Title: Some Enchanted Evening
Chapter 1.
House had finally escaped the hospital and not a moment too soon. He could hear the click of Cuddy's heels coming towards him as he swiftly made his exit, or as swiftly as a man with a cane can. He just wanted to go home, stretch out on his couch with a glass of something amber and his remote. But as he drove home, another idea occurred to him. There was a new watering hole to investigate, a little out of his way, but not far. Finnegans or Fergusons or something like that. And the best thing about it was that he wasn't apt to run into Wilson or any of his team.
The place, Flannagans, that was it, even had a parking lot so he didn't have to bother with finding a spot on the busy street. He entered, immediately deciding it had been a good idea to stop. Oh, it was too new to have the smell of an established bar, but it had potential. Lots of wood, small round tables with stools scattered strategically throughout, and a long burnished oak bar running the length of the place with three bartenders working the bar and several scantily clad waitresses tending to the tables. A jukebox, a real old-fashioned jukebox, toward the back was playing some sweet jazz. Thelonius Monk's 'Round Midnight', if he wasn't mistaken.
House limped up to the bar and took an empty stool. Nice stools, too, with backs that hugged their occupants.
"What'll it be?" the nearest bartender asked.
House looked at the offerings behind the man, then smiled. "Glenfiddich, and bring the bottle."
The man nodded. He was middle-aged with receding but still gingery red hair and a mustache to match. He was back immediately with the bottle of Scotch and a glass. House placed three twenties on the bar as the bartender poured.
As he sipped his drink, House continued to scan the room. A few couples, and some white collar guys that looked like 'lets stop off for a quick one on the way home' groups. As his eyes came back to the jukebox, he noticed a woman standing next to it, reading the titles, probably looking for a special song. She wasn't very tall and definitely slim but with enough curves to be interesting. Golden blond hair, pulled back with a clip. He usually went for brunettes, but something about her was appealing. He could only see her profile, one clear gray eye, a short straight nose, and a determined chin.
He called the barkeep over with a wave of his hand. "Do you know that woman?" he asked.
"Which woman would that be?" Ginger-hair asked, a hint of a brogue, real or fake, in his voice.
House swiveled his stool back around to indicate the jukebox, but she was gone. "She was just there" he said. There was no longer any sign of her in the room.
House's next week was like any other, avoiding Cuddy and the clinic, toying with his team, even solving a case. The ordinariness punctuated as always by lunch with Wilson, Monday night football on his widescreen TV, and a poker game on Thursday.
On Friday morning, Wilson stuck his head through House's office door, a broad smile on his boyish face. "I scored!" he announced.
"The little raven-haired beauty in Cardiology?" House guessed.
"Better than that! Two, count 'em, two tickets to the Giants game this weekend!" Wilson obviously expected House to be as delighted as he was. "You're in, aren't you?" he asked when his friend didn't respond.
"Sure, why not," House said unenthusiastically.
"What, you had something better to do?" Wilson asked.
"Maybe," was House's cryptic response. He was hoping to go back to the bar again, maybe hook up with the woman he'd seen.
"So, do I look for someone else…" Wilson began.
"No, I'll take the ticket off your hands. Sunday at one, right?" House asked.
Wilson wondered if he was being played, but he was used to it. "I'll pick you up at 11:15 Sunday morning."
Sunday at exactly 11:15 Wilson knocked on House's door. House opened it, already
wearing his jacket and cap.
"What kept you?" he asked, limping past his friend and out to the car. Wilson stood there blustering "But, but…" then slapped his hands to his sides, shook his head and followed House.
The drive to the Meadowlands took an hour, even with traffic. They arrived more than a half hour before the game started. They stopped as they walked past a concession stand to load up on hot dogs, popcorn, and of course, beer. House and Wilson found their seats, good ones at that.
"Now this is living!" Wilson pronounced, staring straight ahead at the fifty yard line. House just chewed on his dog, stopping now and then for a swig of beer.
By the end of the first quarter, House had downed his share of the food and drink. "Gotta pee," he told his friend, as he grabbed his cane and made his way out. When he reached the corridor that circled the building under the stands he looked for signs to the restrooms. That's when he caught sight of her, walking away from him. He KNEW it was the same woman even from the back. On impulse, he followed, but there were so many people milling around, heading for the restrooms, food stands, or back to their seats, that he lost sight of her.
He stood for a moment trying to decide what to do, but in the end his bladder ruled the day. He found the nearest men's room. As he stood at the urinal, he tried to think of a plan to find the woman, but nothing came to mind.
He found his seat again. Wilson was intent on the game. "What'd I miss?" he asked and Wilson happily rambled on about some great move one of the tailbacks made and the throwing arm of the Giants' quarterback. House half listened as his eyes scanned the stands, looking in vain for his mystery woman.
There are places in Princeton that many people never see. But the cops know them all too well. Sergeant Mitch Levy, a 20-year veteran of the Princeton PD, and his new partner, Maria Perez, were patrolling one of those mean streets when Mitch caught sight of something suspicious. It could have been a homeless person seeking shelter in an alley, but the clothes he could see in the dim streetlights were better than those on any street person he'd ever seen. He switched on his flashlight and started into the alley saying "Whaddya make of this?" and prompting Maria to follow him.
A woman was slumped against a wall, unconscious. Maria slipped on a pair of gloves and began to examine her blond head for wounds.
"There's a bump and some dried blood at the base of her skull," she reported. "Pulse is steady, though."
"Any ID on her?" Mitch asked.
"Nada" Maria checked every pocket of the woman's designer suit. "Better call an ambulance to take her to the hospital, and get a crime scene unit in here."
Forty minutes later, an ambulance unloaded the woman at the entrance to the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital ER. The two sergeants who found her followed the gurney inside.
"What happened?" the young woman doctor asked them, as she grabbed an intake form..
"We found her in an alley downtown," Mitch told her.
"She was unconscious, and we saw that she was hurt," Maria added. "There was no ID, no wallet, no cell phone, not even a purse. It looked like she'd been hit over the head and
robbed."
"A Jane Doe." The blond doctor began to fill out the initial paperwork. She was anxious to get to the patient so she cut it short. "If you'll leave me your card, we'll let you know what we find, and alert you when she comes to," she told the police.
"How long do you think she'll be out?" Mitch asked.
Cameron began to examine the head wound. "Hard to say. An hour or two, maybe even longer. This is a pretty bad bump."
They left and she set to work. Most of what she found was consistent with the wound. She cleaned it and dressed it, of course, and checked for any other visible contusions, cuts or abrasions but found none. She'd been working quietly on the woman for at least forty-five minutes when she noticed her stirring.
The woman's eyes began to flicker, then opened, she tried to sit up, but the inevitable dizziness made her lie back down again. "Where am I? What happened?" The words tumbled from her mouth. At least they were coherent.
"You're at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital in the ER," Cameron told her. "Two police sergeants found you unconscious in an alley and had you brought here."
"An alley?" The woman didn't seem to understand. "I don't remember an alley."
"That's understandable. You took quite a blow to your head. Can you tell me the last thing you remember?" Cameron asked gently.
The woman appeared to try but then said "My head is fuzzy."
"That's not a surprise, comes with head injuries. Just lie still for now." Cameron decided to try some easier questions. "What's your name? We couldn't find any ID."
"My name?" The woman was even having a problem with that. She began to panic. "Why can't I remember my name?"