(no subject)
Author: athousandsmiles
Title: Pearl's House 7/10
Rating: Now rated M to be safe
Genre: angst, romance, au, supernatural
Summary: Cameron tried to shake off the feeling of being watched and made quick work of searching the place for anything unusual. Problem was, everything there was unusual.
A/N: Written for the weekly challenge at hughvillefics for the prompt New Year's Eve. Unbeta'd
maybebaby1280 helped me out with this chapter, because she is made of awesomesauce. Any mistakes are all on me though. Also, because the story went in an unexpected direction, I had to change a few minor details in previous chapters. I don't think it's anything too noticeable though, so no need to go back and reread. But if you think you've found a continuity error, that's probably because I changed something. Sorry about the wait on this. Working out all the new details has been a bear.
previous chapter
When she pulled into the hospital parking lot, she saw him immediately, standing beside his car as if waiting for her. Tapping his cane against the tarmac, he watched while she parked. She got out, hoisting her bag up on her shoulder and shutting her door with a nudge from her hip.
Leaning against the hood of his beat up Dynasty, he looked... almost defeated. Yet beneath the weariness in his face was a determination, a steely resolve that she'd seen many times before, but never had it held such intensity as it did in that moment.
"Need you to come with me," he said without preamble.
At his words, her heart slid down to somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach and began performing cartwheels. He didn't need to elaborate; she knew exactly what he meant.
"It can't be Wilson or Foreman or Chase or Henry or anybody else. It's not going to work. Not unless you come with me," he continued, pushing himself from her car to stand in front of her.
Looking away, she took solace in the glass and steel and brick of the hospital, longing to go inside and lock herself away and pretend there was no house full or terrors on a little island just off the shores of the Atlantic.
"I know what I'm asking," he said, running one hand down her arm to her wrist and then stroking her palm with his thumb. "I know. If there was any other way... "
She couldn't speak; her heart had crawled back up from her stomach and lodged itself in her throat. Every part of her cried out in protest, and if he wasn't touching her in a way that was both comforting and sensual, she was sure she would've run.
"The answer is there, Cameron. We have to go back." He looked down into her face and continued, "I think you feel it too."
Reluctant as she was to admit it, he was right. She felt the draw of the place too, the need for answers. It was the very reason she kept going back to that old dock. But the fear of that place always overtook any need she felt to unravel the mystery. Maybe some part of her hoped that House would figure it out on his own, or maybe she just really didn't want the answers because then she might lose this bond she felt with him.
"House... I don't know if I can," she finally said, as she moved into his arms, trembling and clutching him lest her knees give way.
"Do you think that I'd let anything hurt you?" he asked, and his eyes held promises that nearly made her cry. "I won't leave your side for one second. Trust me, please."
Taking a deep breath, she nodded, terrified still... but she could not say no to him. She never could. "When?" she asked.
"Now."
"Now?"
"We don't have a patient. Let's do it now and get it over with. Like ripping off a bandage."
"Yeah, as simple as that," she muttered, stuffing her keys into her pockets.
He opened the passenger door for her and she slid in, dropping her bag at her feet and yanking on her seatbelt while he rounded the car and got in, passing his cane to her. He started the engine and off they went, a sense of doom hovering in the space between them.
The trip to Silver Pine Beach was way too short and way too long all at once. Neither of them spoke as they sped down the highway past pine barrens and sleepy coastal towns. Cameron wanted to lock the car doors and stay inside when they arrived, but House was already waiting for her, and not far away, she spotted Henry Matthews standing at the end of the pier where his boat was docked. With a heavy sigh, she grabbed her bag and headed over to the Jolly Jane without a word.
Henry greeted her and she tried to smile, but found herself incapable, and simply lifted her hand in a half-hearted wave.
"You two sure you want to do this?" he asked, glancing from her to House, who just nodded and boarded the boat, his backpack slung over one shoulder.
"Alrighty then," Henry said, tossing ropes onto the deck and then climbing aboard. "I'll take you as close as I can and then you can take the raft over and I'll wait. Just bear in mind, we can't be out here too long. S'posed to storm again later. Estelle will have my hide if I'm not in before that. She worries."
He steered the boat away from the dock and out into the harbor, and soon the little island and Pearl's house became more than just dots on the horizon. The back of the house rose up out of the frozen earth, casting a dark shadow over the ground that seemed to have a life of its own.
House rowed them to shore in the little raft and tied it carefully to an outcropping of roots and brush along the shoreline. Reaching for Cameron's hand, he squeezed it and held on as they made their way solemnly up the embankment. The terrain was uneven, filled with holes and roots sticking up out of the ground, so they moved slowly.
As they neared the house, Cameron pointed to two little gray stones jutting out of the earth just steps beyond the back door, markers for the dearly departed. House released her hand only long enough to push away some of the overgrown weeds so they could read the first gravestone, worn and faded though it was. It read simply,
Abel Cottin
1802 - 1863
Known by many
Loved by few
Cameron blinked, saddened by such a tragic legacy, and wondered who would put something so terrible on a headstone, what kind of man could be so unlovable that he would inspire such an epitaph. Glancing over at House, she saw him shake his head as if he'd just emerged from an icy pool and she shivered and wrapped her free hand around his arm.
Moving on to the next grave, they nearly stumbled over a small, squat headstone that had nearly disappeared in the overgrowth where it rested between the two more prominent graves. A chipped Cherub sat haphazardly atop it and the stone read,
Stephen Alistair Cottin
Born
March 3, 1847
Died
March 15, 1847
Beloved son of Abel and Struana Cottin
Her heart squeezed painfully at the loss these people suffered, and a strange sensation came over her, as if she knew them and had suffered with them. Unable to bear it, she tugged House toward the last headstone, which read,
Struana "Pearl" McCready Cottin
Born
March 11, 1823
Died
December 31, 1863
The sea carried her home
Just past the little cemetery was a gnarled old tree, tall and leafless against the winter sky. It stood like a sentinel, branches like arthritic fingers hovering over the graves as if waiting to shoo away any intruder. Something about it made Cameron's scalp tingle with apprehension. One of its brittle limbs, rocking in the bitter winter wind, scraped against the wooden clapboards of the house like a claw and the sound raised goosebumps all over her flesh.
House tugged on her hand and they made their way up the rotting steps of the back porch, every nerve ending telling her to run away. The creak of the door felt like a warning, and she took a deep breath and told herself to be brave. House went in first, pulling her behind him into the kitchen. The room was warm and in the wood stove was the glow of burning embers as if someone had recently cooked a meal, but there was also a feeling of abandonment there, a chill that seeped deep into Cameron's bones. Above them, footsteps tapped out a rhythm across the hardwood floors and House and Cameron both froze for a second, looking up into the rafters of the kitchen as if they could see the restless spirit on the second floor.
"What are we looking for?" Cameron whispered, clutching at House's arm.
"Papers, documents, stuff like that," he said, leading her down the hallway toward the front room.
A shadow darted out from the front door and Cameron heard the swish of fabric, like the taffeta from her mom's old prom dress. A slight breeze stirred against her skin, the scent of rose water wafting past. Her fight or flight instincts kicked into high gear and she stifled a little gasp. As if he could read her reaction, feel the beat of her pulse as it increased its speed, House paused and drew her closer, softly saying, "We're okay, Cameron."
They turned and went into the parlor, stopping to glance at the spot on the floor where they'd tried to sleep that fateful night. The fireplace was cold, but laid with new wood as if ready for someone to light it against another cold winter evening, and candles were placed throughout the room, some burned down until they were mere stubs, their wicks darkened from past flames. The thick velvet curtains were drawn against the pale afternoon light; House let go of Cameron's hand for a moment, passing his cane to her so he could pull a flashlight from his backpack. He shone it around the room, illuminating the dark corners and the faded paper on the walls.
On a stand against one wall sat a large ancient book, a Bible within which the family history had been scrawled in a graceful calligraphy: marriages, births, deaths. The pages, delicate and thin as tissue, nearly dissolved at House's touch. But inside they read that Abel and Struana had wed in May of 1843 and had a second child in 1848, John Abel Cottin, whose death was not recorded. Slipped into the back of the book was a yellowed deed to the house in Abel Cottin's name, folded carefully into thirds, the creases nearly worn through.
Something in the room watched them, Cameron was sure, though it was only a feeling. But it made the hairs on her arms stand up and little prickles of fear light up her nerve endings.
Closing the Bible carefully, House turned and pulled her back toward the hallway and the staircase leading up to the second floor. Little tremors started from Cameron's feet and worked their way up to her head as they paused at the bottom of the steps.
"If you want to wait down here or outside, I'll go up alone," House said, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb in a soothing manner.
The idea of separating, of House alone in those rooms, was far more frightening than going up together, and her instant reaction was an emphatic, "No," and a shake of her head. "It's fine. It's... just noises and shadows right?" And spirits and disembodied voices, she thought with a shudder.
He nodded and looked into her eyes for a moment, conveying a message of pride for her courage. "Yup, noises and shadows," he agreed, though even his confident tone failed to convince her, nor did he seem to convince himself. She took his arm and they started up, the beam of the flashlight leading the way.
The sense of an unseen presence grew stronger with each stair they climbed, and at the top they noted the flicker of candlelight coming from the largest bedroom. House paused only a second and then led her in. On the large chest of drawers sat one fat candle; two smaller ones stood on the dressing table, the light from the flames reflected in the mirror behind them.
Leaning toward her, House spoke low in her ear, saying, "Let's just check the drawers and move on."
She let go of his hand reluctantly, and pulled open the top drawer of the chest and then the next and the next, finding nothing but petticoats and corsets and other undergarments from another era. Despite their age, they still held the scent of rose water like she'd smelled earlier downstairs, and it was as if the wearer of the clothes had just put them away. She felt strangely conflicted about touching them, intruding on someone long dead and yet still very much present. She kept one eye on House, who was rifling through the drawers of the dressing table. In the corner she noticed a mist beginning to form, just as House stood upright with an old leather book in his hand.
"I found a journal," he said almost triumphantly, and just as he finished, that familiar deep male voice from the chair said, "I'm tired of waiting," in a low growl and Cameron slapped her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out.
Startled, House stumbled back to Cameron and she hugged his arm, watching the mist form the vague figure of a man, slumped in the seat. "Waiting for what?" House asked, and Cameron's eyes grew wide with horror that he would speak to... a ghost.
"Pearl," the spirit answered in an angry voice. "I'm tired of waiting for Pearl."
"House, please, let's go," Cameron pleaded, tugging on his arm like an impatient child.
He stuffed the book in his backpack and led her back to the stairs and out the back door. Once outside and past the gravestones, Cameron looked back, and in the window of one of the bedrooms she saw the same ghostly woman she'd seen in the parlor on New Year's Eve. Looking down on them, the woman seemed to raise her hand in a simple wave and then she faded away.
The sky was dark and foreboding as they made their way to the raft; it seemed to Cameron as if every time they came to this place the weather conspired to add to the haunting mood. House rowed them to the Jolly Jane, his biceps flexing beneath the sleeves of his pea coat, and she watched in wonder as his arms moved in perfect symmetry. He was so beautiful; it amazed her that he didn't know how beautiful he was, that he could think himself not "nice, charming, or particularly good looking." He was all those things and so much more to her. The whole experience with Pearl's house had changed her and changed the two of them together and she realized she would go through it all again just to have this closeness with him. Pearl had somehow brought them together, and though it was only for a time, it was worth every second of fear.
They arrived at the Jolly Jane, and she climbed the ladder, House's backpack slung over her shoulder with her own bag. As Henry hoisted up the raft and House made his way carefully behind her, the rain started to pour and thunder boomed in the distance.
"Here it comes," Henry shouted. "We're about to get soaked." He started the boat and headed for shore at full throttle while House and Cameron ignored the rain as they stared back at Pearl's house.
The storm got more and more fierce with each moment, and only the lights of Silver Pine Beach seemed to guide them back. As Henry predicted, they were soaked through by the time they reached shore. Back at Henry's dock, they helped him moor the boat, tossing ropes slick with rain that he tied in expert knots. And then they parted ways with shouted goodbyes and thank yous.
House blasted the heat once they were safely inside his car, but his wipers barely kept up with the downpour and so, like before, he followed the yellow light in the distance and pulled into the lot of the familiar hotel.
continue
Title: Pearl's House 7/10
Rating: Now rated M to be safe
Genre: angst, romance, au, supernatural
Summary: Cameron tried to shake off the feeling of being watched and made quick work of searching the place for anything unusual. Problem was, everything there was unusual.
A/N: Written for the weekly challenge at hughvillefics for the prompt New Year's Eve. Unbeta'd
maybebaby1280 helped me out with this chapter, because she is made of awesomesauce. Any mistakes are all on me though. Also, because the story went in an unexpected direction, I had to change a few minor details in previous chapters. I don't think it's anything too noticeable though, so no need to go back and reread. But if you think you've found a continuity error, that's probably because I changed something. Sorry about the wait on this. Working out all the new details has been a bear.
previous chapter
When she pulled into the hospital parking lot, she saw him immediately, standing beside his car as if waiting for her. Tapping his cane against the tarmac, he watched while she parked. She got out, hoisting her bag up on her shoulder and shutting her door with a nudge from her hip.
Leaning against the hood of his beat up Dynasty, he looked... almost defeated. Yet beneath the weariness in his face was a determination, a steely resolve that she'd seen many times before, but never had it held such intensity as it did in that moment.
"Need you to come with me," he said without preamble.
At his words, her heart slid down to somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach and began performing cartwheels. He didn't need to elaborate; she knew exactly what he meant.
"It can't be Wilson or Foreman or Chase or Henry or anybody else. It's not going to work. Not unless you come with me," he continued, pushing himself from her car to stand in front of her.
Looking away, she took solace in the glass and steel and brick of the hospital, longing to go inside and lock herself away and pretend there was no house full or terrors on a little island just off the shores of the Atlantic.
"I know what I'm asking," he said, running one hand down her arm to her wrist and then stroking her palm with his thumb. "I know. If there was any other way... "
She couldn't speak; her heart had crawled back up from her stomach and lodged itself in her throat. Every part of her cried out in protest, and if he wasn't touching her in a way that was both comforting and sensual, she was sure she would've run.
"The answer is there, Cameron. We have to go back." He looked down into her face and continued, "I think you feel it too."
Reluctant as she was to admit it, he was right. She felt the draw of the place too, the need for answers. It was the very reason she kept going back to that old dock. But the fear of that place always overtook any need she felt to unravel the mystery. Maybe some part of her hoped that House would figure it out on his own, or maybe she just really didn't want the answers because then she might lose this bond she felt with him.
"House... I don't know if I can," she finally said, as she moved into his arms, trembling and clutching him lest her knees give way.
"Do you think that I'd let anything hurt you?" he asked, and his eyes held promises that nearly made her cry. "I won't leave your side for one second. Trust me, please."
Taking a deep breath, she nodded, terrified still... but she could not say no to him. She never could. "When?" she asked.
"Now."
"Now?"
"We don't have a patient. Let's do it now and get it over with. Like ripping off a bandage."
"Yeah, as simple as that," she muttered, stuffing her keys into her pockets.
He opened the passenger door for her and she slid in, dropping her bag at her feet and yanking on her seatbelt while he rounded the car and got in, passing his cane to her. He started the engine and off they went, a sense of doom hovering in the space between them.
The trip to Silver Pine Beach was way too short and way too long all at once. Neither of them spoke as they sped down the highway past pine barrens and sleepy coastal towns. Cameron wanted to lock the car doors and stay inside when they arrived, but House was already waiting for her, and not far away, she spotted Henry Matthews standing at the end of the pier where his boat was docked. With a heavy sigh, she grabbed her bag and headed over to the Jolly Jane without a word.
Henry greeted her and she tried to smile, but found herself incapable, and simply lifted her hand in a half-hearted wave.
"You two sure you want to do this?" he asked, glancing from her to House, who just nodded and boarded the boat, his backpack slung over one shoulder.
"Alrighty then," Henry said, tossing ropes onto the deck and then climbing aboard. "I'll take you as close as I can and then you can take the raft over and I'll wait. Just bear in mind, we can't be out here too long. S'posed to storm again later. Estelle will have my hide if I'm not in before that. She worries."
He steered the boat away from the dock and out into the harbor, and soon the little island and Pearl's house became more than just dots on the horizon. The back of the house rose up out of the frozen earth, casting a dark shadow over the ground that seemed to have a life of its own.
House rowed them to shore in the little raft and tied it carefully to an outcropping of roots and brush along the shoreline. Reaching for Cameron's hand, he squeezed it and held on as they made their way solemnly up the embankment. The terrain was uneven, filled with holes and roots sticking up out of the ground, so they moved slowly.
As they neared the house, Cameron pointed to two little gray stones jutting out of the earth just steps beyond the back door, markers for the dearly departed. House released her hand only long enough to push away some of the overgrown weeds so they could read the first gravestone, worn and faded though it was. It read simply,
Abel Cottin
1802 - 1863
Known by many
Loved by few
Cameron blinked, saddened by such a tragic legacy, and wondered who would put something so terrible on a headstone, what kind of man could be so unlovable that he would inspire such an epitaph. Glancing over at House, she saw him shake his head as if he'd just emerged from an icy pool and she shivered and wrapped her free hand around his arm.
Moving on to the next grave, they nearly stumbled over a small, squat headstone that had nearly disappeared in the overgrowth where it rested between the two more prominent graves. A chipped Cherub sat haphazardly atop it and the stone read,
Stephen Alistair Cottin
Born
March 3, 1847
Died
March 15, 1847
Beloved son of Abel and Struana Cottin
Her heart squeezed painfully at the loss these people suffered, and a strange sensation came over her, as if she knew them and had suffered with them. Unable to bear it, she tugged House toward the last headstone, which read,
Struana "Pearl" McCready Cottin
Born
March 11, 1823
Died
December 31, 1863
The sea carried her home
Just past the little cemetery was a gnarled old tree, tall and leafless against the winter sky. It stood like a sentinel, branches like arthritic fingers hovering over the graves as if waiting to shoo away any intruder. Something about it made Cameron's scalp tingle with apprehension. One of its brittle limbs, rocking in the bitter winter wind, scraped against the wooden clapboards of the house like a claw and the sound raised goosebumps all over her flesh.
House tugged on her hand and they made their way up the rotting steps of the back porch, every nerve ending telling her to run away. The creak of the door felt like a warning, and she took a deep breath and told herself to be brave. House went in first, pulling her behind him into the kitchen. The room was warm and in the wood stove was the glow of burning embers as if someone had recently cooked a meal, but there was also a feeling of abandonment there, a chill that seeped deep into Cameron's bones. Above them, footsteps tapped out a rhythm across the hardwood floors and House and Cameron both froze for a second, looking up into the rafters of the kitchen as if they could see the restless spirit on the second floor.
"What are we looking for?" Cameron whispered, clutching at House's arm.
"Papers, documents, stuff like that," he said, leading her down the hallway toward the front room.
A shadow darted out from the front door and Cameron heard the swish of fabric, like the taffeta from her mom's old prom dress. A slight breeze stirred against her skin, the scent of rose water wafting past. Her fight or flight instincts kicked into high gear and she stifled a little gasp. As if he could read her reaction, feel the beat of her pulse as it increased its speed, House paused and drew her closer, softly saying, "We're okay, Cameron."
They turned and went into the parlor, stopping to glance at the spot on the floor where they'd tried to sleep that fateful night. The fireplace was cold, but laid with new wood as if ready for someone to light it against another cold winter evening, and candles were placed throughout the room, some burned down until they were mere stubs, their wicks darkened from past flames. The thick velvet curtains were drawn against the pale afternoon light; House let go of Cameron's hand for a moment, passing his cane to her so he could pull a flashlight from his backpack. He shone it around the room, illuminating the dark corners and the faded paper on the walls.
On a stand against one wall sat a large ancient book, a Bible within which the family history had been scrawled in a graceful calligraphy: marriages, births, deaths. The pages, delicate and thin as tissue, nearly dissolved at House's touch. But inside they read that Abel and Struana had wed in May of 1843 and had a second child in 1848, John Abel Cottin, whose death was not recorded. Slipped into the back of the book was a yellowed deed to the house in Abel Cottin's name, folded carefully into thirds, the creases nearly worn through.
Something in the room watched them, Cameron was sure, though it was only a feeling. But it made the hairs on her arms stand up and little prickles of fear light up her nerve endings.
Closing the Bible carefully, House turned and pulled her back toward the hallway and the staircase leading up to the second floor. Little tremors started from Cameron's feet and worked their way up to her head as they paused at the bottom of the steps.
"If you want to wait down here or outside, I'll go up alone," House said, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb in a soothing manner.
The idea of separating, of House alone in those rooms, was far more frightening than going up together, and her instant reaction was an emphatic, "No," and a shake of her head. "It's fine. It's... just noises and shadows right?" And spirits and disembodied voices, she thought with a shudder.
He nodded and looked into her eyes for a moment, conveying a message of pride for her courage. "Yup, noises and shadows," he agreed, though even his confident tone failed to convince her, nor did he seem to convince himself. She took his arm and they started up, the beam of the flashlight leading the way.
The sense of an unseen presence grew stronger with each stair they climbed, and at the top they noted the flicker of candlelight coming from the largest bedroom. House paused only a second and then led her in. On the large chest of drawers sat one fat candle; two smaller ones stood on the dressing table, the light from the flames reflected in the mirror behind them.
Leaning toward her, House spoke low in her ear, saying, "Let's just check the drawers and move on."
She let go of his hand reluctantly, and pulled open the top drawer of the chest and then the next and the next, finding nothing but petticoats and corsets and other undergarments from another era. Despite their age, they still held the scent of rose water like she'd smelled earlier downstairs, and it was as if the wearer of the clothes had just put them away. She felt strangely conflicted about touching them, intruding on someone long dead and yet still very much present. She kept one eye on House, who was rifling through the drawers of the dressing table. In the corner she noticed a mist beginning to form, just as House stood upright with an old leather book in his hand.
"I found a journal," he said almost triumphantly, and just as he finished, that familiar deep male voice from the chair said, "I'm tired of waiting," in a low growl and Cameron slapped her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out.
Startled, House stumbled back to Cameron and she hugged his arm, watching the mist form the vague figure of a man, slumped in the seat. "Waiting for what?" House asked, and Cameron's eyes grew wide with horror that he would speak to... a ghost.
"Pearl," the spirit answered in an angry voice. "I'm tired of waiting for Pearl."
"House, please, let's go," Cameron pleaded, tugging on his arm like an impatient child.
He stuffed the book in his backpack and led her back to the stairs and out the back door. Once outside and past the gravestones, Cameron looked back, and in the window of one of the bedrooms she saw the same ghostly woman she'd seen in the parlor on New Year's Eve. Looking down on them, the woman seemed to raise her hand in a simple wave and then she faded away.
The sky was dark and foreboding as they made their way to the raft; it seemed to Cameron as if every time they came to this place the weather conspired to add to the haunting mood. House rowed them to the Jolly Jane, his biceps flexing beneath the sleeves of his pea coat, and she watched in wonder as his arms moved in perfect symmetry. He was so beautiful; it amazed her that he didn't know how beautiful he was, that he could think himself not "nice, charming, or particularly good looking." He was all those things and so much more to her. The whole experience with Pearl's house had changed her and changed the two of them together and she realized she would go through it all again just to have this closeness with him. Pearl had somehow brought them together, and though it was only for a time, it was worth every second of fear.
They arrived at the Jolly Jane, and she climbed the ladder, House's backpack slung over her shoulder with her own bag. As Henry hoisted up the raft and House made his way carefully behind her, the rain started to pour and thunder boomed in the distance.
"Here it comes," Henry shouted. "We're about to get soaked." He started the boat and headed for shore at full throttle while House and Cameron ignored the rain as they stared back at Pearl's house.
The storm got more and more fierce with each moment, and only the lights of Silver Pine Beach seemed to guide them back. As Henry predicted, they were soaked through by the time they reached shore. Back at Henry's dock, they helped him moor the boat, tossing ropes slick with rain that he tied in expert knots. And then they parted ways with shouted goodbyes and thank yous.
House blasted the heat once they were safely inside his car, but his wipers barely kept up with the downpour and so, like before, he followed the yellow light in the distance and pulled into the lot of the familiar hotel.
continue