"ROAD RAGE"
Chapter 3
"Accu-Weather"
January 9, 2009
10:00 a.m.
Strong winds buffeted sheets of rain and sleet across the balcony and against the outside door. When he heard the rattle of glass against metal, James Wilson paid closer attention to the elements. He sighed and stood up from his desk chair. The file he'd been working on was updated at last, and he needed to get ready for rounds. He straightened, standing motionless, peering out the window. It was like a wall of water and ice out there.
The tops of windblown trees across from the hospital whipped around like drunken sailors. Leaves that hadn't been lost to winter's shedding now hung from branches trying desperately to shake them loose. In the distance beyond the edge of town, forks of lightening split the sky and outlined dark clouds with luminous bands of silver. If the temperature were ten degrees lower, it would be a blizzard. So much for rain in January.
I think I need to get out of here and check to see what's happening downstairs. House was probably right not to come to work today.
"God, I could use a cup of coffee," Wilson murmured aloud.
Food. Human contact. In that order. He had skipped breakfast this morning, and he realized he was ravenous. A chicken salad sandwich on a bed of lettuce the way they made them in the cafeteria would certainly hit the spot. IF the refrigeration was up and running. The short walk from elevator to cafeteria would loosen his tired shoulder and calf muscles and relieve the tension along his spine.
James glanced around his office. Everything looked fairly professional again. There were still a few things that needed tweaking before he could call it "good". The potted plants he had placed in strategic locations around the room looked a little droopy. He guessed he should water them.
A mind picture formed of House joyfully zippering down and "watering" each plant in turn. Wilson pulled a face and wondered briefly about his own sanity. He certainly hoped his friend had finally matured past the impulse to pull that kind of lunacy.
Really!
Later this afternoon James must concentrate on sorting the rest of his active files. Then he would boot up his laptop and hope it would last the rest of the day on battery power.
Wilson sighed again, determinedly shifting his thoughts back to the idea of structured routine. He had become lethargic during the time of his long preoccupation with the death of Amber. He'd been aimless; existing without purpose, too immersed in his ennui to notice goings on around him. It was time for this to stop. He was, after all, moving into a new phase of his life. He wondered whether House would follow. Probably not. He was determined to keep the other man at arm's length until House got it through his thick skull that Wilson was no longer willing to be a doormat.
Perhaps, Wilson thought, he should gather his own resources and change his bland concept of tough love where House was concerned. The 'control' he'd been overusing on House before they'd washed their hands of one another hadn't worked worth a damn. It was better since he'd come back to PPTH, but he sometimes wondered how long it could last.
Wilson brought his thoughts back to the present yet again and glanced out the window. It seemed as though Mother Nature was using an icy pressure washer on the whole town. He could almost feel the sway of rain and sleet buffeting the hospital, trying to throw him … and it … off balance. Here he stood, worrying about things he had no control over and lamenting his personal inconveniences. His thoughts returned to the rumbling of his empty stomach.
James rolled down his sleeves and lifted his lab coat off the coat rack. He drew it on and checked the pockets for his wallet, pager and cell phone. They were still in place where he'd put them this morning, of course. His keys were in his sport jacket, but he wouldn't need those. He closed the office door behind him and rattled the knob in a quick security check. He was into the corridor and walking away when he heard the muffled ring of the office landline. He shrugged it off and kept going.
Cuddy …He'd talk to her when he arrived downstairs. Now it was time for coffee and a sandwich. Then … rounds.
Noon:
Gregory ouseHouseHouse House awakened in a fog of dysphoria, disorientation and fatigue. The inside of his mouth felt like it was stuffed with flannel. His head pounded.
Pain nagged at his leg, although not the harsh intensity that had sent him on a quest for more drastic measures earlier. For a few moments he thought he was still sprawled on the living room floor.
He squinted his eyes open for the second time that day and took in what he could see of his surroundings without having to move. His limbs were mushy and his left arm was numb. His hip throbbed as though something mighty and very much alive was drumming through from the other side of his skin.
He was in his own bed.
Thank you God. Or Whoever.
Blankets were bunched beneath him; almost like he'd been thrown into a field of old tires. He could reach the Vicodin vial if he needed to, but he was half afraid to stretch that far.
How long had he been out? The morphine had all but worn off, so it must have been a few hours. The alarm clock was in the other direction from the way he was turned.
It was still raining … still hammering against the windows: phantom fists pounding against his skull. Maybe something more than rain. The sound of it wasn't quite right; more muted and sneaky. He was queasy in his gut, but he knew it was one of the side effects of morphine. It would probably get worse before it got better.
He licked his parched lips with a dry tongue.
Christ!
Carefully he rolled his shoulders until he could free his arm from the Sherman tank that had been parked on it, and was instantly greeted with a scratchy tingle that made him grit his teeth. He rotated his wrist and flexed his fingers until sensation began to creep back. He smoothed out the worst of the lumps beneath his upper body.
House's stomach growled and he felt the metallic threat of nausea at the back of his throat. He had not eaten solid food since lunchtime yesterday. His leg had begun to tighten on his way home from work. He'd experienced the first twinges while still in
the car.
Work …
He hadn't gone to work this morning. Hadn't called in. They probably thought he was playing hooky because of the weather. Little thing like that.
Why hadn't anyone called? No one had bothered him. No one had given him hell, or even checked to see if he was all right. Not that he could blame them …
Not the kids.
Not Cuddy.
Not even Wilson?
He moved his hand along his side, slowly downward until it gently cupped the scar.
Without even realizing it, his fingertips caressed the sensitive area of missing muscle, soothing it like a fretful child.
He finally fell asleep again … eternally exhausted.
12:25 p.m.
Lisa Cuddy left the phone ring at House's place.
And ring.
She finally hung up and pressed the button for Wilson's office.
It rang.
And rang.
She hung up and stood with head down, chin almost to her chest. Then she walked across to her coat rack and grabbed her coat. Pulled on her heavy yarn hat. Toed out of the racy heels and stepped into her running shoes. She tied the belt tightly and knotted the hat's ties beneath her chin. She grabbed her leather handbag from where it hung beneath her coat. Zipped its zippers. Reached into a pocket to be sure her car keys and cell phone were there. Grabbed an umbrella from the rack.
Cuddy walked out of her office, across the length of lobby, muttering "lunch" to the receptionist, whose jaw dropped in disbelief. Cuddy marched with umbrella held low, out the main entrance into a full-fledged winter storm. Was she totally nuts?
It was 12:30 p.m.
James Wilson pushed open the stairway door and walked across the lobby toward Lisa Cuddy's office. He knew she had been the caller on the phone when he left for his sandwich break, and he supposed she had wanted to gripe to him about House's excuse for not coming to work.
"My leg …" Always about the leg.
Cuddy was not there. Her office was empty and her coat was gone.
Wilson walked a few steps further, all accumulated thoughts down the toilet. Maybe she was going out for lunch and had been calling to invite him along.
Hell no! Who in their right mind went out to lunch in weather like this to fight traffic on snowy streets … in a town that had been hit with a power outage … and this hospital, her beloved baby … was running on auxiliary power … ?
Wilson stood at the doors of the main entrance and gazed into the fog and the wind and the driving sleet and snow. Cuddy didn't have all her marbles going out in this mess.
At the near side of the parking lot, a dark Lexus sedan with its lights on high beam and wipers flapping furiously, pulled out into the gale and made a sharp right turn.
It was Lisa's car, heading in the direction of House's apartment.
Now what?
Berating himself for a fool, Wilson turned on his heel and ran for the exit to the underground parking garage. At least he wouldn't have to scrape snow off his car
But no! His overcoat, jacket and car keys were still upstairs in his office.
He ran instead for the elevator out of pure habit, and hit the button for the fourth floor.
Nothing happened.
Power outage. Right. Nothing works except emergency systems.
He took the stairs running.
What the hell was it about House that turned both their brains to jelly every time?
By the time he made it to his car and followed his boss, fifteen minutes had already passed.
That bastard had better not be propped on his couch under a blanket with a can of beer
in his hand. He'd better not be fooling with the damned Game Boy and ignoring his phones, his grin growing wider every time one of them rang …
Oh yes he would!
If so, Wilson was going to help Lisa Cuddy put his damned head on a stick.
Wilson unlocked the Volvo and jammed the key into the ignition.
The squeal of tires on dry concrete alerted at least four people to the speed with which Wilson slammed out of the parking garage and into a New Jersey Nor'easter …
23
