This is the third chapter. It turned out differently than I intended. It is all a dream... =) Sorry for those of you who were expecting to hear more about Thirteen's story. Don't worry, though, It will continue in the next chapter. Yeah, this dream wasn't supposed to be quite so long *o* enjoy!
Chapter 3: My Body Is a Cage
"Still turning in the night
But when I get to the doorway
There's no one in sight"
Blonde hair mixed with brunette hair in the spacious bed. House stepped closer to the bed, searching for the identities of the people in it. What he saw didn't surprise him, it was actually quite a pleasing sight. The two female occupants of the bed gazed back at him, but continued their actions within seconds. Thirteen and Amber. Amber and Thirteen, nothing wrong with that. A satisfied grin spread across House's face as the girls giggled and kissed. An armchair materialized in thin air behind House and went to sit in as his leg began to grow sore.
His eyes wandered back to the scene taking place in the middle of the room. He was startled when the lights in the room dimmed, but continued watching with delight. All of a sudden, the mood in the room changed. The room became motionless and quiet. House couldn't figure out what had happened. Blonde hair mixed with brunette hair in the spacious bed. House stood up, pain shooting up his leg, and nearly fell back onto the chair. He stumbled a bit, but got his footing and fumbled around in his pockets for his vicoden. A bottle appeared in his hand and he popped off the top and tipped it into his other hand. Nothing came out of the bottle, but it was full to the brim with the white pills.
Frustrated, House chucked the bottle at the wall. Pills flew through the air and ricocheted off the walls, floor, and ceiling. House stared longingly at the scattered pills on the floor and rubbed his sore leg. He started towards the closest pill and ran into what seemed like a wall. He tried again, but with no avail. The invisible wall in front of him gained a red tint. He looked around and realized that there were no pills within the red-tinted walls. The only place he could go was the lonesome bed.
It had been so inviting before, the bed. Now it seemed to have an eerie glow emanating from beneath it. No way am I going near that thing, House thought. However, he found himself drawn to it. He couldn't help his curiosity, it was too strong to fight. The bed coming into view, house quickly saw that the contents had changed since the last time that he looked in it. Yes, Blonde hair was still mixing with brunette hair, but not in the same sense. It was just the hair, no head was attached the hair. House looked frantically behind him, What the HELL is going on? He looked back at the bed to see that it contained something new this time.
Thirteen and Amber gazed at him with empty eyes. Before, their eyes were filled with lust and life, but now they were filled with complete emptiness. Thirteen raised her arm and placed her cold hand on House's. Her eyes dug into his as they made contact and ceased to break said contact. House's eyes wandered down to her mouth as she inaudibly whispered something. "What?" House asked, not understanding what she was trying to tell him. She whispered the same phrase again, this time louder, but House still couldn't understand her. "Just talk, Remy!" House yelled. Why did I just call her Remy? Sure, that's her first name, but I've never called her that before. I've called her Dr. Hadley every once in a while in front of a patient. I usually just call her Thirteen, so why did I call her Remy just now? She tightened her grip on his hand, making his thoughts fade into the dark.
"Help me. House, please, help me." Thirteen said hoarsely. Her eyes gave a flash of life and youth before becoming glassy and unmoving. Her hand dropped from its position and disintegrated into dust. House's face fell at the sight of the lifeless Thirteen. Her face grew whiter and whiter until flecks started to fall away from it. It soon disintegrated just as her hand had. The rest of her body followed shortly after. House backed up slowing, not willing to believe what had just happened. He couldn't back up too far, however, because the invisible wall had moved further forward. He turned around and faced the wall. His fists made an echoing sound in the small room as they pounded on the now solid looking wall. He continued to pound until he heard a small voice from behind him.
What the hell is wrong with my subconscious? Why won't it let me out of this dream, or nightmare? House thought wildly as he prayed that he didn't actually hear a voice come from behind him. The voice rasped again and House cringed. Once again, he could not count on God to help him when he asked for it. "House… are you just going to stand there? First you wake me up from my restful sleep with your incessant banging and now you refuse to speak to me. I know you're a jerk, but I thought we had a moment the last time we talked. Granted, that conversation was also in your mind…" Ah shit, House thought as he turned to see a bitch sitting on the bed. A cutthroat bitch, to be exact.
"You're dead…" House began, unable to come up with a witty euphemism for the statement. "Last time I imagined you, you gave me advice. Or rather, my subconscious gave me advice. You're still fraternizing with the devil in lala land."
"I'm not going to give you advice, House. This is a dream, not a hallucination or anything similar." Amber put her hands on her hips and gave House a smug look. She was ghostly white, which seemed fine to House considering she was dead. She looked exactly like she had the last time that he saw her, in the hospital bed practically dead. Her bruised face reminded House too much of the crash. Of him not being able to save her. He just couldn't stand the pain. She wasn't going to get in his head, he wouldn't let her.
"Are you telling me that dreams are not messages and hints to the inner mind? Better call up Freud, tell him dreams are nothing more than meaningless scenes." House for a moment and began questioning Amber again. "Are you telling me that Thirteen's death, or whatever that was, had nothing to do with that fact that she has Huntington's and I'm the only one who knows about it? Or that I can't reach my vicoden because my subconscious is trying to tell me that I don't really need it?"
"Just shut up, House. It's my turn to talk." She held up her hand as House was about to say something. She put her finger to her lips, telling House that he couldn't talk. He disregarded her incessant requests for him to be quiet and opened his mouth to talk. However, no sound came out when he did this. He simply looked like a fish out of water as he tried frantically to make sound come out of his mouth. "There's no use in doing that. You aren't getting your voice back until I say what I have to say."
House gave her a bored look. He hobbled over to the bed and sat down heavily. He then turned to face her and made the motion of locking his mouth and throwing away the key. "Good, you're cooperating now." She smirked as House frowned at her. "Okay, so I lied. But, it's not like you didn't expect it. I am going to give you advice. I'm not really back from the dead or anything. If I was, I wouldn't be spending my time with you, that's for sure. House," She said, grabbing his dwindling attention, "you really screwed things up with Wilson.
"He isn't talking to you. He isn't even going to work. Do you really think that this is all about me? He's mad at you and you need to fix it. It's your fault that I was on that bus and it's your fault that I died. You just have to accept it before you even think about talking to Wilson. He knows already that this was your fault. He isn't mad at you for killing me, he's mad at you for denying it. He doesn't want your bull shit, House. Apologize, for real." She ended with a satisfied look as House realized that he could speak again.
"I did ap-" House began, but was cut off by Amber's quick deterioration. Her body crumbled and fell apart. He stared at her remains, thinking of the similar scene that had happened moments ago with Thirteen. Both of their bodies were now no more than piles of dust and dirt. A whooshing sound echoed through the small room and the colors blended together around him. He was back, back in the beginning of his dream.
The soft armchair provided good seating, though he didn't need it. The bed in the middle of the room was once again warm looking and inviting. House couldn't see what was in the bed, but he suspected that it was what had been there before. The thought of Thirteen and Amber was quickly replaced by dust, dirt, and decay. He needed to rid his mind of these horrible images. Bracing himself for the pain from his leg, House stood up. Surprisingly, no pain was present. He searched his pockets anyway and pulled out a yellow prescription bottle filled with vicoden. He popped off the top and poured the white pills into his hand.
Though the pills were not needed, House shoved the handful into his mouth. He welcomed the numbing sensation, welcomed the escape from what had been a terrible nightmare. He walked, with a slight skip in his step for he was quite high, towards the bed. A large lump moved underneath the covers. House couldn't stand it anymore, he wanted, needed, to see the two girls. Not just for his perverse love of girl on girl action, but also to see that they weren't just dead bodies. That is not, however what he saw when he pulled back the covers. What he saw was much more disturbing than dead bodies, than dust and dirt, than anything he could've imagined under those covers.
Wilson lay writhing under the covers. His eyes were wide and staring as his body thrashed around. House stared at the misfortunate version of his best friend. He wanted to stop the thrashing, he wanted to make Wilson look at him, he wanted Wilson to be himself. House's wishes came true as the room suddenly became still. Wilson lay unmoving on the mangled sheets and slowly turned his head towards House. His wide and staring eyes looked directly at House, seemingly searching for something. They obviously didn't find anything for they returned to their original position, staring at the ceiling.
"Wils-" House growled, annoyed at the lack of kindness in his dream people. The name was cut off as something flew from the other side of the room. House took his eyes off the demented version of Wilson and transfixed them on the object flying towards him. It came closer and closer, seeming to gain speed with every foot. Shit… House thought as the object impaled him. He gasped at the sudden pain and looked down at the object. It was his cane…
The room melted away and House found himself sitting up in his bed. He looked around at his surroundings, glad to know that he was in his bedroom. His hands quickly rose to his stomach, where his cane had been sticking out of a few seconds ago. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found nothing lodged in his stomach. "I need to talk to Wilson." House proclaimed into the empty air.
