The room was small, but with the number of chairs that had been stuffed between the four walls, Chase swore that he may as well have been facing an army. Slowly, doctors filtered in to fill the seats, some of them with notebooks in their hands, some with fresh cups of coffee, all of them smartly dressed. Some of them were smiling, others were solemn faced while they made their way. A few exchanged words with one another, but as the hands on the clock ticked closer to three, silence grew more and more overwhelming while man after man settled himself down into attentiveness.
Chase stood at the small table that was a pathetic substitute for a proper podium, looking at the microphone that lay on it beside his notes. He was sweating terribly profusely, so terribly that he swore he could feel the beads dripping down his forehead. His hands were shaking, and his heart was beating rapidly, so quickly that he swore that it would give out any second under the strain.
The room swayed for just a moment before he was able to collect himself, beg his body to cooperate for just an hour. The seats were almost all filled, and now that it was three, eyes stared at him expectantly. Suppressing the effects of his nerves, he surveyed the crowd, trying to deduce who was staring at the purple ringing his left eye, or at the bruises that peeked from above his collar. Most of all, he looked nervously for the Lowell, the hulking body, the dark brown eyes, the black hair that was growing peppered with white.
Fortunately, it seemed that the man was absent, and there was no one gawking at his appearance, which sent a wave of relief through Chase's body. He had been working to avoid the man all day, skipping a few talks if he so much saw Lowell's body heading for the room. The previous night had left him scarred, left him hollow, left him aching inside and out. Even now, standing, the mere action of taking a single step made his whole body cry out in pain. But he had done his best to push past the agony, and strive forward into the next day as though he were somehow unbroken. He had been left with no other choice.
What could he do except move forward? He was faced with ultimately two choices: to move on, or to give up. And while Chase was many things, he was no quitter. So now his options expanded as he chose his path- nurse his wounds, put on a brave face, and do his best to avoid another incidence. They did no more for the victims that made their way to the ER, those young women that came into the hospital with glazed eyes, terror stricken. All that you could do was heal the physical wounds, and force them into pretending the world hadn't fallen apart before you sent them on their way.
As it was, Chase was hardly holding together, sometimes escaping into the bathroom to ease his shallow breaths, his beating heart. Cold water and deep breaths only went so far as the talk loomed, and the memories replayed in his mind. He was tense all over, a shell filled with static, and that feeling had yet to cease.
Staring out at the crowd did nothing to ease his nerves. Despite not seeing Lowell in the mass of doctors in attendance, the speech was ill-prepared after a sleepless night, and it wasn't his name that had been attached to the talk- it had been House's. These men and women were expecting a world class diagnostician, and were getting nothing more than his apprentice, a nervous young man in quite a sorry state. He reached forward and grabbed the microphone, turning it on after fumbling with it for a few moments, the black plastic shell slipping in his sweating palms. Then it whined slightly, and the light came on, at which point Chase brought it close to his lips.
"My name is Dr. Robert Chase, and today I will be giving a brief review in a presentation of diagnostic medicine. Dr. Gregory House was supposed to give this presentation for you today, but he has been called away for a recent critical case. I will give the review that he prepared in his place" Chase declared with a firm tone, trying to hide any tremor that would have threatened to escape his throat. Surprisingly, he sounded nearly confident when he heard his voice echoed back over the small speakers that extended into the back of the room. It also seemed that all of the people in the room had fallen silent, paying acute attention to him.
Rather than putting him more on edge, Chase suddenly felt himself relaxing at this. They were attentive, but if anything else, they appeared welcoming. None of the faces stared at him with cruelty or judgement, just curiosity. The sick feeling in his stomach dissipated, and the tightness in his lungs disappeared. It felt as though he were finally able to draw a full breath. It was almost as though he were at peace, more so than he had been in a day. Looking down at the half typed, half handwritten notes, Chase launched into the speech that he had prepared, trying to keep his voice calm and even.
"The specific example I will be using today is from a case that occurred four months ago in the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, assigned to Dr. Gregory House. For the patient, it seemed that they were suffering from three completely unrelated symptoms, which could not be explained, even in accounting for unusual presentations of likely ailments…"
-H-O-U-S-E-
The end of the day came quickly, a bit too quickly for Chase's tastes. While completely engrossed in some of the captivating speeches and reviews given, he had been able to forget the horrors, forget the pain, despite how recent the assault had been. It was almost as though he were able to do just what he had tried to convince himself to do- carry on with the day as normally as possible, pushing away the events of the previous night to the deepest recesses of his mind.
His final talk of the day had just concluded, a fellow intensivist discussing some of the most recent surgical tools that had been introduced to the market. Despite the talk finishing almost half an hour earlier, Chase had been intrigued by the man, and stayed after to talk with him. Night had fallen hours ago, and it was late in the evening now, even more late than the previous night. The conference room had been rather small, and it had only been a group of about ten men circled around a large table, making Chase feel both safe and welcome.
But now Chase was wishing well to the other intensivist, shaking his hand with a warm smile. His own talk had went well earlier, and afterwards, he had been spoken to by a few other doctors, interested in what he had said during his presentation. There had been few times where he had felt completely flustered out of a happy, nervous embarrassment. It had eased his anxiety by tenfold, and allowed him to carry on throughout the day, pushing away the phantoms of Lowell's touch with the reality of positive sensation before his eyes.
Now that night had fallen, a blanket of darkness having fallen over the earth, Chase was yearning fiercely for sleep. There was one day left to the conference, and though he wouldn't have admitted it to another soul, there was a deep excitement in his gut for the coming dawn. Not excited for the anxiety, or for the feeling that each turn would harbor a new threat, but for the knowledge he would gain through the wisdom of the other doctors in attendance. Chase had an easy time understanding why House had such a strong distaste for similar events, but he had no arguments for going in the man's place. There were so many people, but there was also an incredible fountain of knowledge, a collective intelligence that spoke to Chase's very heart. Had the circumstances been better, Chase knew that he would have thrived even more than he already had over the long weekend.
With a final nod to the other intensivist out of courtesy, Chase walked out of the room, hearing the lights turn off behind him. He turned the corner to head towards the lobby from the branching hall where the conference room was located, only to nearly run headfirst into another man. Stumbling backwards, Chase caught his breath and looked up, already spitting out a hasty apology out of habit.
"I'm so sorry-" he began, but stopped abruptly as he recognized the body, and the smile that brought about a recollection of the Cheshire cat. It was none other than Lowell that had blocked his path, and was now staring down at him with a sick grin and twinkling eyes that spoke of incredible malice.
"No need to apologize, Robert" his voice seemed to purr, almost as though he were a friend, a lover. Chase could already feel the walls closing in at this twisted expression of both cruelty and feigned intimacy. He took a single step backwards, looking to the side for no longer than a blink, just to see if the other intensivist had already walked away. This fear was confirmed- the only soul that had been his hope of redemption had long since disappeared from sight. There was no one else down the long hall, not another doctor, not a businessman, not so much as a maid dragging themselves down the hallway that led to nowhere but empty rooms.
"Now now, don't go making any sounds. You'd be making a scene for nothing, wouldn't you? All I'm doing is standing here talking to you. There's no harm in that. Just two guys, two doctors, talking about medical procedures" Lowell continued, taking a half step closer to Chase as he continued with that same voice, one that made Chase want to retch.
Chase's breath was stolen from his lungs, and he couldn't even gather the strength to take another step back. There were no other people that he could see, and even if there was someone within earshot, he knew Lowell was right. Nothing was happening between them at this moment in time. They were two men, standing together, not one hair out of place in the scene that Lowell had orchestrated so carefully. In essence, there was indeed nothing happening.
Nothing except his body threatening to shut down, to give up. His shaking knees, the aching with each step he took, each served as a glaring reminder that his beaten body had suffered enough abuse within the past day to last a lifetime. But now Lowell was here again, blocking his only retreat to safety, the air thick with the unspoken threat. Before Chase had a chance to say another word, somehow protest his inevitable fate, Lowell's hands were there around his throat again, cutting off his air. No punch lead the assault to render him senseless; the anxiety had done that job before Lowell even touched him.
Now the aggressive touch was making him weak, utterly weak and defenseless. His knees were buckling, and even though he brought his hands up to grapple with the arms cutting off his oxygen, it was clear that the larger doctor had the upper hand. Chase was forced backwards, and he tumbled through the doors to the conference room that he had just been in, tight walls closing in around him as he and his attacker were isolated from the rest of the world.
Once again, it was dark, and Chase was on the verge of passing out from oxygen deprivation. His heart was thundering like a storm in his chest, at a pace he suspected was upward of one hundred and sixty beats per minute. And it hadn't been a full minute- he could just feel the pulse of blood in every limb as he fought for breath against the large man, whose fingers were still serving as an effective vice across his air supply.
As soon as they were both completely within the room, Chase found himself being thrown to the floor as though he were nothing more than a limp toy, garbage meant to be discarded. He hit his head against the edge of the oak table on the way down, and the cracking sound met his own ears with an explosion of pain to couple with it. He hit the floor rough, his shoulder jamming down into the carpet first, and the rest of his body following, including a head that smacked uselessly against the ground.
Groaning was his first response, bringing a hand up to grab for the shoulder as he rolled onto his back. This was nothing other than human instinct, the desperate need to appease the pain that had burst through his nerves like an open flame. Lowell was forgotten as last night's injuries overwhelmed his senses with a renewed wave of sensation, and his head spun from the impact on the table. The door shut with a loud clicking noise, and all light from the hallway was completely cut off by the solid wood. This was enough to bring Chase to a half sitting position, propping himself up on his elbows as he pushed away the new feeling of nausea, still trying to process the events that were happening around him.
Lowell stood over him, reminding Chase's pain-addled brain of a bear about to attack, one that was prepared to tear their prey apart with claws and fangs, inflicting pain before a merciless death. The hulking form blocked his vision, and he was barely able to push himself an inch backwards before Lowell crouched down, yanking Chase up by his tie. The force was enough to pull Chase's torso from the ground, and with a wave of pain, he felt his head lolling back, muscles unresponsive. The pressure the tie was putting on the back of his neck was uncomfortable, and it was enough to lift him from the floor. But more so than the pain, more so than the fear, it was Lowell's words that pierced his mind as his attacker spoke. Out of all the things to feel, his pain-addled brain allowed him to hear what was effectively a death sentence.
"Did you try to call someone last night, Robert? I don't think you did. Look at you, smiling and walking around and talking. I even heard that lovely review you gave today. I know you didn't see me, but I was there, listening. You're so wonderfully brilliant, Robert, you really are. That's why no one can know about us. They'll look at you like a joke. You're going to be a world famous intensivist in a matter of years. Something like this on your permanent record, you'll be going nowhere. You wouldn't dare tell a soul, would you, Robert?" Lowell hissed beneath his breath, leaning so close that Chase could feel the foul air washing over his face. In his panic, he was hardly able to stutter out so much as a single word, trying to ignore the thought of the coming pain.
"N-no…" he trailed off, to which Lowell dropped him back again, letting his upper body hit the floor as his tie was released. Choking and gasping for air, Chase heard the familiar sound of a belt buckle being undone once again, and this time, the truth of what was going to follow this noise was perfectly clear. The panic was renewed, and as the haze from the blow to the head was fading ever so slightly, Chase scrambled to roll onto his stomach. The hazy and blurred vision fixed on the outline of light coming from beyond the closed door, a brilliant ribbon of gold crying out from gaps in the blackness. Struggling to inch forward with all of his remaining strength, as though he were a child struggling to crawl, Chase stretched a hand out in an attempt to reach the door. He reached for it with such despair, as though it were in the one thing in the world that could provide his soul salvation.
"Oh no you don't" Lowell grunted in what must have been disgust, and a shoe came crashing down on Chase's back, forcing him to the floor again in a single sharp blow. Chase cried out weakly, but it emerged as a whimper, not a yell, for the force had once more expelled all of the air from his lungs. His eyes were burning with tears, and he could already feel the moisture from the sorrow dripping down his face. The shoe remained on his back, and the sounds from the previous night revealed themselves once again. The zipper, the shuffling of fabric, but most importantly was a renewed lack of sensation. The crushing weight of the shoe on his back relented for just a moment as Lowell continued to adjust himself, providing Chase with a window of opportunity.
Please, please not again Chase begged to the heavens, struggling to free himself from the weight holding him down. He used his elbows to pull himself a bit further towards the door, feeling the weight shift from his back the slightest bit more, allowing him a chance at movement. Feeling the release, he struggled upwards on his elbows, and then dug the toe of his shoe into the ground. All of these were in an attempt to launch himself upwards and forwards, which seemed to be the most promising chance at escape. But before he could reach for the door handle, fabric filled his parted mouth, snapping his neck back and forcing him to gag.
Before he could process what was happening, he was choking for air, the cloth effectively serving to stifle his attempt at desperate words and cries of pain. Lowell had a firm grip on this smooth cloth, holding Chase's head back tightly as the weight returned on his back, just as strict as it had begun.
"Don't even think about it, dear. You belong to me" Lowell hissed again, and Chase let out a weak cry into the gag. His body was trembling as though it were no more than a leaf in a storm. To say that he was desperate to get escape was an understatement, and as his fate loomed, Chase knew that he had no other choice. He had to free himself from this hell, he had to at least try, even if it cost him his life. There was no part of him that could survive another assault, not after he had suffered as he did last night. If his mind was able to survive, his body was incredibly battered, and would have not the strength to last too much longer than an utterly broken spirit.
Despite the fabric filling his mouth, the urge to fight for the survival was utterly overbearing, over any other instinct that he possessed at that moment. Gathering the willpower from all of his hopes and dreams for a pure future, Chase used all of the strength left in his body to lunge for the door handle with a cry. The sound was lost in his throat, and his neck snapped back with the effort. Every part of his body screamed, but his hand was rising towards that dim shadow of silver and promise, like a dove to signify peace and salvation. The scene played out in slow motion, and Chase willed himself forward, upwards, closer and closer to that device that was his only hope at survival.
The world snapped into attention as his fingers brushed against cool metal, reminding him in that instant of the surgical tools those very same fingers grasped day after day. Against all odds, he had managed to reach it, although the strain on all parts of his body was the first sacrifice of such a daring attempt. The suddenness with which he had made the motion caused him to feel like he was coming apart at the seams, as though the sinew holding him together had torn apart. But his fingers brushed against the smooth metal, despite the pain, and he knew just what to do as he gripped with all his might. He yanked downwards, pulling the door towards himself with all his might.
The reward for his efforts was immediate. The door cracked open ever so slightly, and even though he couldn't breathe or move himself much further, Chase managed to grab for the opening that had formed as the door cracked, just a sliver. Wrapping his fingers around the wood, Chase to call out against the gag that was in his mouth, pull the door all the way open in the hope that some wandering eyes might catch sight of him. But before he ever had the chance to attempt such an act, despite straining with all of his might towards a chance at freedom, his world exploded into pain.
Lowell's hand grabbed for the door, slamming it shut with an open palm as he fell short. Chase's fingers never had a chance to escape, their hold on the wood still strong. While the door shut, Chase's fingers followed, becoming the impact between the body of the door and the doorjamb. The sound of bones crunching filled the air, and Chase's muffled screams echoed within his skull. It was as though his hand were nothing but pain, a white hot burning sensation that overwhelmed his body with the intensity of death itself. But it seemed that Lowell wasn't done with his torment, and just as Chase thought that there was no way that the world could hold more pain, Lowell struck out. The door had opened ever so slightly, and as Chase's hand fell prone and broken in the opening, Lowell slammed it shut again with the same speed and force.
The sound of bones shifting and breaking resonated again, and Chase screamed, his throat threatening to go completely raw from the strain, the insatiable desire to express his agony. This new world of pain was one that pushed him to the edge of blackout, a burning and crying that stole his breath away. He couldn't think of anything except the pain as the door shut on not just his fingers, but his knuckles, his hands, the gap of the door mangling his hand beyond recognition. This cycle repeated, for the second that the door opened ever so slightly, Lowell would shut it again and again, the abuse on Chase's body threatening to span on into eternity.
When Lowell finally stopped, Chase couldn't scream, as his throat was now left utterly raw from the effort to be heard. All he could manage were tearful whimpers as he yanked his screaming hand back towards his body, and Lowell shut the door once and for all. Chase wanted nothing more than death, a wonderful, peaceful death that would spare him from the agony. He wanted to cradle his hand to his chest, but he was forced back onto the ground, head to the carpet, arm and hand extended limp out in front of him. Lowell's hands found the waistband of the young doctor's pants once more, his fingers working beneath them to fondle Chase roughly before yanking the fabric off. This final action left Chase utterly exposed, leaving his naked lower body to grate against the rough carpet.
Chase knew that he couldn't fight back. He could hardly move his right arm, and the pain in his fingers was so immense that he couldn't move the digits at all, not so much as a twitch. Perhaps the darkness was a blessing, a chance to spare him from the grotesque creature that part of his limb had become. The pain filled his mind, nothing bu the pain, the stabbing, the aching, the burning, the bleeding, the crying inside of his body, it dominated his whole being.
It was then that he blacked out momentarily, the world going utterly black and silent. This occurred just as Lowell grabbed his collar again, hauling his chest off of the ground. Chase welcomed the blackness, no matter how brief it was, only mere seconds of solace. When he came to, Lowell had begun another assault, his body shaking with the older doctor's efforts.
That pain brought on by this physical attack was nothing compared to the pain of his hand. His will and soul had already been stolen the previous night, and the second assault was only adding insult to the initial injury. Chase could only focused on his hand, the feeling of his bones mangled beyond repair, warm blood gushing down white-hot fingertips. Just as those thoughts passed his mind, sweat and tears dripping down his face, he blacked out again.
It was in and out of consciousness he drifted until Lowell was done, gasping for air against the gag, fighting to control the pain ravishing his body in the moments his eyes were open. Between these desperate efforts to live, it was the world of darkness that claimed him for seconds at a time, allowing him some sort of reprieve from the assault. Lowell was hardly a figure at this point- he was merely another body in the room as Chase suffered in utter hell, one encased within his body, not brought on by another man.
The drifting consciousness soon came to cease, and the world of the waking appeared to be around to stay. It was this growing sense of clarity that led Chase to realize that he was alone, that the intrusion in his body was absent, and the strength behind the gag had gone slack. In fact, the cloth was entirely removed from his mouth, as was the weight pressing down on his body. But the pain wasn't gone, nor was the feeling of moisture between his legs, likely more blood. The throbbing and burning of a broken, mangled hand was what dominated his mind, these feelings all still present.
Gasping for breath, Chase rolled onto his back, crying out as his right hand flopped uselessly against the ground. It took less time than yesterday for him to rise, despite the pain that had increased in amounts nearly intangible to him before. Even though his right hand was useless, the desire to retreat, to find a release from pain, was much more urgent and desperate. The assault was nothing compared to his hand, which was causing him to cry still, in whimpers and in tears. Struggling to his feet, he yanked up his pants with his left hand, fumbling to secure the button and yank his shirt down over it. Losing the complete use of a body part was crippling, but still Chase managed, trying to push the confusion out of his mind as he went.
Though the tears still stained his face, Chase cradled his broken hand to his chest, and used his left hand to throw open the door that Lowell must have left cracked when he left. Delirious with pain, Chase looked won the hall for any signs of life. Recognizing none, he turned to the far end of the hall, where another stairwell was located. It was difficult to take each and every step, but more than anything, Chase needed to be alone. He needed to get back to his room, needed to cry, needed to clean himself up and recover. The knot on his head was throbbing, and through the nausea, Chase realized that he might have a concussion from his collision with the table. More concerning was how his body shook, as though he were falling into shock. Swallowing with the weight of his own pathetic condition, Chase grit his teeth and pushed on, hoping desperately to retreat to safety in his room.
It took minutes, struggling up the stairs, his right hand throbbing with more pain than he had ever felt. But his left hand still had a full range of motion, and he was able to fight to his room, and enter it as he had the night before. Most successfully, there had been no one in the hallway to ask why he was sobbing, why his hand was contorted into an unnatural shape, why his tie was over his shoulder and his shirt untucked. He was utterly alone, just like before.
This time, he didn't collapse onto the floor the moment his door shut behind him. He made it to the desk, collapsing in the rolling chair, before he started bawling like a child. He knew that this time, there was no way to get out of going to a hospital. The pain in his hand told him that the damage was to a degree that needed emergency care, and the blood that he could feel soaking into his pants told him that the damage from the previous assault had only been amplified. But there was no hospital he could go to like this, no one that he could tell his story to. It would be too much care, too much concern, too many questions. In this state, Chase knew he might as well kill himself to escape not just the pain, but the shame and humiliation that he would be carrying with him the rest of his life.
Through blurry eyes, he spotted the silver cell phone that he had agonized over the night before. With his left hand, he grabbed it, against the thoughts that his mind was crying out to him. Fighting past the pain, Chase considered who he could call. Who could help him, and who would leave him with his dignity, ignore the shame that had come with his violation. Even though his conscious mind was grappling with the decision, his left hand was already seeking out a number stored in the contacts. Shaking, shivering with fear and pain, Chase brought the phone to his ear, hearing it ring.
Please pick up please pick up please pick up…
"Aren't you at a medical conference?" A familiar voice came through the line, though tinny and artificial through the small speaker. Though Chase could have sighed in relief at the sound of a voice that he knew, some sort of comfort, nothing escaped his mouth except a childlike whimper. He had no strength in his voice had nothing in it to hide the pain he was in, the fact he had been crying and screaming. It was without any sort of resistance that he gave in to the words that his mind wanted to cry, the plea rolling off his tongue without so much as a second thought.
"Please, please come get me. I need help, House. I need you to help me."
Thank you all so much for reading! The support I've received so far is amazing- I just love reading all the feedback! You guys are the best. I hope to be giving you guys an update on this story soon. I sincerely appreciate every single follow, favorite, and review on this story. If you have any comments, questions, or critique, I welcome both reviews and PMs. Thanks again so much, hope that you enjoyed!