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The Writing on the Wall - Part Two
by Evilida
Roy met Bonnie outside a condominium complex overlooking Carnegie Lake.
"I heard about you from a friend of mine, Greg House."
"Oh, him. He's not really my friend. He's more of an acquaintance really. He's a friend of my ex-husband. I found this really terrific condo for him, but he backed out of the deal. Afraid of change, I think."
"Your ex-husband."
"James Wilson. If you know House, you must know James. While we were married, those two were inseparable, unfortunately. Anyway, I found him the perfect place. Darling kitchen, wood floors, easy commuting distance to the hospital. It was ideal. I'd show it to you now, but this couple from Bayonne snapped it up. She was a former dancer. Such a beautiful figure. I thought he was kind of a brute, to be perfectly honest. I don't really expect that marriage to last. When they break up, I hope she gets the condo."
"Inseparable."
"What? Oh, James and House. Yes, BFF as they say nowadays, though it's mostly teenaged girls who are BFF, not grown men. Honestly, I can't stand your friend House, but James and I still get along, even after he married that bitch Julie. Oops, excuse my language."
"Julie."
"You probably haven't met her. She doesn't like House at all. Anyway, the condo I'm going to show you has a view of the lake, not a straight-on view, but a sideways view - just turn your head to the left a bit. It's got lovely hardwood floors and comes with seven appliances. You can choose plain white or you can upgrade to stainless steel. There's an extra charge for the stainless steel, but it's so stylish."
"So when did Julie marry Jimmy, sorry, James?"
"It was only nine months after we divorced. When I heard that, I was sure that James had been cheating on me with Julie while we were married. I knew he was cheating on me with somebody. I confronted him, and he said it wasn't her. He swore he didn't meet her until after we separated. She snapped him up on the rebound."
"He said that."
"Well, not that snapping up part. James wouldn't say that. He's too polite. I know James and women. All she had to do was pull her poor tragic waif act and James would come running to save her. He's a sucker for damsels in distress, but he loses interest fast. I wasn't surprised when they divorced. I could have told you Julie was all wrong for him. Anyway, the place we're going to see is on the ninth floor. Your neighbours are a perfectly nice gay couple named Ted and Phil on one side, and this really sweet Latina lady on the other. She works at PPTH, too, in the ICU. "
"It's on the ninth floor."
"Yes, the ninth floor."
"It's too high up. I'm afraid of heights. "
"Oh, I wish you mentioned that on the phone. There's this other condo we could see. It's in a low rise complex. Honestly, it's not quite as nice as this one, because it faces the freeway, but you'll love the moulded ceilings. Just let me call the seller."
"I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to leave now, Bonnie. I'll call your office and we can make an appointment to see this other condo. Bye."
"Bye, Roy. What was your last name again?"
------
When she got back to the office, Bonnie tried to telephone Roy but the telephone number didn't work. Unfortunately, she couldn't remember Roy's last name so she couldn't look him up in the phone book. Greg House's home telephone number was still in her rolodex. She left a message for him.
"Hello, Greg. This is Bonnie, Bonnie Wilson. I'm phoning about that fellow you sent to see me. You know, what's his name, not Rory but something like that. He's a tough-looking guy, isn't he? I wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley. Anyway, he was really interested in this condo by the freeway. I want to call him about it, but I think I copied his number down incorrectly. Would you give me his number, or at least tell him to call me? Oh, and if you ever want to leave your apartment, there's this really nice high-rise condo overlooking Carnegie Lake that I think would be perfect for you. "
-----
The message on the wall was preying on House's mind. "Die in pain," the vandal had written. As Wilson had mentioned, it seemed too specific to be directed at the world at large. It seemed personal. He'd hardly gotten any sleep the night before. For once, it had not been his leg pain that kept him awake. Instead, every time he fell asleep, memories of the day he had been shot intruded into his dreams. He woke up covered in sweat, his heart pounding. He didn't think Moriarty was responsible for the vandalism; it would be a strange step backward for a man who had once shot him to be satisfied with painting a nasty message on his wall. Still, there were people out there who hated him, and they knew where he lived. He felt like a target.
-----
House was in an appalling mood. His associates Chase, Cameron and Foreman had scattered. Chase was working in the clinic, while Cameron and Foreman had taken refuge in the Obstetrics Lounge. Cameron was trying to do one of Chase's crossword puzzles and Foreman was pretending to read an article in the New England Journal of Medicine. He was too angry to concentrate.
"House had no right to say that," he said. "He was right about you and Chase – Chase is a brownnoser and you are a Cinderella wannabee - but what he said about me; that was totally wrong."
"When he called you a smug, equal-opportunity Napoleon? That was hilarious," Cameron said, "but I think he hurt Chase's feelings, when he said that his mother must have been as fat as a prize pig. Chase is sensitive about her. He's an orphan, you know."
"I didn't know whether Chase was going to cry or punch him in the mouth."
"Neither did House. I think he realized he went too far. The way he was clutching his cane, I think he was ready to club Chase if he got too close."
"You should go and talk to Chase," Foreman said. "He's too upset to be doing clinic work right now. He makes mistakes when he's distracted."
"You just want me to leave so you can turn on the t.v. and watch Oprah. I know you're not interested in that article. Since when did you care about the psychological effects of enuresis on pre-teenage boys?"
"I happen to have a cousin..."
"You can watch Oprah if you want. I'll never tell. She's talking with the cast of Grey's Anatomy today."
"Really. Well, if you want to watch it, we can turn it on."
Foreman had become addicted to Oprah when he was in college. She was his secret shame. He kept the open copy of NEJM on his lap, but only turned the pages during commercials. He was still furious at House, and wondered if complaining to Cuddy would do any good. He didn't want to look like a whiner, but House's behaviour had been atrocious. He'd heard that House's apartment had been robbed, so it was natural for him to be upset, but he didn't have to dump all his anger and frustration on his colleagues. That was not proper workplace behaviour. Oprah wouldn't put up with it for a second.
-----
Of course, if Roy really wanted to see James Wilson, there were easier ways to find him them by stalking his ex-wives. He didn't have his home address, but he knew where he worked. Roy missed his family, even though they had let him down terribly. The trouble was he wanted to be the golden boy again. He wanted to be the favourite son, not Mike, and certainly not Jimmy. Jimmy was supposed to be his useless baby brother. If Roy did return to his family, he'd be the unsuccessful son, the one who never achieved his potential and let down his parents. He saw himself as a forgiving sort of person. He wanted to forgive his family for turning their backs on him; he didn't want to be the one who had to be forgiven.
-----
Wilson met Chase in the corridor. The younger man was wearing his overcoat and had his backpack over his shoulder. Wilson pretended not to notice Chase's red swollen eyes. Chase warned him to avoid House.
"He's in a terrible mood. Maybe the pharmacist switched his Vicodin for placebos and he's going through withdrawal again. I can't take him. I've got a headache. I'm going home. Tell Cuddy I'll make up my hours on the weekend."
"If you're sick, Cuddy won't make you work on the weekend. You're entitled to time off with pay. Wait a minute; I'll drive you home," Wilson said. "You don't look well and I don't think you should be driving."
"I'll take the bus," Chase said. "I'm going home."
"Okay, I'll tell Cuddy you've left. Good bye."
-----
Cuddy stormed into House's office.
"What did you do to Chase? Wilson told me that he had to go home with a headache."
"He's too sensitive; he can't take a joke."
"What sort of joke?"
"One about his dead mother."
"House, I can make you take that sensitivity training seminar again. I know how much you enjoyed it the last time. "
"Okay, okay. I'll be good. No more dead mother jokes."
"I've told Chase to take tomorrow off. You're working his clinic hours."
"That's not fair."
"The new sensitivity instructor is named Helga. She tells me that she's never met a man she couldn't break. "
"How about I get Foreman and Cameron to work his hours?"
"I don't care as long as someone in your department does those clinic hours. "
-----
Although Wilson was angry at House for the way he had treated Chase, he did not kick House out his office when he came in at lunchtime. House was carrying a Chinese chicken salad for Wilson and a clubhouse sandwich with fries for himself. This was an unprecedented gesture. In all their years of friendship, he could count on one hand the times House had ever given him food. He'd even remembered to ask the cafeteria ladies for dressing on the side, the way Wilson liked it. Wilson was touched.
"Thank you," he said.
"The Chinese chicken salad goes early," House said. "If you aren't there right at noon, you haven't a hope of getting one. This was the last one. You owe me $5.25."
There was a knock on the door, and then Tritter entered without waiting for a reply.
"Hello," he said, nodding to the two men. "I've come to see you, Dr. House. Dr. Cuddy told me that you would probably be here."
"Maybe you two should talk in House's office," Wilson said.
"I'm not sure about that. This may concern you. Dr. House, in your statement to Detective Ortega, you said that all Dr. Wilson's ex-wives disliked you."
"That's not true," Wilson protested. "Michelle never even met you."
"I'm not talking about Michelle, whoever she may be," Tritter said. "I'm talking about Bonnie, Bonnie Wilson."
"Bonnie doesn't like him," Wilson confirmed, "but she's not a violent person. She's not all that strong either. House told me the door was kicked down. Bonnie couldn't do that."
"When was the last time you spoke to Bonnie Wilson?" Tritter asked House.
"About a month ago, when she tried to sell me a condo. I ended up taking Hector instead," said House. "Hector's a dog."
"Have you listened to the messages left at your home telephone?"
"Have you been listening to my messages without my permission? That's a violation of my rights."
"No, Dr. House, but one of the police investigators was on the scene when the message was left. He said it was from Bonnie Wilson and it was about someone called Rory. She said he was a friend of yours. Who is Rory?"
"I have no idea."
"Would you mind listening to your messages? Maybe you could put them on speaker phone so we can all hear them."
House thought of refusing, simply because it would annoy Tritter, but Wilson also seemed anxious to hear the message. He called his home phone line and listened to the message on speakerphone.
"She didn't say his name was Rory," Wilson said. "She said it sounded like Rory. Do you know a Corey, maybe?"
"I don't think someone named Corey would be the type of guy you'd be afraid to meet in a dark alley," House replied. "I don't know any Coreys either."
"I know a Roy," Wilson admitted. "My brother, but I haven't seen him for years. He may be dead."
"Roy Andrew Wilson," Tritter said.
Wilson nodded.
"He was alive as of two years ago, when he was released from East Jersey State Prison in Rahway. He was supposed to see his parole officer, but he disappeared before his first appointment. You're sure you haven't seen him?"
"Of course, I'm sure. I was afraid he was dead. Bonnie's never met Roy, and neither has House."
"This is a mug shot of Roy. It was taken about four years ago. Do you recognize him? Have you seen him recently?"
"It's Roy," Wilson confirmed. "He looks so much older. He's only nine years older than I am, but he looks at least sixty. I haven't seen him for ten years."
Tritter showed the same photo to House.
"Do you recognize him? Maybe he was somebody you treated at the clinic. Maybe you gave him the same kind of treatment you gave me."
"I've never seen him before. There's a family resemblance between him and Wilson. I would have noticed."
"Okay," Tritter said. "I'm going to confirm your story with Ms. Wilson and see if she recognizes this photograph. If either of you see this man, telephone me right away. Even if he isn't responsible for the b-and-e and the damage to Dr. House's apartment, he's still wanted for parole violation."
"He's my brother," Wilson said. "I won't tell on him."
"He's your brother, but it seems that he may want to kill your friend here. Which one of them is more important to you?"
-----
Roy sat in his car in the visitor's parking lot of the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. His brother was inside. All he had to do was get out of the car and walk in, and he could see Jimmy again. When he thought about Jimmy, he felt angry enough to strangle him. Jimmy had stolen the perfect life that God had intended for Roy. Only now he realized that Jimmy's life was not perfect. He'd struck out three times in the marriage department. His best friend, this Dr. House, was dying of cancer, and even though Jimmy was an oncologist, he couldn't cure him. All he could do was give him enough Vicodin and morphine to kill himself. Now, Jimmy couldn't even do that, since Roy had stolen House's meds.
If I go in that door, Roy thought, and I see him, what will I say to him? I don't want to say I'm sorry for running away from him. I don't want to say I'm sorry for choosing the drugs over my family. I don't want to have to beg for forgiveness. If I go in there, and I don't say sorry, what will I say?
Roy's thoughts were interrupted by a rap on the car's window. The man standing by his car gestured for Roy to roll down the window. Roy knew he was a cop, even though he was in plain clothes. He didn't need to see the badge that he was taking out of coat pocket. Running away again would take more energy than he possessed. It was easier to just roll down the window.
"Can I see some identification?" he asked. The cop's voice was oddly gentle, even soothing.
"My name's Roy Wilson, and I'm wanted for parole violation. I guess you already know that."
"I do. If I pat you down, am I going to find any sort of weapon?"
"No, I'm never armed. I'm not a violent person."
-----
"It wasn't Roy," said Wilson. "This is just a mix-up. Bonnie thought you introduced her to this guy, Rory, but it must have been someone else who introduced them. That's all. My brother doesn't even know you. Why would he want you dead? Besides, before he started taking drugs, he was the sweetest guy in the world. He was smart and popular and generous."
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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