Cameron, with her bag slung over her shoulder, stood at the end of the dock, bouncing a little on her toes in nervous anticipation. She tugged at her gloves and scarf, glanced at the rickety old dock beneath her feet and sighed.
"Are you sure this is okay, House?"
"Sure I'm sure. I'm never wrong," he said, yanking the pull cord again and then again.
"You've driven one of these before right?"
"It's a motorboat, Cameron, not brain surgery. Funnily enough, I can do that too."
In his beanie and his charcoal pea coat, he looked as if he belonged to the sea, a weathered captain from a distant era. She watched, momentarily distracted from her nerves by the thought of him in another time, perhaps coming home to his one true love after months at sea. It was easy to picture him, seasoned and cynical, softening only when in her presence.
In a moment he had the boat's motor running, and gave her a triumphant look. "Come on, let's go."
Shaking her head, she scolded herself for her wandering thoughts and decided that when she got home she would have to pack away her DVD of Horatio Hornblower, because she had clearly watched it one too many times.
Stepping gingerly into the boat, she perched herself on the bench across from him, setting her bag at her feet and clutching the edge of the little craft with both hands. Twisting in her seat, she turned to see their destination. Just along the horizon, she made out the shoreline of the island, a desolate place edged with brown sea grass waving in the winter wind as if warning them away.
"Relax Cameron. We'll take a quick look around and then we'll head back."
"But what exactly are we looking for?" she said, impatiently.
"We'll know when we find it," he said, rolling his eyes at her.
He eased the boat away from the dock and out into the choppy water, aiming straight for the little island.
"I just don't understand why I had to come. You don't trust me to stay with the patient?"
"I trust you," he said, "but Foreman's a city boy. He'd be useless out here. Better for him to stay with the patient. And Chase is just an idiot, no matter the setting."
"And what, you thought I had some special survival training growing up in Chicago?" she asked with a derisive little snort.
"You weren't a girl scout?" he asked with faux shock, and she just rolled her eyes at him and turned again to watch as the island grew bigger than just a blur on the horizon. In the distance, she saw a structure of some sort rising out of the rocky earth that looked about as welcoming as the sea grass, and she shuddered.
"This is not how I intended to spend New Year's eve," she said, shivering in the frigid Atlantic air.
"Yes, it really sucks when patients get sick on holidays. How rude of them to inconvenience us like that."
"That's not what I meant," she muttered. "I don't mind working. At the hospital. You know, where it's warm and dry and doesn't look like something out of a horror movie?"
"Well suck it up, Princess," he mocked. "It's not exactly my idea of holiday fun either."
"Oh I'm so sorry. Did you have a hooker booked for tonight?" she grumped. "Do they charge extra for holidays?"
"Don't worry. I'm sure I'll find an acceptable substitute," he replied with a leer and a wink.
"Dream on," she muttered under her breath.
House steered the little boat right up to the craggy shoreline, ignoring the scrape of rock on the metal hull. Cameron grabbed her bag and hopped out gracelessly, landing in six inches of icy water. She eyed the slope of the beach, all slippery stone and wondered how the hell they were supposed to climb that.
"Over here," House called, and she realized he was already out of the boat, standing at a set of natural steps carved out of the earth that led up the hill. She had no idea how he managed it; his feet weren't even wet, she noted with an envious sigh.
Once they were on higher ground, she saw the building was a two story house with peeling paint and heavy leaded glass windows and a widow's watch standing proudly above the roofline, a row of curved windows looking out over the sea. Though the outside of the house looked a bit faded, it appeared to be solidly built and held a certain charm to it despite its lonely existence.
"I can't believe Pearl lives here," Cameron said, marveling, as they crossed the porch to the front door.
"Who's Pearl?" House asked.
"Our patient."
"Really? I thought her name was... actually, I had no idea what her name was."
"How does an 87 year old woman live out here alone? I don't even see power lines; how does she have electricity?"
"Maybe she doesn't," House replied, opening the front door with ease. "Hope you brought a flashlight."
She did. Pulling it from her bag, she shone it around the room, discovering oil lanterns and candles placed on various surfaces. They found matches and lit a few lanterns, each carrying one around the house.
The rooms were strange, a mixture of something comforting and unsettling all at once, both alive and dead at the same time, as if the place had held its breath a hundred years ago. Every furnishing, curtain, knick knack and floor covering was from a time gone by and yet Cameron sensed a familiarity to it, like the feeling of a long forgotten memory seeping into the edges of her conscious mind.
The sitting room was filled with floral prints and Victorian settees and lace doilies all facing a very ornate mahogany fireplace. The portraits on the wall were of somber men with high starched collars and women wearing dresses with full ruffled skirts and holding parasols. She took only a cursory glance at them at first, but one picture in particular froze her in place, a pair of shocking blue eyes in a gruff, weathered face peering down at her as if he could read her thoughts. Whenever she tried to look away, she felt as if those eyes followed her, and so she moved back and then back again until she could turn, keeping watch over the portrait out of the corner of her eye.
Despite the ancient decor, the place was immaculately clean from what she could tell in the dim light, as if the occupants had left only moments ago. Except, it felt as if someone had stayed behind, peering out from some dark corner. Cameron tried to shake off the feeling of being watched and made quick work of searching the place for anything unusual. Problem was, everything there was unusual.
The bedrooms were more creepy than the sitting room; the beds were perfectly made with old fashioned coverlets that looked gently worn. Each room had a little basin and pitcher for washing and a round stuffed chair and matching ottoman. The furniture was flawless- antique pieces made of deep rich mahogany and probably worth a fortune. She dared a peek in the drawers and found them full of clothing that had not been in style for over a hundred years: delicate petticoats and stockings and corsets mixed with things she didn't recognize. A trunk at the end of the bed was filled with dresses like the ones she'd seen in the portraits downstairs. Feeling as if the owner of the belongings was watching, judging her, she touched as little as possible.
Her curiosity led her up another narrow staircase to the widow's peak, where the view was stunning. The room was sparse, with a rocking chair, a small bookshelf that held a handful of old books and a basket of knitting. The planks of the floorboards told a tale of much pacing and waiting, and an intense loneliness overcame Cameron as she stood in a strangely familiar spot and looked out over the blue-gray waters of the ocean. She found herself on the verge of tears for reasons she couldn't explain, and left the room, all but running down the staircase and fleeing to the kitchen.
"You find anything?" she called out, hoping House had discovered whatever thing he was looking for so they could get out of there.
"Nope," he said, startling her from a few feet away. "This place is weird, but I don't see anything that would cause her symptoms. You check the bathroom?"
Nodding, she pointed to a little walled off room just off the kitchen and reported her findings. "Large clawfoot tub with a pump, very clean. Scented soaps in the shape of roses and seashells, some lotions, and a few sponges and an oil soap for wood... No medications that I could find. I got samples of the soaps and the water, just in case, but..."
"Yeah, that's not it. Damn. Let's blow this joint."
Darkness was descending, so they extinguished the lanterns and made their way back to the boat as fast as they could. Except when they got to the shore, there was no boat there.
"What the hell? You didn't tie the boat?" Cameron cried, swinging around to face him.
"Oops!"
"You said you knew what you were doing. How the hell are we supposed to get home now?"
"You a good swimmer?" he joked, while pulling out his cell phone. "Relax. I'll call Wilson to come get us."
He tried, and tried, and she tried hers as well, but there was no cell service on the little island.
"Now what?" she asked, looking back at the house standing tall in the ever increasing dark. It seemed to glower back at her and she looked away, ignoring the prickles on her spine. "It's freezing out here."
"We go back to the house and try again in the morning," he said. "At least we've got shelter."
"I don't want to spend the night in that house," she said. "It's creepy."
"Would you rather sleep out here and die from hypothermia?" he snapped, rubbing his fingers over his brow.
"Maybe," she retorted, tempted to smack him upside the head with her bag.
"Suit yourself. I'm going back to the house," he said, and limped off, leaving her standing where she was.
"Fine," she conceded, following him with an angry sigh. "How does such a damn genius forget to tie a boat?"
"I made a mistake," he muttered, "but thanks for throwing it in my face again."
He sounded genuinely contrite; she felt a little bad for blaming him and murmured, "Sorry" as they reentered the house.