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**Doctor Louis D'Ville** · **12-28-2014, 11:35 PM**

"I saw an angel in the marble and carved until I set him free."

― Michelangelo

Everywhere I go.

Everyone I meet.

They always ask me.

"... Did you say something?"

The EX-Detective looks up from his glass. He stares at the barmaid for a moment with a blank stare then picks his glass up, takes a drink, then sets it back down. The barmaid remains looking at him for a moment then walks back to the other end of the bar. To his right sits the Doctor, drinking from the same bottle as the EX-Detective.

I suppose we should be moving on, Mister Dedntik.

The EX-Detective looks over at the Doctor and peers through narrow eyes. The tavern they're spending their time in was a small burger joint just outside of Glendale, Arizona.

Where does the time go, the EX-Detective thought to himself. It just seemed like yesterday, the Doctor approached him in his hometown of Los Angeles and scooped him back up from the mess that he always chooses to go bury himself in again. The memories just won't leave him be. The nightmares always reoccur. The same nightmares. The Christmas that will haunt him forever.

The EX-Detective kills the drink, scoops up his money from the bar, and exits. The barmaid walks over to where they were sitting and stares at the EX-Detective as he leaves in disbelief.

The Doctor and his patient walk to the small tanned car, the only vehicle in this dusty parking lot, and prepare to leave.

"So, Lou."

Trevor.

The EX-Detective pulls a cigarette from his inside pocket and lights it.

"What's next, Doc?"

The Doctor produces a sadistic smile and looks over at his patient.

Why, we finish our trip to Glendale. I have a few things to take care of there. Then we continue going to wherever my services need me.

"That's kind of what I mean."

I'm not sure I fellow, my friend.

"Well, why did you save me? Why me?"

The Doctor sits back in the passenger seat and produces a large bottle of scotch from the backseat. He takes a large drink from it and rests it between the two of the.

Allow me to answer your question with a question. Why did you seek me out, Trevor?

"I don't recall doing that."

You don't recall a lot of things. Trouble times call for desperate measures, my friend. You did seek help and counseling for your woes, you received it. I think you're doing much better, don't you?

The EX-Detective doesn't answer.

Shall we have another session now? We are a bit pressed for time, you know.

"Shut up, Lou. It's always the same thing here, man. The missions, the quests... the appointments. What is this all about?"

Now, you know that---

"... That you can't discuss your other patients with me. I get it, Doc. But why drag me along for it?"

It's part of your treatment. I didn't exactly find you in any better condition I left you in eleven years ago.

"Exactly. So, why now?"

Part of our agreement was that my services would be provided at anytime that you wish. At which, whenever I felt the need to check up on you, whichever time I deemed necessary, I would.

"I think I had things under control, Lou. It was after you showed up again that things started going to shit again."

2003

The pain was gone. The coughing. The wheezing. The shortness of breathe. Gone.

But how?

The EX-Detective places the feather back down on the desk. He thanks the Doctor for his time and proceeds to exit the office. He walks to the door, opens it and walks out onto the street.

Wasn't this an office building? Wasn't I on the sixth floor?! What the--

The EX-Detective turns about to face the Doctor again, who has vanished. The fireplace, the bookshelves, the desk.... The taxidermy, the shadows dancing on the wall. It was an empty office. It seems like it's been abandonded for years... many years. The walls supporting the roof seem worn and are crumbling from the inside out. Why is this building even still standing?

What. The. Fuck.

Was I dreaming?

Either way, the EX-Detective thought, the pain was gone. Whatever type of experience he just had, whoever he just met, and whatever he did... It seemed to have worked better than any treatments at the clinic.

The EX-Detective pulls a cigarette from his inside pocket and walks to his vehicle.

Does this mean I can have a normal life again?

Later that night.

The EX-Detective wakes up.

He peels his cheek up from the small glass table in front of him. He looks at his own reflection in the glass, through the brown-powdery substance, he sees himself. Blood is caked from his nose to his ear and his eyes are completely blood shot. He rubs them until he sees a loud bright light in front of him and opens them again.

He looks to his right and sees a half naked woman sitting beside him. Her head cocked back and blood and drool caked on the side of her mouth as well. She isn't moving. He reaches over and places two fingers across the side of her neck.

No pulse.

He rolls his eyes a bit then raises up from the couch. He reaches for the tee shirt draped over the back of the couch and throws it on himself. It's caked with blood as well.

What the fuck? Did I blow my nose with this or what?

He looks down at the woman lying motionless on the couch. He reaches down and pulls a large wad of cash from in between her breasts, flips through it for a moment, then places it back into his pocket.

Told you it was potent, fucking bitch.

He grabs his coat and walks towards the door of the small motel room and leaves.

Present Day

Yes, I'd say your life was quite in order wasn't it?

"You know, you're not an angel yourself, Lou."

The Doctor doesn't answer.

The Doctor and his patient sit in silence for a moment before the EX-Detective starts the car. They leave the parking lot of the small restaurant and head back towards I-10 to take them the rest of the way into Glendale.

I don't mean to pry, Mister Dedntik, but it is my duty, after all.

The EX-Detective looks over at the Doctor.

"My life just seems like one big session of your's these days. Everything is a test with you."

Waking up each morning was a test for you. You received a second chance, third chance, countless chances to pull yourself back together. You, however, continued down the same path. That path circled back around to me.

"Enough with the FUCKIN' riddles, Doc. Seriously. Can you stop being a psycho-analyst for five minutes and just talk to me? You're all of got."

The last four words out of the EX-Detective's mouth echo throughout his head. A slight ringing occurs as if the voice in his head actually played back to him in high decibels. He rubs his temple with one hand and grabs the bottle of scotch with the other. He drowns himself in it until the ringing slowly fades away.

It seems there's a bit of a lack of communication this week. It's quite common between a doctor and his patients to have misunderstandings at times, even disagreements. But this, my friends, is a bit uncalled for.

We are but a day away from a showdown at Monday Madfare. I'm placed in a session with three other fellows, one of which seems to ignore the true threats that lie in front of him. Another which I'm losing my very patience for, and I believe it's all three who shouldn't even be involved. At least that's how they're acting.

Maverick.

Answer me truthfully, my friend. Were you trying to catch me off guard or something? This X-Treme Title is on the line twenty-four hours and day, seven days a week. Are you treating this as some kind of game? Are you even going to show up to Glendale and face me head on? Or are you going to continue to play hide-and-seek and sneak up on the Doctor and take the easy way out? It seems you've surrounded yourself many times, with the easy way.

When you first joined us here in this fine organization, you weren't exactly welcomed with open arms were you? Pretending to be something you're not. Lying to the fellow competitors here and exploited for it time and time again. Your reputation, of course, did not stop Morbid Angel from drafting you into War Games. As a fellow member of Team Victory Forever, let me just say, the space you filled, could've been filled by anyone. I am not saying that the pick was wasted, but let's just say if I was controlling the team, I would've seen through your lack of ability and probably moved onto someone a bit more... Oh, I don't know. Reliable? A few victories when you first came here disguised the fact that you're completely useless to someone like myself. Or Morbid Angel for that matter. I was not fooled. Not in the least bit. You had three or four matches then went on some 'holiday', only to come back to War Games with less ability then when you left. Most people take vacations to rest and come back one hundered percent. Well, when you have nothing to begin with, it's hard to find it again with a short break. I'm not sure on the specifics on what you've been up to in the past few weeks, I do know that you didn't show much in the King of the Ring Tournament. A loss in the first round to the Knight? Come now, Mister Maverick. If you possessed any talent at all, you should have atleast reached the second round. Whether you would've made it past everyone's favorite fun-arch-rival, Mister Swackins, that's another story. But the lack of effort lately just baffles me. Well. Let me stop myself there. Let's go back and talk about this easy way again. You hide from me all week, then try for two consecutive pin attempts. That's some effort I suppose. A bit greedy. A bit snake-like. But, I must give you credit. Your ambition to take this easy path rather than the high road does deserve a short round of applause. A short one at best. It was more annoying than anything to see your ridiculously excited face twice in one day. Mister Wallace attempted the same thing the other day... My, oh my. You fellows.

Mister Wallace's pin attempt I place in the same column as yours. You feel that winning the title a few days before our match will do anything for you? Or are you just trying to spoil the weeks I've had it. Because friends, there's no chance that one of you are walking out of Glendale with this championship. No chance in oblivion that I'm going to let any of you scrubs ruin my plans. And don't get cute and think that this all surrounds that stupid briefcase I'll receive after six weeks of holding the title. Don't be absurd. I don't need some briefcase to finish what I've started. It's just a happy little perk that I'm going to pick up along the way. As much as everyone drools all over these things, I should just sell the thing once I receive it. Any takers?

Ha.

Let's not get carried away here.

Mister Wallace, I'm glad you've finally taken some time out of your schedule to come and talk with me. Then again, am I?

You've made me seem like a such a fool, you have. Such a fool! Pointing out a few literacy mistakes... Misuse of words.... Hm. Hmm.

The Doctor looks all around him.

Tell me, do you see subtitles floating around my head when I speak? I'm not sure how you're pointing out spelling errors when I'm speaking the words that you're hearing. I could send you a letter in the mail, or perhaps type you up and email and explain to you in detail how I'm going to destroy you at Madfare. But I'll be sure to proof read them before I mail them out just to save myself the future embarrassment.

One? Won??? One? Won?? I don't hear a difference to be honest. But, whatever the case, I'm not here for an English lesson, my friend.

I enjoyed watching you pick apart everything I said the other night and throwing it back in my face with your little rebuttals. Allow me to rebuttal your rebuttal! What makes a main event? Well, I claimed that it was I that made our session main event status. How many of them have you been in thus far, Mister Wallace? Forgive me for not doing my research, but, ya know, I'm a busy guy. My vision grows a bit weary as well and I can't see that far down the list of scrubs that dwell at the bottom of the XWF roster.

So, let me be sure I heard you correctly. It's the 'up and coming star', a 'rookie with a chance', and a 'superstar with something to prove' that made this match so elite? Ha. Which one are you then? You've been here for, what? Two months now? Well, I suppose that could still be considered 'rookie status', dont' you? Perhaps the two? Three victories? Is it three? Tessmacher, Kage, and Frost. My goodness. Talk about top talent. I'm not even sure who Tessmacher and Kage are for one thing. And Jet Frost? I see him on many different cards, but I'm not sure I've seen the gentleman leave victorious. I could be wrong. But what does it matter? So I suppose that wouldn't eliminate you from 'up and coming' or from 'something to prove' either. Tell me, what is it exactly that you're trying to prove here, my friend? Thus far, you've proved to me that you're completely blind of the obvious. It's not the three of you, OR this championship that makes this match a main event. It's.... ME. Don't worry, I'll elaborate. I've been with this fine organization for nearly five months now. I've won. I've lost. I've been beaten. I've been burned. I've been branded. I'm still here. I've beaten some of the best that this organzation has to offer. From the Loverboy to the Hobbit. From John Samuels to Brock Lesnar. I am the XWF King of the Ring. I went through an entire tournament in stride and came out on top. Of course there were a few loop holes, but once again, what does that matter? All that matters is that I am here, I am the champion, and I am unstoppable. Especially by the likes of you, Maverick, or Ferrari Punk. If you think you're just going to walk into Glendale, take me down, and leave with my title? You're sadly mistaken, Mister Wallace. It's going to take a lot more than a few insults from your mouth to discourage me. It's going to take a lot more than you beating a few scrubs recently to make you even close to having the ability to take me down. Picking apart my every word is a cowardly way to go about insulting me and you'll find that there are far better techniques to getting under an opposing competitors skin. Listening to you speak nearly made me choke on my drink. I thought I was fighting the Dwarf for a moment there. 'Faggatron'? You speak to me about misusing words, what about making words up? Cut me a break. 'Choke on a vibrating dick'? 'Titty fucking cocksucker'? Be honest, was the Smurf hiding behind your camera with little cards telling you every insult to say? Goodness, it certainly seems like it. Well, you weren't breaking my heart or hurting my feelings, Mister Wallace. I myself, will save the name-calling for another day.

Before I go, I just want to remind you, that I am your doctor, Mister Wallace. If you expect us to make any progress in our session what-so-ever, I suggest you quit lying and stop being a hypocrite. You just got done saying how Maverick lies and does whatever to title belts... Yada. Yada. Maverick's split personality disorder is something to be concerned about, it's not his fault that he doesn't remember losing any match he's been in. I don't think you need to worry yourself with that. He still lost. He's still a horrible competitor. And yes, he may also still be a liar. Now, your hypocrisy comes from the fact that you simply just lied to my face. Straight to my face. As I just said it's very important in our work that we keep an honest patient-doctor relationship here. Lying to me about your drug-abuse is no way to start. You say you don't use 'dope'? Perhaps that's just me 'misusing' words again. Dope. Weed. Pot. Marijuana. I believe it goes by many different names. So, if were are on the same page here, and you continue to say you don't use 'dope'. What was that you were smoking during your little meeting with your fellow clan mates? A cigar paper wrapped around some 'wacky tobacc-y', am I right? I am. So, as I said previously. You should lay off the drugs and perhaps you wouldn't see those subtitles your seeing under every word I speak.

On a closing note, I wish you all the best of luck. Ferrari Punk, the only one of you to actually volunteer for this session. The least talented, but the one with the most guts. So if anyone belongs in this match with me, it's him. He doesn't have ties with any General Managers, he doesn't lie. He simply, volunteered to come after MY title. Kudos to you, my Jamaican friend. Kudos. Unfortunately, you would have probably had better luck going for a different title. In my opinion though, everyone here needs atleast one session with the good doctor.

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