Chapter 7

"Wilson, Emergency Vicodin" he whispered just loudly enough for Wilson to hear.

He turned around his face was ghostly pale. His pupils were dilated. The cane was shaking beneath his palm. His knuckles were whitening. A cold clammy feeling was descending over him. His whole body felt as if it were going to collapse and no cane could prevent it.

The conference room became deathly quiet. Wilson put his finger to his lips and walked across the room to stand beside the man whose stoic mask was weakening.

"House, what's wrong?" He kept his voice low

"Don't say anything just look out of the window."

Wilson looked out of the window at first he saw nothing. He was about to yell at House that "Emergency Vicodin" was only to be used when there was a real emergency. He was going to snap at House for deciding to be paranoid when normally he was oblivious to all danger.

He was glad they'd decided their own emergency code phrase years ago. No one needed to know House was losing his grip. It had started as a code for House's agony when he had his infarction. Since then neither had really needed to use it. Both were often too proud to admit they were in trouble. It had sort of faded out of existence. But neither had forgotten it's meaning.

Then Wilson saw what had made House use their emergency code. He was glad they'd decided their own emergency code phrase. No one else needed to share the terror they both felt right then.

The stampede of students rushed away manically from the corridor. Avoiding it like the plague. Their shrieks of fear and agony echoing all around the building. All running away from the same thing. A figure in black combat trousers and a black hoody patrolling the corridors. In the figure's right hand was a gun.