Therapist Ch. 06

Monday morning George arrives to work early. He wants to avoid running into Linda. He figures that if he can avoid meeting her in the employee parking garage then maybe she won't ask him to dinner again. Maybe she won't try to have sex with him again. Besides, he does not want to have to answer any of her questions about their diner together Friday night. He is hoping that his telling her that he did not want to rush into anything is enough to make her keep her distance.

But he has not figured in her resolve to get the man she wants. She decided Friday that she will just have to take it a little bit slower. When she arrives a few minutes after he does and discovers that he is already checked in, she goes to his department. She finds him straightening out some cushioned pads.

"Hi George," she greets him with a smile, "I haven't got too much time. I have to check in upstairs and all. But I wanted to thank you again for Friday night. I had a wonderful time. Also, I totally agree with you. I don't want to rush into anything. I don't want us to do something we both might later regret."

"I was only thinking of you Linda," he lies. "I want . . ."

"Yes I know George," she interrupts him, "And I'm grateful for that. I think that it is better if we slow down. Take things a little slower. I know that I've been pushing you for a dinner date and maybe I should not be so assertive. I'm sorry; please forgive me?"

"OK Linda. That's OK. Why don't we just see each other for lunch for the time being? I would enjoy having lunch with you." George figures that he is safe if the only thing they do is have an occasional lunch together. At least she won't be pressuring him to have sex if they're at lunch together.

He has stopped worrying about the lies he constantly tells her. At first they bothered him. When he was a boy his mother taught him never to tell a lie. But now he excuses his lies to her because his mother told him the other night, just before he went to bed, that it is OK to lie to a whore. She told him that only virgins were worthy of the truth.

Lunch with George is just want Linda has been hoping for. Now she can continue to see him and learn more about him without pressuring him for a date. She can ask him subtle questions aimed at discovering why he won't have sex with her and why he has never married. She is sure the two reasons have the same answer.

"Well, I'll probably be busy today. I talked to one of the other nurses in the NICU on the phone yesterday and she told me that three more babies were admitted to intensive care this weekend. Why don't we meet and have lunch in the cafeteria tomorrow," she asks him.

"I can't tomorrow. I'm scheduled to work late. I have to give a demonstration on CPR to some of the other employees in my department. I'll be coming in late and will have to take a late lunch."

"OK then. Let's see how the rest of the week turns out. I have to go check in now. So, I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah, I'll talk to you later."

George watches her walk toward the elevators, glad that he doesn't have to put up with her for a couple of days. For her part, Linda believes that it is only a minor setback in her desire to learn more about the quiet little therapist in the physical therapy department.

When he gets off work he does not go home. He goes to one of his favorite restaurants located on Clearview Parkway; the owner has a mural on the walls reminiscent of the French Quarter. Whenever George comes here he pretends that he is in the Vieux Carre. He comes here frequently. The owner sees him and recognizes him. They say hello. He asks the hostess if he can have a seat by one of the windows. When his waitress comes he orders a seafood platter.

After dinner George drives around New Orleans. He loves to drive around the city, especially at the holidays, like Mardi Gras, Halloween and Christmas when a lot of people put up decorations on their houses. He never has any particular destination whenever he tours the city; it is always different. He just drives around looking at the sights of his favorite city.

Driving gives him time to think and reminisce.

He finds himself driving down Veterans Boulevard. He turns on Severn Avenue and drives past Lakeside Shopping center. From there he takes a right onto 17th Street. Next he goes up North Causeway Boulevard and over the I-10 Expressway. When he gets to West Napoleon he takes another right.

He likes to drive down this street. It's very long with few intersections. There aren't as many stop lights and he can drive for blocks without having to stop or intersect with traffic, especially as he drives past Lafreniere Park. He likes to watch the joggers run along the path surrounding the charming little park.

When he gets to David Drive George makes a U-turn and heads back toward Causeway. When he gets there he turns right and then left onto Metairie Road. He scoffs at the thought that most citizens of New Orleans don't know that the long, picturesque road borders what used to be a bayou.

He loves studying about the history of La Nouvelle Orleans, a history in his opinion that far exceeds any of the thirteen original colonies.

New Orleans was named in honor of Philip II, Duke of Orleans, who was regent and ruler of France when the city was founded. Never having been a British colony, Louisiana, particularly New Orleans, has a very different heritage from the other states.

When many of the original colonies were still struggling to overcome their backwoods appearance, New Orleans was one of only two cities in the Americas to have a flourishing opera. At about the time of the American Revolution New Orleans was the third largest city in America.

It amuses George that some people don't understand why New Orleans was built. It was founded in 1718 by Jean Baptiste de Bienville. He selected the site because it offered a rare bit of natural high ground along the flood prone banks of the Mississippi River.

Also, the area offered ship portage between the Mississippi River and Lake Pontchartrain through Bayou St. John. New Orleans was a natural port for any shipping going up or down the river. It was also near Native American trade routes.

George continues down Metairie Road to where it turns into City Park Avenue. He drives past Delgado University and turns left onto Marconi Drive. He then turns right into City Park, driving past the stadium. He drives around the New Orleans Museum of Art and then takes a left onto Wisner Boulevard. This takes him out to Robert E. Lee Boulevard.

George reminisces over the several names that New Orleans has -- the City That Care Forgot, the Big Easy, the Vieux Carre, although that really applies to just the French Quarter. New Orleans is also called the Crescent City because the Mississippi River forms a crescent around the city.

Prior to the Civil War it was the second to biggest port in the United States. During the Civil War the North made the capture of the city one of their highest priorities. It was the first major city of the Confederacy to fall into Union hands.

While many historians believe that the battle of Gettysburg was the turning point in the Civil War, others believe that when New Orleans was captured in 1862 that signaled the turning point of the Civil War. After losing this strategic port from then on the South didn't have a chance of winning the war.

George continues to drive down Robert E. Lee and then turns left onto Canal Boulevard. When he comes to the intersection of I-10, he decides that he is tired; he goes home. When he gets home he goes into his bedroom and writes another love letter to Donna, his precious Donna. Then he goes to bed.

He does not see Linda either Tuesday or Wednesday, for which he is glad. When he knocks on Robert's door Wednesday evening for their usual game of chess, Darlene tells him that Robert is not at home. He is out looking for and interviewing potential witnesses to the two brutal murders of the past couple of weeks. George understands.

As he is walking across their lawns, he curses the prostitutes for fucking up his life. Then he curses his mother and Donna. Finally he curses Linda.

By Thursday afternoon Linda has yet to meet him for lunch. George is becoming suspicious. But of what he is not quite sure.

He calls up to her department and asks for her. When she comes to the phone he does not know what to say to her. He asks her if she would like to meet him for lunch; it is just what she has been hoping for and in fact has been planning. She agrees and tells him that she will meet him at a nearby fast food restaurant.

Suddenly George feels that he has been drawn into a trap. He silently curses himself for calling Linda up and for letting himself get further involved with her. After he hangs up he silently curses Linda.

Lunch is uneventful. They spend it in small talk. But when nightfall comes, to relieve the pressure, George goes and gets himself another prostitute from the French Quarter.

On Saturday afternoon, while he is whipping her, she relieves herself on the floor. George warns her that if she does it again he will kill her. Then he brands her across the chest as he did his other victims. He keeps her alive, torturing her until Sunday afternoon then he mercifully strangles her after she defecates on the floor for the second time.

He dumps her naked corpse late Sunday night next to a pond on Friederichs Avenue in City Park, just down the street from the New Orleans Museum of Art. He makes sure that she is lying on her back with her legs spread wide open so that everyone can see that she is a whore. He deposits her clothing in a restaurant's dumpster off Metairie Road.

The victim is found early Monday morning, again by a passing jogger. That evening the WDSU-TV news correspondent again reports that "The Rapist" has struck again for the third time.

Listening to the news, George wonders whether or not he should go and ask Robert about this newest victim. After several minutes thinking about it he decides against it as he does not want to let Robert know that he is interested in the serial killings. Besides, he tells himself, any information the lieutenant gives him will be the same tonight as it will be Wednesday night when they play chess. He can just casually mention hearing about this victim while he defeats the lieutenant at chess.

The next two days pass by without any more bothersome questions from Linda. George is glad of that. He guesses that she is playing hard to get and is only too happy to aid her in it. He does not want to get involved with any woman, especially Linda. George believes that she just wants to go to bed with him. He has no desire to have sex with some whore who will only give him some kind of sexually transmitted disease.

He hates her; he hates all women. They are only good for housework and killing. Some of them aren't even good for housework. Then there are those whores in the French Quarter, giving his favorite city a bad name. He wishes that he could kill them all. There isn't any one of them worth anything.

Wednesday evening George knocks at Robert's front door. Alexandria, their oldest daughter answers the door.

"Come in Mr. Hoover. Dad's in the shower. He just got home." She leaves him standing in the doorway and returns to watching television. Darlene comes from the kitchen wiping her hands on a towel.

"I'm sorry, George. Please forgive my very rude daughter." Then turning to her departing daughter: "Alexandria you know better than to treat Mr. Hoover like that."

"Momma, he's practically family. He's over here all the time. He knows where the den is as well as I do."

"That's OK Darlene. She's a child. I was a child once myself and . . ."

"But that's no excuse for being rude and not inviting you in," Darlene stops him in mid-sentence. "Robert just got in. He's in the shower and will be right out. Why don't we go into the kitchen and wait for him there? He said something about interviewing a prostitute all day about the serial killings. I'm not sure but I think he has to go out again."

As they head toward the kitchen George hopes that Darlene does not babble on about nothing while he is waiting for Robert. He can't stand listening to her yak. He never listens to her anyway. But just sitting in the same room with her totally disgusts him. She reminds him too much of his mother. He hopes that maybe she'll have some kind of pastry she cooked up.

"I have some Dutch Chocolate cake. Would you like a piece?"

"Thanks."

She cuts him a large piece and George immediately begins to eat it.

After about ten minutes Robert comes into the kitchen.

"Hi George. Has Darlene been feeding you again? This woman loves to cook and she knows I love her cooking." He kisses her on the cheek and smacks her on her ass.

"Stop that Robert!" she scolds him as she walks over to the kitchen counter to cut him a slice of cake.

"Stop what? Smacking your ass. You know you love it. Come here so I can do it again."

"But not in front of company," she says. "What will George think?"

"Ah Babe, George ain't company. He's our neighbor and he knows I love the heck out of you. Don't you George?"

George ignores Robert's question. "Darlene tells me that you won't be able to play chess again tonight. What's up?"

"I've been talking to this prostitute all afternoon. She said that she knew the girl we found in City Park. Says her name is Candy. She thinks she saw the guy who picked her up last Thursday night. But all she could tell me was that he was white and driving a red car. She couldn't give me a description or anything like that."

George tells himself that the prostitute must be the other woman who was with his latest victim. She wanted to know if he was interested in a threesome. George told her no.

"After letting her look at mug shots of sex offenders for a couple of hours I let her go. She couldn't tell me nothing I don't already know. But as she is leaving, she tells me that they got a hooker locked up in St. Bernard for soliciting that she thinks was the room mate of one of the other victims. I got to go down there tonight and interview her."

"So, I guess I'll spend tonight by myself with a book studying chess moves." He reminisces while silently cursing the whores for interfering with his chess games.

"I wish I had the free time you do. Then you wouldn't beat me so often. That's the only thing that I don't like about my job. Sometimes I have odd hours. It keeps me away from my honey. Doesn't it Babe?" Robert puts his arm around Darlene who has returned to his side. He smacks her ass again as she hands him a slice of cake. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye and smiles seductively.

"Yes, but you make up for it when we're home alone," she answers him and then she runs her tongue over her open lips.

"Then I guess I'll be going," George says. He hates their love play. "Oh Robert, the news said that the victims were beaten with two different objects. What were they beaten with or is that classified information?"

"It's not classified. We believe that they were beaten with a whip and with a broomstick of some kind."

He takes a bite out of the cake.

"Tell you what though. Forensics says that they found minute traces of semen on the buttocks of the victim found in the Ninth Ward. They believe he must have masturbated onto her and then wiped it off. They're running tests. They don't think there's enough semen there to get a DNA profile from it but I got my fingers crossed. That's not classified info but only a few people know about it. So don't go blabbing it to everyone you meet. OK?"

"My lips are sealed Robert. Besides who do I know to tell something like that to?"

"Well it's not like you're the killer. We're looking for some psychopath. Not a therapist."

"Yeah, well I got to be going. I'll talk to y'all later."

"George, would you like to take a piece of that Dutch Chocolate cake home with you?" Darlene asks him.

"Yeah sure. Thanks Darlene. I have it with some butter pecan ice cream later on for a snack."

George takes another piece of cake and goes home. He hates having to be so condescending to Darlene. Why she has to cook such delicious desserts he does not know. If he didn't like Dutch Chocolate cake so much he would throw it in the garbage. Then he thinks about what Robert told him, about the semen on his victim's ass. He makes a mental note not to ejaculate onto his whores any more.

George sits in front of his television for the next two hours, blindly switching programs. He does not watch any channel for more than a minute or two before switching channels.

He cannot get his mind off what Robert told him. How could he have allowed his semen, his life juices, to get on the ass of a whore? What was he thinking when he ejaculated onto her? Those whores are not good enough to receive his semen.

He closes his eyes and tries to wipe the memory from his mind. Then he thinks of his mother and Donna and how they fucked up his life. He goes to the punishment room. The picture of his mother is still hanging on the wall. He stands and stares at it for over an hour; she stares back.

His mind is a blank the whole time. Then he goes to the kitchen for some cake and ice cream. But George cannot get the semen off his mind. He blames the prostitute. Then he blames Donna and finally his mother.

He goes to the French Quarter. He is lucky and finds a parking spot on St. Peter Street near Burgundy Street. He walks the two blocks to Bourbon Street. It is still early evening but the bars are open. The street is filled mostly with tourists, who are walking up and down Bourbon Street.

George decides to walk by Pat O'Brien's. There is a man playing a saxophone in front of the famous night spot; he has a small pot in front of him. There are a few dollars and coins in it. George stops and listens to him play. He drops a five dollar bill into the man's pot and walks towards Jackson Square and the Café du Monde for some coffee and donuts.

After finishing his beignets, he walks down Decatur Street to Bienville Street where he got his first victim, thinking maybe he will get lucky and find another one there. But the corner is void of pedestrians, so he walks up to Royal Street. It is not as noisy as Bourbon. He goes down it.

As he walks down Royal he pauses at several corners, St. Louis Street, Toulouse Street, St. Ann Street. At Ursuline Avenue, he pauses again to look for a prostitute but the only person he meets is an elderly man who asks him if he has a spare dollar. George tells him no; he hates beggars.

He is frustrated, having walked some 20 to 25 blocks and has not seen one whore. He decides to call it a night. He will come back tomorrow night and get himself a prostitute. He walks up Ursuline to Bourbon and then down Bourbon past St. Philip and Dumaine Streets. At the corner of Orleans Street a prostitute approaches him and asks him for a date.

She is a few inches taller than him and dressed in four inch heels with an extremely short mini-skirt and tank top. She does not have a bra on. George wonders if she has on panties.

He asks her how much and she tells him that it all depends on what he wants to do. He tells her that he would prefer to do it at his house where there is more privacy. When she asks him where he lives he ignores the question and tells her that his car is only a few blocks away. She agrees to follow him.

When they get to his car George immediately puts some ether on a handkerchief and then holds it over her mouth until she is asleep.

Once he gets her inside his house he tears off her clothes. She has on a pink thong. George rips that off, puts a gag on her and begins to chain her up. First he cuffs her wrists. Then while he is busy attaching the shackles to her ankles she wakes up and kicks him with her free leg. His mouth starts to bleed. He finishes chaining her up and then spits blood and saliva into her face.