The Black Rose Pt. II

If you haven’t yet, please read the preceding post, here. The below will not make sense if you have not. Thanks.

Happy #MillenialFriday

Over the past decade and a half, Boston has had incidences of young men, in their early to mid twenties, turn up missing. There has even been online suspicion and rumors that these disappearances are, in fact, due to a serial killer. The typical M.O. is a young male, after a night out of drinking disappears and is later found in a body of water, which in Boston is just about everywhere. The men have been taken from outside TD Garden, where the Celtics play, and there were several who were last seen at the same bar downtown, The Black Rose. These men have been found in Boston Harbor as well as the Charles River. Not to mention, a large reservoir when you go further West out toward Boston College.

Anytime someone of authority has looked into these disappearances the story has always been concluded that this was either a. A suicide or b. A drunken accident. Either way, the police never found any evidence of foul play. All of that seems incredibly reasonable, the large majority of these men are drunk, Boston is surrounded by water, and oftentimes these incidents are in the winter so it’s not even a matter of if the intoxicated men can swim or not; they freeze. Reasonable until you take a deeper look into a few of the Boston incidents, where one of the men was missing for nearly a month and later discovered had been deceased for only a few days. Now, these “disappearances” seem more malicious.

This whole story, as I’ve thought it over the many months that have passed since, was a very strange and rather scary experience. I don’t know what this woman had in mind. My first thought was this woman was going to kill me. Later on, a more reasonable thought, maybe she was a sex worker and she had a pimp and she was supposed to take me to meet him just off Storrow Drive, and they were going to rob me. I put most of these suspicions to bed and didn’t think much about it.

Early on, I told one of my friends who is a prosecutor. He said I should go to the police with this story. At least mention it so they have a record of something like this in case she does it again. That worried me. He seemed to have some legitimate concerns about this. Then more months passed, and I don’t think much about this weird experience.

Then we hear the rumors of the “Smiley Face Killers”, an organized ring of serial killers across the country. Young men, in their twenties, disappear after a night of drinking and are found later in bodies of water. Months had passed since the night this all happened to me, and I never thought of it as anything more than that. A weird, kind of spooky, night. Now, I don’t think that this is related to the Smiley Face Killers, but the stories of the Smiley Face Killers and the stories of the disappearing men in Boston are eerily similar. And the woman’s whose car I was in was dedicated to going towards the Charles River.

I never saw her again. I’ve never come across anything like that again. It was so strange. In all reality, it was a few minutes I was in a strange woman’s car, and that was that. But as time passes and we hear more stories like the Smiley Face Killers or the many disappearances in Boston, it does cross my mind that maybe there was something more at play. I can’t be for certain, and truthfully I don’t think the lady who picked me up was tied to some larger criminal enterprise. But the fact is, I don’t know. What if I had been drunk? Maybe I don’t think to tell her to take me back for a friend. The only reason I’ve analyzed this night further is because of a passing comment from a friend, “Isn’t that where all those guys disappeared from?

I don’t think this woman is related to something bigger, more organized. I’ve repeated that many times. So, why write this whole story down? I only hold a small sliver of a possibility of that being the case in my mind, because many months later, long after all this happened, I got a text. I was at home making dinner, and I got a text from a friend. The same friend who asked about the other men at The Black Rose. The same friend that had me thinking harder about this in the first place.

“Hey dude, my work just had a happy hour at The Black Rose. I was outside waiting for my Uber and some lady pulled up and asked if I needed a ride home.”