Fan Fiction: Short Stories

The Mystery of the Mad Doctor
by Greg Daulton

NEW YORK CITY- circa 1940   

  It was an unusually foggy night, perhaps too foggy at the inner square of downtown New York City. This great city, or at least the major parts throughout, had some of the most vile and crime ridden areas in the entire country, if not the world. This was a city as dark and ominous as the nightmares of the madmen that dwell here.

  Exiting through the back door of a famous nightspot, the Cobalt Club, a woman walked hesitantly through an alley to the bulk of the crowded street. Holding tightly to her fur wrap, she waved down a taxi.

  Tall and beautiful, she quickly entered a cab as it pulled off to the shoulder within seconds of her waving. Opening the door, she glanced in the front seat, spotting the Italian driver stare through the mirror at her low-cut dress. She entered, and as the cab drove off she nervously glanced behind her to see if anyone was following.

  "Where to lady?" the cabbie questioned, his voice thick and deep.

  Somewhat put off by the thin-haired man, she tensely answered, "Anywhere. Away from here."

  "You in some kind of trouble lady?" He asked as he turned right onto Water Street.

  "Just take me home. I live on Third Street," she answered, fumbling with the clasp on her necklace, struggling not to meet the eyes glaring at her from the cab's rear view mirror.

  "That's gonna be quite a hefty fee lady."

  "Just take me." She folded her arms, staring out the window at the gloomy cityscape. Hearing him grunt, she replied, annoyed, "Look driver, there's an extra twenty bucks in it for you if you stay quiet. I've had a bad night as it is."

  "Sure thing lady," the chubby driver huffed, throwing up his arms as he stopped the car at a busy intersection.

  The woman, Alanis Wattanabee, thought back to before the night's show at the Cobalt as her boss humiliated her by fondling her in front of the veteran singers. It was the type of environment that gave her a tough edge and although she despised it, she needed this job. With good reason to be nervous, she routinely left work in a hurry because of erratic fans and the typical weirdoes that loitered around the club's back doors at night for handouts.

  Suddenly thunder boomed from all around and then an abrupt downpour invaded the dark road on which the car traveled. The driver groaned, unable to see the road as he pulled onto Brooklyn Bridge. Slowing the car, he leaned over to search through the glove compartment in frantic search for his eyeglasses.

  With sudden haste, the tires of the dingy yellow vehicle lost traction as the car swerved to and fro into oncoming cars. With horns blaring and thunder crashing, he returned his focus to the blurry road, forgetting about his glasses.

  In a blinding moment, the taxi swerved and crashed into the monolithic support beams of the Brooklyn Bridge. With the snapping of the driver's seatbelt, he lurched forward and busted his head on the dash. Blood gushed from his scalp as he was knocked unconscious.

  Erupting in tears of shock and pain, Alanis screamed for the driver's attention but as he didn't respond, she unsteadily leaned into the front seat to wake him up. Shifting her weight in the mangled car, the front wheels gave way, sending the taxi to a teetering position. Jumping back into the rear seat, she pushed all her weight towards the back to level out the wavering vehicle.

  As the car finally stopped teetering and became motionless, she breathed deeply, considering her options. With every slight movement she made, and with every inch she crawled towards the door, the car rocked farther off the edge. Crying, she drew her knees to chest and prayed for a savior.