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**Doctor Louis D'Ville** · **12-26-2014, 01:59 AM**

"Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light."

― Helen Keller

It's been nearly a month, twenty-three days to be exact.

Twenty-three days of solitude.

Los Angeles, California
Christmas Eve/Morning
3:43 A.M.

The EX-Detective wakes up. He's sitting in the driver's seat of a small tanned car, in a quiet neighborhood, with the city of Los Angeles looming in the background. He pulls a large jug of whiskey from the backseat of the car and takes a large drink. He looks up at the house he's parked in front of. It's lit up with Christmas decorations galore! Flashing lights, blown-up Santa Clause, platic reindeer... The works.

The EX-Detective falls out of his car and stumbles up through the yard and up to a large window beside the front door of the house. He presses his nose to the window and looks into what looks like a living room. The only lights in the house is a lit up pine tree in the corner of the room. Decorated with similar lights that dangle from the porch and front door. Ornaments hung from nearly every limb and a bright star shining on the peak of the tree. The EX-Detective tilts his head back and takes another large drink from his bottle.

He looks down the street and sees a pair of headlights coming his way. He stumbles back a few steps and watches as a van slowly creeps down the road and parks at the end of the driveway in front of his car. two men in masks jump out of the van while another stays behind in the driver's seat. The lights in and out of the house suddenly go black and the two men approach the front porch.

"What the fuck is this?!"

The EX-Detective shouts out at the men. They ignore him and walk to the front door, wait a few moments, and kick it in. The EX-Detective drops the bottle onto the ground and rushes after the men as they break into the home. They rush up the stairs just inside the doorway and slam open another door. A loud scream from a woman can be heard from inside the room. After clumsily stumbling up the steps behind the men, the EX-Detective reaches the bedroom.

One of the masked men has the screaming woman by the hair and throws her to the ground.

"Trevor!! Help me!! Lou!! Run Lou!! Oh my God!! Save me!! Help me!! No!! No!! No!! No!!"

The EX-Detective freezes for a moment and the boiling pit in his stomach nearly boils over. He turns down the hallway and sees the other masked man carrying a small, screaming child from the other room. He carries him into the other bedroom and sees the other masked man wrestling with the woman on the ground, tearing at her clothes and ripping them off of her body. The woman screams louder and louder and finally gets smacked across the face. She looks up and sees the other man throw the boy into the corner of the room. She shrieks again and tries to crawl over to the boy, but is grabbed again and wrestled to the ground. She stops fighting for a moment and looks into the eyes of the man who has ahold of her.

"Please! Take anything you want! Please! Don't hurt my baby! Please!!"

The man slaps her again and rips her top completely off.

"I intend to bitch!"

The man whispers at the woman.

Suddenly, the other masked man kicks him off of the woman. He looks up at his "partner" and throws up his arms.

"What the fuck was that?!"

"You want laid mother fucker? Do it on your own time! We have business to take care of!"

The EX-Detective still frozen in the doorway watches on as the woman begs for her son and her own life.

The man on the floor stands up and brushes himself off, a little disappointed, he pulls a pistol from his belt. The woman crawls over to the young boy and holds him within her arms.

The EX-Detective realizes he hasn't taken a breath in about thirty seconds, finally does, and rushes into the room. He goes to swing at the one armed man, but his fist seems transparent and goes through the man's masked face and, from the force, the EX-Detective lands on the floor. The two men still do not acknowledge that the EX-Detective is in the room. He barely has the strength to reach his feet again, once he does he tries to tackle the other man, but once again, sails right through the man and crashes into the wall on the other side of him. A dull pain surrounds the EX-Detective's head as he holds both hands against the sides of it.

The woman continues to cry and hold the little boy tightly in her arms.

"Trevor.................."

"Where are y---"

The EX-Detective quickly looks behind him only to see two consecutive flashes from the guns in the two men's hands. The woman's speech was cut off and other than the loud thuds of the two men's boots on the floor as they run out of the house, the house was silent.

The EX-Detective wakes up. He's sitting in the driver's seat of a small tanned car, in a quiet, run-down neighborhood, with the city of Los Angeles looming in the background. He pulls a large jug of whiskey from the backseat of the car and takes a large drink. He looks up at the house he's parked in front of. It's dark and rotted, falling apart from the inside out. All of the windows are broken and boarded up. The porch looks like it was burned up at one point and the siding of the house was nearly completely torn off. The siding that remained was miscolored and filthy with dirt and grime.

He steps out of the vehicle and looks around the neighboorhood. What was once a proud, clean, united, little street, has turned into an abandonded, dangerous part of town. He paces around in front of the house for a moment and falls to his knees and begins to sob. Behind him he hears the crunch of footsteps behind him and a hand reaches out beside him.

"Hey buddy... You got a dollar, man? I could really use a dollar."

A man in torn up, dirty clothes reaches down, open-palmed at the EX-Detective. He looks up at the dirty old man.

"Get the fuck away from me."

The man takes a step back and the EX-Detective takes a closer look at him. The mans face is dirty and beaten. He's missing several teeth and can barely speak.

"C'mon man. It's Christmas."

If only I had a gun.....

The EX-Detective continues to sob on the ground and the man sneakily reaches down and grabs the jug of whiskey laying beside him. He grabs it and runs off. The EX-Detective watches him do it and does nothing to stop him.

A warm hand presses against the EX-Detective's shoulder. A sigh of relief rushes through his body.

There, there, my boy.

Doc.

I know this can be a tough time of year for you. It's not my favorite time of year, myself.

The EX-Detective breathes in heavy as a long string of snot falls from his nose and onto the ground.

"I wasn't here, Lou. I wasn't here to save them. They died because of me."

The EX-Detective rises up to his feet and looks at the Doctor, standing beside him with his sinister smile painted on his face.

"They died because of ME, Doc! I wasn't here for them. I was never hear for them. I--"

The Doctor barks at the EX-Detective.

Trevor, my friend, why do you return to the place where your broken heart stays? We've done a lot of work over these sixteen long years, have we not? I thought we were past blaming ourselves for this.

"I seen them, Lou! I seen the fuckers that did it!"

More nightmares then? Hmm. It seems I may have spent a little too long away then apparently.

"What the fuck is this? What the fuck did you do to me?! Why can't I just die and be with my family?!"

The Doctor's expression changes slightly.

I don't believe death will solve any of your problems, Mister Dedntik. Wherever this family of yours ended up, I don't imagine you'll be seeing them again. Other than in this horrid nightmares you've been having, of course.

Stop being so childish.

The EX-Detective can feel his entire body heating up. Could it be rage? He feels angry. He feels very angry, but does it burn this much? He feels like he's on fire, but the physical pain he is feeling is nothing compared to the pain in his empty, dark chest. Out of nowhere his chest fills up with another burning sensation and he cannot breathe. He begins coughing frantically and without the breath he needs and crashes to the ground on his knees. The Doctor stands over him and watches the EX-Detective cough up several handfuls of dark sticky blood. It almost seems toxic or acidic as it burns his hands as well. He quickly rubs his stained hands on his pant legs and rises back up to the ground.

You understand there's nothing you can do about this now, correct?

The EX-Detective's tears dry up nearly instantaneously. He nods.

Very good then. We have much work to do you see! Places to go! People to meet! There's no time to waste, my friend.

The EX-Detective reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out a cigarette from it. He lights it and blows a large puff of smoke into the air.

"We should get going then..."

Indeed!

The EX-Detective stares, eyes forward into the deep abandoned desert. He drives his vehicle along the Redlands Highway, across a bridge over the Colorado River, into the state of Arizona. He puffs away at a cigarette as it's nearly all burnt away to the filter, and flicks it from the window. Beside him sits the Doctor, comfortably drinking from a small cantine, most likely filled with a special drink of some kind. He looks over at the EX-Detective, as his driver does the same.

"So where the fuck have you been, Doc?"

The Doctor chuckles a bit.

You know this is a busy time of year for me, Mister Dedntik. Try not to be so foolish.

"Oh, that's right, I forgot. You're Santy Clause, right?"

The Doctor ignores the comment.

"Seriously though, Doc. It's been nearly a month... You drug me to fuckin' Europe and leave me there? What the fuck man? What are these sessions?! Why--"

You know I cannot discuss my other patients with you, Trevor. As for our visit to Sweden... Tell me, did you have any trouble at all returning home?

The EX-Detective ponders for a moment.

"I.. I don't really remember."

It certainly doesn't seem like you did. You took those few short weeks and traveled back, nearly half-way across the world. Only for me to find you in the same shambles I found you in all those years ago.

"Christmas kills me, Lou. It kills me."

So you return to the source of the pain and let it nestle it's way back into that hole in your chest. Interesting. One would think that this world you inhabit would be painless after you turned your back and stopped protecting.

Always fucking judging...

Or was it, perhaps, this dark world that has turned it's back on you? Or something else maybe?

I suppose I could empathize a bit on this.

I am posed with a similar situation in my patients these days. I am now the reigning XWF X-Treme Champion. Winning the title came with ease as I took it from Mastermind during my last session on the Third of December. Now, not only the King of the XWF, I am a champion! Yet another stepping stone towards my ultimate goal here in this fine organization! Where our situations lie similar, I feel that my patients have somewhat turned their backs on the Doctor, as well. Patients that I once called friends, turning their backs on me with tricks and games, in attempts to steal this title from my grasp. Everyone from the likes of Mister Lane and the Hobbit to several attempts from the Senator... to several attempts from Ghost Tank. My dear friend Jacob has even made an attempt to fool me and take my newly one prize away from me. It goes to show you that this world is filled with much more evil and betrayal than meets the eye. The ones you can trust and hold dear, will simply stab you in the back when an opportunity is near. Pathetic souls like Mister Lane and Frodo, who cannot catch a break otherwise, who have fallen on the battlefield against me once already, attempt going around the stipulations of match and attempt to find the Doctor during a weak moment. Not going to happen friends. My eyes are wide open. Mister Samuels, isn't being a FORMER King and a current champion in your own right, AND the number one contender to the Universal Title enough for you? Of course not. Because you're as greedy as every other schmuck in this federation. I suppose I could see your logic a bit. Your close friend and fellow partner, Theo Pryce was the current champion during your little "pin attempts". I suppose getting your hands on a briefcase would be a nonchalant way to sneak around your friend's back and steal the gold from him. Since it would go against your "friendship" to ask him for an actual match. Well! That's all seemed to have changed now, hasn't it? Mister Pryce is no longer the Universal Champion and your window of opportunity is wide open. You've even been granted your match already! Good for you, my friend! Heed these words though. January 19th would be six-week mark of my reign as X-Treme Champion. You know what THAT means don't you? Ha. I'm sure you already know what type of situation you're in, however. Mister Pryce and I have become quite fond of each other in a business-like matter, as of late, and I'm sure you don't fall far behind with the abilities of a good business-man, which requires a little bit of smarts at least.

It must be something about this holiday season that just drives the greed into people. Sinning on a day that people rejoice their Lord and savior, how ironic. How pathetic.

Jacob, you should be proud, my friend. You are one of the few competitors here that have once bested me. My first one-on-one session here was for the that Television Title that you held onto for so very long. Unfortunately, you no longer hold the title. Even more unfortunate, you never lost it, officially. A short absence from the federation and you were stripped of the title you defended week in and week out, only for it to be given away to a man of much less prestige. A man who remains humbled by his own losing record. A man who doesn't even come close to deserving even contending for such a prize. Yet... Anywho. There you were, sneaking up on me trying to take MY prized possession from me. How absurd. Someone who should be wreaking in confidence trying to steal from me after something far worse was done to him.

Some friends.

I suppose that's the name of the game though, now isn't it? I'm in a position now more than ever, where I cannot turn my back on a soul, because I'll receive a dagger in it's place. I warned the masses long ago that I'm no one trifle with. Of course, no one would listen, but most of you have indeed learned the hard way. Now, three more approach with a lesson to learn. One, however, should already still have a small taste lingering in his mouth. Maverick? Do you remember me? I'm sure you do. We had a little scuffle a few months back on a Shove-It. I know that ridiculous waste and now pile of bones Tush remembers. I don't believe much has changed with you since our last encounter Mister Maverick. You still seem to be that little peon that most of the federation enjoys spitting on. No respect. Poor reputation. Lack of talent. I'm glad that someone still sees something in your future to place you in a second session with me. Perhaps there's still hope for you.

The other two of you, however, I don't believe we've met.

Well, no need to delay introductions!

Hello, my friends.

My name is Doctor Louis D'Ville. As you probably already know, I am the King of the XWF and the current XWF X-Treme Champion. Ha. Ha! Well, the latter is probably why we are all here, correct? Let's be serious. Mister Wallace. It's obvious that you're already aware of the situation you're in, you've even joined the few I mentioned previously and tried taking this title from me premature to your title shot! Impatient, my friend. So impatient. As I told you when your stupid attempt failed, you'll have your shot against me soon enough. Growing impatient at this hour will only lead you to more troubles. Try to stay focused. It doesn't seem that your new found companions are making that too easy now, are they?

A rise in companionship has taken over this company as of late. You have the Kings. You have the Asylum. Now, the Underground. A team led by the new General Manager of Madness, accompanied by Mister Loverboy, Mister Swann, the Knight, and yourself. Quite a quartet Mister MacClay has assembled there, I must say! What is it you fellows are attempting here anyway? More recognition? Title shots? What is it? Does Mister MacClay see something in all of you that I do not? Sure, Mister Lane is a former champion... The Knight was given one... Swann is another newcomer with more mouth than talent and TJ Wallace. You sir, fit right in! Mister Lane has been shoved out of the spotlight around here more times than the Knight has doubted himself. You've taken down a few newcomers like yourself and become a contender for something that I've worked hard for for months. It's a bit degrading to be placed in such a position after what I've accomplished. Round up a few scrubs and make a main event. How absurd. The only reason this is considered a match of main event caliber is because I am in it. So, you're welcome. Something else to put on your resume when you realize you can't keep up here and move on, like half of your win column has already done. Surrounding yourself with competitors much better than yourself, doesn't make you any better, my friend. And believe it or not, I've heard how your little "group meetings" go... Pulling in any which direction you can to convince each other you're good enough and arguing over leadership. Sounds like a pretty solid force there. Mister MacClay obviously didn't know what he was looking for and was stuck scraping the bottom of the barrel for something to keep his Madness show on television apparently. Good luck with that. All I really have to say to you, Mister Wallace, is... I'm not sure what you think you're capable of here, but I wouldn't get too excited about leaving Glendale with this championship of mine. I have my own goals set here and I plan on following them through. You're lack of goals will be your demise. Sitting around, smoking your drugs, sleeping when you should be training... It's not going to add up for you in the long run, my friend. I suggest you lay off the dope, pull up your pants, and shave that ridiculous beard... I'm not sure what the last two will actually do for you towards our session, but they couldn't hurt. It's obvious that I take time to relax and enjoy the nectars of life once in a while, but it doesn't seem to be affecting my status here in the XWF either.

The last challenger that's been just thrown at me here is Ferrari Punk. A man with few words and the words that we do get, we can barely decipher. Could he be the source of your marijuana supply, Mister Wallace? I'd hate to be so stereotypical, but I'm quite familiar with the song "Devil Went to Jamaica", and well, the words speak for themselves. So I have two pot heads and Maverick to deal with this Monday. Is this anyway that a champion and the KING OF THE XWF is to be treated? Is there something going on in the background that I do not know about? Has something happened in my short absence that a main event with the King is subject to three nobodies? Perhaps.... Perhaps I know what's going on here. This wretched holiday has once again taken it's toll... With the busy schedule of the XWF this week, we're subject only one SUPER SHOW this week. Ha! Ha! Forcing everyone to appear on a Monday "Madfare" event. That's real cute, friends. Real cute. I left Madness for Warfare for a reason, folks. Forcing the talent to all appear at once on a Monday night is not going to save anyone. Or push anyone to higher limits. It's the same thing that I witnessed when I was part of Monday nights before. Lack of talent. Lack of abilities. And lack of entertainment. You asked for this. Now, you have it. My reign as a champion here is long from over. So, if you wish, continue to line up the ducks in front of me as long as you want. I'll continue to shoot them down.

The Doctor and his patient continue to travel towards their destination, Glendale, Arizona. In a few short hours they would arrive, the EX-Detective readies himself to wake up from, what would seem like, a thousand more nightmares. He tries convincing himself that the someday things could go back to normal and he'd be relieved of his duties, relieved of the stress, and relieved of the vice grip the Doctor holds on him. He's already convinced himself before, that it's a long shot.

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode So this is Christmas...
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