The Diagnosis
Case 2: Seeing Isn't Believing
Initial Symptom
Author's Note: And so begins Case 2, which I have changed the title of due to 'Seeing Isn't Believing' fitting better than 'What You Don't See'. In case you're wondering, I base the title off a detail of random importance. For Case 1, it was where the first symptom took place. For this one, well, you'll see. (Pun not intended)
Disclaimer: I do not own House. Or Schistosomiasis. For those of you who weren't paying attention, that was the diagnosis of Case 1.
~ 182 Willower St. 7:28pm ~
Monroe was currently sitting down on a yellow sofa at his friend Skip's house, watching a crime show on Skip's prehistoric television.
On the screen a man was dissecting someone with a screwdriver, a steak knife, a pair of tongs, and a ladle.
Monroe picked up the remote and brought up the guide, "I've seen this episode before," He explained.
"I haven't!" Skip complained.
"That victim dies, they figure out he's the killer, then they show up and shoot him to death when he tries to kill victim number 7. Happy?" Monroe deadpanned, "Ooh, Dawn of the Dead!"
"No…" Skip mumbled. He then moped for a minute before deciding to just enjoy the zombie based gore.
~ 182 Willower St. 8:52pm ~
The credits sluggishly rolled across the television screen as the movie ended.
"Hmm, good movie," Monroe stated.
Skip nodded in agreement, "Not bad."
Monroe looked at his watch, "It's almost 9. I should head home soon."
"Okay, but before you go, mind helping me take out the trash? Most of it's yours anyway," Skip asked. Monroe shrugged in reply and followed him throughout the house as they collected the bags from the trashcans to take outside.
5 minutes and 4 bags later, they were both outside dumping the trash into the big dumpster conveniently located next to the house.
"Well, I'm out of here, see ya," Monroe stated, walking back towards his car.
"Adios," Skip replied in Spanish for no apparent reason.
He started back towards his house, but something suddenly caught his eye.
There was a man lying on the ground in the alley next to his house. Skip, being the Good Samaritan that he was, walked over to see if he needed help.
"Are you okay sir?" He asked the man.
The man slowly looked up at Skip before hoarsely croaking, "Are you?"
"What?" Skip asked, confused. Suddenly, the man's head shot up and Skip got a good look at his face.
Then wished he hadn't.
The man's skin was rotted, and his left eye was hanging out of its socket. The right eye was lidless, "Gah! What in the-"
The man reached out and grabbed Skip's leg. Skip instinctively kicked at him, and managed to tear his leg away.
The man's arm came with it.
"What the hell?" Skip shouted, trying to pry off the arm. He quickly gave up the attempt and started to run. But there was someone else in his way.
The second person was also a man, and his skin also appeared to be rotting. But instead of his eye, half of his nose was hanging by a thread off his face.
The second man groaned and reached out to grab Skip, but Skip was able to run around him.
And straight into two more people with rotting skin.
"What the hell is going on?" Skip shouted, incredulous. One of the two new people, a woman this time, tried to grab him. But he kicked her away.
Skip tried to jump over her, but her companion grabbed his arm and pulled him to the ground, "Gah!"
Skip tried to get up, but a foot on his stomach held him down.
"Mind if I have my arm back?" The first man croaked, lowering his stump down to the severed arm.
Then he reattached it.
At this point Skip decided the best course of action would be to flail his limbs and scream as loudly as possible.
So he did.
Monroe had just started driving after messing with his phone for a minute or two and he was just barley out of the driveway when he heard Skip scream.
"Skip?" Monroe asked aloud as he slammed on the brakes. He looked out the window to his right and saw him flailing around on the ground.
He quickly got out of his car and ran over to Skip, who was still screaming and flailing.
"What's wrong? Why are you screaming?" Monroe asked.
"Help me! Get them off me, get them off me!" Skip shouted.
"Get what off you?" Monroe asked, dumbfounded.
"Th-these, these zombies!" Skip shouted, using the first term that he could think of.
"What zombies? Skip, there's nothing there! There's nothing there!" Monroe shouted his response, cell phone already out and 911 dialed.
The ambulance arrived and Skip was taken to Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, where his file was marked the following:
Case Doctor: Gregory House M.D.
~ Chart ~
Patient Name
James Bradley Roosevelt Jefferson Thomas- (At this point the patient said he can't remember the rest of his 20 word name) "Skip" Stilson
Medical History
One cold
Age
17
Hair Color
Brown
Skin Tone
White
Height
5' 8"
Weight
161 lb
Symptoms
Hallucination
Secondary Symptoms
N/A
Other Information
N/A
Diagnosis
N/A
~ Break ~
Author's Note: Well, good luck figuring out this diagnosis. I don't have much else to say.
