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The Writing on the Wall - Part Five
by Evilida
Tritter blamed himself for House's acquittal. He had correctly judged that Dr. Wilson was an emotional type who would value a personal relationship more highly than an abstract construct like justice. Misguided loyalty blinded him to the danger House posed to his patients. Dr. Cuddy, however, had really shocked him. Tritter had Dr. Cuddy down as a pragmatist. He had had no idea that she would be willing to commit perjury for Dr. House. He'd expected better from the Chief of Medicine of a prestigious hospital. He'd been naive.
Now, he realized that in order to take down House, he'd have to discredit both of his supporters first. House had made a lot of enemies, especially since his feud with Edward Vogler had cost the hospital millions of dollars. Without Cuddy and Wilson to protect him, the hospital board would fire House at the first whiff of scandal. His career at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital would be over in a matter of days.
-----
House woke up in a foul mood. Whatever novelty life in the Princeton Sleep Inn held for him had worn off and he missed his familiar apartment. The hotel breakfast was horrible. The scrambled eggs were cold and the orange juice was sour and full of pulp. Fortunately, the service he had hired had promised that his apartment would be clean by the end of the day and he'd be able to move back. The morning was clear and sunny so he drove his motorcycle to work. House noted that Wilson's car was already gone; the oncologist hadn't waited to see whether House needed a ride.
His fellows were waiting for him in his office. Someone had purchased coffee and doughnuts, but even his favourite Boston cream-filled confection could not lift his spirits. Foreman, Cameron and Chase looked insufferably cheerful; it was disgraceful that they should be so happy on a day when he felt irritable and out of sorts. Chase, especially, looked happy. What had happened between him and Cameron when she had driven him home the previous day? He made a note to find out exactly how long the trip had taken her.
"Foreman is going to present the latest case today while I eat this doughnut. Feel free to heckle him."
"Leonora Pope is twenty-two years old. She was a patient at the Green Hill Mental Health Pavilion. She has been diagnosed as a schizophrenic. Two days ago, she began making growling noises in the back of her throat and pulling out her hair. The staff interpreted her behaviour as symptoms of her mental disorder. She also complained of stomach pains but the patient has a history of anorexia and they believed her complaints were a ploy to avoid eating. Yesterday, she began vomiting blood."
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Tritter phoned Roy Wilson at seven thirty in the morning. They arranged to meet at ten o'clock at the diner on the interstate. In the meantime, Tritter drove to the real estate agency where Bonnie Wilson worked. Bonnie was a bit flustered at being questioned by a police officer, but Tritter's calm deliberate manner steadied her.
"I'm here to talk about the message that you left on Dr. Gregory House's answering machine. "
"There was nothing wrong with that message. It wasn't obscene or anything."
"No, I'm asking about the person you spoke to him about - this Rory."
"Yes, Rory. He said he was a friend of House's, which surprised me. I didn't know House had any friends, other than James, of course. James is my ex-husband."
"Could you describe Rory to me?"
"I guess so. He was about medium height with sandy brown hair going grey. I didn't notice the colour of his eyes. I'm really bad at guessing ages, but I'd say he was fifty or sixty years old. He looked like he lived a hard life."
"Have you ever met your ex-husband's brother, Roy Wilson?"
"No," Bonnie said. "I don't think anyone's seen him for years. I asked about him once at Thanksgiving dinner at James's parent's house. Everyone froze. It was so awkward! They never talk about him."
"I'm going to show you a photograph of Roy Wilson. Let me know if this is the person you mentioned in your message."
Bonnie leaned in to get a clearer look at the photograph. So this was the mysterious Roy Wilson. He didn't look anything like either of his brothers, and he was nobody she had ever seen before. She was a bit disappointed.
"It's definitely not him," she said.
"Thanks for your help, ma'am," Tritter said.
"What's all this about? Is James involved in something illegal? If he is, it must be this Roy that put him up to it, or maybe Greg House."
"No, we don't expect Dr. Wilson of anything. Just crossing off possibilities."
He put the photograph back into his wallet. It was the mug shot of Rudolph Kleiner, who had been convicted of mail fraud in 2003 and had died in prison hospital of a burst appendix in 2005. As he left, Tritter saw Bonnie reach for the telephone. He smiled. She was probably calling James Wilson to let him know that she had cleared his brother.
-----
Tritter was already in one of the booths when Roy entered the diner. He had a cup of coffee in front of him and was glancing at a notebook. He looked up when Roy slid onto the bench opposite him.
"Good, you're here. You didn't disappear in the middle of the night."
"Were you expecting me to?"
"I thought you might, which was why I attached a tracking device to your car. You wouldn't have gotten very far if you'd tried. Still, it's a good sign that you've actually come to this meeting."
"Hey, I'm on your side," Roy said. "I want this dangerous doctor off the streets as much as anybody else. It makes me angry to think of little Jimmy helping him."
"When you see your brother, you can't let him see your anger. For this to work, you've got to appear to be sorry for the pain you put him and the family through. You'll have to apologize. Do you think you can do that?"
"It's only acting. It'll be easy to say sorry when I know it's not for real. What's the plan?"
"For the moment, just stay out of your brother's sight. We'll need a story to hook him. Think about something to tell Dr. Wilson that will make him want to help you. You'll have to be persuasive."
"Don't worry," Roy said. "Jimmy believes everything I say."
"It's not your brother you'll have to convince, it's his friend House."
------
House's underlings had left to perform the tests they had agreed upon. There was nothing for House to do until the results came back, as long as he didn't count catching up on paperwork, answering e-mails, or looking over the article that Chase was planning to submit to the Medical Journal of Australia. It was at times like this, when he was filled with restless energy, that he most missed the activities he had enjoyed before the infarction. Video games did not give him the physical satisfaction of a good run or a game of lacrosse.
There was a knock on the door and Wilson entered.
"Hello, House," he said.
Wilson was carrying a coffee for House. People seemed to be bestowing coffee upon him left and right today, House noted.
"I had a phone call from Bonnie. It's good news. The police were out to see her about that message on your answering machine. She said that the person who mentioned you wasn't Roy. One of the cops showed her Roy's picture. She's never seen him before."
"Who was it then?"
"I don't know. It doesn't matter anyway. It has nothing to do with your break-in."
"So the only clue we have turns out to be nothing. In what way is that good news?"
"My brother wasn't responsible for the break-in; that's good news. I know that Roy is alive or at least that he was alive two years ago. That's good news, too."
"I doubt that anything connected to your escaped convict brother could ever be called as `good news'. This means the police have no idea who made death threats against me."
"You said yourself that the writing was probably just mindless vandalism. You're upset that your sanctuary has been invaded. You're angry. That's a perfectly normal reaction. When the insurance money comes in and your apartment is all fixed up, you'll feel better."
"Thank you for your keen psychological insight," House said sarcastically. "Now, that I think about it, having everything I own either stolen or destroyed has upset me strangely."
"I'll help you clean up and buy new furniture," Wilson said. "I was going to meet a new realtor this weekend, but I can cancel and we'll go shopping."
"Ooooh, shopping. Have you somehow mistaken me for Bridget Jones?"
"I'm trying to help, House."
"Don't. Keep your appointment with your realtor. Pay attention to your own life for a while and stop interfering in mine."
------
Foreman, Cameron and Chase were eating lunch in the cafeteria. Foreman had a folder containing the first of Leonora Pope's test results.
"I think it's pica," Chase said.
"That wouldn't explain the growling," said Cameron.
"Did her blood tests show iron deficiency?" Chase asked.
"Wait a minute," Foreman replied. "I haven't got to that part yet."
House came up to the table. He was carrying a tray in one hand and his cane in the other. His fellows cleared off a spot for him and he sat down. He hooked a chair from another table with his cane and drew it close enough for him to rest his sore leg. The fellows were nonplussed by his presence. Usually he ate his lunch alone or with Wilson. This desire to socialize with his underlings was unusual. He took some French fries from Chase's plate, but Chase, unlike Wilson, did not try to stop him. This demonstrated Chase's lack of understanding. Wilson had always understood that stolen French fries were much tastier than freely given ones. Cameron was having soup - nothing to steal there - and Foreman's plate was too far away. House resigned himself to eating his own food.
"You seem fully recovered from your mysterious illness, Chase." House said.
"It was a headache. I used to get them fairly often when I was a teenager, but I haven't had one for a couple of years. They rarely last more than twenty-four hours."
"And of course Cameron was there to ease your suffering."
"You asked me to drive Chase home and I did," said Cameron.
"Yes, but I didn't ask you to take two hours to do it. Chase's apartment is only a fifteen minute drive away. "
"We were talking," Chase said.
"You two were playing hooky while Foreman here did Chase's clinic hours for him and I was forced to answer my own e-mails and make my own coffee."
"One of the patients in the clinic threw up on me," Foreman complained.
"Did you hear that? Foreman covered with vomit so that you two could indulge yourselves in whatever perverse pleasures you could think of in the privacy of Chase's apartment."
"I'll make up the clinic hours," Chase said, "and we weren't indulging in perverse pleasures; we were talking."
"For two hours. How long does it take to say, `It was good for me. Was it good for you?' Even taking into account your Australian drawl, it shouldn't have taken more than fifteen minutes."
Cameron had had enough. She rose abruptly and strode out of the cafeteria. After a moment, Chase excused himself and followed her. House dumped the French fries remaining on Chase's plate on to his own. Now, they were the spoils of war and, therefore, tasty again. He looked at his remaining tablemate.
"So what do the test results say?"
------
Chase caught up to Cameron in the corridor.
"What's wrong, Allison? You usually don't let House get on your nerves like that."
"His attitude just got to me today. So superior and all-knowing."
"That's House. What's annoying is that he's usually right. I hope that you don't regret what happened?"
"I didn't intend it, but it was great. I just don't want you to think that it meant more than it did."
"I realize that you don't feel about me that way that I feel about you. I hope that one day you'll change your mind. I also want you to know that I really appreciated your help. I was stressed out. I've never had to worry about money or budgeting."
"Well, I know a lot of people in debt; I'm still paying for Med School myself."
"It's just that the bills go up every month. I've been trying to pay them off, but the total never goes down. I can't even pay off the interest!"
"Credit cards?" Cameron asked.
Chase nodded.
"They're a trap. First thing to do is to cut them all up. Cash only for you from now on."
-------
Wilson was in his office, finishing up the day's paperwork, and reflecting on what House had said to him. Usually he paid no attention to his friend's tirades, but this time something the diagnostician had said seemed important. House was right; Wilson had been neglecting his own life. He'd lost confidence after his latest divorce. Although he was still functioning professionally, personally he felt directionless and apathetic. Wilson had to take some sort of positive step in his life or he would sink into depression, as he had done once before. Rescuing his lost brother was just the sort of decisive action he had in mind. Unfortunately, he had only a few meagre bits of information from Tritter to go on, and the police, far more experienced than he, had not manage to track Roy down in two years. What were the chances that he would find him when they had not? Wilson rubbed his aching neck.
The phone rang. The departmental secretary had left for the day, so the call came directly to Wilson's office. When he picked it up, Tritter was on the other end of the phone. His voice, soft and insinuating, slithered into Wilson's ear.
"Hello, Dr. Wilson. This is Detective Tritter. I'm calling to let you know that we have ruled out your brother as a suspect in Dr. House's break-in. We have no reason to suspect any involvement. I believe that my first impression was correct, and that the perpetrator was someone with a grudge against Dr. House. Dr. House has supplied us with a brief list of some of those who had reason to hate him, but I'm sure that his list is far from complete."
"I wanted to ask about my brother. What would happen if he were found?"
"His parole would be revoked and he'd serve the remainder of his sentence. He had served two years of a six-year sentence for breaking and entering and possession of stolen property. He would also be charged with parole violation, which is a serious offence."
"What if he turned himself in?"
"That would be up to the courts and the Parole Board to decide. Dr. Wilson, if you know where he is, you'd better tell me. If I find out that you've been hiding him or concealing information, things will go very hard for you. I have no particular reason to feel generous towards you. I am making it my business to find your brother and put him back behind bars where he belongs."
"Roy has nothing to do with your vendetta against House, or your disappointment with how House's case turned out."
"You misjudge me. I'm not motivated by personal emotion at all. I'm interested in capturing a felon. Good-bye, Dr. Wilson."
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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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