The Antic Disposition
Please read the following:
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Everything belongs to its respectable owners. Every character that is not the creation of David Shore and co. are mine, and using them for any purpose is violation against my authorship.
This story is rated M for a reason. If you are sensitive to adult themes, and detailed descriptions of violence and crime I strongly suggest being careful when you read this story.
I am neither a police officer nor a medical doctor. Every description of police investigation, and professional terms, including medical terminologies come from research. If there are any errors I do apologize in advance.
Events, and characters that come across are fiction; any resemblance is purely coincidental.
Timeline: This is set in the beginning of season 8, the rest of the season will be totally diregarded.
Author's note: Welcome to The Antic Disposition.
I'm going to use this opportunity to write a little note regarding this story. I won't bother you with long author's notes in the upcoming chapters so you will be able to go straight to the story.
This story came gradually to being, and has been in the making for quite a while. Mostly my inspiration came from the connection between Sherlock Holmes and House, and I felt like that connection could be brought so much further, and so the idea of House getting involved with a crime investigation was born. I have always been fascinated with crime investiagtion, and I think it's very interesting to put the characters into a situation they wouldn't have been put on the show.
The occurrences that come across in this story are highly unusual when it comes to the House universe, but this is the world of fan fiction and I had a great time thinking up the plot for this story. Some things might appear a little confusing at first, but things will clear up gradually.
I also want to add that this story includes several other characters. This story has a big cast, and I hope you like the additional characters as much as I've enjoyed creating them.
The title is from Shakespeare. If you're familiar with Shakespeare's work you might recognize this wording from act 1 in Hamlet. For those of you who don't know antic means bizarre, or threatening. Essentially it means to madness or to act crazy.
I also want to give my thanks to GratefulInsomniac for her thoughts and encouragement.
Buckle your seatbelts, and enjoy the ride.
-HW
For where the instrument of intelligence is added to brute power and evil will, mankind is powerless in its own defense. (-Dante Alighieri)
Prologue
The cold air hit his lungs with its sharp teeth as he half ran, half limped down the forest floor. The darkness swarmed around him, and the menacing trees surrounding him made it difficult for him to follow the road, but he didn't care. The anger flared through his body like a fuel, and he managed to ignore the agonizing pain in his leg. His mind was set on one thing, and every sense of pain or logic disappeared as he made his way through the darkness.
His body was beat; the actions of the past twenty-four hours were starting to take a hold on him. His eyes were red rimmed from lack of sleep, and his clothes were ripped and torn, his white shirt tainted dark red where the open wound bled freely. But even though his body was weary his mind was completely alert. Every fiber of his being was set on the chase; his clouded mind neglected every sense of control over his mind and body as he stormed after the shadow.
He could no longer see the black form of the man he was chasing, but he knew that he was somewhere out there in the darkness of the forest. As he ran there was only one thought that ran through his mind; she's not dead, she's not dead, she's not dead.
He chanted those words over and over in his mind, refusing to believe the alternative possibility. She had to be alive, he couldn't stand the thought of her death, and he sure wasn't going to lose her. And so he kept chanting those words to convince his ever-rational mind that it wasn't true. He couldn't afford to think of other options. The thought of her body lying somewhere, cold, dead and grey, molested by the monster, was too much for him to bear, and that made his anger even more profound and flaring.
After everything they had been through he couldn't fathom the idea that it would end like this. She couldn't die hating him; he couldn't let her die with the last thought of him as the pill popping drug addict that had ruined her life.
Right now he didn't care about anything except to find her alive.
The patch of trees suddenly cleared and he ran into a meadow. The frozen ground cracked under each step. His heart hammered in his chest, and his frantic breaths created small clouds in the dry and cold air. His head turned from side to side in search for the dark shadow he had been chasing, the person that was responsible for everything, the person that was the key to her.
He couldn't see far in the darkness, the only light coming from the white light from the full moon, and he could feel the cold fear snake through him menacingly. He tightened his grip on his cane and raised it few inches from the ground so he could be ready if he needed protection.
He heard rustling of leaves behind him and turned around abruptly, swinging the cane in front of him. But there was no one in sight; there was only the dark and empty road ahead.
He heard the sound before he felt the banging pain when a heavy object crashed against his skull. He cried out in pain, his body fell down on the forest floor forcefully. Darkness swarmed before his vision, and the pain sprang through his body like a bullet. His leg was screaming, and his head was throbbing.
His visage cleared slightly, and he saw stars glint in the night sky above him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement, then a dark figure hovered above him.
He couldn't see his face, which was masked and hidden mostly by a dark hood. Any strength in his body left him, and the darkness started to overtake his consciousness. He felt another pang in his left side, but it was dull, and he was already under the deep haze of unconsciousness. He tried to move but the darkness overtook him until he fell into the dark abyss.
The last thought that ran through his mind was the image of her, and how much he had failed her.
Miles away in a dark room she lay in a bundle on the cold concrete floor, whispering his name in the night, hoping that he would come and save her.
Her thin arms embraced her frail body tightly. Fresh tears ran down her dirty cheeks in grey patterns. Her blue eyes stared at the jarred door. She had long stopped banging on it. It was no use. She didn't know how long she had stayed in that room, but it felt like eternity. She had long stopped feeling bothered by the hunger, or the cold floor under her body. She had long stopped banging on the door crying for him to release her, because she knew that it wouldn't change anything.
She was going to die.
Sobs shook through her body by the unfair truth. She had hoped, and prayed that he would come to her, that he would save her, but she knew that he wouldn't come. He probably didn't even know that she had disappeared. Yet, she still clung to the memory of him, and the safety she had felt when she lay in his arms, it was the only memory of safety she could conjure up and she tried with every might to hold on to that. But the stabbing truth was that she wasn't going to be saved. She had been gone for too long, and when they would find her she would be a rotting corpse.
"I'm going to die." She whispered into the darkness.
She bundled herself tighter together, her bruised and peeling hands were still red after her latest attempt of escape, but she was done now, finished.
She buried her head deeper into her arms and cried softly, for the cruelty of the world, and the man that had stolen her happiness away forever. But mostly her thoughts went to him, the man who, ironically, had taken away her trust, and her faith in him. He had done inexcusable things to her, but still her whole being believed that if there was anyone who would be clever enough, or determined enough to find her, then it would be him.
Foolishly she hoped that he would barge in through the doors, sweep her in his strong arms and tell her that everything would be okay.
She closed her eyes and with one last whisper of his name she allowed sleep to carry her into dreams of him.
In her sleep she breathed out his name in a soft breath, as if she was calling him to her.
But he would never come.
To Be Continued