01 - The Key Players
Chapter One
The Key Players
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Predator.
That's what was standing in his patient's room. Coiled taut as a bowstring, her gleaming eyes like jagged emerald green glass slashed and stabbed at the room, took in every little detail, processing it with the speed of a high powered super-computer. Her eyes practically danced, sharp and jerking as she stared at the doctor limping into her foster-sister's room. Her mouth was stretched into an almost sardonic grin, baring very straight, very pretty, white teeth. It reminded House of a blood thirsty hyena. The way she stood there, her entire body tense and ready to spring, to attack, made the hair on the back of his neck stand up as if electrified.
"Um... who are you?" He demanded. Why was there some strange, homicidal looking chick in his patient's room, glaring at him with an almost Glasgow Grin and a pair of crystalized poison eyes?
"Eustacia Hadley's bodyguard," she replied, crossing her arms beneath what had to be C-cup breasts bound tight to her chest with what looked like three incredibly constricting, incredibly thin camisoles, alternately black, white, and black. He could see the straps striping her narrow, porcelain-bone shoulders. She looked slender enough to break. What was she made of, china? What kind of bodyguard was she supposed to be?
He asked her, and the chick replied, "One who could very easily snap the important things in your body that hold you together. I studied human anatomy for a year, just to learn that. So don't bother me."
She jerked a thin black hair tie from the bun she'd inexpertly knotted her hair up into, letting it cascade down her back before she plunged one finely boned hand through the massive wealth of jet black hair. It seemed to him like a compulsive gesture. This girl, this supposed "bodyguard," felt nervous. She didn't like being here, in this hospital. Most people didn't like being in hospitals, but it wasn't the same for this slender woman standing so tense and protective over his currently unconscious patient. She didn't like being here because she was terrified for her life, and hiding it behind that lazy, almost manic grin and those eyes. She felt more vulnerable than she was probably used to feeling. All this he picked up from the way she was dressed, the way she held herself, the way she kept herself poised and ready to lash out.
And House noticed something else, as well, as the slender woman refolded her arms and pressed her fingers into her upper arms, almost biting into the flesh. Her black leggings and black, patchwork micro-miniskirt were slung low, settled beneath the hipbones practically stabbing through that oh so white skin. Skin so white, it was nearly transparent. Bones jutting so far they cast shadows on that skin. A shiny, throbbing red burn seeped upwards from beneath the waistband of her skirt onto her incredibly flat stomach. The burn was framed by a cloud of soft violet- a bruise.
"Where did you get that burn?" He asked.
"I got spanked with a red hot poker for being naughty," she snarked back, and kept her fingers pressed tightly into her upper arms.
Well, this was interesting. He hadn't even really paid attention to the patient yet, but the bodyguard was intriguing. Didn't her body hurt from being so tense? Her muscles had to be groaning by now. Was she on pain meds or something for chronic muscle pain? Did she do yoga? And was she serious about the poker? Now there was a kinky, incredibly interesting question... because who the hell spanked a bodyguard with a red hot poker?
"What's your name?" He hazarded the question. There'd been nothing mentioned by his team about a bodyguard. Since the only doctor who'd set foot in the room was his little Huntington victim-wench, he wanted to see if this woman, like the patient, had the last name of Hadley.
"Bond," the woman replied. "James Bond."
"And the award for the biggest pain in my ass for today is-"
"Olivia Wilde."
"Nice try," he replied, the corner of his mouth curling into an acidically sarcastic smirk. "She's an actress. I watch her all the time on the OC. Gimme a better one."
"Adler, Irene."
"The only woman documented in cannon to defeat Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, at his own game. Opera singer, actress, former mistress of the King of Bohemia. Holmes kept her portrait in his desk drawer along with his cocaine stash. A non-fictional, non-celebrity name would be such an innovation, don't you think?"
"Anne Roquelaure."
"And now we move from Victorian mystery literary figures to modern day sadomasochistic erotica authoress." At her suprised look, he added, "I have an extensive reading list. Next lie."
When he said the word "lie," her entire body tightened, a guitar string pulled so taut it almost screamed. Her eyes widened, and the knife-edge of her rictus grin dipped just a little, as if tipping its hat to a passerby. Her hands spasmed, her nails sinking into her flesh enough to draw little crescent shaped lakes of blood. Her gaze shattered, reassembled, narrowed, zeroing in on his face. For a moment, her pupils seemed to burn like magnesium.
"Fine. I'll give you the name."
"Oh?" He asked, almost as if he were surprised. "What name is that?"
She practically spat the next syllables at him.
"James. Wilson."
She didn't jump or start in surprise when he slammed the rubber-sealed end of his cane against one of the walls. She showed no reaction at all. She just continued to watch him, her eyes blazing with something that was too immediate, fresh, and new tp be hatred but too fiery and hellish to be anything so tame as dislike. It was like being snarled at by a rabid dog or being watched by a flesh-hungry raptor.
"Who the hell are you? Tell me now or I have you tossed out of here."
Apparently, that seemed to work. She almost flinched. He could see her visibly steel herself, actually force herself not to react to the potentiality of being thrown out of the room where her current employer lay still slumbering on, despite the staggeringly loud snapping-thumping sound. He saw the bodyguard straighten her shoulders, tick her head sharply to the side to crack a vertebrae, readying herself for what his threat was about to violently drag from between her perfect, clenched teeth.
"Rampling."
"I'm sorry," he said loud, putting his free hand to his right ear. He leaned toward her. The antagonism rolling off of her in waves was so tangible, he could practicaly taste it, bittersweet and puckering. He continued, "I didn't quite catch that one."
"I said, Rampling!"
"Are you from New Orleans?" He asked sarcastically. As if he didn't know that Anne Rampling was a penname for the once-prolific vampire queen, Anne Rice of the Interview with a Vampire idea. As if he didn't know that there was an old-fashioned, incredibly expensive mansion in the French Quarter (one of the few still standing after Katrina) that was affectionately called by many neighbors the Rampling Estate. As if he didn't know that the name Rampling was... wait...
"You're a member of the Rampling-Hadley family?!"
"Um, yeah," she snarled sarcastically. "Hence the name Rampling. Hence the fact that anyone under the age of thr-thirty years old with the last name of Hadley was raised by my mother, Lucinda Rampling. You got a problem with that?"
"Nope," he mumbled, but suddenly, he wasn't paying attention to her. He was looking at his patient. The golden haired woman lying on that hospital bed hadn't moved at all, not even twitched, when he'd slammed his cane against the wall. What didn't surprise him, actually, was the fact that apparently, from her vital signs and EEG read outs, his patient was in a coma.
What did surprise him was the fact that someone as attentative to her employer as that Sasha Rampling was paid to be hadn't noticed that comatose state. Potential indicator of guilt?
"Nope," he added, staring at the woman lying on the bed. "I've got a problem with this."
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"Okay, now what do we got?" House demanded, as he limped into his office.
Gripping his cane, he stumped over to his chair and sank down onto the cushy seat. He propped his bad leg by the foot onto the slab of his desktop, staring at the ceiling. He needed to focus. Focusing would be good. His patient was comatose. Her bodyguard apparently hadn't noticed. That was weird. Okay. Focus on the case. Don't think about the fact that he couldn't step outside and walk the scant yards to Dr. James Wilson's office and talk to his best friend...
Right. Focus.
When the diagnostic genius wasn't instantaneously regailed with the details of the new symptom- and apparently, a couple of new patients, which he probably needed to know about, maybe, sorta, definitely- he briefly glanced at three of his four prize goons and gestured impatiently for them to speak. "Um... hello?!"
"Our first patient has fallen into a coma," Foreman began, but the curmudgeon he worked for snapped, "Yeah, I know that. I was there when it happened. Give me something I don't know."
"Wait, you were there?" The dark-skinned man repeated. "Maybe that's why she's comatose."
"Oh, you're funny. And uh, yeah, I was there. Talking to her bodyguard. So, is someone going to tell me what causes all of our symptoms? Coughing, epidermal necrosis, lung bleed, stomach cramping, severe anemia, migraines, blackouts, and coma?"
"HELLP Syndrome," Kutner shot out.
"Nope," House replied, "not pregnant. Next!"
"Spirochetes Disease," Foreman added.
"Wrong," House snapped, twirling his cane in one hand. "Only explains migraines, blackouts, stomach cramping, and anemia. What about the necrosis, cough, and lung bleed? Does she have gangrene? Obviously not. Next."
"Decompression sickness?" Talb hazarded.
"No," Remy piped up from the doorway. She'd just returned from from Eustacia's room. Ignoring the speculative glances prodding her to extrapolate her theory, she sank gracefully into her seat and laid the file in her hand on the glass table top. She stared at the medical file, tapping idly against the manilla folder with her index and middle finger. "No," she repeated. "Eustacia doesn't scuba dive. She's terrified of water. It was hard enough getting her to take baths as a kid."
"You know her?" Foreman demanded.
Remy glanced up, her expression almost poisonous as she snapped, "She's my foster sister. Hadley's not exactly a common na-"
"Shut up," House snapped, and everyone fell silent. "We haven't gotten a patient history yet because the patient says she never had any health problems before. She never had migraines before?" Remy shook her head. "Never got a cold?" Another head shake. "Never even got a tummy ache?" Again with the shaking of the head. "Are you certain?" House got a nod this time. He knew that Dr. Hadley was a smart woman, or he never would've hired her. And a smart woman knew never to lie to a doctor, because then her hospitalized foster sister could get misdiagnosed and possibly- probably- die. "What about the other two patients? We got a..." He checked the file. "Lucinda and Marishka Rampling. You know them?"
"Lucinda's our foster mom. Marishka's one of her actual daughters... I think. Marishka never even got the sniffles as a baby. She's never been sick in her life. No strep, no flu, no 24-hour bugs, not even any cavities. And Mom... when she was pregnant, she had problems. Low blood pressure, anemia, migraines, dizziness, vomiting. Vomiting was from morning sickness but everything else was problems with the pregnancies."
"How many times has she been pregnant?" House asked.
"I-I don't know," she replied, looking back down at the medical file of her foster sister.
She couldn't figure out how to steer her boss in the right direction. She knew that there were two underlying problems for what was wrong with Eustacia because Remy knew what had happened a couple days before Eustacia had been brought to the hospital. It was, in fact, the very reason the blonde woman was here and not being seen to by someone else. The lung bleed, cough, and necrosis weren't related to anything else. But she didn't know how to explain that to them without getting into more trouble than she could handle.
Instead, she kept her eyes on the file, sketching its outline with her troubled gaze, and tapped out a comforting rhythm on the folder's surface with her fingers.
"Dysbarism," Kutner cried suddenly, eager and excited. He reminded House of one of those little yappy dogs you just wanted to kick to death to make them stop barking.
"Doesn't explain the necrosis or the anemia," the older man replied.
"Maybe she's just anemic," Kutner shot back.
"Still doesn't explain the necrosis." House waited for almost thirty seconds. "Oh, you're done arguing with me? Ready to get back to saving a patient's life? Good idea. Let's focus on the diagnosis. It's not dysbarism."
"Maybe it's cancer?" Foreman murmured. "Tumors in the lung cause the cough and bleeding. Tumors in the brain cause migraines, blackouts, and coma. Tumors in the stomach can cause cramping. She might originally be anemic and that doesn't have anything to do with the cancer."
"Which doesn't explain the necrosis!" House suddenly yelled. "Why are we forgetting about the necrosis? Cancer does not explain her flesh dying and rotting. Not to mention, cancer would've shown up on the MRI, CT, and X-rays and it didn't. So it's not cancer. And in order for it to be something like necrotic infarction, she'd have to have a blood clot, and we checked for those in case they were causing the coma, the abdominal pain, or any of her other symptoms. So what about the necrosis? Next wrong idea."
Remy took a shallow, almost gasping breath and practically whispered, "What if the necrosis isn't related to what's wrong with her?"
"Um," Foreman replied, before House could. "Sure. Every one of her symptoms is caused by something different. So brilliant of you to figure that out. Now she's going to die because we have no way of knowing what's causing what and how to treat it."
"Why would you say that?" House demanded, before Foreman could ridicule the woman further. He was staring at her intently, taking in every single detail. Her eyes were glazed, her skin suddenly ashen pale, and she was chewing furiously on her bottom lip. Her fingers tapped out a stoccatto rhythm on the table as she stared fixedly at the file in front of her. "What could cause necrosis that excludes everything?"
"Could be lupus-" Foreman began.
Remy yelled, "It's not lupus!" More quietly, a bare whisper under her breath, she added, "Frack." Shoving a hand through her hair, she added, more loudly this time, "Eustacia's highly allergic to silver, as well as yew, ash, elder, and rowan wood. Any exposure could have caused the necrosis."
"An allergic reaction causing necrosis? That's impossible," Foreman snapped.
"It's an allergic reaction," Remy insisted.
"Yeah, right."
"It is!"
"You're crazy!"
"I know my own sister!" Remy cried.
House had to yell at them both to shut up again. When both Dr. Hadley and Dr. Foreman had fallen silent, he hauled himself to his feet and leaned heavily on his cane. His grip was white-knuckled, and his face was drawn, showing the sheer amount of pain he must have been experiencing. Remy realized she hadn't seen him pop his pills since the last meeting. Shrugging that fact from her mind, she trained her eyes and her thoughts on her boss, who stared at her for a very long time. It was almost as if he were scanning her mind, picking through her thoughts to find the truth behind her conviction.
But she couldn't tell him the truth. She couldn't tell House and the rest of the team that everyone in the Rampling-Hadley family was dangerously, highly allergic to silver and certain types of wood. If she spilled that little secret, they'd start asking questions.
Questions were very, very bad.
But for just a moment, it seemed as if she could tell House exactly what was wrong. As if her boss would understand. For a moment she longed to explain to the diagnostician exactly what was going. She ached to tell him, the only person here who respected her and actually gave a damn what she thought and how she felt, ached to tell him all about her life, and running from everyone, and being afraid to make nice with anyone because anyone you fell in love with was in danger. She yearned to explain that Eustacia had been attacked, that her sister was hiding in plain sight so she wouldn't be killed by the people who had tried to murder her. And she wished she could tell someone, anyone, about Radu...
"Do you really think the necrosis is from an allergic reaction?" House demanded.
Remy opened her mouth to spill all of her secrets, to tell him everything, to weep and beg for his help. But all she said was, "Yes."
"Then you're sister, according to the delinquent over there, has cancer. Let's check the mom and the other sister. Who knows? Maybe your house was done with lead paint. Let's go." He turned to stump his way out of the room, when he turned back and added, "Kutner, Foreman. You two are going to break into the Rampling Estate and see if there's anything medically relevant down there."
Remy's heart stopped in her chest, and she forgot how to breathe. The world narrowed down to one incredibly tight, dimly lit tunnel as House's words pinged around inside her head. Break into the Rampling Estate... Her heart jerked sideways in her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, sucking in air as quietly and unobtrusively as she possibly could. She tried to look perfectly calm as everyone filed out in front of her. She only got up from her seat when she was positive her legs wouldn't fold beneath her weight.
They were going to break into her family's main home.
What would her brother do to them?
That was all Remy could think of when House told Foreman and Kutner to break into her family's main estate. No one broke into the Rampling Estate. They'd never been burgled, robbed, vandalized. All because of their state of the art security system- her twin brother. And if they broke in, if Kutner or Foreman or anyone not of the Family broke in, there would be repercussions. There would be consequences. And all of the foreseeable futures would involve blood and death.
What would Radu inflict on her colleagues?
She had to stop them. But how could she, without revealing her family's secrets? Things would go straight to hell if anything resembling a slip came out of her mouth. How was she supposed to stop a double homicide of slasher-film proportions if she couldn't think of a decent excuse to keep House and his team away from her home?
Suppose... suppose, she thought as she strode down the hall behind her team, absently noting that she would need new sneakers soon, suppose she call ahead. Christian and Bel were still home, the only two of her family not enrolled in school, suffering the degredation of manual labor, or incarcerated at the hospital. The twins could hold Radu at bay. They could make sure he stayed in his room and didn't bother anyone while Kutner and Foreman snooped around. They were a match for her brother, surely.
Really? The irritating little voice in the back of her head asked as she followed everyone into the elevator. You really think those two are a match for him? And what about your father? Do you think he'd allow humans in his home?
No, she realized. Marius would never allow it. There were too many unexplainable things in the Rampling Estate. Like the sheer amount of offspring living in the large, New England manor. Like the photographs, carefully hidden away from the passing eyes of random visitors, but not so carefully that the snoop-crew of Dr. Gregory House wouldn't find them and wonder at the remarkable likeness between Lucinda Rampling and her mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, and on and on until they reach the oldest of Lucinda's many portraits. She'd always warned her mother about her vanity, damn it. And the pictures of the children, and the way the windows were all boarded up so it looked only as though they never pulled back the curtains and damn it all to hell, what about Radu?!
Rena, my love. You have need of me?
She barely managed to suppress a shudder as a whispery voice like autumn leaves and sere October winds brushed against the inside of her mind. It had been too long- more than a full decade, almost two- since she'd heard Radu's voice echoing necrotically through her mind. He had respected her wishes throughout college and med school and specialty classes that he not contact her this way. Now she was no longer used to the link between them. It felt... invasive. Strange. And he had called her Rena. How long had it been since anyone had called her by her real name without the heat of anger behind it?
No, Radu, she replied, with monumental effort. She wanted to go to her brother and just relax, fall away from the world in the sepulchral embrace of her twin and only blood relation. But she had to resist the temptation. Was she sweating? It felt like rivers of sweat were pouring off of her body as she struggled to maintain a sense of normality. I have no need of you just now.
You're lying. But I will leave you with your lies and your pathetic human colleagues for now, since you will not tell me what it is that frightens you so.
I... I am not frightened.
The voice in her head didn't reply, on laughed that low, intimate, whispering laugh that reminded Remy of days long ago, when she would sit with her brother on the roof of their great manor house and stare at the sky, thinking of what it meant to be children. But now that once comforting laugh only made her uneasy.
Some might wonder why she didn't simply tell Radu that humans were coming to their home. Surely, if she asked him to behave, he would. She was his favorite, after all. Surely he would listen to her.
Except that Remy knew he wouldn't. He thought her... not quite right in the head. He didn't like humans. He thought they were an inferior species and he couldn't understand why she'd done everything in her power to become a human doctor, since she'd already proven almost immune to the anemia that plagued their family and so it wasn't for quick access to blood.
Suddenly remembering herself, she shook her head to clear away the wool-gathering thoughts and saw that they'd just made it to the second floor. Dr. Hadley followed her boss and coworkers out of the elevator. Surreptitiously, she tongued her eyeteeth and incisors, making sure they were the appropriate length. Her brother's mind-touch often caused her body to do inconvenient things.
Like shatter her immune system and allow the genetic anemia of her family to suck her down into thirst, which was something she could not afford in a hospital. She didn't want to attack any of the patients.
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Sasha crossed her legs at the knee, focusing on the door to her sister's room. She shivered when something like the dry chill of October winds whispered down her spine. She knew immediately that it was the echo of her foster brother's laughter.
Radu? Here? Impossible. He can't leave the house.
She shivered, but it was only with cold. To be frightened of Remy's twin brother would be as foolish as being frightened of Remy herself, or of that doctor with the bad leg. Why be frightened of a human, or a sibling?
"Hey, Rampling."
Sasha grinned, a feral twist of her mouth. She felt the skin over her lips tighten and split like an overripe peach that oozed blood instead of sweet, tanging juice. Before she let her lips slide back over her teeth to bare them in a bestial snarl, she tongued her eyeteeth and incisors. Still normal, for the most part. A little long, but nothing noticeable. Just enough length to give her that biting edge.
The bodyguard noticed Remy standing behind the doctor leaning on his cane, the woman's eyes wide in her face. She knew what that extra bit of teeth meant.
"You allergic to silver?" House asked. Maybe the problem was genetics. But the bodyguard only quirked an eyebrow and House remembered that they were only foster siblings. Still... "That burn on your hip, where did you get it?" He saw the woman tense in the exact instant that he felt Thirteen, his little Dr. Hadley, go taut as a bowstring. Apparently, the question had hit a nerve with both of them.
"None of your business," Rampling hissed. "Get out."
"Sasha!" Thirteen stepped forward. "Sasha, they... Dr. House only wants to help. He's not our enemy. He thinks the burn might be related, that's all."
"You know it isn't," Sasha Rampling replied, folding her arms beneath her breasts. She let her heels hit the tiled floor with a hollow thump and her hands touched her knees as she leaned forward. "Just because we're here in this place doesn't mean we need to deal with these people. It's a safety precaution only, so why don't you make them go away?"
"A safety precaution?" A middle-aged, balding man demanded, stepping forward. For some reason, he looked as if the very idea were insulting. "Precaution against what?"
"Again with the snooping into things that are not your business. Shut him up, Rena."
"Sasha, don't call me-" Dr. Hadley began, but the woman interrupted her, saying, "Go check on Mama and Mari, Remy. I cannot leave Eustacia just now. It isn't safe."
"Your sister doesn't have cancer, does she?" The middle-aged, bald man asked almost gently. Thirteen and Sasha glanced at him, and Thirteen shook her head. "You know what she has, don't you?" Ignoring the blazing, emerald poison stare her sister was leveling at her, Thirteen nodded. Taub went on, "What is it?"
"We can't tell you, but it's not contagious," Thirteen replied.
"Sure as hell looks contagious to me," Taub snapped.
"Humans can't catch it!" Remy yelled without thinking, and clapped a hand to her mouth as Sasha's hand convulsed around the handle of her best knife. Stricken, Remy whispered, "Frack." Sasha found her gaze, and both women turned to Dr. House, who for once was rendered speechless.
Then House's pager went off, and Remy's cell phone rang.
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Radu watched intently from behind the basement door, his eyes fixed intently on the humans wandering around the Rampling Estate. Mortals trespassing on his family's property. What was Rena thinking, working with these people?
Well, she certainly wouldn't be working with them for long. Had they missed the sign?
All trespassers will be eaten.
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I combined chapters 1-3 because they were too short and it was bothering me. Not enough was happening to justify having four chapters. So I don't anymore. I also changed some things. If you didn't notice that's fine. Go back and check if you like.
Will Kutner and Foreman stay away from the Rampling Estate? What will happen to Remy because of her slip-up? What's this strange disease suddenly felling the members of the Rampling-Hadley family? Where's Wilson?
Revies, pwease?