Worlds of Darkness
By GirlX2
Chapter 3
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It had been five days since Wilson vanished. The police had inspected the apartment inside and out, but couldn't find anything, even in the closet. Wilson's broken phone had gone with them, but it hadn't had any prints on it.
It was only after the security tapes for the building had been reviewed that House remembered Wilson's waking nightmare. The police had tape of Wilson entering the building, but there was no tape of Wilson (or even someone with a roughly-human sized duffle bag) leaving the apartment. There was a back exit, but it led to a dead-end between buildings. This had led to the other apartments in his section of the building getting searched, but still nothing was turned up.
After the first night the Police had cleared him to use his bedroom again. The closet was marked off with yellow tape, even though nothing was left inside it. House found himself staring at the open door, the last night he'd been with Wilson playing over in his mind. Even in the face of the evidence, it was ludicrous. Wilson hadn't been snatched away by whatever it was in his nightmares. It was just a weird fucking coincidence that they'd laugh over when Wilson was back.
He couldn't let himself think otherwise.
House rolled over, facing away from the yawning door. Work hadn't been any better than home. His fellows had varied between peppering him with reassurances and keeping all mention of Wilson out of the office, but he'd paid them little attention. Cuddy had tried to get him to take some vacation time, but he'd refused. With his lover gone he needed something to keep him occupied. If his mind wandered--
House clamped down on that thought, swinging himself out of the bed faster than his bed leg could comfortably take. He'd already had his nightly vicodin, but the pain wasn't even close to tolerable. He was going to try one last shot of alcohol before going on to the morphine. Wilson was known to check the supply form time to time, making sure he wasn't sneaking it on the side in order to hide breakthrough pain.
Not that it would matter if Wilson was dead somewhere.
'There. You've thought it. Thinking it doesn't make it a fact.' House limped back from the kitchen, scotch bottle in hand.
The slightly-wavering closet door caused him to stop as he entered the room. The lights were still off, but the faint glow he'd seen before days ago was back. Now there was nothing to blame the reflection on either--the closet had been totally cleaned out.
House approached the door slowly, noting the light as it faded backwards. It was a trick of the light. It had to be. The closet wasn't deep enough for anything to move that far back. He limped forward, expecting his hand to hit the back wall and obscure the faint dots.
Cold, empty air met his hand.
House drew back suddenly. The closet was not that deep.
Instantly, he was slashing his cane through the yellow tape. He limped forward, the bottle in his hand forgotten. The dots receded further back, now going much faster than the diagnostician. That ruled out an optical illusion.
'This is impossible.' House limped forwards, now clearly beyond the boundaries of his actual closet. The floor had converted from hardwood to dirt, and he couldn't touch a wall. He turned around, the doorway a shrinking beacon of light.
"I can always get back there if…" He trailed off. He wouldn't be going back. Not without Wilson. As insane as this was, it was happening, and Wilson was somewhere in this dark place.
House started forwards again, chasing slowly after the dots. Something in here had some explaining to do.
The dots didn't stay in view very long, but a shuffling run quickly took their place. House tried to keep up with the noise, but it easily outpaced his crippled step.
"Damn." House stopped, panting. The shuffling step faded into the distance.
House took the moment to check out his surroundings. It was dark, but not completely black--a greenish light that seemed to emanate from nowhere lit the place. There weren't any visible walls or other manufactured structures. Just vast mostly-empty space. Stunted, twisted trees dotted the landscape along with a few craggy rock monoliths. The ground was simply dirt, although the dirt under his feet had a slightly lighter color than the dirt around it.
"It's a path." House murmured, turning around. It led back to his closet door.
Whatever he'd been chasing had headed this way.
House started forwards again, his step slower. He didn't dare tax his leg beyond it's breaking point. He'd left his vicodin in the apartment, and sure as hell wasn't going back for it now.
-
What might have been as much as an hour later (he'd left his watch in the apartment as well) found House staring into the distance. He'd seen no signs of life since losing track of The Dots. Now, he spotted a slightly lighter area coming from below a small rise in the landscape. He limped towards it quickly.
The glowing boxy structure surprised him. It was the first manufactured thing he'd set eyes on since leaving his room. It seemed to be a box of yellow light. He approached it carefully. It was about the size of a large closet.
He prodded the light with his cane. The walls seemed to waver for a moment, then formed into crisscrossing bars.
Huddled in the center was Wilson.
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To be continued...