Therapist Ch. 09

George decides to take a break in his studies. This past Thursday and Friday after work he went to the Jefferson Parish Library main branch on West Napoleon Avenue. At present he is studying the British Captain James Cook. Although his main love is studying about the history of New Orleans and America -- he just returned some books on the Louisiana Purchase -- right now he is indulging his other history love and studying about the adventures of the famous sea captain.

He also loves to study philosophy, the history of life on earth -- particularly the evolution of the dinosaurs -- and art but he has not studied these subjects for about six weeks. He has spent the last several days reading the books he has checked out. Today it's a beautiful sunny Sunday afternoon; he decides to take a break.

At first he just drives along Lakeshore Drive but then decides to go to the Café du Monde in the French Quarter for some coffee and beignets.

George finds an excellent parking place in front of an old battered Mustang on Ursuline Avenue near the corner of Decatur Street. He walks the three blocks to the beignet shop and waits in line for a table. He does not mind waiting. This is one of his favorite haunts; the wait is worth it. He gets a seat in the open-air restaurant near the street.

Then while enjoying his beignets and coffee two prostitutes sit at the table next to him, although the taller one is dressed more conservatively than normal for a prostitute. He is immediately disgusted. He tries as much as possible to ignore them but fails. Their conversation intrudes into his thoughts. He curses them for ruining his afternoon.

"Whores should not be allowed to visit this historic restaurant," he says to himself as he finally gets up to leave. "The city council needs to pass an ordinance to prohibit whores from eating in my favorite restaurant."

Putting the two women behind him, he walks though Jackson Square. He pauses in front of the statue of the famous general. He looks around at the buildings to admire the balconies of the Pontalba, the architecture of the Presbytere and Calbido and St. Louis Cathedral. How anyone can condemn New Orleans is beyond him. He loves studying the history of New Orleans.

"Don't people realize that by studying the history of New Orleans one can learn a large portion of the history of the United States?" George reminisces to himself. "Thomas Jefferson thought that nothing but ignorant, barbarians lived here. He hated New Orleans and called the city a 'natural and habitual enemy,' of the fledging nation."

George pauses to momentarily watch one of the artist that surround Jackson Square. He continues talking to himself, "What Jefferson did not fully realize was that back in 1803, there were only two cities in all the United States where one could hear the opera and one of those was New Orleans, one of the largest cities on North American continent at that time. Barbarians do not listen to the opera."

After watching the artist for several minutes he continues through the Place d'Armes, as he knows Jackson Square was at one time called. He continues talking to himself, "But Jefferson was smart enough to realize the economic importance of the Isle of Orleans to United States. Without the port of New Orleans, those who lived on the frontier of the new nation could not get their products to the east coast of America and Europe."

George stops to watch another of the artists there draw a picture. After several minutes, he decides to go home so he walks up Pirates Alley next to St. Louis Cathedral. He reminds himself of the legend that the Privateer Jean Lafitte sold his booty in this alley. He turns right on Royal Street and begins to slowly meander down the street back to his car.

He is fantasizing of touring the French Quarter with Donna.

"Mister, Mister," Bobby calls to George as she is trying to catch up with him.

At the sound of a strange voice George turns around to see who is calling him. It's one of the prostitutes who were sitting at the table next to him at the beignet shop. He is disgusted all over again.

"What does she want," he says to himself. "If she wants me to fuck her, then I'll brand her and then fuck her with my whip."

"You forgot this at your table," she says to him as she hands him a book about the Adventures of Captain Cook. "I saw you walking through Jackson Square and thought I would return it to you. I almost missed you. I had to ask one of the artists that gather around the square if he had seen anybody with a purple shirt on and he said that you watched him draw for a few minutes and then saw you walk up Pirates Alley."

George is dumfounded. He does not know how to respond to such generosity from a prostitute. He has always considered them to be the maggots of society. He mumbles a quiet 'thank you.'

"Sure, hope you have a nice day Sir," Bobby answers him with a smile on her face.

"Yeah, you to," he manages to mutter. Then he turns around and continues toward his car parked on Ursuline Avenue.

Bobby watches him walk away for a minute, thinking about the strange response she got from him. Then she shrugs her shoulders and begins to walk down Royal Street herself toward her Mustang which is also parked on Ursuline Avenue.

As George walks toward his car he becomes angry with himself for forgetting his library book on the restaurant table. He becomes even angrier when he thinks that he is now in debt to a whore for saving it for him.

Suddenly he stops and listens to the footsteps on the pavement behind him. He turns slightly and looks over his shoulder. It's the whore and she's following him! She's about a half a block behind him, walking slowly. She is admiring the architecture of the old houses along the street. George turns back around and continues toward his car.

"What does that bitch want . . . a reward?" he says to himself and continues on, slightly picking up his pace.

When he gets to Ursuline Avenue he turns right. He looks again over his shoulder for the young woman. She is still walking slowly almost a full block behind him. He gets to his car, unlocks the door and stands next to the open door. He watches for her to appear at the corner. When she does, she also turns right, walks one block and jaywalks across the street, heading straight toward him.

George begins to believe that she wants a date with him. "Why is she after me?" George asks himself. "None of those other prostitutes approached me this way; none of them followed after me."

The bottle of ether is on his console along with a handkerchief. He decides to teach this whore a lesson. No whore is going to accost him and get away with it. He reaches inside of the car and hurriedly pours some ether on the rag.

When she gets abreast of his car, she is again smiling. "Nice car you have there mister. Better than my old beat up Mustang there behind yours," she says to him.

But George does not hear her. He is too incensed with his thoughts that she wants a date with him. He grabs her at the back of the neck and holds the ether soaked rag to her face. He calls her a filthy whore and tells her that he is going to brand her and kill her like he did the other prostitutes. She struggles with him but within seconds she is asleep. He lays her down in the back seat of his car.

He immediately heads for Orleans Avenue and gets on Interstate 10 just past Louis Armstrong Park. As he drives past the Superdome on his left, his thoughts turn to his victim once he gets her chained up inside the punishment room. For her insolence he intends to spoon feed her oatmeal so that he can keep her alive longer and beat her more.

"Yes," he says to himself. "I'll give her oatmeal just like that bitch mother of mine used to give me when she would chain me up. That ought to teach her not to approach me for a date. I'll even make her use the chamber pot."

Driving down the Interstate, George continues to visualize on how he is going to really torture his victim for intruding in on his life; how he is going to beat her and brand her. He wants this one to suffer as he did as a child.

But he didn't hold the ether filled rag on her face long enough. On the way back to Metairie, she wakes up just as they are approaching the Causeway Boulevard exit of Interstate 10. She is groggy but she knows something is wrong. Something is very wrong.

She is lying down in the back seat of a strange car and the man whose book she returned is driving. She remembers telling him something about how nice his car was and then him holding a foul-smelling rag to her face. Then nothing.

"Well," she says to herself. "I'm not going to wait around and find out what he's up to." She slowly takes off one of her shoes.

George is lost in his own thoughts and does not notice what she is doing. Bobby hits him on the side of his head with the heal of her shoe. George is caught totally off guard. He loses control of the car. It flips upside down, landing in the neutral ground of the expressway. George is killed instantly.

George finally has the peace for which he sought since he was a child of four. His mother forced him into a wooden box and nailed it shut, telling him that she was going to bury him alive for soiling his pants. Although she let him out after a few hours of darkness, he never again soiled his pants. After that day he never again knew peace until now.

Bobby is shaken up but not hurt. She crawls out the shattered rear window and stands next to the auto.

Almost immediately several cars pull up near the upturned vehicle. One man approaches Bobby. Another man begins to direct traffic.

"Are you all right," he has his arm around her. "Do you need an ambulance? Sit over here on the grass until help arrives." He dials 911 on his cell phone.

"I'm OK. That man tried to kidnap me," she answers him pointing toward the upturned auto. She is still groggy from the ether.

"What?" the man asks incredulously as he guides her to a spot on the grass away from the Toyota.

"I was going to my car in the French Quarter and he put something on my face and the next thing I know I'm here."

After a few minutes a police car arrives. "Excuse me sir," a young white woman in a police uniform says to the man helping Bobby. She stoops down next to Bobby; her male partner is checking on George. "I'm a police officer with the Jefferson Parish Sheriff's office. Can you tell me what happened here Ma'am?"

The siren of an ambulance can be heard approaching.

"Yeah like I told that other guy, I was going to my car in the French Quarter and suddenly this guy puts this foul smelling rag on my face. I heard him say something about branding and killing prostitutes. Then I blacked out. When I wake up, I'm lying in the back seat of his car. So I hit him with my shoe. Then the car flipped."

"He put a rag laced in ether on your face. I can smell it."

"He called me a whore and said he was going to brand me and kill me. Where's my shoe? It must still be in the car. Could you get my shoe for me officer?"

"You just sit here for now Ma'am," the female police officer answers her. "An ambulance is on its way. When it gets here have them give you some oxygen." Then she goes over to the upturned Toyota. "How's he?" she asks her partner.

"He didn't make it. Here, I got his driver's license."

"Yeah, well according to the woman, he tried to kidnap her. Called her a prostitute and said he was going to brand her and kill her. I'm wondering if he's The Rapist or not, only she ain't dressed like any prostitute I've ever seen.

"Hey! My aunt Olivia is working that case," her partner exclaims. She's a New Orleans detective. Want me to give her a call?"

"Why not? Maybe she can help sort this mess out."

******************************************

Robert and Darlene are lying in bed; she is to his right. They are both naked having just finished making love, a Sunday afternoon delight Darlene calls it. He is lying on his back. She is leaning on her left elbow looking down on him and running her hand up and down his chest. He is caressing her right nipple with his left hand.

"That was right smart of you to pack the girls off to your mother's for the afternoon," he says to her.

"Yeah well I figured you needed a break from all those prostitutes you been hanging around lately. Tell me, am I better than they are?" She gives him a mischievous smile.

"Well, I don't know Babe. I ain't never been to bed with a prostitute." He sits up and smacks her on her right ass cheek.

"Will you leave my ass alone?"

"Never." They fall back onto the mattress. He kisses her between the breasts and then on the neck.

"You like smacking me on my ass don't you?"

"I wouldn't do it to you if you didn't like it so much," he answers her. Then he kisses her openmouthed on the lips. Their tongues tango together.

In the middle of the kiss the doorbell rings.

Darlene breaks the kiss. "Ignore it," she says. "It's probably George wanting a piece of cake or something. I want another piece of you." She kisses him again and runs her hand through his pubic hair, clutching his member.

The doorbell rings a second time. They both ignore it. Darlene crawls on top of Robert, straddling his hips. She presses her sex into his. By now Robert is again erect. He grabs her left nipple with his right thumb and index finger, pinching it. He pulls her toward himself as he sucks her right nipple. Darlene moans.

The doorbell rings a third time. This time it's accompanied with a loud pounding on the door.

"That's not George. One of us better go answer it," Robert says in frustration.

"I'll do it. You stay right there." She delicately grabs his erect penis, gives him a very seductive look and then kisses the head of his cock. She licks some pre-cum from its opening. "I'll be right back just as soon as I tell whoever it is that they interrupted a great fuck."

Darlene wraps a robe around her and goes to the front door. When she opens it, she is surprised to see Lt. Martinique.

"Oh hi Olivia. Come on in. What can I do for you?"

"I've been trying to get y'all on the phone for an hour now. But I keep getting a busy signal and Robert's cell keeps sending me to voice mail."

"Sorry. Robert and I were sort of busy. He took the phone off the hook and put his cell on vibrate." Darlene bites her lower lip and gives Lt. Martinique a mischievous smile.

"Was that sex fiend of a husband of yours coming on to you again darling?"

"Actually it was more like me coming on to him this time."

"Well sorry to bother you but I got to see him right away. I think we may have gotten the serial killer."

"What?" Darlene asks incredulously. "Let me go get him. Sit down. I'll be right back."

A few minutes later Robert enters the living room. Darlene is following behind him.

"Hey Olivia," Robert says to his partner as he enters into the living room tying the cords of his robe around his waist. "Darlene tells me you caught our serial killer."

"You know sex isn't the only thing in life," she says to him in a sarcastic but playful tone. "You should be taking your wife to see some of the sites of the city, like the Audubon Zoo, the Aquarium of the Americas, the New Orleans Museum of Art or just to ride the Carousel in City Park. It's one of only a couple left in the whole country you know. Instead of bothering your poor wife and all, y'all should be out enjoying the sunshine on a beautiful day like today."

"Yeah well he likes my ass," Darlene interjects. Then she smacks her husband on his ass. "Can I get you some coffee or anything?"

"No thank you darling. I'm not going to tell you what he thinks about mine."

"I can only imagine." Darlene puts her arm around Dave's waist, hugging him.

"Olivia, you didn't come here to tell me how to spend my afternoons or to talk about my wife's ass. What's up?"

"No, I came to talk to you about your neighbor, George Hoover. How much do you know about him?"

"Not much. We play chess whenever we can. He keeps to himself mostly. What's he got to do with the serial killer?"

"He was killed this afternoon in an auto accident on the I-10, near the Causeway."

"What? George? What happened?

"He had a young woman with him in the car," Olivia answers him.

"Was she hurt?" Darlene interrupts.

"No, she's all right. She says that he threatened to brand her and kill her, called her a prostitute. He apparently kidnapped her after putting an ether soaked rag to her face and knocking her out. I believe that he was taking her back to his house to torture her and kill her at the time of the accident."

"I don't believe this. Olivia are you trying to tell me that my next door neighbor, timid and mild-mannered George Hoover, is a serial killer? I play chess with the man whenever I'm free on Wednesday evenings for crying out loud."

"It takes all kinds Robert. Anyway, I got a couple of Jefferson Parish policemen outside. We're waiting on a warrant to search his house now."

"Yeah well if he is our rapist and he was taking her to his house to torture her, then there'll be a ton of evidence in there to prove it."

"And we'll have solved the case," Olivia adds.

During the search of George's house hundreds of open, un-mailed love letters are found. They are all addressed to Miss Donna Fairchild with a Louisiana State University Baton Rouge post office box number. In the very first letter George asks Donna to forgive him for not introducing her to his mother. He confesses to his precious Donna that he killed his mother and buried her in the yard.

A search of George's back and side yards produces the skeletal remains of a middle-aged woman buried beneath a meticulously cared for garden. Her skull is crushed. There was a small plastic crucifix sticking in the ground at the head of the grave.

Further investigation discovers that Donna was a student at Dominican High School of New Orleans. Then after graduating from there she went on to LSU. But she disappeared about the same time that George was a freshman there also. At the time, there was no investigation into her disappearance as her roommate believed that she ran off with an unknown boyfriend.

Upon questioning George's co-workers in order to obtain more information about him it is discovered that the serial killings began soon after Linda McBride started to work for Ochsner Hospital. Linda confesses that she had amours feelings toward George and attempted to get him to take her out. But she quickly adds that George never took her out. An investigation into her background exonerates her of all suspicion.

Because he lived right next door to The Rapist, there's in inquiry, fueled mainly by the media, as to why Lt. Robert Pierce was unable to catch him. Robert counters the media's questions with a statement that George lived two lives. He was apparently a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

Robert tells the media that even those who worked with George did not know that he was a serial killer and they saw him everyday all day, whereas Robert only saw him for a couple of hours on Wednesday evenings. Robert also tells the media that George was so clever at deceiving everyone that he and his wife occasionally let him baby sit for their two daughters.

Further, both the mayor and the chief of police defend Robert, telling the media that Lt. Pierce is an excellent officer with and impeccable record. They also point out the George apparently live two entirely different lives.

*************************************

Three weeks later.

"Hey Robert, here's the forensic report on the evidence gotten from George's house. You're not going to believe this." Olivia says as she drops a large manila envelope on his desk.