To begin with, I have absolutely no idea if the disease breifly listed is real. Someone wrote a book on it, I fell in love with it, it was weird enough, so I used it.

Oh..and nothing is mine. 'Cept the plot, o' course. :) Enjoy.

Chapter 1

Greg House locked the door behind him and as he walked toward the kitchen he let his bag fall to the floor. After grabbing a bottle of scotch and a small glass, he retreated into the living room. House stood for a moment deciding which he would rather do as he laid his jacket on the couch. Watch television, watch old, worn pornos or play that beautiful black piano sitting there looking all majestic and regal and..

House walk the few feet from the couch to the piano and sat down. He took a few sips from his glass, put it down and delicately laid his hands upon the white keys. Another few moments went by before Canon began to pour out. House closed his eyes, feeling the music. Feeling the beat and the bass of each chord and note. He relaxed even more, going into a more woeful song. He didn't remember the name but, ah..names weren't really important. It was the end result that made all the difference.

House mused on that for a few seconds. The end result was always the best, unless the end came before the beginning. In a sort of reverse world it could happen. The effect coming before the cause. Foreman's voice, no wait there was Cuddy, Chase and Cameron's voice there too. Wait..better add Wilson just in case.

"You're insane."

House smirked to himself and stared up at the ceiling. If anyone had been around they just might have been impressed at how he didn't miss a single note. How the song just flowed out, flawless until the end. When the song had in fact reached the end, House looked back down, deep in thought now. Of course we don't live in a reverse world so the symptoms would have started at the beginning..even if the beginning was death.

Of course it wasn't really death because the patient wouldn't be living right now. So..he faked his death with a poison to get the attention and the money his family needed. Unless..

House thought back to the family history. The patients' reletives were of a Haiti origin. Somehow they ended up in America, why and how didn't matter what matter was that people always refer back to their roots when there's a problem. House slapped his piano and turned around. His leg twinged painfully as he grabbed the phone.

"Foreman."

"The boy is suffering from Zombification."

"You do know you're on speaker phone, Dr. Cuddy is here and she is really loo-"

"House cut the shit. Admit that you have-"

House rolled his eyes. "If you will just shut up I can tell you exactly why that word is a logical word."

"Spill and make it fast."

"The boy is suffering from Zombification. The Haiti population is terribly afraid of becoming zombies, but not all of them. Only the really bad people. Such as criminals."

There was a pause on the other end. House could practically hear the steam diminish out of Cuddy's ears.

"The boy was put in jail for stealing but the parents got him out."

"Exactly. The parents decided upon themselves to inject this magic little poison into their son for his sentence. The poison slows the heart rate, breath is nearly non-existant, basically catatonic and to even the most gifted doctor the victim appears dead. They then like to follow with a burial and then dig him up again and feed him a little food called Datura, which fully puts him in the zombie like state. And there you have it, Zombification."

House took a deep breath. "Amazing isn't it? What you can actually find from a patients' history."

"Alright, alright. So the kid's a zombie. Ho do we fix it?"

"The poison is made of neurotoxins and others from one or more species of puffer fish or amphibians. I would guess that you treat puffer fish poisoning and you'll cure him."

House clicked the phone shut and cltuched his leg. He grabbed his came and with a few moments of struggle grabbed his jacket off of the couch. He felt around in his pocket, grabbing a couple of free Vicodin. House looked around.

He was now beginning to realize why living alone sucked. He didn't want to move, too much pain. There was no source of liquid anywhere near him. House looked at the two white pills sitting in his hand. He tipped his head back and slapped the pills into his mouth, swallowing with as much spit as he could muster. He swallowed a few times more than necessary before relaxing, waiting for the pills to work.

House sighed in relief and put his fingers back on the keys of that beautiful piano. Now..where did he leave off?