My confidence is leaving me on my own...

My confidence is leaving me on my own... - Printable Version

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My confidence is leaving me on my own... - Doctor Louis D'Ville - 11-07-2014

"He who makes a beast of himself, gets rid of the pain of being a man."

― Samuel Johnson

A Broken Crown.

The Ex-Detective wakes up. As the world around him shakes and bounces, the lights above his head flicker and blink off and on. He looks around the the subway car and sees a few people sitting sporadically throughout. He reaches in his coat pocket, pulls a small flask from it, and takes a big drink. He's been going around in circles around the city for hours. After he and his doctor showed up to the city a few hours ago, the Doctor did one of his vanishing acts again. The Ex-Detective knew what was going on. The Doctor had another one of his sessions to get to and by the time they finally reached the city, the Doctor had no time to waste. Leaving the Ex-Detective to wallow in his own sorrows, alone, once again. He thinks to himself about all the waiting he does around for the Doctor. In between sessions they seem to find themselves traveling non-stop to later arrive to a city that he spends stumbling around for a day or two until the Doctor appears before him, only with another mission. Another destination. Another session.

The few people on the train with the Ex-Detective seem to be in a similar situation as him. No where to go. One man lays across the bench, covering himself his a thin coat, and sleeps. Another sits and just stares into deep space, muttering something undecipherable. He looks at the screen above his head showing the current location along with the next stop. He's between 88th Street and Howard Beach JFK International. The Ex-Detective rubs his eyes, takes another drink from his flask, and pulls himself up from the seat. He stumbles through the first car and walks into the next, which is completely empty. It surprises him that so many of the city's homeless are even allowed in the subways, because they basically nest up and call it home for the night. It didn't make him feel uncomfortable like it would some people. He's been in plenty of uncomfortable situations before, sleeping on the same subway car with a few bums wasn't one of them. He looks to his right and sees a big "Thank You for Not Smoking" sign. Further up the car is another one and another, and another. He frowns and pats his inside pocket where his mangled, nearly empty cigarette pack is hidden.

The Ex-Detective grows ill from all of the travel in the past few days. From being arrested, which he doesn't recollect just yet, to being stranded, to waking up in strange places, he's nearly at his wits-end. The only thing he can think to do to keep himself grounded, is the same thing he's done for years, drink. He takes another.

He's slightly disappointed that the next stop was the airport. The other side of the city would have been much more enticing, but surely one of the largest airports in the country has a bar that stays open twenty-four hours. Otherwise, he's out of luck.

From behind him he hears the same metal door he just stumbled through open. A large Rastafarian man walks through the door. He walks as if he's dancing to music that he is only able to hear. Perhaps a song stuck in his head. He talks to himself as he gets closer to the Ex-Detective. The man stops in front of him and looks at the Ex-Detective. The man holds a scowl as if the Ex-Detective was responsible for the killing of the man's family, or someone that stole something very valuable. An enemy of sorts. The Ex-Detective rolls his eyes a bit and looks up to the man, whom surely out sizes him by a large margin. He notices a large crucifix hanging from a chain dangling around the man's neck. Tattoos of Jesus Christ, more crucifixes, and blood and suffering cover the man's body. His thick, black dreadlocks cover his scarred up face. His dark eyes don't move away from the Ex-Detective as he continues to stare and as he leans in, he sniffs the air a bit.

Rastafarian-
"You. You have his evil stench all over you."

The Ex-Detective sighs and reaches for his cigarettes again.

What does this fuckin' freak want?

Trevor-
"Excuse me?"

"Where is he? Is he here?"

"Buddy. What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You cannot fool Asafa James, mon. I know he is here. You cannot hide from me evil one! Show yourself to me! Show yourself!"

The Rastafarian man begins looking around, searching for something, or someone, on the train. The Ex-Detective watches him in 'awe'. As they approach the next stop, Howard Beach, the train doesn't seem to reduce it's speed at all.

"You. You must listen to me, Mistah Trevor Dedntik. Do not be fooled by the wolf in sheep's clot'ing. Do not allow him to place da wool over der eyes. There is an evil presence here and it must be vanquished. You must help me, then I can help you.

How the fuck does this guy know my name?! Who is he?!

"How the FUCK do you know my name?! Who the fuck are you?!

The Rastafarian man ignores the Ex-Detective and as the train passes by the stop at Howard Beach, the Ex-Detective sees the Doctor standing and waiting as the train zooms by him.

The Rastafarian man pulls an even bigger crucifix from one of his pockets and holds it forward towards the Ex-Detective. He takes a few steps back, but the crazed Jamaican follows him and continues to hold the crucifix. He begins chanting or praying something under his breathe. The Ex-Detective couldn't tell exactly what was being said, but figured it was praying of some kind. He could barely make out what the man was saying before he started whispering...

Drunk and cornered by this bible thumping crusader, the Ex-Detective just wants to push this guy off the train. He never liked being preached to, but it seems this guy was doing a lot more than preaching. It reminded him of an exorcism. What evil presence was this guy even talking about? With his eyes rolled into the back of his head and the chanting, repetitive and melodic in it's own way, continued.

The Ex-Detective reached for his flask again, but before he managed to take a drink from it, he notices in the reflection of the window his good friend, the Doctor. His reflection alone gave the Ex-Detective chills up his spine, especially when he didn't see the Doctor in physical form on the train. He smiles and looks on as Asafa James goes on with what appears to be a cleansing of the train.

"Do you feel it? Do you?!

"Feel WHAT you fucking weirdo?! Get the hell away from me. For Christ sake, you're freaking me out."

"Yes! Know you see! For Christ's sake! For Jebus himself, I will banish this evil from this train! I will banish it from this worlt! Starting with the Devil's play ting! You allow the foul beast into your soul and now he has taken over you! You do what he wishes, you aid him in his evil deeds, and now you will burn with him in the far depths of Hell it self!"

The Rastafarian man pulls on the top of the crucifix, unsheathing a large blade. He licks the end of the blade and blesses it with the power of Jesus. He approaches the Ex-Detective with it in his grasp.

"Now listen, pal! I STILL don't know what the fuck you're babbling about! I'm on this train alone. There's no one else here besides a few of your nutcase buddies sleeping in the next car. Just let me get off this fucking train and you'll never see me again."

The Rastafarian man shakes his hand and shushes the Ex-Detective.

"It will all be over soon enough, mon. If you spek da truth, the Jesus will forgive you and you have nutting to worry about. But, if you lie then the evil inside you will drag you straight to Hell! Where you will remain by his side for all of eternity! You chose your path long ago! Now repent!!"

The Ex-Detective begins to panic a bit as the Rastafarian man seems quite convinced that he wants to end him. Over the man's shoulder, behind him, the Ex-Detective sees a figure approaching them. Unable to see from the flickering of the lights and the shadows inside the rail car, a red haze takes over.

The man stops and looks around. Sniffing the air he smiles and crouches down a bit as if he was hunting something in the middle of the jungle, or, being hunted himself.

"You see.... I told you he was here! Show yourself evil one! Show yourself now!"

"Now what is all of this 'hub-bub' about, my friend?"

They both turn their direction to where the voice has come from. The Doctor sits on a bench on the far end of the car. His voice projected out as nearly a whisper but was loud enough that it could be heard from miles away. The Rastafarian man shutters for a moment, breaks down, and drops to his knees.

"Ohhh Jebus! Protect me from the demon that sits before me! Protect me from his evil!! Protect me from his influence!! Do not allow to succumb to this evil lord's commands!! Do not--"

"Oh, enough already."

The Doctor's voice goes from a whisper to an echo through the train car. Time has seem to have frozen in place. The Doctor rises up from the bench and begins to walk over to the Rastafarian man who remains on his hands and knees on the ground. The Ex-Detective looks on.

"Rise, my boy. Now is not the time to be bowing to your KING. My, my. That is quite a decorative piece you have there. May I see it?"

The Rastafarian man reaches out with his crucifix knife, handle end first. The Doctor reaches down and takes it from the man's hand.

The Ex-Detective can no longer speak. He looks around and the environment around him reminds him of so many dreams he's had before. Nightmares if you wish to call them that. It's been hard to decipher ones from the others lately because there is rarely any distinction between the two.

The Doctor admires the knife for a moment. It glistens under the red glow that has taken over the room. The blade turns black and the crucifix on the handle begins to melt away before both of the men's eyes. The Rastafarian man's crucifix around his neck begins to glow and becomes cherry red. He doesn't move as it burns into the skin on his chest, branding the crucifix into him. He begins to sob and pray more and more.

"I am familiar with most languages of this world, my friend, and I never fail to miss a cry for help. Perhaps I could help you. Perhaps I could rid you of this burden you've placed on yourself as a shepherd among all of these sheep. Let me free you from the pain and suffering you withstand each day. Let me be your savior."

The Ex-Detective watches on as the Doctor holds the blade high above his head and brings it down onto the back of Asafa Jame's neck. The Rastafarian man gasps as the blade pierces out the front of his neck and blood spills out as if all three men were cast in an old Kung Fu flick. The Ex-Detective watches on as the horror goes on before him. The blood everywhere begins to evaporate into the air creating a blood red haze in the air. The Ex-Detective's eyes begin to burn and he closes them as he hear's the announcement over the loud speaker.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are approaching Harbor Beach, JFK International Airport. Keep all doors closed until the train comes to a complete stop. Thank you for riding NYC Transit."

"Haven't we already past that stop...?"

The Ex-Detective wakes up. As the world around him shakes and bounces, the lights above his head flicker and blink off and on. He opens his eyes and the train car is full of people. Sitting basically on top of each other all around him, they ignore the fact he nearly jumped out of his skin as he woke up. Beside him sits the Doctor. He's reading a newspaper and looks over to the Ex-Detective with a twinkle in his eye.

"You must really do something about those dreams, Trevor. Especially if you're going to sporadically fall asleep everywhere we go.."

The Ex-Detective rubs his eyes. He reaches for the small flask he keeps inside his jacket, opens it, and only a few drops fall out of it. He sighs, returns the cap to the top of it, and slides it back into his inside pocket. He says nothing.

And might I suggest you try and stay awake for a bit. You'll have plenty of time to sleep during your flight."

"Flight?"

"Indeed. My next session is in Liverpool, England. I'll be meeting with the man who found it necessary to spoil my celebration after winning the King of the Ring Tournament."

"England, Doc? Holy fuck."

"We could be spending much of our time in the future overseas, my friend. Warfare is in the middle of an international tour at the moment."

The Ex-Detective sighs aloud.

"So who is it this week, Lou?"

"Brock Lesnar."

The Ex-Detective narrows his eyes and speaks in a sarcastic tone.

"Brock Lesnar."

"Indeed."

"Brock Lesnar?"

The Doctor laughs aloud at the Ex-Detective.

"Are you not familiar with the name?"

"Hell yes I'm familiar. I won close to ten grand when he was TKO'd by Cain Velasquez back in 2010 when he lost the belt. Then around two grand when he lost his last match in Las Vegas. The guy's lost his touch. Glass jaw, Doc."

"One of the same, my friend! He seems to thinking anytime he makes an appearance here in the XWF, whether months have past since his last or days, he deserves everything on a silver platter. At the beginning of the week, he wanted entered into the tournament. After he obviously wasn't seeded, he came out after I defeated that half-man, was attacked by Luke Gunnar, and then attacked by Tommy Gunn. He pinned me in the ring to Tommy Gunn's count and claimed he was the King and not I. We have a few things to settle. But in the meantime, let's prepare for our trip. We have much to discuss."