This is the result of a prompt from Veronique. Well one of them. I have a couple. They'll be out soon on a page near you. In the meantime, I hope you like this one.
Disclaimer: I am not connected to David Shore or the television show once respected as House MD.
Chapter 1
"No idea where he is?" the police officer asked.
"No," she answered without delay, still too numb from the shock of it all.
"In these domestic situations it's not uncommon to get cold feet."
Domestic situations. This was a domestic situation.
"Are you asking me to file charges?" she asked the officer.
He'd made them a cliché, a bad soap opera.
"Just give me the paperwork," she said. He was not going to have the last word; he was not going to make her a victim. "If Greg House steps foot in my hospital again, or comes anywhere near me, I want him thrown in jail."
Everything was suddenly grey and hazy. Her chest tightened and her heart raced as she listened to the voices in the fog.
"We sent a unit over to his apartment and to the hospital."
"Yeah." It was Wilson. "He won't be there."
"Any ideas?"
"When you find him, you're going to arrest him?"
Of course they will! Look what he did to my home! To me! To us. Yes, they'll arrest him. She felt the tears fall down her face and heard herself wimper.
"Is there some reason you think I shouldn't?"
Yes! There's something wrong. This isn't him. This isn't House.
"Knowing him, he'll be in a bar," Wilson sounded as lost and defeated as she felt. "He'll find one that matches how he feels inside. It'll be the most dark, depressing hold you can find in New Jersey."
Everything went black. She couldn't see anything. She felt anxious and afraid.
She heard the crash, the glass shattering, wood splintering, the metal bending upon impact. Then light. She could see. He was there. With her hairbrush.
It can't be! This isn't right! Something's wrong!
As he walks away smiling, almost cheerful, and she hears him say to Wilson. "You're right. I feel much better."
No!...No!
"Was there any indication that something would happen?" The policeman asked.
She shivered beneath the blanket draped over her shoulders. "Yeah," she says with a mirthless, bitter chuckle. "Every moment I spent with him. I was always waiting for something to happen. But this…"
Not this! Not this! He's not violent. He wouldn't do this. It's not right! Something's wrong!
There was his cane. She saw it first, lying in the dark and dreary alley. Even before she recognized his tennis shoe, his leg, the blood. There was so much blood.
House! NO! House!
Cuddy woke with a start, her heart racing, her body covered in a cold sweat.
It was the same dream over and over: the memory - mixed and broken – the ending an even greater nightmare. She hadn't been able to sleep longer than a few minutes all night. The dreams were haunting her, tormenting her.
It wasn't House.
Everytime she recalled what had happened, remembered his car coming through the dining room, the smug and intent look on his face as he handed her the hairbrush, the grin on his face as he walked away, she thought the same thing. It wasn't House. It just didn't follow logic, or even a natural progression of emotion.
Granted she was in shock. It had only been a few hours since the incident. She'd finished answering the questions from the police officer, agreeing to come to the station the next day to officially file charges and put out a restraining order, and checked on Wilson before the paramedics took him to the hospital. He was shaken and confused. He was in shock. And his wrist was broken.
Broken! He broke Wilson's wrist. House.
She'd packed some things in a bag as the police and contractors finished their work removing the car, covering the gaping hole in the wall, securing the crime scene…
Crime scene. House wouldn't do this.
She'd finally made it to her mom's house. Rachel was sleeping soundly in the bed beside her, completely unaware that her home was destroyed, her security ripped apart in a shameless act of violence.
He wouldn't hurt me. He wouldn't do this.
Rachel had been at her mom's when House had crashed the car into the dining room. She had no idea the man she'd grown to love, her pirate friend, had turned into a monster…had tried to kill them.
He wasn't trying to hurt me. It was my house. The house. House. Him.
For once her mother had respected her needs and didn't insist she talk about it. She'd just hugged her tightly, then gently pushed her hair off her shoulders as she smiled sadly at her. It was strange to see her mother at a loss for what to say, so confused. It was almost as if she couldn't believe it either.
House wouldn't do this. It didn't make any sense.
Cuddy had joined her daughter in the spare room. She'd curled up beside her in bed and let the exhaustion take over. She had quickly become horribly awakened from the nightmare. Three times she'd slept. Three times she'd been shaken from slumber by her own tears and anxiety. There was no escape. There was no pretending or denying. This was more than shock.
There was no way that was a premeditated act, she thought as she quietly slipped out of bed and began to dress. He was hurt. He felt betrayed. But he wasn't on the verge of a psychotic break.
She slipped on her socks and shoes as the thoughts ran rampant through her mind. He was impulsive, and childlike, with a tendency to act-out, but never in violence. Never!
Something is wrong.
"You're going to look for him," she heard her mother say before she'd even finished closing the bedroom door.
Cuddy turned to face her mother in the small hall. She felt a strange mixture of shame, confusion and determination as she stood taller to prepare for the argument to come. She really was a cliché. The victim making excuses for the abuser.
"I have to," she said with clear resolve and insistence.
"Of course you do," Arlene answered dryly. "You're like animal control, only for deranged lunatics."
"He's not a deranged lunatics," Cuddy argued and pushed past her mom toward the front door. "Something is wrong with him."
"Something has always been wrong with him or you wouldn't have been with him in the first place."
Cuddy shook her head. She should have known the support and sympathy would be but a brief moment.
"You think he's sick? Or is it the drugs?"
Surprised by the question and the lack of condemnation in her tone, Cuddy turned to look at her mother again. There was calm curiosity in her expression.
"I don't know," Cuddy answered honestly. "I just know something's wrong. He wouldn't do this."
"I know," Arlene agreed.
Cuddy stared, dumbfounded.
"He's an ass, but he worships you," her mother shrugged as she explained. "You already know I thought you made a mistake in breaking up with him just because he took some drugs to make it through your cancer scare. It shouldn't be a surprise I agree with you that he wouldn't do this."
"But you know what he's been doing," Cuddy stammered. "All of the childish pranks, and marrying that woman! And he took experimental drugs that could have killed him…"
"And he tried to operate on his own leg," Arlene interrupted impatiently. "I know all of this. He's an idiot. And a jerk. And a total mess of a man. But I also know he loves you. Men do stupid things when the woman they love hurts them. Men like House do insane things."
"You're defending him?"
"I'm explaining him," Arlene corrected.
Cuddy felt her eyes well with tears again. "He ran his car into my home," she said. "He could have killed me. He could have killed Rachel."
Arlene stepped closer to Cuddy and pulled her into a tight embrace.
"And with every insane thing he's done," Arlene whispered in her hear. "With every careless prank, every desperate attempt to get your attention, every self-destructive move he made in his foolish attempts to stop the pain, you still don't believe he would intentionally do this. You still believe in him. He would never do anything to violently hurt you."
Cuddy leaned back to look her mother in the eye.
"I'm crazy when it comes to him," she acknowledged, ashamed at her admission.
"Yes, you are," her mother agreed. "And you're usually right."
Cuddy's eyes widened and she searched her mother's face. "Who are you and what have you done with my mother?"
Arlene rolled her eyes and pulled away from her. "If we turn out to be wrong about him, I'll help you kill him and bury the body. And I'll have you locked up for such atrocious taste in men!"
"And if we're right?"
Arlene sighed. "Then take care of him sweetheart. You need him."
Cuddy jerked, startled at her words.
"He's not the only one who's been dying these past months," she said. "He just does it louder."
To Be Continued...
