thrust and thrust and thrust.
Rose lay beneath him, whimpering silently. "Please stop, Lester. You're hurting me. I want you to play nicely with me." Rose smiled tearfully at him.
Whitset glared at her. "Shut up, you little bitch." He grabbed her face in his hands and hissed at her, "If you tell anybody we did this, I'll kill you!"
He jumped from the bed and disappeared silently from Rose's room, leaving her crying silently into her pillow.
27
It was late afternoon and Alex was frantic. She could not find Monique anywhere. She had called the Pavilion before she left the hospital, and the staff had assured her that Dr. Desmonde wasn't there. Alex, feeling increasingly apprehensive and useless at work, called Martin's cab, dropped Angie's cross at her jewelry store over on Magazine Street, and went home. Even Martin's humor and jokes had not been able to cheer her up on her way home. She was worried and had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach that made her fearful.
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