PATIENT - Chapter 15: Done His Worst
Title: Patient
Author: zeppomarx
Characters: House, Wilson, Cuddy, plus the characters created for Priority’s Exigencies and zeppomarx’s A Gentle Knock at the Door.
Summary: House’s minions find a new patient, one who is reluctant to allow House to treat him. Begins three months after the opening scene of A Gentle Knock at the Door. Part of the Contract universe, which includes DIY Sheep’s intense and angsty The Contract, and Priority’s sequel Exigencies.
Thanks: To priority and houserocket7 for encouraging me to writing this side story to A Gentle Knock on the Door, and for their faithful diligence in copy editing my sloppy prose.
Warnings, etc.: Generally safe, but references to torture, rape and major character death that has happened in the past. Some chapters are pretty angsty.
Disclaimers: You know the drill. Don’t own `em, never did, never will. Wish I did.
This Chapter: Five minutes later, two EMTs-a man and a woman-parted the gathering crowd of neighbors and gawkers, pushing a gurney rapidly toward the blood-covered figure lying partially clothed on the sidewalk.
Previous Chapters:
Chapter 14
Chapter 13
Chapter 12
Chapter 11
Chapter 10
Chapter 9
Chapter 8
Chapter 7
Chapter 6
Chapter 5
Chapter 4
Chapter 3
Chapter 2
Chapter 1
_____________________________________
Chapter 15: Done His Worst
After Devi and Chase left his room, Tritter placed another call to his buddy Stan Skelton.
“You sure, Mike? Don’tcha think that’s pushin’ it a bit-kinda crossin’ a line? I mean… well… ya never actually… ya know… broke the law… like this… before.”
Even though Skelton couldn’t see him do it, Tritter nodded vigorously, his eyes narrowing with anger. “You bet I want this,” he said. “House needs to know he can’t mess with me without me messing with him. And if that means I mess up his house…” Tritter found himself amused by his choice of words. “…then maybe he won’t be so quick to mess with me again. Oh, and if you find any drugs-and I’m sure you will-confiscate `em. Once this is over, I’m picking up where I left off.”
There was an odd silence on the other end of the phone.
“Uh… Mike? Do ya really want ta do that? I mean, if this guy’s your only chance, don’tcha think messin’ with him like this could… I dunno… make him less likely to help you? It kinda seems like maybe you’re overreacting here.”
Tritter responded quickly and impatiently.
“Oh, quit being a sissy, Stan! I know this type. Once an addict, you know. As soon as he understands who is actually in control here, he’ll hop to it.”
“But you already got him arrested, and that didn’t seem to change things.”
“Just got to up the ante a bit, that’s all. Trash his house…” Again, Tritter smiled to himself over his own little joke. “…and he’ll rush to get the answer.”
“But…”
“But nothin’, Stan. Just take care of it.” And with that, he hung up the phone, just a little more forcefully than he needed to.
* * * *
The afternoon newspaper landed with a thwack and a splat on the slush-covered sidewalk. Without paying much attention, Jake Simpson rode down the street on autopilot toward the next house, reaching behind him to grab a plastic-covered paper to toss. As his arm arced to throw, he froze, his bicycle skidding to a halt. The 12-year-old’s eyes popped open and his mouth dropped in shock, the paper falling from his hand into an ice-covered puddle by the curb.
After his heart started beating again, Jake grabbed his cell phone and called his mother. He didn’t know what else to do.
Five minutes later, two EMTs-a man and a woman-parted the gathering crowd of neighbors and gawkers, pushing a gurney rapidly toward the blood-covered figure lying partially clothed on the slushy sidewalk. A woman came running from one of the nearby houses carrying a blanket, too late to provide any warmth or modesty, as two police cars, sirens blaring, pulled up to the curb.
Half an hour later, the doors to the PPTH Emergency Room slid open and the gurney barreled through, rapidly wheeling the unconscious figure into an ER examining room.
“Hypothermia,” called out Jonelle Williams, one of the emergency medical technicians, while Sam Ngoya, her partner, followed it up with, “Beaten, possible rape.” Two police officers hung back at a respectful distance.
“No name?” asked the doctor on duty, frowning at the intake form, his back to the patient on the gurney.
“Jane Doe,” said Sam Ngoya. “Paperboy found her bleeding into the snow on the sidewalk… neighbors didn’t recognize her.”
“No ID…? Oh, I guess not,” said the doctor, as his gaze went to the next line, describing how the victim had been dressed… or rather undressed… in a torn and bloody white linen nightgown hiked up around her waist. For the first time, he turned to look down at the shivering, unconscious figure behind him.
Jonelle Wiliams saw the doctor pale, swaying a moment as if he might lose his balance. She took a step forward, thinking she might have to catch him when he fainted. Newbie, she thought.
The blond doctor grabbed onto the gurney to steady himself, murmuring, “Fucking hell!” under his breath. He grabbed his pager and punched something into it before turning quickly and calling loudly for a nurse.
“Cuddy,” he said over his shoulder when he heard the nurse’s footsteps. “Get Cuddy. And Dr. Wilson.” He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, puffing out his cheeks. Closing his eyes a moment, he then opened them and added, “And Dr. House. Now. Get them now! And I need two nurses. Stat! Prep the OR.”
Stepping back into the waiting room, Jonelle felt a whoosh as a petite, dark-haired figure in ridiculously high heels, a tight skirt and low-cut blouse swept right past her. You couldn’t be an EMT in Princeton without running into-or afoul of-Lisa Cuddy. Pretty serious, thought Jonelle, to bring someone like her on the run. Dr. Wilson’s name was unfamiliar to her, but everyone knew who Dr. House was. Glancing around quickly, Jonelle failed to see anyone who matched his description.
“Oh, God!”
Jonelle whipped her head back around, trying to locate the female voice in distress. Just as she’d realized the sound came from the exam room, a distraught Lisa Cuddy flew back through the ER waiting room, brushing past Jonelle as she ran out into the main lobby. Instinctively, Jonelle headed in that direction, tugging on Sam’s sleeve to get him to follow her. Scanning the room, the dean honed in on a baby-faced doctor in a white lab coat emerging from the elevator.
“James,” she said, running toward him. She sounded upset.
“What? Lisa, what is it?” the brown-haired man asked, clearly concerned.
“House. Where’s House?” Again Jonelle scanned the room. From the opposite side of the lobby, Jonelle spied a man in a wheelchair, a man who could be no one else but Gregory House. Suddenly, her brain put the pieces together. The other torture victim-the woman-the journalist-what was her name? Now that she saw Dr. House up close-and he was getting closer by the second-she recognized the similarities to the woman found on the sidewalk. Only two people who had been through what they had could have such similar and distinctive markings. House and the other two rushed to meet each other in the center of the lobby.
“Over here,” said Cuddy, gesturing toward a nearby bench against one of the lobby walls. Seating herself, she looked up and pointed at Jonelle and Sam. “You. Come here. And get those two cops, too.”
At the word “cops,” House became noticeably alarmed, and Jonelle began mentally cataloging her medical kit, just in case she needed some Ativan for a panic attack.
Suddenly seeming to realize what concerned him, Cuddy turned to House and spoke softly. “No, House, no,” said Cuddy. “I won’t let them near you.” She looked up at the two uniformed men. “You’ll stay on the other side of the lobby, won’t you, gentlemen?”
The cops frowned, confused, and stayed put, but Jonelle got it. He doesn’t do well with cops. Who could blame him? She grabbed handfuls of shirt and literally dragged the two six-footers across the lobby. When her back was completely turned on Cuddy and the two doctors, she leaned in and whispered to the cops: “Hey, she’s the boss… she knows what she’s doing. She’ll call if she needs you. Stay over here, okay?” Still confused, the two rolled their eyes and muttered something derogatory about women and fucking retards.
Jonelle rejoined Sam and the others in time to hear Cuddy say, “House… I-it’s… it’s... Rainie,” and to see her tentatively reach out toward House, her hand hovering over his arm without actually touching it. “It’s Rainie,” she said again. A gasp came from Dr. Wilson to her left, and Jonelle saw the blood drain from House’s face. “I-I don’t know… Chase is with her. The EMTs… we can ask the EMTs.”
“Everything,” whispered House, clenching his jaw in an obvious attempt to control his nerves. “I want to know everything.”
Jonelle glanced quickly at Sam, and then took the lead. Sam was a great partner, but not so good at dealing with people. “Got a call that there was a Jane Doe unconscious in the snow. When we got there, we found her on the sidewalk.”
Suddenly, she felt uncertain. If these doctors were the woman’s friends, how much should she say and how blunt should she be? Noticing her hesitation, the doctor named Wilson urged her on.
“It’s okay,” he said gently, his face settling into sympathetic folds. “We’d rather know everything… even if it’s… unpleasant.”
She smiled grimly, appreciating the encouragement. Not everyone wanted the truth in these kinds of situations.
“Someone’s done a real number on her,” she said. “She’s been beaten, badly-very badly-and given the… blood stains and the state of her garments… probably raped.” Out of the corner of her eye, Jonelle saw the frail doctor in the wheelchair flinch dramatically. Taking a short pause to give them a chance to absorb the news, she continued. “Because of the hypothermia and her other injuries, we didn’t have time to give her much of an examination-we just stabilized her as much as we could before we got here.”
For a moment, the room was silent.
“Where did you find her?” asked House, who looked increasingly unwell. “I mean, what was the address?” When she supplied it, he looked even worse, and the nice-looking Dr. Wilson paled, casting a haggard appearance over his pleasant features.
“Is it okay if I bring over one of the police officers, House?” asked Cuddy. “To answer a few questions? It’s up to you.”
After a moment, he nodded grimly. Jonelle didn’t think he could look any more unsteady, but she was wrong. The closer the cop got to them, the more she thought she might need that Ativan.
Officer Bazell, whom Jonelle recognized from around town, spoke up when Cuddy asked him what he’d seen. His thick Jersey accent made him sound like a movie gangster. “Well, da front door looked like it had been broke. Da two officers who remained at da scene have reported dat d’ interior of da home sustained considerable damage. We left a guy on guard `ntil a new door can be installed.”
“We found her a few feet from the front door,” interjected Jonelle, looking in the general direction of the doctors before her, not sure which of the three she should address. “Her head was pointed toward the street, and her feet toward the house… It looked like… she’d been trying to escape and either fell or was pushed onto her back. I’m not sure if any of the neighbors moved her or not. They didn’t seem to know who she was.” It was always an unfortunate possibility that well-meaning civilians would tamper with a crime scene or risk further injury to a patient by moving the body.
The fragile-looking man in the wheelchair looked away from them for a moment, his startling blue eyes seeming to fill with tears. She could see the rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to get his feelings under control. Finally, the younger doctor, Wilson, gently laid his hand on House’s back and whispered something in his ear.
The older man nodded. “What kinds of injuries did you find?” he asked after a moment, his voice raspy and weak. “Abrasions? Contusions? What?”
Grateful to be able to talk strictly about the medical aspects of the case, she went on.
“She was bleeding from several noticeable wounds-scalp, left leg, right shoulder-and suffered contusions and scrapes over much of her body, including severe bruising on her face and upper body. We put her on a ventilator right away, as she was having trouble breathing, possibly because of the hypothermia. We covered her in warming blankets and started an IV of warm fluids.”
All of a sudden, Cuddy’s cell phone went off, startling them all. “Cuddy. Yes? Okay, thanks. I’ll let them know.” She looked at House first, then Wilson and finally the rest of them. “Chase just took her into the OR. Brenda Previn says he’s concerned about internal bleeding. He’s also setting a broken femur, and some small fractures in several of her fingers. Apparently he thinks she’s got a couple of broken ribs, too.”
She looked toward Officer Bazell. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”
“Uh… Lemme check in,” he said. Flipping open his cell, he punched in a number. “Bazell here. Anyt’ing new…? …Uh-huh? …Uh-huh. Okay, t’anks.” He flipped it shut. “Okay, here’s what we got: So half of da place belongs to a James Wilson and d’ udder half to a Gregory House.”
“That would be us,” said Wilson, trying to keep his voice even. House seemed to shrink into his wheelchair. Jonelle saw Wilson gently lay his fingers against House’s neck, searching for his carotid among the disturbing layers of scars, checking for a pulse, clearly concerned. He seemed unsatisfied. Nonchalantly, he dropped his hand on the other doctor’s shoulder and left it there, almost as if it would provide House with some sense of security.
After waiting a moment for them to react, Bazell continued. “Apparently, dere was a lot of damage to d’ interior of da left side of dat duplex. D’ere’d been a struggle. We’re checkin’ for prints and DNA evidence right now. We’ll keep ya posted, and we’ll let ya know when you can go back in for your t’ings.”
Damn, thought Jonelle. Pretty crappy for them. Lady friend beaten and raped, and now their home has been trashed, too. Bad enough for regular folks, but for this guy, after everything he’s been through. Sucks. She found herself riveted to House’s form in the wheelchair. Hope he’ll be okay… Good thing he’s in a hospital.
Going through the motions of civility, Cuddy stood unsteadily and smiled, reaching out to shake hands with Jonelle.
“Thank you very much for taking the time to do this,” she said. “As you can tell, this is upsetting news, but I appreciate your keeping us informed.”
“Not exactly our pleasure,” said Jonelle graciously, “but I’m glad if this was helpful.” Talking to loved ones was often the hardest part of the job.
Wilson stood up, too, extending his hand to Officer Bazell. “If you find out anything more, especially who did this and if you’ve caught them, could you call us here?” He reached into his breast pocket for his business cards, handing them out. House just sat, turned away from the rest of the group, staring vacantly.
“Yes. Of course,” said Jonelle, as they took their leave, gathering up the other officer and leaving through the ER entrance to the hospital.
* * * *
Three hours later, a weary Chase stood next to Rainie Adler’s gurney in the recovery room as she began to wake up. A couple of the nurses looked at him oddly; generally, doctors considered their work to be done the moment surgery was complete. He saw Rainie’s eyelids flutter lightly as she fought against the effects of the anesthetic. Very gently, Chase took her bandaged hand and leaned over into her line of sight.
“Hi,” he said softly. “Welcome back.” Her eyes stared vacantly, showing no recognition, before her brow furrowed in pain.
“Mmmnnn,” she moaned through purple-swollen lips. “Nnngh.”
“That’s all right,” said Chase, softly stroking her hand. “You don’t have to talk. Just stay still. You’re safe now.”
Rainie closed her eyes again, giving in to the pull of the drugs.
Down the hall in the Diagnostics conference room, Wilson and Cuddy sat with House, who had grown increasingly tense as they waited for news from the O.R. Devi and Foreman sat quietly, pretending to search through journals. Foreman felt acutely uncomfortable having Cuddy and Wilson find him there, when they both knew he wasn’t even supposed to be in the building when House was. When they first entered the room bearing the bad news, he stood to leave.
“Sit,” House had said, scooting up to the table.
He looks old, thought Cuddy, for the first time wondering how much more trauma House could handle in his life. Gradually, she noticed Foreman. What’s he doing here? she wondered, and then pushed the thought away. Suddenly, Foreman’s outburst of a couple days ago seemed insignificant in light of what they were facing now. If House was okay with Foreman being here, she decided she could let it pass.
Wilson, the last to sit, had commandeered House’s desk chair from the office next door and rolled it up to the table near House, as if trying to provide comfort by proximity. He seemed to have forgotten all about Foreman’s banishment.
“I’m sure she’ll be all right,” said Cuddy, attempting to be comforting.
“You don’t know that,” replied House brusquely, getting agitated. “She should be out by now. Why haven’t we heard anything?”
All of a sudden, Devi, who couldn’t take it anymore, spoke up. “It’s Tritter, isn’t it?” she asked abruptly. She looked around the table at the stunned faces staring back at her. “Well, isn’t it? The last time I was in there, just this morning, he said… he said…” Suddenly, she grabbed a file and began rifling through it, finally locating the page she was looking for. “He said… ‘Don’t think you can fool me. I know what’s really going on here, and I will not allow it. Do you hear me? I’m going to make sure that son-of-a-bitch treats me fairly, if it kills me.’”
The room grew uncomfortably silent. She was the only one who dared to say aloud what all of them were thinking-that somehow in his deteriorating mental state, Tritter had convinced himself that the only way to get that fair treatment was to exert his power over House’s life, even if that meant endangering the life of House’s other patient.
After inhaling a shaky breath, Foreman ventured a comment. “Would even Tritter do something like this?”
Everyone in the room looked at him, as if waiting for him to continue. He hadn’t intended to answer his own question, but no one else seemed inclined to do so.
“All I mean is that he seems to use the law as a billy club, but this is so blatantly illegal…”
He didn’t know where to go from there, so he just stopped talking and let it hang.
“Find out who he’s been calling,” mumbled House without raising his eyes. “Check the phone logs. If you have to wait till he’s asleep, and get your hands on his cell phone.”
Devi and Foreman stood, ready to do as House asked.
“No,” said Cuddy, intervening firmly. “I’m not going to allow you to do anything that potentially breaks the law-he’s just waiting for you to do something like that. The hospital phone records, yes. Cell phone, no.”
After a moment, House nodded regretfully. “What she said.”
Once Devi and Foreman had left the room to check on the phone records, she continued. “If he’s behind this terrible thing, we’ll get to the bottom of it. But I’m not going to let you put yourself at risk. We don’t know if we can trust anyone on the police force, so I’m calling Joe Roberts at the FBI… we’ll let him investigate. Okay?” As she said “okay,” her voice dropped and she met House’s eyes.
Again he nodded wearily.
“I-I…” he began, not really knowing what he wanted to say. All he knew was that he was suddenly desperately tired and wanted to lie down.
Just then, the office phone rang. Wilson jumped up and ran into House’s office to answer it.
“Hello? Uh-huh. Yes, good. I’ll let them know.” He hung up. As he came back into the conference room, he said, “That was Chase. She’s out of surgery, in recovery and she’s opened her eyes.” He sat down again in House’s office chair. “That’s good news. Maybe we should head on down there.” He focused his attention on House. “You up to it?”
What House thought was, No. Need to lie down. Now. Need a drink. Need three more Dilaudid than I actually ought to have. Need to close my eyes and pretend this hasn’t happened.
What he said was, “Sure. Let’s go.”
Passive in his exhaustion, he allowed Wilson to wheel him out of the room and down the hall, Cuddy following along, speaking platitudes to the point that House wished she’d just shut up. Until he saw Rainie for himself, he didn’t need to hear all that bullshit doctors say when they don’t actually know what’s going on. Mostly, he berated himself. Should have had better security. Should never have left her alone. Should have made sure Linda stayed there all the time. Should have seen this coming. It’s my fault… my fault… my fault.
By the time they reached the recovery room at the other side of the building, Rainie’s eyes were fluttering open again, and she had been transferred to a hospital bed, her upper body propped up at a 45-degree angle. Chase stood by the foot of the bed making notations on her chart.
Taking control of the chair from Wilson, House grabbed the wheels and rolled close to the bed, trying to make eye contact with Rainie for the last few inches. She seemed to look right through him.
“Hey,” he whispered, reaching out and lightly touching her bandaged right hand.
“G-g… mmnnnnn,” she replied, wincing as the bruising on her swollen lips twinged with pain.
“It’s okay… it’ll be okay,” he said, providing her with the same kind of platitudes he’d wanted to strangle Wilson and Cuddy for just moments earlier. “Do you know where you are?”
Still seeming disconnected from her surroundings, Rainie only stared blankly.
He tried again, asking the same question and getting right into her line of sight. Her head trembled slightly, and she avoided his gaze.
“Come on, Rainie,” he tried. “I know… I know… it feels safer to stay inside your own mind. Believe me, I know. But we need you here.” Gently, he laid his hand on her arm. Her eyelids flickered, and then finally she met his gaze for a fraction of a second before looking away again. “That’s good,” he said. “Now, look around the room. Do you know where you are?”
First she examined the ceiling, and then, using only her eyes, the walls around her. Slowly and carefully, she nodded, as if unsure about the stability of her neck.
“Where?” he asked again, soliciting a verbal response.
She looked down, seeming to examine the blanket laid gently over her legs. “H-hospital?” she said, with an upward inflection on the final syllable, turning it into a question.
House nodded. “You’re at PPTH. Among friends. Safe.” He emphasized the last word, thinking about what reassurances he might want if it had been him instead of her attacked in their home.
“S-s-safe?” she asked.
He nodded again, gently laying his hand on her arm, reminiscent of the way he comforted her-much to his… and everyone else’s surprise-when she was first brought to the hospital after her release from prison. “Do you remember what happened?” More than anything, he didn’t want to ask this question, and even more than that, he didn’t want to hear the answer.
“Y-yes,” came the gradual reply, along with another slight nod. Her eyes focused inward and she stared again for a moment, unseeing, before refocusing on him.
Fuck, he thought, sick at heart. Well, at least she can talk.
Her devastated hazel eyes met his blue ones. His voice dropped lower, so that even Wilson and Cuddy, who stood close by, couldn’t hear him.
“Do you know who did this to you?”
She paused, searching his face for something, then weakly gripped his hand, wincing as her bandaged fingers touched him, sending a jolt of pain up her arm.
“F-four,” she whispered hoarsely. “Four… men.” Just the effort of speaking seemed to wear her out.
“That’s enough for now,” said House, as much because he didn’t want to hear any more as because she wasn’t up to speaking. “Let us know when you think you can talk to the police.”
She nodded. Then she closed her eyes again and was out.
Until Chase spoke up, House had almost forgotten he was there. “We’re about to move her to a room. I arranged for a second bed-for you, House, if you want to use it. Thought you might want to stay with her.”
House nodded in relief. Good. Need to lie down.
As the orderlies rolled Rainie’s bed out of the recovery area, Chase came over to House. Instinctively, Wilson and Cuddy inched closer to House’s wheelchair, as if to protect him.
“How does it look?” asked Cuddy. “Any permanent damage?”
Chase shrugged. “Don’t know yet, but the fact that she woke up and spoke is a very good sign. If it’s all right, I’d like Foreman to examine her later… to check for neurological damage. She’s had several nasty blows to the head.”
“Of course,” replied Cuddy. She started to leave, but Chase put his hand on her shoulder, restraining her.
“There’s one other thing,” he said, not really looking at any of the others. “She has definitely been raped-repeatedly, by the looks of things. We found both vaginal and anal tearing-pretty severe tearing-so we’ve already taken semen samples and sent them to the lab for DNA testing. We’re following standard rape case procedure… took photos of her injuries for possible criminal trial.”
“Of course,” said Cuddy again, on autopilot. She had so hoped not to hear that particular bit of news.
Chase looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight back and forth on his legs before speaking again. “It’s Tritter, isn’t it? He’s behind this.” Oh, fuck, he thought. This is my fault. If I hadn’t insisted on telling off Tritter, the bastard might have left well enough alone. He felt sick.
Wilson answered this time. “We don’t know. Maybe.”
Throughout the exchange, House sat quietly, looking down at the floor. Every so often, Wilson would reach down and touch House’s carotid to check his pulse. Still racing.
Goddamn fuck it all to hell, thought Wilson.
Chapter 16...
Author: zeppomarx
Characters: House, Wilson, Cuddy, plus the characters created for Priority’s Exigencies and zeppomarx’s A Gentle Knock at the Door.
Summary: House’s minions find a new patient, one who is reluctant to allow House to treat him. Begins three months after the opening scene of A Gentle Knock at the Door. Part of the Contract universe, which includes DIY Sheep’s intense and angsty The Contract, and Priority’s sequel Exigencies.
Thanks: To priority and houserocket7 for encouraging me to writing this side story to A Gentle Knock on the Door, and for their faithful diligence in copy editing my sloppy prose.
Warnings, etc.: Generally safe, but references to torture, rape and major character death that has happened in the past. Some chapters are pretty angsty.
Disclaimers: You know the drill. Don’t own `em, never did, never will. Wish I did.
This Chapter: Five minutes later, two EMTs-a man and a woman-parted the gathering crowd of neighbors and gawkers, pushing a gurney rapidly toward the blood-covered figure lying partially clothed on the sidewalk.
Previous Chapters:
Chapter 14
Chapter 13
Chapter 12
Chapter 11
Chapter 10
Chapter 9
Chapter 8
Chapter 7
Chapter 6
Chapter 5
Chapter 4
Chapter 3
Chapter 2
Chapter 1
_____________________________________
Chapter 15: Done His Worst
After Devi and Chase left his room, Tritter placed another call to his buddy Stan Skelton.
“You sure, Mike? Don’tcha think that’s pushin’ it a bit-kinda crossin’ a line? I mean… well… ya never actually… ya know… broke the law… like this… before.”
Even though Skelton couldn’t see him do it, Tritter nodded vigorously, his eyes narrowing with anger. “You bet I want this,” he said. “House needs to know he can’t mess with me without me messing with him. And if that means I mess up his house…” Tritter found himself amused by his choice of words. “…then maybe he won’t be so quick to mess with me again. Oh, and if you find any drugs-and I’m sure you will-confiscate `em. Once this is over, I’m picking up where I left off.”
There was an odd silence on the other end of the phone.
“Uh… Mike? Do ya really want ta do that? I mean, if this guy’s your only chance, don’tcha think messin’ with him like this could… I dunno… make him less likely to help you? It kinda seems like maybe you’re overreacting here.”
Tritter responded quickly and impatiently.
“Oh, quit being a sissy, Stan! I know this type. Once an addict, you know. As soon as he understands who is actually in control here, he’ll hop to it.”
“But you already got him arrested, and that didn’t seem to change things.”
“Just got to up the ante a bit, that’s all. Trash his house…” Again, Tritter smiled to himself over his own little joke. “…and he’ll rush to get the answer.”
“But…”
“But nothin’, Stan. Just take care of it.” And with that, he hung up the phone, just a little more forcefully than he needed to.
* * * *
The afternoon newspaper landed with a thwack and a splat on the slush-covered sidewalk. Without paying much attention, Jake Simpson rode down the street on autopilot toward the next house, reaching behind him to grab a plastic-covered paper to toss. As his arm arced to throw, he froze, his bicycle skidding to a halt. The 12-year-old’s eyes popped open and his mouth dropped in shock, the paper falling from his hand into an ice-covered puddle by the curb.
After his heart started beating again, Jake grabbed his cell phone and called his mother. He didn’t know what else to do.
Five minutes later, two EMTs-a man and a woman-parted the gathering crowd of neighbors and gawkers, pushing a gurney rapidly toward the blood-covered figure lying partially clothed on the slushy sidewalk. A woman came running from one of the nearby houses carrying a blanket, too late to provide any warmth or modesty, as two police cars, sirens blaring, pulled up to the curb.
Half an hour later, the doors to the PPTH Emergency Room slid open and the gurney barreled through, rapidly wheeling the unconscious figure into an ER examining room.
“Hypothermia,” called out Jonelle Williams, one of the emergency medical technicians, while Sam Ngoya, her partner, followed it up with, “Beaten, possible rape.” Two police officers hung back at a respectful distance.
“No name?” asked the doctor on duty, frowning at the intake form, his back to the patient on the gurney.
“Jane Doe,” said Sam Ngoya. “Paperboy found her bleeding into the snow on the sidewalk… neighbors didn’t recognize her.”
“No ID…? Oh, I guess not,” said the doctor, as his gaze went to the next line, describing how the victim had been dressed… or rather undressed… in a torn and bloody white linen nightgown hiked up around her waist. For the first time, he turned to look down at the shivering, unconscious figure behind him.
Jonelle Wiliams saw the doctor pale, swaying a moment as if he might lose his balance. She took a step forward, thinking she might have to catch him when he fainted. Newbie, she thought.
The blond doctor grabbed onto the gurney to steady himself, murmuring, “Fucking hell!” under his breath. He grabbed his pager and punched something into it before turning quickly and calling loudly for a nurse.
“Cuddy,” he said over his shoulder when he heard the nurse’s footsteps. “Get Cuddy. And Dr. Wilson.” He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, puffing out his cheeks. Closing his eyes a moment, he then opened them and added, “And Dr. House. Now. Get them now! And I need two nurses. Stat! Prep the OR.”
Stepping back into the waiting room, Jonelle felt a whoosh as a petite, dark-haired figure in ridiculously high heels, a tight skirt and low-cut blouse swept right past her. You couldn’t be an EMT in Princeton without running into-or afoul of-Lisa Cuddy. Pretty serious, thought Jonelle, to bring someone like her on the run. Dr. Wilson’s name was unfamiliar to her, but everyone knew who Dr. House was. Glancing around quickly, Jonelle failed to see anyone who matched his description.
“Oh, God!”
Jonelle whipped her head back around, trying to locate the female voice in distress. Just as she’d realized the sound came from the exam room, a distraught Lisa Cuddy flew back through the ER waiting room, brushing past Jonelle as she ran out into the main lobby. Instinctively, Jonelle headed in that direction, tugging on Sam’s sleeve to get him to follow her. Scanning the room, the dean honed in on a baby-faced doctor in a white lab coat emerging from the elevator.
“James,” she said, running toward him. She sounded upset.
“What? Lisa, what is it?” the brown-haired man asked, clearly concerned.
“House. Where’s House?” Again Jonelle scanned the room. From the opposite side of the lobby, Jonelle spied a man in a wheelchair, a man who could be no one else but Gregory House. Suddenly, her brain put the pieces together. The other torture victim-the woman-the journalist-what was her name? Now that she saw Dr. House up close-and he was getting closer by the second-she recognized the similarities to the woman found on the sidewalk. Only two people who had been through what they had could have such similar and distinctive markings. House and the other two rushed to meet each other in the center of the lobby.
“Over here,” said Cuddy, gesturing toward a nearby bench against one of the lobby walls. Seating herself, she looked up and pointed at Jonelle and Sam. “You. Come here. And get those two cops, too.”
At the word “cops,” House became noticeably alarmed, and Jonelle began mentally cataloging her medical kit, just in case she needed some Ativan for a panic attack.
Suddenly seeming to realize what concerned him, Cuddy turned to House and spoke softly. “No, House, no,” said Cuddy. “I won’t let them near you.” She looked up at the two uniformed men. “You’ll stay on the other side of the lobby, won’t you, gentlemen?”
The cops frowned, confused, and stayed put, but Jonelle got it. He doesn’t do well with cops. Who could blame him? She grabbed handfuls of shirt and literally dragged the two six-footers across the lobby. When her back was completely turned on Cuddy and the two doctors, she leaned in and whispered to the cops: “Hey, she’s the boss… she knows what she’s doing. She’ll call if she needs you. Stay over here, okay?” Still confused, the two rolled their eyes and muttered something derogatory about women and fucking retards.
Jonelle rejoined Sam and the others in time to hear Cuddy say, “House… I-it’s… it’s... Rainie,” and to see her tentatively reach out toward House, her hand hovering over his arm without actually touching it. “It’s Rainie,” she said again. A gasp came from Dr. Wilson to her left, and Jonelle saw the blood drain from House’s face. “I-I don’t know… Chase is with her. The EMTs… we can ask the EMTs.”
“Everything,” whispered House, clenching his jaw in an obvious attempt to control his nerves. “I want to know everything.”
Jonelle glanced quickly at Sam, and then took the lead. Sam was a great partner, but not so good at dealing with people. “Got a call that there was a Jane Doe unconscious in the snow. When we got there, we found her on the sidewalk.”
Suddenly, she felt uncertain. If these doctors were the woman’s friends, how much should she say and how blunt should she be? Noticing her hesitation, the doctor named Wilson urged her on.
“It’s okay,” he said gently, his face settling into sympathetic folds. “We’d rather know everything… even if it’s… unpleasant.”
She smiled grimly, appreciating the encouragement. Not everyone wanted the truth in these kinds of situations.
“Someone’s done a real number on her,” she said. “She’s been beaten, badly-very badly-and given the… blood stains and the state of her garments… probably raped.” Out of the corner of her eye, Jonelle saw the frail doctor in the wheelchair flinch dramatically. Taking a short pause to give them a chance to absorb the news, she continued. “Because of the hypothermia and her other injuries, we didn’t have time to give her much of an examination-we just stabilized her as much as we could before we got here.”
For a moment, the room was silent.
“Where did you find her?” asked House, who looked increasingly unwell. “I mean, what was the address?” When she supplied it, he looked even worse, and the nice-looking Dr. Wilson paled, casting a haggard appearance over his pleasant features.
“Is it okay if I bring over one of the police officers, House?” asked Cuddy. “To answer a few questions? It’s up to you.”
After a moment, he nodded grimly. Jonelle didn’t think he could look any more unsteady, but she was wrong. The closer the cop got to them, the more she thought she might need that Ativan.
Officer Bazell, whom Jonelle recognized from around town, spoke up when Cuddy asked him what he’d seen. His thick Jersey accent made him sound like a movie gangster. “Well, da front door looked like it had been broke. Da two officers who remained at da scene have reported dat d’ interior of da home sustained considerable damage. We left a guy on guard `ntil a new door can be installed.”
“We found her a few feet from the front door,” interjected Jonelle, looking in the general direction of the doctors before her, not sure which of the three she should address. “Her head was pointed toward the street, and her feet toward the house… It looked like… she’d been trying to escape and either fell or was pushed onto her back. I’m not sure if any of the neighbors moved her or not. They didn’t seem to know who she was.” It was always an unfortunate possibility that well-meaning civilians would tamper with a crime scene or risk further injury to a patient by moving the body.
The fragile-looking man in the wheelchair looked away from them for a moment, his startling blue eyes seeming to fill with tears. She could see the rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to get his feelings under control. Finally, the younger doctor, Wilson, gently laid his hand on House’s back and whispered something in his ear.
The older man nodded. “What kinds of injuries did you find?” he asked after a moment, his voice raspy and weak. “Abrasions? Contusions? What?”
Grateful to be able to talk strictly about the medical aspects of the case, she went on.
“She was bleeding from several noticeable wounds-scalp, left leg, right shoulder-and suffered contusions and scrapes over much of her body, including severe bruising on her face and upper body. We put her on a ventilator right away, as she was having trouble breathing, possibly because of the hypothermia. We covered her in warming blankets and started an IV of warm fluids.”
All of a sudden, Cuddy’s cell phone went off, startling them all. “Cuddy. Yes? Okay, thanks. I’ll let them know.” She looked at House first, then Wilson and finally the rest of them. “Chase just took her into the OR. Brenda Previn says he’s concerned about internal bleeding. He’s also setting a broken femur, and some small fractures in several of her fingers. Apparently he thinks she’s got a couple of broken ribs, too.”
She looked toward Officer Bazell. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”
“Uh… Lemme check in,” he said. Flipping open his cell, he punched in a number. “Bazell here. Anyt’ing new…? …Uh-huh? …Uh-huh. Okay, t’anks.” He flipped it shut. “Okay, here’s what we got: So half of da place belongs to a James Wilson and d’ udder half to a Gregory House.”
“That would be us,” said Wilson, trying to keep his voice even. House seemed to shrink into his wheelchair. Jonelle saw Wilson gently lay his fingers against House’s neck, searching for his carotid among the disturbing layers of scars, checking for a pulse, clearly concerned. He seemed unsatisfied. Nonchalantly, he dropped his hand on the other doctor’s shoulder and left it there, almost as if it would provide House with some sense of security.
After waiting a moment for them to react, Bazell continued. “Apparently, dere was a lot of damage to d’ interior of da left side of dat duplex. D’ere’d been a struggle. We’re checkin’ for prints and DNA evidence right now. We’ll keep ya posted, and we’ll let ya know when you can go back in for your t’ings.”
Damn, thought Jonelle. Pretty crappy for them. Lady friend beaten and raped, and now their home has been trashed, too. Bad enough for regular folks, but for this guy, after everything he’s been through. Sucks. She found herself riveted to House’s form in the wheelchair. Hope he’ll be okay… Good thing he’s in a hospital.
Going through the motions of civility, Cuddy stood unsteadily and smiled, reaching out to shake hands with Jonelle.
“Thank you very much for taking the time to do this,” she said. “As you can tell, this is upsetting news, but I appreciate your keeping us informed.”
“Not exactly our pleasure,” said Jonelle graciously, “but I’m glad if this was helpful.” Talking to loved ones was often the hardest part of the job.
Wilson stood up, too, extending his hand to Officer Bazell. “If you find out anything more, especially who did this and if you’ve caught them, could you call us here?” He reached into his breast pocket for his business cards, handing them out. House just sat, turned away from the rest of the group, staring vacantly.
“Yes. Of course,” said Jonelle, as they took their leave, gathering up the other officer and leaving through the ER entrance to the hospital.
* * * *
Three hours later, a weary Chase stood next to Rainie Adler’s gurney in the recovery room as she began to wake up. A couple of the nurses looked at him oddly; generally, doctors considered their work to be done the moment surgery was complete. He saw Rainie’s eyelids flutter lightly as she fought against the effects of the anesthetic. Very gently, Chase took her bandaged hand and leaned over into her line of sight.
“Hi,” he said softly. “Welcome back.” Her eyes stared vacantly, showing no recognition, before her brow furrowed in pain.
“Mmmnnn,” she moaned through purple-swollen lips. “Nnngh.”
“That’s all right,” said Chase, softly stroking her hand. “You don’t have to talk. Just stay still. You’re safe now.”
Rainie closed her eyes again, giving in to the pull of the drugs.
Down the hall in the Diagnostics conference room, Wilson and Cuddy sat with House, who had grown increasingly tense as they waited for news from the O.R. Devi and Foreman sat quietly, pretending to search through journals. Foreman felt acutely uncomfortable having Cuddy and Wilson find him there, when they both knew he wasn’t even supposed to be in the building when House was. When they first entered the room bearing the bad news, he stood to leave.
“Sit,” House had said, scooting up to the table.
He looks old, thought Cuddy, for the first time wondering how much more trauma House could handle in his life. Gradually, she noticed Foreman. What’s he doing here? she wondered, and then pushed the thought away. Suddenly, Foreman’s outburst of a couple days ago seemed insignificant in light of what they were facing now. If House was okay with Foreman being here, she decided she could let it pass.
Wilson, the last to sit, had commandeered House’s desk chair from the office next door and rolled it up to the table near House, as if trying to provide comfort by proximity. He seemed to have forgotten all about Foreman’s banishment.
“I’m sure she’ll be all right,” said Cuddy, attempting to be comforting.
“You don’t know that,” replied House brusquely, getting agitated. “She should be out by now. Why haven’t we heard anything?”
All of a sudden, Devi, who couldn’t take it anymore, spoke up. “It’s Tritter, isn’t it?” she asked abruptly. She looked around the table at the stunned faces staring back at her. “Well, isn’t it? The last time I was in there, just this morning, he said… he said…” Suddenly, she grabbed a file and began rifling through it, finally locating the page she was looking for. “He said… ‘Don’t think you can fool me. I know what’s really going on here, and I will not allow it. Do you hear me? I’m going to make sure that son-of-a-bitch treats me fairly, if it kills me.’”
The room grew uncomfortably silent. She was the only one who dared to say aloud what all of them were thinking-that somehow in his deteriorating mental state, Tritter had convinced himself that the only way to get that fair treatment was to exert his power over House’s life, even if that meant endangering the life of House’s other patient.
After inhaling a shaky breath, Foreman ventured a comment. “Would even Tritter do something like this?”
Everyone in the room looked at him, as if waiting for him to continue. He hadn’t intended to answer his own question, but no one else seemed inclined to do so.
“All I mean is that he seems to use the law as a billy club, but this is so blatantly illegal…”
He didn’t know where to go from there, so he just stopped talking and let it hang.
“Find out who he’s been calling,” mumbled House without raising his eyes. “Check the phone logs. If you have to wait till he’s asleep, and get your hands on his cell phone.”
Devi and Foreman stood, ready to do as House asked.
“No,” said Cuddy, intervening firmly. “I’m not going to allow you to do anything that potentially breaks the law-he’s just waiting for you to do something like that. The hospital phone records, yes. Cell phone, no.”
After a moment, House nodded regretfully. “What she said.”
Once Devi and Foreman had left the room to check on the phone records, she continued. “If he’s behind this terrible thing, we’ll get to the bottom of it. But I’m not going to let you put yourself at risk. We don’t know if we can trust anyone on the police force, so I’m calling Joe Roberts at the FBI… we’ll let him investigate. Okay?” As she said “okay,” her voice dropped and she met House’s eyes.
Again he nodded wearily.
“I-I…” he began, not really knowing what he wanted to say. All he knew was that he was suddenly desperately tired and wanted to lie down.
Just then, the office phone rang. Wilson jumped up and ran into House’s office to answer it.
“Hello? Uh-huh. Yes, good. I’ll let them know.” He hung up. As he came back into the conference room, he said, “That was Chase. She’s out of surgery, in recovery and she’s opened her eyes.” He sat down again in House’s office chair. “That’s good news. Maybe we should head on down there.” He focused his attention on House. “You up to it?”
What House thought was, No. Need to lie down. Now. Need a drink. Need three more Dilaudid than I actually ought to have. Need to close my eyes and pretend this hasn’t happened.
What he said was, “Sure. Let’s go.”
Passive in his exhaustion, he allowed Wilson to wheel him out of the room and down the hall, Cuddy following along, speaking platitudes to the point that House wished she’d just shut up. Until he saw Rainie for himself, he didn’t need to hear all that bullshit doctors say when they don’t actually know what’s going on. Mostly, he berated himself. Should have had better security. Should never have left her alone. Should have made sure Linda stayed there all the time. Should have seen this coming. It’s my fault… my fault… my fault.
By the time they reached the recovery room at the other side of the building, Rainie’s eyes were fluttering open again, and she had been transferred to a hospital bed, her upper body propped up at a 45-degree angle. Chase stood by the foot of the bed making notations on her chart.
Taking control of the chair from Wilson, House grabbed the wheels and rolled close to the bed, trying to make eye contact with Rainie for the last few inches. She seemed to look right through him.
“Hey,” he whispered, reaching out and lightly touching her bandaged right hand.
“G-g… mmnnnnn,” she replied, wincing as the bruising on her swollen lips twinged with pain.
“It’s okay… it’ll be okay,” he said, providing her with the same kind of platitudes he’d wanted to strangle Wilson and Cuddy for just moments earlier. “Do you know where you are?”
Still seeming disconnected from her surroundings, Rainie only stared blankly.
He tried again, asking the same question and getting right into her line of sight. Her head trembled slightly, and she avoided his gaze.
“Come on, Rainie,” he tried. “I know… I know… it feels safer to stay inside your own mind. Believe me, I know. But we need you here.” Gently, he laid his hand on her arm. Her eyelids flickered, and then finally she met his gaze for a fraction of a second before looking away again. “That’s good,” he said. “Now, look around the room. Do you know where you are?”
First she examined the ceiling, and then, using only her eyes, the walls around her. Slowly and carefully, she nodded, as if unsure about the stability of her neck.
“Where?” he asked again, soliciting a verbal response.
She looked down, seeming to examine the blanket laid gently over her legs. “H-hospital?” she said, with an upward inflection on the final syllable, turning it into a question.
House nodded. “You’re at PPTH. Among friends. Safe.” He emphasized the last word, thinking about what reassurances he might want if it had been him instead of her attacked in their home.
“S-s-safe?” she asked.
He nodded again, gently laying his hand on her arm, reminiscent of the way he comforted her-much to his… and everyone else’s surprise-when she was first brought to the hospital after her release from prison. “Do you remember what happened?” More than anything, he didn’t want to ask this question, and even more than that, he didn’t want to hear the answer.
“Y-yes,” came the gradual reply, along with another slight nod. Her eyes focused inward and she stared again for a moment, unseeing, before refocusing on him.
Fuck, he thought, sick at heart. Well, at least she can talk.
Her devastated hazel eyes met his blue ones. His voice dropped lower, so that even Wilson and Cuddy, who stood close by, couldn’t hear him.
“Do you know who did this to you?”
She paused, searching his face for something, then weakly gripped his hand, wincing as her bandaged fingers touched him, sending a jolt of pain up her arm.
“F-four,” she whispered hoarsely. “Four… men.” Just the effort of speaking seemed to wear her out.
“That’s enough for now,” said House, as much because he didn’t want to hear any more as because she wasn’t up to speaking. “Let us know when you think you can talk to the police.”
She nodded. Then she closed her eyes again and was out.
Until Chase spoke up, House had almost forgotten he was there. “We’re about to move her to a room. I arranged for a second bed-for you, House, if you want to use it. Thought you might want to stay with her.”
House nodded in relief. Good. Need to lie down.
As the orderlies rolled Rainie’s bed out of the recovery area, Chase came over to House. Instinctively, Wilson and Cuddy inched closer to House’s wheelchair, as if to protect him.
“How does it look?” asked Cuddy. “Any permanent damage?”
Chase shrugged. “Don’t know yet, but the fact that she woke up and spoke is a very good sign. If it’s all right, I’d like Foreman to examine her later… to check for neurological damage. She’s had several nasty blows to the head.”
“Of course,” replied Cuddy. She started to leave, but Chase put his hand on her shoulder, restraining her.
“There’s one other thing,” he said, not really looking at any of the others. “She has definitely been raped-repeatedly, by the looks of things. We found both vaginal and anal tearing-pretty severe tearing-so we’ve already taken semen samples and sent them to the lab for DNA testing. We’re following standard rape case procedure… took photos of her injuries for possible criminal trial.”
“Of course,” said Cuddy again, on autopilot. She had so hoped not to hear that particular bit of news.
Chase looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight back and forth on his legs before speaking again. “It’s Tritter, isn’t it? He’s behind this.” Oh, fuck, he thought. This is my fault. If I hadn’t insisted on telling off Tritter, the bastard might have left well enough alone. He felt sick.
Wilson answered this time. “We don’t know. Maybe.”
Throughout the exchange, House sat quietly, looking down at the floor. Every so often, Wilson would reach down and touch House’s carotid to check his pulse. Still racing.
Goddamn fuck it all to hell, thought Wilson.
Chapter 16...