So one day I had a thought. What if Doctor Strange became a TV show?
Aired on Prime Time and all that. What would it be like? Here's my
answer.
Disclaimer: Doctor Strange and related characters are owned by Marvel
Comics. No money is being made from this and no such intent should be
inferred.
-------------
It was the ninth time.
Detective Ellen Greenberger ran a hand through her hair. She was a
tall, lean woman, with a square chin and dark brown eyes capped off
by short brown hair that was cut for function, not style. She wore a
jacket and jeans with her feet stuck in worn out hiking boots. She
was just on the far side of thirty, had only just made detective six
months ago and had caught the case from hell.
"I only looked away for just second. My cell phone went off and I
looked at it! He was right next to me! I swear to God!" Ellen nodded
and made notes and tried to reassure the distraught mother that her
son would be found, hale and hearty and whole.
Yeah, right.
This was too much like the others. In a few hours, she knew,
somewhere in the state, the missing child would be found, wandering
around naked and bleeding, having been ruthlessly sodomized. No one
had ever seen the kids being dumped, or who took them to begin with.
A uniform stepped up next to her. "We just finished taking
statements, Ma'am. Same as all the others. No one saw anything. Big
surprise, huh?"
Ellen closed her book. "Yeah, what a shock." She sighed. "By the
book, officer. Take Mrs Jenks home and then round up some other
officers. We'll do a knock on doors and maybe this time our ghosts
messed up and somebody saw something. They can't have been picking
kids at random. It makes no sense."
* * * *
Hours later, Ellen was ready to eat her badge out of sheer
frustration. Again, nobody had seen anything, or at least the ones
who didn't slam the door in her face the moment they saw her badge.
She had the feeling some of them might have known something, but were
too afraid to speak.
She zipped up her coat against the night chill and took a deep breath
and began walking back to her car. As she passed an alley, someone
spoke.
"You the cop lady looking for whoever's doing those kids?" She spun,
one hand dropping to her gun. The speaker was a kid, dressed in gang
colors. He couldn't have been older then twenty. Big and muscular.
"Easy, cop lady, I aint lookin for no trouble."
She kept one hand on her hip, ready to draw if she had to. "I'm the
cop lady. Why?"
"You aint gonna get anything 'round here. Too scared or don't know
jack shit. And even if they weren't, aint nobody gonna talk to a cop.
'Specially no white lady cop."
"You're talking."
"I aint talking, I'm telling you how it is. You want to catch these
guys, you go down to McGee's over in the Village and ask for Doc."
"Doc?"
"Doctor Strange." With that, he faded back into the alley's shadows
and was gone.
* * * *
The only McGee's in Greenwich was a small irish pub and the bartender
was singularly unhelpful. However, for a twenty, one of the regulars,
an unwashed man who stank like bad cheese, gave her an address three
blocks over.
That address was a small townhouse. It was about three stories tall,
painted a light green with a red adobe roof and all the windows were
shaded. A small sign on the door identified it at "Stephen Strange;
Occult Consultant."
She raised her hand to knock when the door was thrown open. Standing
there was a large black man with short hair. He wore sunglasses and
black clothing. He glared at her, baring teeth in a snarl and she
could have sworn she saw fangs. Then he pushed past her and down the
steps to the big black Harley sitting at the curb.
"Can I help you?" said a voice from inside. "Please come in."
Ellen stepped inside, squinting into the gloom. The speaker was an
asian man who was either a well worn thirty or a remarkably well-
preserved seventy. He was completely hairless, even his eyebrows were
gone and he wore loose fitting clothing. The shop's walls were lined
with bottles and curios. At the back was a small counter and a single
doorway beaded with curtains. The air was heavy with incense and
other exotic smells.
"Ellen Greenberger," Ellen said, laying her badge on the counter.
"NYPD. I need to speak with Mister Strange. Is he in?"
"A moment, please."
The man disappeared through the beaded curtain and then returned a
few minutes later. "The Master will see you. This way, please."
The hallway beyond the curtain was even darker then the shop, if that
was possible and then the man opened the door into a much larger room.
It was twice the size of the shop, every inch of wall space devoted
to bookshelves. Two candles sat on the low table at the center of the
room and seated on a cushion at that table was a man. He was lean,
with hair that grayed at the temples and a pencil thin mustache. He
was poring over a large and extremely old book and wore a dark blue
shirt tucked into silk trousers. His hands were gloved and a cup of
tea was at his elbow.
"The detective, Master," the man said, bowing.
"Thank you, Wong," the man at the table said, rising to his feet with
unnatural grace . "Welcome, Detective. I'm Doctor Strange. Please,
sit." He sank back onto the cushion with that same grace. "How can I
be of service?"
"I'm assuming you've heard of the kids being kidnapped and sodomized?"
"Yes, tragic." Strange marked his place in the book with a strip of
silk ribbon and closed the book with an air of reverence. "Do you
believe I have some sort of connection to these crimes?"
"No, no. I . . . I was told that if I wished to catch those
responsible, I should talk to you."
Strange was silent for a long time as he simply gazed at her. "I deal
in the unknown, the mystical, and the supernatural, Detective," he
said at last. "My concern with the mortal world is at best . . .
limited. Do you believe that these events fall within my sphere of
responsibility?"
"I don't know what to believe," Ellen admitted. "All I know is, we
have nine kids snatched out from under their mother's noses, in
public, and no one saw a thing. The ninth kid? They found him today
at two in the morning up in Potsdam, wandering around the college."
"There are human monsters in the world, Detective, and you yourself
just said that you don't know what to believe. If you don't believe,
I can't help you. Good day."
"Wait. Please. Please. Look, you're the first lead I've had since
this whole thing started, the captain is pushing for a break, the
chief is pushing the captain, and I can only imagine how hard the
mayor is pushing the chief. Please, if there is anything you know,
tell me. I don't even have to use your name. Just help me. Please."
Again, the silence and then at last Strange sighed. "Very well, I
will require all data to date that you've gathered so far. Names and
addresses of the victims, statements, interview transcripts, and so
on. I must know everything the police know. You can rely on my
discretion." Behind Ellen, the door opened. "Wong will show you out.
Good day."
* * * *
Ellen got back in her car and sat there for a moment, and then took
out her cell phone and hit the speed dial. The phone rang twice.
"Times Morgue," chirped a voice. "This is Amanda."
"Amanda, its Ellen," Ellen said. "Listen, I --" It was all she could
get out.
"Ellen! Hi. You would not believe what the kids thing is doing to the
files down here. Every investigative reporter is down here looking
for past stories and research. I had a call from Doctor Richards
about an hour ago, the one with the mega hot brother in law, and then
that photographer Parker was just in here, the one with the nice
butt, I hear he's dating an actress. An actress! Can you believe it?
Clearly she has good taste, you know he got my math joke? Only one in
the building who does. I even tried it out on Sam in the cafeteria,
you know, in case he was a genius who just likes people. You ever run
into those? But all he did was stare at me, like I'd grown a second
head. I wish I'd grown a second head. It would be easier since I have
this huge backlog and then the pizza in the cafeteria sucks. I hate
pizza anyway, but it was that or the rice and they put this sauce on
it that makes me gassy and Norma Jean up in the Secretarial Pool has
this really bad gas, I think its all the cabbage she eats, which is
really funny and I mean funny weird, because she's not even irish,
she's german. I think they don't eat much that will give you gas,
except maybe beer. You like beer. There's a new brewery opening over
on first street, and it's supposed to be like the one at main, but
more hip, which isn't always good. Too much hip is bad. Can you
imagine having huge hips? I mean really huge. You could have like,
abs and buns of steel, not that those tapes ever worked for me. Of
course, my VCR blew up last week, and then I had to pay through the
nose for a new tape because the manager at the video store wouldn't
believe me."
As Amanda continued to meander from topic to topic, Ellen leaned back
and tried not to smile. Amanda Branson was one of those geniuses who
graduated high school before they were out of their teens and got a
doctorate before they were 21. But Amanda hadn't gotten hers in
medicine, computers, or even physics. Hers was in Library Science and
she had a photographic memory. Unfortunately, she had a problem
staying on topic in a conversation. Her brain would flit from topic
to topic without rhyme or reason. Fortunately, even she grew tired of
talking. Eventually.
" . . . And then he had the nerve to tell me that I talk to much.
Really! I don't talk to too much. Do I?"
"Not at all," Ellen lied. "I need a favor. Can you find anything on a
guy named Stephen Strange? Stephen with a P H. It's for a case."
"Sure thing. It might take a while though. Ooh! Here's an article on
the velocity of an air laden swallow."
"I have to go, Amanda. Call me when you have the info, thanks."
"Okay."
Ellen hung up the phone with a sigh of relief. Amanda was a dear
friend, but all Ellen really knew (and wanted to know) about birds
was that they flew and built nests. She started her car and looked at
the house one last time. Then she shook her head and drove away.
----------------
Wong watched the car pull away and then stepped back through the
beaded curtain and into the library. Strange sat where'd he left him,
staring at the cover of the book and stroking his chin.
"The detective made a phone call, Master," Wong reported. "Then she
drove away." He hesitated for a moment. "Is this wise, Master? You
had no wish to become involved in their affairs when you came to this
place."
"She has a good soul, Wong," Strange replied. "And I cannot let this
slaughter of innocence continue. Detective Greenberger will solve the
case, and at worst, I will be a footnote on her report." He gestured
and the book in front of him rose up, borne by invisible hands and
placed back on the shelf. Another gesture, and another book, borne by
the same invisible hands, rose from another shelf and came to rest in
front of him. "I would like more tea, please."
"Of course, Master," Wong replied and withdrew. Strange stared at the
book for a moment and then opened it and began to study.
-----------------
At the precinct house, Ellen went straight to the Captain's office.
Captain Ed Bangs didn't so much sit in his chair as he filled it. He
was big man with alert eyes and a chin like a bulldozer. "He wants
what?" Bangs demanded. "We can't turn over that kind of information
to a civilian. It's against regs. Hell, for all we know, he's the one
doing it."
"My instincts say no, Sir," Ellen replied. "Call it a gut feeling,
but he's not responsible."
"So you think we should give him what he wants?"
"I think, Sir," Ellen said, as diplomatically as she could, "that
he's the first break we've had in this case. Even if Strange is a
loon, someone thinks he can help. It's a start."
"A gangbanger gives you a name, and you want to hand over classified
data."
"Yes, Sir. At this point, we have nothing to lose."
"You mean you have a lot to lose, Greenberger. If this Strange is a
fraud and word gets out, you'll lose your shield at the very least
and get busted back down to uniform. You want to risk that?"
"If it means a chance of keeping another child safe? Yes, sir."
He let out a grunt. "All right, I'll get the ball rolling, you get me
an arrest."
"Thank you, sir."
"Yeah, yeah, just get me these sickos."
"Yes, sir."
Turning smartly on her heel, Ellen returned to her desk and began to
organize and make copies of her case files. As she did, the phone rang.
"Greenberger."
"Ellen, its Amanda. Hi. I got all I could find on Strange and there's
not a lot, well there is, but its all general and stuff. nothing
specific. Real man of mystery. A total unknown. Like Batman, but
without the ears and everyone knows his real name and he's not
buggering some kid in chainmail briefs. Or maybe he is, but that
means he's pervert and that would be just gross. Unless the kid is
really eighteen, and then its just some kind of fetish. Ever hear of
furries?"
Ellen massaged her temples. "Amanda, just tell me what you found out
about Strange."
"Sure! Finished Med School before he was old enough to buy booze,
comes from old money. I mean, old, old money. Like Civil War old. But
I don't think it was from slavery, cause Strange is German. I think
it's German. Maybe Romanian, or Transylvanian. Could he be a Vampire?
Like Angel, not Dracula, cause Dracula was the Prince of Darkness and
really evil and Angel was good unless his soul got taken out, but
that was only if he was totally content and he had that whole angst
thing going on. Does Strange have angst?"
"I don't believe so," Ellen replied. "So he's rich?"
"Yeah, real old money. Family's loaded. Graduated High school at
fourteen, got his M.D. from John Hopkins at 20. Residency at Mayo,
top notch, all the way. He was a neurosurgeon, pulled off some ops
that no one else would do. Brilliant. Then, out of the blue, he
disappears. No one sees or hears from him for ten years. Then last
year, he shows up in the Village and buys his townhouse. Cash on the
barrelhead, full price up front. It's all his. Land and everything.
He owns it all. Do you think he's married? Cause if he's not married
that would be great and Mom said I should marry a doctor and I bet
he's hot. Is he hot? Cause even if he's not, I bet he's charming and
brilliant, cause of course he's brilliant, he's a doctor."
Ellen frowned. "Thanks, Amanda, I owe you one." She hung up and
frowned. What in God's name made a top neurosurgeon disappear at the
height of his career and turn up ten years later as an occult
consultant?
It was, she thought, very strange. But then so was this whole case.
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