A/N: I know I shouldn't, but I'm starting a new story. Don't worry if you're reading any of my other stuff, I'll update those when I can. I just had to write this when the idea popped into my head. So, I started writing and the ideas only got bigger and better. I have some awesome plans for this story, so I hope you'll join it with me! Reviews are incredibly helpful so please, don't be shy! I'm so excited! This is gonna be great!
Title: The Pretender
Summary: Your mother always told you not to talk to strangers, but wasn't that what she was? In a world of sugar-coated corruption, no one is real; no one can be trusted. The real advice is simple: Keep your friends close; keep your enemies closer. But when the two are one in the same, keep your distance. And never believe your ears when you ask the question, "Who are you?"
Characters: I'll eventually try to get all of them in here, even the newbies.
Pairings: None as of yet, but if you know me, well, then you just know.
Genre: Supernatural, Suspense, Action, Horror
Rating: T (may go up later)
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Chapter I:
"Talking to Strangers"
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There was something eerie about the clouds that covered the vast expanse of sky that morning as Cuddy stepped outside from the threshold of her home and strode mechanically towards her driveway and towards her resting car in its usual place on the paved driveway. Maybe it was the way they converged into each other so seamlessly and created an originally natural yet dangerously beautiful scarlet color in stark contrast with the pastel combination of light purples and pale blues, as if the sky were a black canvas and the clouds a troubled artist, pouring his anguished soul onto it unreservedly for the world to see.
But what really sent the chills down Cuddy's spine in a different way than the morning chill induced shivers as she opened her car door to step inside into the welcoming leather seats was the way the scarlet blanket of clouds swirled quickly and without warning with a sudden gust of air, controlling the surrounding trees and grass and sending them into a contagion of movements across the neighborhood. The clouds swirled like a hurricane or tornado moving in slow motion, revealing, at last, through the "eye" of this "hurricane" a clear vision of a black sun, somehow casting a shadow of her image across her paved driveway that didn't settle well with her.
The shadow that stretched behind and below her was undefined, as if it didn't understand its own form, and was desperately struggling to reach an agreement with itself and create a structured representation of Cuddy herself, but before it could contort to her form, it disappeared just as hastily as it had fell, causing Cuddy to draw her inquisitive eyes upward, following the odd sensation as it disappeared beyond the ominous clouds and into the black abyss of the sun.
The trees stopped their dance with each other and the grass stood still and calm as Cuddy blinked away the strange sensation and continued her daily routine to the hospital with a new feeling of something…unsettling.
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She didn't even make it to the hospital that morning.
Cuddy pulled over onto the curb and shut her car off quickly, without even sparing a moments time to remove the key out of the ignition, and ran as fast as her heels allowed her to the adjacent street corner.
"What happened?" Cuddy kneeled down next to the stranger, lying helplessly alone on the abandoned sidewalk, his dark hair matted down to his forehead with blood, also plastering his once white t-shirt entirely in the dreaded crimson color.
The man opened his mouth as if to speak while Cuddy fumbled for her cell phone.
"It's going to be okay, you'll be fine," she assured the man as best she could as she dialed the familiar hospital's number into the small buttons of her cell phone.
"Who are you?" The absurdity of such a question—that a man so seemingly near to death would bother with formalities as opposed to more proper groans of pain and fear and confusion and helplessness, failed to register in the panicked doctor's mind as she answered him promptly and as calmly as the situation allowed her.
"My name is Lisa. I'm a doctor—Dr. Cuddy. Help is on the way," still trying to calm the man, Cuddy continued to talk, "what's your name?"
The man drew his brown eyes closed tightly together, a gesture not foreign to Cuddy as anything but pure pain, but somehow, this look was...off.
This morning's prior strangeness filled Cuddy's body once again like a sudden intake of air into a collapsed lung. He was in pain, that much was evident and undeniable, but his expression revealed that there was something else bothering him—as if his pain hadn't triggered this reaction, but rather something Cuddy had said.
This man was searching for an answer to Cuddy's question.
His pain was masked only by his confusion which was then only rivaled by his frustration and even still, once again, his pain—only not physical.
A powerful blast of wind emerged from around the corner of the tall brick office building beside Cuddy and the fallen man, almost knocking her down. It did manage to whip her cell phone straight from her hand and hurl it carelessly into the street beside her, almost snapping it in half, but definitely cracking it. Cuddy ignored it and looked back to the stranger beside her.
She must have missed it before, but it was clear as day to her now.
His eyes were now as black as the sun had been this morning.
But before she could analyze it any further, another forceful gust of wind emerged from nowhere and knocked Cuddy to the ground effortlessly.
In her struggle to get up from her hands and knees, she missed the way the black eyes of the stranger and the illuminating light of the sun, for one vital moment, switched roles with one another.
A heavy shadow now falling upon the darkened streets, another gust of overpowering wind took residence in the thick air. A brutal snap sounded from some unknown origin around Cuddy and the wind gained a supernatural strength as it lifted the broken branch from the large tree in the center of a small patch of grass upon which a few ornaments of shrubbery, a few park benches and a decorative fountain lay posing as a miniature park was lifted effortlessly into the air and hurled through the abandoned street directly into Cuddy's struggling body violently, knocking her unconscious.
The sound of wood on skull only intensified the gusting winds and once again, like the passing of the Olympic torch or a baton in a relay race, the sun traded its endless black color and with it, its dark emptiness contained within, for Cuddy's steel blue eyes, and for that moment only, like a snapshot in time holding the moment in place, the stranger lay motionless on the ground, his incandescent eyes burning with all the intensity capable of the sun itself, but becoming dimmer and dimmer until a life that never truly filled him departed from his frozen body and occupied Cuddy's motionless form.
His ever dimming eyes dulled into nothingness before returning to the plain chocolate brown Cuddy had remember seeing upon first glance. Cuddy's black eyes slowly regained their original grey-blue color from the sun as the giant star became brighter and brighter until it returned to its naturally bright condition. The weather calmed down instantaneously as the sun once again shone upon the streets of Princeton.
The approaching sound of sirens and the vision of an ambulance in the near distance appeared upon the conclusion of the violent weather and the sun's unnatural behavior. Everything seemed completely normal again as the ambulance approached an entirely new scene from when it was first summoned. The sun's full illuminating light now shone upon an entirely new scene—a motionless Cuddy, sprawled out across the pavement of a bloodstained sidewalk, unconscious...and alone.
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Chapter II:
"Rude Awakenings"
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The sheets were too cottony to be hers. The bed was too high—too small. It smelled so...clean—sterile, like a ...hospital.
Cuddy lifted her hand to the throbbing sensation in her head, making her close her eyes in a useless attempt to escape from the pain.
"Careful with that." A deep voice entered the room—too deep, again, not hers.
Cuddy shifted her eyes and removed her hand from the bandage around her head to get a better look at the intruding voice's owner who had just entered her obvious non-home.
"What happened?" Cuddy asked as her surroundings soon became evident.
"I was actually going to ask you the same question," began House, stepping further into the room, "whatever you did to piss off that tree must've been good for that branch to want to jump off and make friends with your head," he finished sarcastically.
"It was windy," Cuddy countered weakly—an excuse House dismissed easily.
"Winds like that don't emerge out of nowhere for intervals of as little as two or three minutes at a time," he stated factually. "When the ambulance arrived it was clear and sunny," he added in a mock cheerful tone, "—perfect weather for picnics and frolicking in ridiculously colorful flowers," his voice returned to normal, "let's just say it wasn't the kind of weather for tree demolishing—although some might argue that a tree is just a big flower," House shrugged carelessly, "but forget about them, they wouldn't think that if they were attacked by a tree like you were."
Cuddy rolled her eyes, a gesture she had grown so used to around House it was more common to her than blinking. "When can I get back to work?" Cuddy asked flippantly, wanting nothing more than to get out of the itchy hospital bed sheets that were tucked in so tightly it was literally pinning her to the small bed.
House couldn't help but grin at the once in a lifetime sight of Cuddy struggling to release herself from the confining cotton sheets, but didn't indulge too much time into watching the amusing scene. "You have no interest in why or how," he stressed, "that tree branch managed to separate from that tree so easily and put you in a hospital bed?" House narrowed his eyes in Cuddy's direction before grinning slyly, "Or is my presence combined with the fact that you're in a bed creating certain thoughts in your mind that are making you uncomfortable and you're just trying to get out of the room as quickly as possible so the temperature will cool down a little bit?"
Cuddy responded with yet another eye roll. "Yes, that's exactly it," she responded sarcastically, "I feel fine, and it's not like I can do anything about the weather so I might as well get back to work," she reasoned, "I have things to do."
With that Cuddy finally freed herself of the constricting bed sheets and lifted herself off the bed after lowering the guard rail on House's side. "Oh," Cuddy began in realization, "how is he?—that man?"
House furrowed his brow and scrutinized Cuddy carefully, "We found you lying on the concrete alone," explained House, "there was no man."
Confusion flashed across Cuddy's face but she shook it off. Without another word, she strode past House as if at full health and disappeared somewhere among the many bodies of people and doctors at the end of the long hallway.
House watched her go from behind, admiring the free show as always—his all time favorite spectator sport, then retreated in the opposite direction slowly; he could bother her another time. She was behind in her work now, meaning that he wouldn't get anything more from her until she worked herself back into that same hospital bed. For now there were some unanswered questions that needed attention.
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I'm so exhausted...who knew a head injury could take so much out of a person... Cuddy locked her front door behind her and threw her keys on her coffee table as she stretched out on her sofa to unwind from the extra long day now behind her. She closed her eyes and tried to replace the images of patients, paperwork, complaints, forms, and unruly doctors with much more serene things like sleep or warming fireplaces, or maybe even a beach—perhaps her sleeping on the warm sand of a beach with the sun sending a warming sensation throughout her whole body while the contrastingly cool waves lapped at the coast of the sand under her fee-- KNOCK, KNOCK...
An intruding rasping at her front door lifted Cuddy from her reverie and she automatically rose from her sofa to answer it. She had long since abandoned her heels somewhere near her trail to the comforting couch and the imagined feeling of sand between her toes was replaced gradually by the feeling of a cold, hardwood floor as she approached the persistent knocking at her front door. "Just a second, I'm coming!" Cuddy tried to quell the visitor's eagerness, but the sound of knuckle on wood didn't falter until Cuddy's hand made contact with the door handle.
There was an odd sensation as Cuddy's skin made contact with the cool metal of the doorknob—more like a premonition rather, that told Cuddy not to open the door. This knock was unfamiliar to Cuddy. She rarely had visitors, but when she did she could usually tell who was on the other side of the wood barrier by their knock.
Thankfully, it wasn't wood on wood—or cane on wood signaling House, it wasn't short and light—the less familiar signal of the occasional visit by Wilson, and it wasn't even the rarest of them all—the rhythmical tap, tap, ta-tap, tap that her family members would use. But she wasn't expecting that; it wasn't around the holidays. In fact, she wasn't expecting any of them...yet another reason not to open the door.
But she was already there; her hand was turning the knob. Why not? It might be a hospital emergency. Cuddy stopped her hand's rotation mid turn. That's what her cell-phone was for. Cuddy shook her head. This was ridiculous. She pushed all negative intuition and all doubt out of her mind as she made the final push to open the door.
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The roar of House's engine was cut off and the sound dulled gradually as the bike was put to a temporary rest. House removed himself from his bike, exiting off on the left side and retrieving his cane from its holster on the other side of the bike.
He glanced around with careful eyes—searching, examining, memorizing, analyzing. He made his way past the bloodstained side-walk—not much to be seen there, and traveled in a straight path through the yellow tinged grass towards a rather large tree in the center of this small aspirant park. There was an astoundingly large spot on the side of the tree where the branch had appeared to be ripped clear off, as if a chainsaw had been taken to it. This wasn't bad weather or even years of bad weather, thought House.
House imagined the projected path of the branch all the way across the park and to the dried pool of blood on the sidewalk at the other end of the street. The branch had been removed in order to not create traffic or other potential hazards, but House could imagine the shape and outline of it on the sidewalk...but something wasn't right.
He followed the tree branch's earlier path to the sidewalk and analyzed the pavement with narrowed eyes. There was too much blood. Cuddy wouldn't be walking if she had lost that much blood. But not only that. The blood was pooled evenly across the pavement. There was no spatter at all that would inevitably form from such contact with the piece of nature that had collided with Cuddy's skull.
Either Cuddy was bleeding before she was hit by the tree branch or... House just couldn't put his finger on it. He wasn't a detective, he was a diagnostician—similar, but two completely different professions. She had claimed the presence of another man, but he wasn't there when the ambulance arrived. If this was his blood, he wouldn't have been able to walk away either.
As the sun died down, House decided to turn in for the day. He had plenty to speculate over now and needed to get his rest if he was going to be capable of functioning in the morning.
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The cold wind from outside bit at Cuddy's exposed legs as the door gradually revealed the undeniable figure of a man clad in all dark attire, blending in almost completely with the surrounding dark of night. Cuddy regarded the late night visitor carefully as she skimmed her eyes slowly up and down the tall man. He had both his hands in his pockets, pulling the open ends of his black coat together, not allowing any of the material of his shirt underneath to be exposed. Cuddy's eyes fell down the dark jeans and onto the surface of his shoes before rising back up to his face. The collar of his jacket was lifted up, perhaps shielding his exposed neck from the cold wind of outside, which blew swiftly across his rough face, causing him to tug his jacket closer to him reflexively in search of warmth. He looked as if he had been through a rough time if Cuddy had ever seen one before—a combination of weeks of sleepless nights and relentless days. His face was unshaven and his heavy dark stubble was making its way down his neck. His hair was just as unkempt, but blew freely with the wind.
"Can I help you?" Cuddy broke the silence, her voice drawing the man's eyes up from the door mat where it had been silently stationed during Cuddy's quick inspection to meet Cuddy's questioning tone.
The man looked troubled—on the verge of an emotional breakdown, torn between an internal struggle of something he didn't look too sure about himself. But he stood his ground silently as he tried to configure the right words to convey his mysterious purpose.
The whole while the stranger searched Cuddy's welcome mat for the right words, Cuddy took her time to look the stranger in his eyes from her comfortable, yet safe distance behind the open crack of her doorway. She recognized those brown eyes! And that face—filled with the same worry and confusion as before...
"I'm so sorry." The man spoke almost inaudibly and Cuddy unconsciously opened the door a little wider and leaned in just a hair more to listen. There was something about this man—the way he carried himself, the absence of any gleam of life in his eyes that disturbed Cuddy, yet at the same time, did nothing to validate any dangerous qualities to this stranger.
He spoke again before Cuddy could question him. "You're in danger..." the softness that underlay in his urgent tone accompanied by the pain evident behind his unreadable eyes was the only factor that stopped Cuddy from hastily shutting the door in this man's face from such a declaration.
"Who are you?" Cuddy repeated her question from the unusual morning and waited for an answer.
The man shook his head diffidently. "It doesn't matter." He shifted his weight from his right to his left leg unconsciously. "I just felt like I needed to find you again and warn you."
"Of what?" Cuddy asked softly, a little unsure of why she was buying into any of this at all.
The man swallowed an invisible lump in his throat and exhaled softly, his breath barely visible among the ever darkening night. "Everyone you've ever know..." he began his statement slowly, still trying to find the right words, "...is...not who you think they are." He looked behind him quickly, then drew his head back towards Cuddy, as if he were an abused animal still jumpy and on constant alert. "I can't tell you how to fix this...I wish I could," his voice hitched but he continued his warning wholeheartedly, "just be careful," he could've laughed at the lack of help that bit of advise would later prove, "but remember," his voice rose in volume and intensity, "no one is real; no one can be trusted." He stressed nearly every word of his final proclamation heavily before turning without another word away from Cuddy's doorstep and withdrew back into the night from which he appeared.
Cuddy disputed with herself whether or not to call out to this stranger—to ask for more clarification, but her shock bolted her to the ground and sealed her lips from uttering any words as his figure blended into the night and disappeared from view.
Cuddy shut her door closed and locked it. Why was she now more frightened than when he had been on her doorstep? Had his words held any truth to them? Why was she in danger? Questions complicated Cuddy's mind as she tried to discern this man's intentions. He was a stranger. Her mother had always taught her not to talk to strangers. But wasn't everyone a stranger until you met them? Cuddy pondered these thoughts as she made her way down her hallway and to her bedroom. Had she even met him?—he refused to give her his name...therefore, technically he was a stranger, she decided, but one trying to help her or just a crazy man who finds some sort of sick thrill in scaring people? Cuddy made it to her bedroom and into her bed. She pulled the covers across her body and turned onto her side, facing away from the center of the bed. The possibility of truth in the man's words troubled Cuddy. She wouldn't know until she found out, and that was the thing that disconcerted her the most. As Cuddy's eyes slid shut and she drifted to sleep she realized she wouldn't find any real comfort until she knew for certain... What would come of tomorrow?
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Chapter III:
"Lunch-Time Meetings"
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Nothing seems different... Cuddy had made it to the hospital unperturbed as opposed to yesterday and everything seemed to be right with the world. Doctors were checking in on patients, nurses were filling out charts and helping with the usual clinic traffic and House was...not...doing his clinic hours. Yup, everything's just right, thought Cuddy.
Shaking her nighttime confrontation from her mind, Cuddy headed towards her office, giving friendly nods to patients, nurses, and doctors along the way. That man was just crazy, I should be less— Cuddy was awoken from her thoughts as she bumped into a solid object and almost fell to the ground. A folder full of papers fluttered down and scattered haphazardly across the ground. "I'm so sorry," Cuddy offered her apology sincerely and bent down to help retrieve the mess of papers on the ground. "I should've been paying better attention," Cuddy continued as she quickly collected the files from the ground.
"Oh, it's no problem," Dr. Cameron attempted to bend down, but Cuddy already had the papers collected and stood upright, holding them out to Cameron. "Here you go."
Cameron took the folder from Cuddy, not saying a word.
Cuddy didn't wait long for a thank you, figuring it wasn't necessary. She had been the cause of the accident and did just de-organize everything in that file of hers. Cuddy nodded politely, "Have a nice day."
Cameron stared blankly at Cuddy for a moment, then smiled slyly. "You too, Dr. Cuddy," Cameron walked past Cuddy, almost bumping into her again, and continued on her pathway to wherever she was headed before, probably the emergency room.
Cuddy looked over her shoulder curiously. Shaking off the odd confrontation, she continued the opposite way of Cameron, towards her office, no longer throwing friendly smiles to her employees on the way, because they no longer returned them.
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A knock signaled at Cuddy's door and she put her pen down, thankful for the break, "Come in!"
One of the large doors was pushed open and in came Wilson, his famous smile plastered on his face, relaxing Cuddy greatly.
"Dr. Wilson," greeted Cuddy cheerfully, happy to see a friendly face again after all the non-responsive people she had been encountering the entire day.
Wilson nodded his greeting to Cuddy and advanced towards her desk.
"What can I do for you today?" Cuddy looked towards Wilson's hands, carrying a patient's file along within them.
Wilson sat down in a chair opposite Cuddy's desk and opened the file. He rotated it one-hundred and eighty degrees to where it was facing Cuddy and she automatically turned her eyes down to it, skimming the contents carefully. "He's not responding to his treatment..." Cuddy said aloud, "so what do you intend to do now?" she asked, expecting Wilson to ask for a biopsy or other invasive procedure, but looked up when he didn't respond.
Wilson was no longer seated in the chair across from her desk. Cuddy almost jumped when she noticed Wilson's overcoming presence towering beside her. Her hand on her chest from the surprise, Cuddy let go of a short laugh. "You scared me," she continued to laugh quietly but it faded as she realized she was the only one laughing.
"I didn't mean to, I'm sorry," Wilson remained where he was, looking down over Cuddy's seated form.
Cuddy shifted in her seat uncomfortably. "So, again, what do you intend to do next?" she repeated her question, for some reason now just wanting him to leave her to her work.
After a beat of silence Wilson bent down close to Cuddy—coming to eye level with her, who fell silent at their close proximity. She had never felt uncomfortable around him before, but this was different somehow. Wilson finally spoke up, speaking quietly—there was no need to speak loudly because they were so close. "Something I should've done a long time ago," before Cuddy could react, Wilson had his lips pressed firmly against her own.
Cuddy remained as still as stone as the shock settled in at her current situation. She began to pull away, but Wilson's hand was making its way into her hair, holding her head in place. Cuddy made a muffled groan into Wilson's mouth; having the opposite effect she had intended for it; it only prompted Wilson to press on. His tongue pried for entrance into her mouth, and that's when Cuddy stood up without warning, breaking the kiss and causing Wilson to step back a few short steps.
Cuddy put her fingers to her lips still in surprise and backed far away from the strangely behaving Wilson. "Um...," Cuddy stuttered over her words, still backing away, "I'm going to take an early lunch," with no other words, Cuddy turned and grabbed her coat, practically running out of her office, leaving a stoic Wilson behind, a glazed look in his eyes, unemotional and completely silent.
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A barrier of warm air welcomed Cuddy into the small restaurant only a short walking distance from the hospital. There was no way she was eating at the hospital. Everyone was acting too weird around her and she needed desperately to get away. Shrugging her jacket from her shoulders, she scanned the restaurant for an available seat. It was fairly packed considering it was lunch hour, and Cuddy hoped for a seat—she would wait if she had to; she was definitely going to eat here no matter what if her only other option was the hospital cafeteria.
Her eyes surveyed the entire restaurant seating area until she came to the last table in the very back corner. Cuddy's hopes sank as she saw the figure sitting there eating his lunch. Defeated, Cuddy took a step to her side to take a seat in the waiting area, but stopped mid-squat. She stood up quickly and looked again towards the corner booth with the lone man occupying it. With her legs working of their own accord, Cuddy found herself taking long, deliberate strides to the table.
"What did you do?" Cuddy sat down opposite the man and stared straight into his dark brown eyes.
"I ordered the Meat Lover's sub," droned the man, seemingly annoyed by the interruption.
"You know what I'm talking about," said Cuddy, determined to get some answers from this man. "You came to my house last night, and I don't even know you, but somehow you've done something to affect everyone I know. What's wrong with them?"
The man set down his half-eaten sandwich on his plastic covered tray and used a napkin to wipe his fingers clean. "Nothing's wrong with them," began the man, "its you," he finished simply.
"There's nothing wrong with me," defended Cuddy, "everyone is acting weird all of a sudden. They're not themselves, they—"
"Do you really want my advice?" asked the man, cutting off Cuddy's rant.
Cuddy looked into the man's eyes, confused. "No," she declared strongly, "I want this to go away," she stated plainly.
"I already told you," began the man, "I wish I knew how to make it go away, but it won't..." the sadness returned to the man's eyes and face, "You may not want my advice, but please at the very least consider it. Your only hope is to leave this town, maybe even the state." Cuddy drew back in shock at the man's words, but he continued anyway, "cut off all relations with these people that you know and start a new life." Without even looking at Cuddy, the man signaled for his waiter to bring him his bill.
"Wait, what exactly is going on here?" Cuddy was desperate for any answers at all now.
"I'm sorry that I don't have the answers you may be looking for, but I can tell you what will happen—thank you," he took the bill from his waiter and slipped in a ten dollar bill, "it'll be slow and progressive, like a disease, but once it happens, there's no turning back." Cuddy was leaned forward in her chair listening to this man she had never officially met—this stranger, with attentive ears, "I've already told you how everyone you've ever met isn't who you think they are," Cuddy nodded subtly, not even noticing her action, waiting for his next words, "that wasn't entirely true. They're all still normal. The only thing that's changed is the way you perceive them." Cuddy's eyes narrowed in confusion, but he didn't clarify his statement, "It seems as if it's already started, am I right?" he didn't wait for an answer, "they begin by behaving...oddly. They may act differently, either by simply not responding to you at all, or they may make rash decisions that they never would before...but it won't be long until their behavior turns violent." The man shook his head sadly. "Please, take my advice and just leave! Trust me, okay, you don't want to be around when that happens."
"How can I trust you when I don't even know you?" Cuddy questioned, the reasonable side of her brain working.
The man smiled sadly, "because you don't know me," he explained, confusing Cuddy even more. "The only people you can trust now are strangers...kinda goes against everything your mom taught you as a kid, huh?" he tried a joke, but it didn't lighten the mood any. "The more you know someone the more they'll turn on you when the time comes," he said solemnly, getting up from his seat to leave the restaurant, not even needing to grab his jacket because he still had it zipped and on the whole time he was in the restaurant. He reached into his pocket and threw a tip on the table before heading towards the door.
"Wait!" Cuddy got up from her seat and quickly went to stand near the man. "What's your name?" she asked again for the third time.
The man shook his head and looked over his shoulder towards her. "I want to help you," he clarified, "I can't do that unless you respect the fact that you can't ever know who I really am." He thought for a moment. "Just call me...John."
Cuddy looked at him skeptically, "Is that not your real name?" inquired Cuddy.
"Of course it's not! Haven't you been listening to anything I've been saying?" he wiped his hands over his face and exhaled slowly, calming himself. "I have to go now," he said softly. "Please consider what I've told you." He opened the door to the restaurant widely, allowing the cold air to come into the room quickly, causing everyone including Cuddy to shiver. All but the stranger, who left the restaurant into the chilly air as if there were no change in temperature at all.
There was something strange about this man, and Cuddy needed to find out why. How did he know so much?
"Hi," a cheerful waitress spoke up from behind Cuddy, lifting her from her daze, "will you be dining alone this afternoon?" she asked in her friendly, high pitched tone, gathering under her arm a menu from the light wooden podium in front of her.
Cuddy shook her head slowly, watching the man's retreating form, "no, I'm...I have to go." Cuddy left the restaurant without eating, fully intent on following this man to wherever he was headed. There was no way this man's advice was worth it, and she was intent on finding out her own solution to this...problem. She had to do it quickly though, because if he was right, things were about to go from bad to worse in a hurry.
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