The Imposter (14 page)

Alex's
heart was pounding as she leapt out of bed.  She hastily combed her long auburn
hair and pulled it up into a chignon.  She considered wearing jeans and a cotton
sweater to the hospital, but decided against it.  She had no idea what she was
up against and didn't know if she'd be able to return home to redress later. 
Besides, her grandmother always told her to dress her best when things looked
the worst or when she was facing the unknown, good advice Alex always heeded.  
Sometimes, just knowing you look good makes things seem easier.

She
quickly selected and stepped into a pale blue linen dress with a matching
jacket.  She added a hand-painted blue floral scarf, a long string of pearls,
and low-heeled shoes that completed the look.   As she checked her appearance
in her full-length mirror, her mind was racing with possibilities.  The knot in
her stomach and the pain in her chest were reminiscent of the terrible
tragedies that occurred only a few months ago at Crescent City Medical Center –
a myriad of tragedies resulting in utter chaos and damage from which the
hospital was just now beginning to recover.

Alex
was debating whether she should drive to the hospital or call for Martin, her
faithful cabdriver, when the phone rang again.  She answered it with
apprehension.  It was Jack.

"Yo,
Alex, I'm sending a patrol car around to get you.  Are you ready?"
Françoise's voice was low and gruff.

"Yes,
Jack.  What's going on? What happened?" Alex asked, feeling frantic.

"You'll
see when you get here.  Trust me, that's soon enough." Jack's voice was
hushed but ominous.

Alex,
fully dressed, paced in her elegant living room waiting for the uniformed
policeman to pick her up.  She was so anxious she forced herself to take deep
breaths to calm down and think more clearly.  She snapped on several lights and
seated herself in the blue, silk, Queen Ann chair flanking the marble fireplace
so that she would be able to see the lights of the police car through the
French doors.

Each
minute seemed like an eternity.  The ticking of the Grandfather clock slowed
time to a crawl and thundered in her ears.  If she only knew what had happened,
she could be spending this time deciding on the best way to handle the crisis. 
For a moment, Alex was irritated at Jack for not filling her in.  Obviously,
Monique couldn't have.  Monique could hardly speak.  Alex forced herself to
calm down.  She looked around the room, admiring the soft pastel colors.   She
had designed the room herself and had used many of the Virginia antiques she
had found at Wyndley, her grandparents' Virginia estate.  She had found other
antiques in New Orleans on Royal and Magazine streets, the city's antique
haven.

Her
thoughts turned to Mitch.  He'd loved this room and had often said the room
captured the "essence of Alex "and personified her spirit,
personality, taste, and love of beauty.  Alex felt her eyes well up with tears
at the thought of Mitchell Landry, the man she had loved and had lost so
violently.  She could still conjure up Mitch's face.  His dark wavy hair and
startling dark eyes were crystal-clear in her mind's eye.  Alex loved him and
missed him greatly.  She was just about to let herself slip into one of her "Grand
Funks," as she referred to them, when there was a soft knock on her door.

Her
heart beat accelerated again.  She hadn't seen any lights.  Was she day
dreaming? She peered out the window and looked for a police car.  She didn't
see one.  She wondered if she could have been so obsessed with her thoughts
that she had imagined the knock.  No, there it was again.  A very soft knock. 
Alex walked over to her door and peered through the peephole.  She knew she
couldn't be too careful these days.  Just last week, the
Times Picayune
had published an article stating that Louisiana was the most dangerous state to
live in with the murder rate ten times the national average.  Anyway, it was
pretty clear that violence against the elderly, preschoolers, and women was escalating
and Alex was always careful when answering her door.

She
looked through her peephole.  She still couldn't see anything.  It was dark. 
She stepped back, rubbed her eyes, and looked again.  It was still black.  She
couldn't even see the light from the porch lanterns.  Alex felt her heart
racing.  She knew she'd heard a knock on her door – hadn't she?  She was
feeling a little dizzy from her rapid heartbeat, fatigue most likely, fear. 

For
a second, she was beginning to think she was crazy.  Then she heard voices on
her loggia.  She looked through the peephole again.  Looking back at her with
an innocent, enigmatic smile on his face was Lester Whitset the administrator
from the Pavilion.  Behind him was a uniformed New Orleans policeman.

Alex
opened the door and stared at the two men.

Lester
Whitset's eyes roamed over her, from top to bottom.  He spoke first. 
"Evening or, should I say, morning Ms. Destephano.  Sorry to awaken you so
early,  but …."

"What
are you doing here, Mr.  Whitset?" Her voice was harsh and uncertain. 
"Commander Françoise told me he was sending a police officer to pick me up
and take me to the Pavilion." Alex knew her tone was aloof and rushed. 
She felt short of breath just looking at the man.  He gave her the creeps.  He
was vile.  Besides, she wasn't pleased that Lester Whitset knew where she
lived.  In fact, it frightened her and made her uneasy.

Whitset
gave Alex another long, appraising look and said in a soft, sensual voice,
"I was at the Pavilion when the tragedy occurred.  Dr.  Desmonde was
extremely upset, so I decided who to call-in." He shrugged his shoulders
and said innocently, "In the interest of expediency, I decided to
personally pick you up, particularly since we most likely have a legal
situation on our hands."

Alex
decided she wouldn't be ruffled or perturbed by the administrator.  She said
clearly, with no room for argument, "Thank you, Mr.  Whitset.  I'll travel
with Officer Bennett." She was straining to see the police officer's badge
in the darkness.  "The Commander was kind enough to send me a ride, so
I'll honor his kindness by accepting it.  I'll see you later." Alex's
voice was formal and remote as she brushed by Whitset to walk with a uniformed
policeman to his car.  Usually, Alex was friendlier and not so curt, but Lester
Whitset made her blood run cold.

"Are
you all right, ma'am?" The policeman asked officiously.  "That man
didn't bother you, did he?"

"No,
Officer Bennett.  I just didn't expect him to come to my house at 3 o'clock in
the morning.  I don't like seeing him here …." Her voice trailed off.

"It
does seem a bit unusual that he took it upon himself to pick you up.  I'm glad
I pulled up behind him.   The Commander would skin me alive if I returned
without you," the officer admitted.

Me,
too,
Alex thought.  She smiled at the young policeman and inquired, "Do you
know what's happened over at CCMC?  The Commander just called me and told me to
come at once and that he was sending you to pick me up.  Other than that, I'm
clueless."

Officer
Bennett stared at Alex's huge blue eyes, wide with anxiety.   "I don't
know, ma'am.  I was the closest unit to your house and I haven't been over to
CCMC yet.  I guess there's been some kind of accident.  They are sending for
the crime team again.  I heard it on the radio."

Alex's
heart sank.  Her intuition told her it was patient related violence.  She hoped
in her heart that none of the staff or patients were injured badly.  She had to
do something about the staffing and security in the Pavilion.  Don Montgomery,
idiot that he was, would just have to listen to her.

As
the bright lights of CCMC became visible in the darkness of the night, Alex 
quickly noted that the area around the Pavilion was blazing with activity.  
The blue and red sirens made her dizzy.   When Officer Bennett dropped Alex off
at the door there were at least six NOPD cars and a dozen or so other cars
parked in the circular drive in front of the main entrance.  Alex saw Monique's
Volvo in the group.  She also noticed Don Montgomery's shiny, gold Porsche. 
Just seeing the CEO’s car convinced Alex that it was going to be a night, or
morning, from hell.

The
heavy Pavilion doors were guarded by members of the NOPD.  Alex had to show her
hospital ID to enter the building.  On the drab grey bench, where Monique and
Alex had talked just a few hours earlier, sat a handsome, well-dressed,
middle-aged couple.  The wife was trying to comfort her husband, a
distinguished white-haired gentleman.  The man was red-eyed, obviously upset. 
The couple looked at Alex curiously.

Alex
wondered who they were and how they'd gotten past the police.  She smiled at
them as she waited for the elevator.   They didn't give her a response.   She
guessed she'd know their identity soon enough.  As she stood in the lobby she
was keenly aware that the couple was staring at her.  She wanted to speak and
offer some comfort, but decided against it.  Instead, she smiled at them and
nodded.

A
police officer was operating the elevator.  He also asked for her ID and then
pushed the button for the second floor.  The Unit was locked, but Alex was
quickly admitted by a pale-faced psych tech.

Whitset
came in within seconds of Alex.  He touched her shoulder as he passed by her on
the way to his office and said, "Have a pleasant ride, Alex? Sorry if I
frightened you earlier."  He gave her a smirking smile and disappeared. 
Alex ignored him and looked around for Françoise and Monique.

The
psych unit was electric with activity.  There were three staff members talking
with police in the nurse's station and Alex noticed several patients sitting in
the day room.  Two were catatonic and sat rigidly staring, without blinking, at
the television set mounted high on the wall.  One patient's body posture was
grotesque.  He was wearing only a T-shirt and boxer shorts.  His legs looked
like spaghetti noodles, wrapped around each other in a grotesquely contorted
fashion..  His arms were bent at the elbows and perpendicular to each other. 
His hands were fixed in a position that suggested that he had just finished
strangling somebody.  His fingers were spaced apart and curved, just as though
they would fit around someone's neck.  His nails were long and untrimmed.  
Alex cringed at the contorted patient.  His tongue was hanging out of his mouth
and his eyes were bulging.  He looked as though he had just finished killing
his victim.  He was even drooling.   Her total body shuddered in disgust.

 
This
place was horrible
, she thought, as she continued to look around.   Another
patient was pacing frantically around the room, never slowing his pace.  His
face was so devoid of expression that it looked like a mask.  His continual
motion made Alex dizzy. 

The
third patient was restrained in a chair, clearly hallucinating.  He was
speaking directly to President Obama and God, asking them to have Michelle fix
things.  Alex watched him briefly as President Obama apparently answered him. 
She shook her head at the disorganized, incoherent thinking of the man. 
Suddenly, he burst into loud, silly laughter that had a surrealistic tone to
it. 
How could Monique do this every day?

Alex
again scanned the day room.  Over in a corner, looking most uncomfortable, was
a young New Orleans policeman named Josh Martin, whom she recognized as a
protégé of Jack Françoise.  Alex motioned and caught his eye.  He finally saw
her and waved.

Josh
Martin was an attractive young man.  He wore his uniform to perfection and
approached Alex with crinkly eyes and a wide smile that stretched over a
generous mouth.

"Ms. 
Destephano.  I'm glad to see you.  This place is incredible!" Josh
scratched his head and looked around wildly.  "Look at these people! I'm
supposed to be guarding them!" He rolled his eyes and continued, “To tell
the truth, I'd rather be in a shoot out or chasing a burglar than sitting in here.  
In fact, I'd rather be losing the shootout!" Josh gave a short laugh,
looking around nervously.

Alex
smiled at the young man.  "Yeah, they're pretty unique, aren't they?"
Then Alex changed the subject and anxiously asked, "Josh, what's going on?
Where's the Commander and Dr.  Desmonde?"

Josh
gestured towards the North Hall and said, "They're down there.  The
bigwigs are meeting in the community room.  Go on down.  It's pretty safe. 
Most of the patients are either asleep, doped up, or in seclusion."

"Thanks,
Josh.  You okay here?"

Josh
looked uncertain.  "Yeah, I guess so …, but what do I do if they go off?
The Commander told me I couldn't shoot them! Heck, he even threatened to take
my gun away from me, just in case I was tempted."

Alex
laughed.  "They look pretty controlled at this point.  Keep your eye on
the pacer, though.  He could be a problem."

Josh
grimaced, waived, and returned to his chair, continuing to watch the eerie
threesome he was suppose to be guarding.

"Josh,"
Alex hissed at him, "Move your chair closer to the door.  You never put
yourself in a corner with a psychotic patient close by.   You'll want to get
out if the going gets rough.   Don't let them block you in, ever."

"Yeah.  
Good idea.  Thanks, Ms.  Destephano." Josh couldn't move his chair quickly
enough to get himself closer to the double doors of the day room.