Dr. Love
12-17-2013, 05:14 AM
December 16, 1984:
The hallway was narrow and dimly lit, not the sort of place for a claustrophobe like myself, and with him walking beside me it
seemed even narrower. The only sounds I can remember were the thuds from our feet hitting the carpeted floor; it made me feel
uneasy, as if something terrible was waiting to be discovered.
“What’s wrong with ya? You look like yer walkin’ to get executed!”
His voice was naturally loud and commanding, fitting for his outgoing personality. I don’t recall him ever giving his name; he merely
asked to be called “Black Bart” or “Bart” for short. I could only assume that the “Black” came from the long, black, and shaggy
beard which he always had.
“It’s nothing, Bart. I’m just deep in thought, that’s all”
That was putting it mildly. My mind was rocketing to the moon and back with all sorts of nervous thoughts: Why am I talking with
this guy? Why was I given this assignment? Would I only end up failing this mission? WHAT AM I DOING HERE!?
Bart gave a friendly tap to my shoulder
“Y’know I gotta say, I never would’ve guessed that you’d be awake at this hour. What’re you doin’ up so late?”
It was 3 o’clock in the morning and he needed an answer, a good one. I knew exactly what to say.
I shrugged: “What can I say? I’m a Night Owl. I do a lot of things after dark”
A phrase that was truer than he would ever know.
He chuckled, “Tch! Fair enough. Just know that what yer gettin’ yerself into ain’t exactly small time stuff. Things like this gotta have
a bit of secrecy to ‘em, ‘kay? You can’t be lettin’ nobody else know what I’m doin’ here.”
I understood, loud and clear. We’d had similar conversations before, back when he was just letting me in on it. They were more
cryptic then, but now was the time for the grand reveal.
We were now standing in front of his room’s door, and I was sweating with anticipation. Strangely, this was the first time I had
noticed that he had two very large sets of keys dangling at each side of his waist. There must have been at least twenty keys on
each ring, and they were all for a different room. They had been jingling this whole time, and I never noticed them even once.
He sorted through the keys and found the right one rather quickly, as if by memory. Wasting no time, he shoved it into the keyhole
and twisted it rather forcefully, with my heart beating out of my throat the whole time. Everything I had done was in preparation for
this moment.
“I apologize in advance fer’ not cleanin’ up the place.” He said as he opened the door and walked in the room. “It ain’t like I get
alotta vistors, eh?” he said chuckling. I, however, had no reason to laugh at all.
I walked into the room very slowly, taking a good look at everything that caught my eye. On all sides and on all the walls of the
room there were girls, ages 14 to 18 by the looks of it, with their hands and feet tied together by thick rope. The groups, about 4 or
5 girls in each, were all bound together by a long length of rope that was tied around their necks. It seemed like if one moved or
tugged too hard, the rope would constrict and squeeze their necks, a gruesome yet admittedly effective mechanism. He didn’t dress
them in much; the younger ones had t-shirts but they all essentially had on only a bra and panties. Even if they did escape, with the
temperature below the freezing mark outside they wouldn’t have made it very far. As I crept into the room it seemed as if they all
stared at me with some sense of terror, likely thinking that I was implicated in all of this.
Bart walked over to his bed, past a line of girls who all backed away from him as he passed by, and proceeded to undress himself.
Apparently he wasn’t wearing anything under his black leather jacket, which was odd considering how cold it was outside. He turned
and said to me:
“Yeah, I know what yer thinkin’. How’d I manage to turn an entire apartment complex into my place of business?”
He threw his jacket to the floor and began undoing his pants. He continued:
“Well, it’s a long story lemme tell ya, but the short answer is that I know some people, some people o’ influence.”
He apparently noticed my looking around and said:
“Oh yeah, take yer pick. They’re all available fer purchase, every last one of em’. Cept of course for this one”
He was referring to the red-head sleeping in his bed, 18 by the look of her and visibly tired, but better nourished than the others. I
don’t believe she was wearing anything under the covers, especially since Bart was stripping down in preparation for sleeping with
her.
I walked up to Bart, who by now was clad only in his underwear and bandana, and whispered to him: “Are you the one who
manages and plans all of this?”
“Yeah” he answered“, And it ain’t easy lemme tell ya. Just this past August I lost one of my best catchers to one of those damned
Night Owls.”
To my knowledge a catcher was the person who went out and essentially abducted the prospective slave, using a variety of means.
The one that Bart was referring to was a guy named Dante, whose methods involved seduction and manipulation of teenage girls. As
for the Night Owl who killed him, his name was Travis Hill, and he was still running from the law. His assignment didn’t go as
planned, and a single misunderstanding resulted in him being a wanted man.
“But” he said after a brief pause, “That’s all in the past. What I got planned for next year is a helluva lot bigger that those Night
Owls’d know what to do about”
As I listened to him, everything seemed to make sense to me. Everything that Bart said was confirmation of what I’d heard about
him before starting this assignment 3 months ago. Only then, near Christmas, did I understand that all of it was true. I knew then
what had to be done.
I slowly pulled out the six inch dagger that I had in my back pocket, being ever so careful not tip him off. Unfortunately a flicker of
light reflected off my blade and into his eye, revealing to him my true intentions. I tried to quickly stab him before he could react but
he caught my wrist and punched me to the ground. He tried to strangle me, but I flipped him over, and before I knew it we were
both on our feet having a stand-off.
“You little basterd! Are you one of those who killed Dante?!”
“I told you that I’m a Night Owl, didn’t I?”
He charged at me and tried to punch me, but I moved quickly and grabbed his arm. He wasn’t exactly in the best physical condition.
With this opening I stabbed him in the chest and slammed him onto the floor. At that point my concentration was solely on him and
nothing else seemed to matter. Everything else just faded out of my focus; it was just me and him.
I twisted my knife in his chest, causing him to grunt in pain.
“Why are you so determined to stop what I’ve got goin’ here?” he struggled to ask me.
“It’s simple Bart. You’ve got a major trafficking operation here and I’ve been sent to end it. These girls have homes and families to
get back to. They must be returned.”
Bart let out a strained laugh.
“What homes an’ families are ya takin’ about? Get yer head outta yer *** an’ look around. Even so close to Christmas, there’re
thousands of homeless people out on the streets. Ya think these girls got anyone to go back to?”
“So let me get this right, these girls have nowhere else to go, and what better way to take care of them than to kidnap and sell them into slavery?”
Bart coughed up blood a few times. His time was growing short. He said in a weak voice:
“Ya think they’re bein’ sold to slavery? Nah, you Night Owls don’t get it do ya? They’re goin’ to people of fortune, better off than you
can imagine, better than you or I”
“They’re still enslaved” I snapped, “ Where ever they go”
“Yer too naïve to understand kid, but it doesn’t matter now”
His breathing was slowing down.
“The others won’t take too kindly to what you’ve done here”
He gurgled on his own blood before he stopped breathing. It wasn’t a pretty death, but then death is never pretty. I stood up and
stepped away from his body, my mission finished, and looked around to see a look of shock and horror on the faces of the girls in
the room. As much as it bothered me, it couldn’t be helped; I had to do what I had to do.
As per my instructions I used my pager to notify the authorities, meaning the police would be here after a short while. It also meant
that I would have to leave fairly soon if I didn’t want to be implicated in the crime, despite how much I wanted to liberate the
victims. On my way out I picked up Bart’s black book which contained all of his prior transactions for the month, and the ones he
planned for next month. This had been a successful mission, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t worth it. I knew that
these girls had to be freed, but the fact that something like this was happening behind the scenes so close to Christmas bothered
me. How much more is there to this? Do these girls really have no homes to go back to? I couldn’t answer these questions. All I
could do was walk out of the building as quickly as I could, and hope that I had did the right thing.
The hallway was narrow and dimly lit, not the sort of place for a claustrophobe like myself, and with him walking beside me it
seemed even narrower. The only sounds I can remember were the thuds from our feet hitting the carpeted floor; it made me feel
uneasy, as if something terrible was waiting to be discovered.
“What’s wrong with ya? You look like yer walkin’ to get executed!”
His voice was naturally loud and commanding, fitting for his outgoing personality. I don’t recall him ever giving his name; he merely
asked to be called “Black Bart” or “Bart” for short. I could only assume that the “Black” came from the long, black, and shaggy
beard which he always had.
“It’s nothing, Bart. I’m just deep in thought, that’s all”
That was putting it mildly. My mind was rocketing to the moon and back with all sorts of nervous thoughts: Why am I talking with
this guy? Why was I given this assignment? Would I only end up failing this mission? WHAT AM I DOING HERE!?
Bart gave a friendly tap to my shoulder
“Y’know I gotta say, I never would’ve guessed that you’d be awake at this hour. What’re you doin’ up so late?”
It was 3 o’clock in the morning and he needed an answer, a good one. I knew exactly what to say.
I shrugged: “What can I say? I’m a Night Owl. I do a lot of things after dark”
A phrase that was truer than he would ever know.
He chuckled, “Tch! Fair enough. Just know that what yer gettin’ yerself into ain’t exactly small time stuff. Things like this gotta have
a bit of secrecy to ‘em, ‘kay? You can’t be lettin’ nobody else know what I’m doin’ here.”
I understood, loud and clear. We’d had similar conversations before, back when he was just letting me in on it. They were more
cryptic then, but now was the time for the grand reveal.
We were now standing in front of his room’s door, and I was sweating with anticipation. Strangely, this was the first time I had
noticed that he had two very large sets of keys dangling at each side of his waist. There must have been at least twenty keys on
each ring, and they were all for a different room. They had been jingling this whole time, and I never noticed them even once.
He sorted through the keys and found the right one rather quickly, as if by memory. Wasting no time, he shoved it into the keyhole
and twisted it rather forcefully, with my heart beating out of my throat the whole time. Everything I had done was in preparation for
this moment.
“I apologize in advance fer’ not cleanin’ up the place.” He said as he opened the door and walked in the room. “It ain’t like I get
alotta vistors, eh?” he said chuckling. I, however, had no reason to laugh at all.
I walked into the room very slowly, taking a good look at everything that caught my eye. On all sides and on all the walls of the
room there were girls, ages 14 to 18 by the looks of it, with their hands and feet tied together by thick rope. The groups, about 4 or
5 girls in each, were all bound together by a long length of rope that was tied around their necks. It seemed like if one moved or
tugged too hard, the rope would constrict and squeeze their necks, a gruesome yet admittedly effective mechanism. He didn’t dress
them in much; the younger ones had t-shirts but they all essentially had on only a bra and panties. Even if they did escape, with the
temperature below the freezing mark outside they wouldn’t have made it very far. As I crept into the room it seemed as if they all
stared at me with some sense of terror, likely thinking that I was implicated in all of this.
Bart walked over to his bed, past a line of girls who all backed away from him as he passed by, and proceeded to undress himself.
Apparently he wasn’t wearing anything under his black leather jacket, which was odd considering how cold it was outside. He turned
and said to me:
“Yeah, I know what yer thinkin’. How’d I manage to turn an entire apartment complex into my place of business?”
He threw his jacket to the floor and began undoing his pants. He continued:
“Well, it’s a long story lemme tell ya, but the short answer is that I know some people, some people o’ influence.”
He apparently noticed my looking around and said:
“Oh yeah, take yer pick. They’re all available fer purchase, every last one of em’. Cept of course for this one”
He was referring to the red-head sleeping in his bed, 18 by the look of her and visibly tired, but better nourished than the others. I
don’t believe she was wearing anything under the covers, especially since Bart was stripping down in preparation for sleeping with
her.
I walked up to Bart, who by now was clad only in his underwear and bandana, and whispered to him: “Are you the one who
manages and plans all of this?”
“Yeah” he answered“, And it ain’t easy lemme tell ya. Just this past August I lost one of my best catchers to one of those damned
Night Owls.”
To my knowledge a catcher was the person who went out and essentially abducted the prospective slave, using a variety of means.
The one that Bart was referring to was a guy named Dante, whose methods involved seduction and manipulation of teenage girls. As
for the Night Owl who killed him, his name was Travis Hill, and he was still running from the law. His assignment didn’t go as
planned, and a single misunderstanding resulted in him being a wanted man.
“But” he said after a brief pause, “That’s all in the past. What I got planned for next year is a helluva lot bigger that those Night
Owls’d know what to do about”
As I listened to him, everything seemed to make sense to me. Everything that Bart said was confirmation of what I’d heard about
him before starting this assignment 3 months ago. Only then, near Christmas, did I understand that all of it was true. I knew then
what had to be done.
I slowly pulled out the six inch dagger that I had in my back pocket, being ever so careful not tip him off. Unfortunately a flicker of
light reflected off my blade and into his eye, revealing to him my true intentions. I tried to quickly stab him before he could react but
he caught my wrist and punched me to the ground. He tried to strangle me, but I flipped him over, and before I knew it we were
both on our feet having a stand-off.
“You little basterd! Are you one of those who killed Dante?!”
“I told you that I’m a Night Owl, didn’t I?”
He charged at me and tried to punch me, but I moved quickly and grabbed his arm. He wasn’t exactly in the best physical condition.
With this opening I stabbed him in the chest and slammed him onto the floor. At that point my concentration was solely on him and
nothing else seemed to matter. Everything else just faded out of my focus; it was just me and him.
I twisted my knife in his chest, causing him to grunt in pain.
“Why are you so determined to stop what I’ve got goin’ here?” he struggled to ask me.
“It’s simple Bart. You’ve got a major trafficking operation here and I’ve been sent to end it. These girls have homes and families to
get back to. They must be returned.”
Bart let out a strained laugh.
“What homes an’ families are ya takin’ about? Get yer head outta yer *** an’ look around. Even so close to Christmas, there’re
thousands of homeless people out on the streets. Ya think these girls got anyone to go back to?”
“So let me get this right, these girls have nowhere else to go, and what better way to take care of them than to kidnap and sell them into slavery?”
Bart coughed up blood a few times. His time was growing short. He said in a weak voice:
“Ya think they’re bein’ sold to slavery? Nah, you Night Owls don’t get it do ya? They’re goin’ to people of fortune, better off than you
can imagine, better than you or I”
“They’re still enslaved” I snapped, “ Where ever they go”
“Yer too naïve to understand kid, but it doesn’t matter now”
His breathing was slowing down.
“The others won’t take too kindly to what you’ve done here”
He gurgled on his own blood before he stopped breathing. It wasn’t a pretty death, but then death is never pretty. I stood up and
stepped away from his body, my mission finished, and looked around to see a look of shock and horror on the faces of the girls in
the room. As much as it bothered me, it couldn’t be helped; I had to do what I had to do.
As per my instructions I used my pager to notify the authorities, meaning the police would be here after a short while. It also meant
that I would have to leave fairly soon if I didn’t want to be implicated in the crime, despite how much I wanted to liberate the
victims. On my way out I picked up Bart’s black book which contained all of his prior transactions for the month, and the ones he
planned for next month. This had been a successful mission, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t worth it. I knew that
these girls had to be freed, but the fact that something like this was happening behind the scenes so close to Christmas bothered
me. How much more is there to this? Do these girls really have no homes to go back to? I couldn’t answer these questions. All I
could do was walk out of the building as quickly as I could, and hope that I had did the right thing.