Chapter 7: Coincidence? I Think Not...
It was the voices yet again. Recurring dreams are bad signs, House thought, floating around in his subconscious. Am I in a coma? The voices he heard were distant and muffled. He concentrated on them, and the high-pitched shriek of before reappeared.
"Well, if you don't give a sh!t about me then why do you trap me here?"
and then the strange, raspy voice...
"Because I want you here to do what your supposed to! If you know I don't need you here then why do you insist on staying?"
He heard nothing more for some time, and then the voice returned.
"I've been waiting to rid myself of you since I realized...
He didn't hear the rest of the sentence, as it was drowned by the sobs of the woman.
"You've got 2 days."
And then the crash and the thud of a body hitting the floor that sounded eerily familiar.
House awoke in an ICU room, with Wilson in a steel chair by his side. He mumbled unintelligibly, and shifted positions on the bed to look outside. He saw Cameron there, looking through the glass walls, tear trails staining her cheeks. House flipped back over to look at Wilson and angrily opened his mouth, but found himself speechless. Literally, without speech. Suddenly, running through his mental abilities in his head, he realized he was forgetting things. Where was he? This is an ICU room, he knew that, but what was the name of the hospital again?
"Easy there, House, take it slow. You suffered a major concussion from the fall, and you're probably experiencing selective memory loss and speech impediments. It'll be like that for a little while. Nod if you understand." House opened his mouth to say yes, but again he found he simply lacked the ability. He furrowed his brow, confused, but nodded slowly. A sad smile spread across Wilson's features, obviously glad he wasn't too worse for the wear.
"Good, good. Now, can you say my name?" House gave him an indignant, "of-course-I-can-you-idiot" look. He thought hard about what he had to do to speak, and inhaled, ready to speak. Suddenly, though, a memory he had forgotten reappeared in his head, and his mind switched to that subject.
"Red!" He croaked out. Wilson looked concerned. He gave him a strange look and leaned in closer.
"Excuse me?" House looked guilty.
"I like... red... lollipops... Wilson." Wilson... Wait... James Wilson...that's it... looked relieved.
"Okay, we're making progress. Now..." House went through a series of mental tests, checking his capabilities, and he proceeded well, talking as little as possible because of his raw and weak throat. That strange nagging feeling in the back of his head had returned. What was his brain hiding from him now? Once the tests were over, House asked for privacy so he could talk alone with Wilson. Taking a pen and a pad of paper from his bedside table, he wrote,
"What happened after I blacked out?" His writing was messy and shaky. Wilson looked away from him.
"House, in the 4 hours you were either out or asleep, your condition varied. I was outside of the MRI room, and there was a loud crash and I heard you fall. I came in the room, and you were unconscious on the floor. Somehow, you managed to push the desk and everything on it through the glass, which is now being replaced. You had a piece of glass or two in your arm, but nothing serious physically. We put you in an ICU room and monitored you. You were in a very shallow coma, but you came out of it naturally and were in a deep sleep for about the last hour. We didn't wake you so your brain could sort things out again."
"Cameron, of course, caught wind of the situation and has, naturally, been beside herself with worry. We also noticed that wound on your temple. It looks fresh. How did that happen?" House thought about what Wilson had said. He must of had that dream while he was asleep, because he woke up immediately afterwards. But what did it all mean? His dreams, his pain, that nagging feeling, what was it all trying to tell him?
He needed to get rid of Cameron, that's what it was. His body was manifesting his need to see her off. Fire her. It was necessary. The pain was nerve regeneration, which was good for him. It was all he really had to be glad about right now. As soon as he was up and about he'd send the little b!tch on her way. He'd do it himself. It wasn't business anymore, it was personal. He needed the change of staff anyways. Some new blood couldn't hurt, right?
His leg strongly disagreed. and he realized, glancing at his IV, he had been on morphine for some time. He turned, confused, to Wilson, and wrote,
"Why was I on morphine? If I was in pain while was asleep, it would have woken me up, but is there any other reason?" Wilson gave him a tired look.
"We gave you the morphine not as a painkiller, but as a weak sedative. I didn't think I should say this, because some people find it strange. You were having a very fitful sleep. You were tossing and turning and shouting out gibberish. It's no problem, though. Many people don't sleep quite right after concussions. Nothing to worry about." House was slightly relieved. He thought for a while longer, and as the memories of the minutes before he feel became clearer, he developed more questions.
"Wait... what was wrong with the MRI? I remember you trying to tell me something, but I didn't let you..."
Wilson sighed. He looked down and rubbed his forehead for a few seconds before looking back up, empathy etched on his features.
"I'm sorry... House. I didn't see everything on the scan, and the computer was broken afterwards so we didn't save the images... and it's still a possibility I was wrong, but I saw no nerve regeneration. It could be other things that won't harm you, or it could be..." He swallowed, "Psychological."
"I'm not saying it is," He continued, "Because I don't know for sure what is causing it. We'll see. But we're going to run a couple more tests to find out exactly what the trouble is."
House's mind was reeling. He almost felt like he was descending into shock. His heart sank. His leg hadn't changed, had it? He would be confined to his cane (as bitchin' as it is, he thought) and those terrible awkward stares for the rest of his life. His mind skipped from thought to thought, blocking out the inevitable truth. This couldn't be possible. He thought about the fall and wondered if this was all a very real hallucination. He knew how real they could be. All a figment of his imagination... Hopefully. He scrunched up his face and thought.
House was furious. Crawling out of the MRI and snatching his cane from where it hung, he limped gingerly but as fast as he could out of the test room. He watched, with a scowl on his face as Wilson cowardly fled the observation room. Bursting angrily into the room, he was ready to go into the hall and give Wilson a piece of his mind, when he noticed the lingering MRI images. Spinning to face the monitor, he accidentally put weight on his bad leg again. Agony coursing through his veins, he stumbled and tried to break his fall by putting all his weight onto the desk. Unfortunately, it was unable to hold him, and it was sent into the large pane of glass, which promptly shattered. His hand slipped and his skull bounced painfully off the desk as it fell through the window, and he collapsed to the ground. He slowly welcome the smothering darkness of unconsciousness.
House's eyes darted from side to side as he remembered the voices he heard. The shrieking female, and the male... raspy and rough, almost like the person's throat was raw and they were unab-
"OH MY GOD!" House exclaimed.
