CHAPTER EIGHT
Tuesday dawned with storm clouds on the western horizon. Roz rolled over as her alarm went off, immediately feeling for Natasha . It was going to be hard not having the dog at her side for the rest of the work week. Anxiety was already making her nauseous. Instead of getting out of bed, she cuddled with her companion.
On the other side of town, House reached out from under the covers to silence his alarm clock. He let out a moan while peeling off the bedding. Immediately he reached for the bottle of Vicodin on the night stand. Once the pills were swallowed, he pulled the covers up over his head hoping to hibernate until some of the pain subsided.
Both Roz and House got out of bed at the very last possible minute in order to get ready and get to work on time; although House's concept of "on time" was a little more loosely translated. Roz was already settled in and working diligently when House arrived at the clinic.
Nurse Brenda greeted him with a wry smile. "Looks like the arm healed just in time for the bad weather." She handed him a chart. "The patient in Room Two asked for you specifically."
House frowned at her. "This is a walk-in clinic. I don't take requests." He hobbled away crankily.
"Glad to see you're still in pain," she mumbled sarcastically.
House shot her a sour look.
"We wouldn't want you not to be miserable."
He was tempted to respond but decidedly barged into the exam room. He regretted it immediately as the patient was in a position that could only mean one thing. House sighed heavily and gloved up.
"So you think you have a - oh my god, you're a guy!" House pulled his head out from between the legs and took a good look at the patient. He read the name on the chart: DARLA LUCAS. "Ah, god! I'm never going to be able to erase that vision from my brain."
"I told you I was no good at disguises, but the nurse told me I had to lie down and put my feet in the stirrups. So I did."
"Ahh! Enough already." House put the heels of his palms into his eyes and tried to rub away the visual. "What have you got for me?" He was torn between vomiting and being excited about new information. He wanted whatever Lucas had for him, but UGH, the site of...immediately he started visualizing snapping a rubber band against his wrist while repeating stop thinking about it. There wasn't enough Vicodin on hand to delude him from what he had seen. "Spill it."
Lucas sat up and straightened his skirt. "Okay, so I started with her education. Easy enough or so I thought. But guess what?"
"No record of her at that school." House pulled a red lollipop out of his pocket, ripped off the wrapper and popped it into his mouth.
"Yeah, and the same with her work experience."
"So our little friend is a pretender."
"There's more," Lucas opened his purse and handed House several sheets of paper.
"An obituary for Rozamund Gibbs, nee Alonza. Interesting." House scanned through article.
"Take a look at the list of survived by."
"Roslyn Santa Lucia." It dawned on House what Lucas and discovered. "She changed her name."
"Bingo." Lucas hopped down from the exam table. "I've got her transcripts, her work history, her rising sign...and there's a little something extra I found in the local papers. You should probably read it in private." He headed for the door and turned before exiting. "And today I'll uncover the color of her underwear."
House slipped the documents into Darla Lucas's file. "Planning on following her into the ladies' room and watching her pee?"
While House was entertaining patients in the clinic, Wilson made up his mind to visit Roz and invite her to lunch. He opened the door and poked his head in the office. "Hi, you got a minute?"
"Sure, what can I do for you?" Roz stopped what she was doing and gave him her undivided attention.
Wilson entered fully. "I just wanted to know if you'd like to accompany me to the cafeteria for lunch...if you don't already have plans."
"Um, okay, I guess," Roz was hesitant. "Well, maybe I should just stay here like I planned."
"I thought I'd make it easier for you to get away from your desk if I escort you there...seeing how your dog isn't available."
"Uh, okay...I think?"
"I mean who would help you up if you fall again?" Wilson was trying too hard to withhold the fact that he knew why she really needed an assist animal.
"Dr. Wilson, you're really starting to creep me out."
"Oh god," Wilson hid his face in his hands. "I'm sorry. I just-"
"Ah, now I get it. You're on the Board." Roz smiled slyly. "Feeling guilty?"
"For a lot of reasons," Wilson blushed.
"We can discuss it over lunch."
Shortly after noon House left the clinic and went up to his office to retrieve his reading glasses. A few minutes later he burst through Dr. James Wilson's door unannounced.
"Wilson! It's lunchtime-let's go."
His friend glanced at his watch. "I have to finish this paperwork and then I have an appointment."
"Bummer," House really meant it. "I just got some juicy info on a certain someone and I thought you might be interested."
"There's nothing you could find out about anyone we know that would interest me."
Wilson's dismissal was to be expected. House shrugged. "Suit yourself."
The door slammed shut without another word.
Wilson and Roz approached the cafeteria laughing. "...And then I asked him if he had a brother named double stuffed."
Wilson snorted, "Double Stuffed Oroyo."
Roz's smile faded. "Yeah, I thought it was funny too, but he didn't. I never talked to him again-or should I say he never talked to me again."
"His loss," Wilson shrugged. His good natured grin faded as the sign just inside the cafeteria promoted that it was 'Reuben Tuesday'.
Roz noticed his change in demeanor. "What's wrong? Got a thing against corned beef?"
"On occasion."
Roz watched in silence as James Wilson grabbed silverware for three and proceeded to order lunch. "I'll have the Asian salad; a reuben, dry no pickles with fries; and..." He turned to Roz.
"A reuben, no corned beef-but I'll take the stuff he didn't want with his, plus the fries."
Wilson looked at her with curiosity. "Got a thing against corned beef?"
"Yep."
Before long they were seated and Roz noted Wilson put the sandwich aside. "Let me guess, your food stealing friend is going to show up."
"To expect anything less would be futile."
"So when can we expect him?" Roz plowed into her fries, dredging them through the excess of Russian dressing. She wasn't expecting a group lunch date and thought if she could get through her food before the mystery guest showed up, it would be easier to make a get-a-way.
"Hopefully no time soon. Now, about the Board's decision."
"Hey I was just kidding. I understand they had to do what they had to do. I'm okay with it."
"I guess I feel guilty by association. I'm on the Board, and Dr. House is my friend."
"I'm not upset with Dr. House either...Well, okay, I am," Roz snorted. "Could we move on to a different subject?"
"Wow!" Wilson nearly choked on his salad. "Blunt and honest. I'm used to deflection."
"I can deflect if you really need me to."
"No, really. This is a welcomed change."
"So how long have you been working here?"
"Somewhere near a decade. I lost count."
Roz nodded in appreciation.
"How long have you been in rehab mode...if you don't mind me asking?"
"The last surgery was about six months ago. I still go to PT three times a week." Roz talked about it like it was nothing significant.
"That's fantastic!" James was excited for her progress. "You seem to be coming along very well."
"Yeah, my doctor is pleased. I, on the other hand, am getting restless. I want to get back to my real life."
It was Wilson's turn to nod appreciatively. "Still, a functional muscle transplant is a lot to go through. What's your real life like?"
"A hell of a lot more social than this one!" Roz started to laugh then got serious. "Since the incident I've pretty much kept to myself."
"I would have thought you would do just the opposite."
Roz sat back and studied Dr. Wilson's face. He didn't know. He thought he knew why Natasha was in her life, but he didn't have a clue. "I withdrew from everything-especially the things I enjoyed doing the most. It's just...I find it hard to trust people. I get overwhelmed easily. Natasha keeps me calm. She keeps me from being afraid."
Wilson stopped eating. "Afraid of what? Afraid to live?"
"I feel exceptionally vulnerable," She hung her head in shame. "Defenseless and even helpless sometimes."
"Do you talk with a therapist about this?"
"Yeah, I can talk to her, but I've never talked about it to anyone else."
"Well, you can always talk to me if you need to." Wilson smiled and grabbed her hand giving it a squeeze of support.
"Thanks," she managed to smile even though she figured she would probably never tell him about the night she was attacked.
"Jimmy and Roslyn sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G," House snuck upon their tender moment. He sat in the chair next to Wilson and stared amusedly at Roz.
"Aw crap, this is your lunch eating friend," Roz said with disgust.
"In the flesh," House continued to grin with triumph.
"Eat your sandwich and shut up," Wilson said menacingly.
"I should go," Roz stood up abruptly.
"I'll walk you back." Wilson glared at House.
"You and me need to talk," House demanded.
"Later," Wilson said pointedly.
"You can bet on it." House began picking at his lunch.
But Wilson didn't see him later. In fact, Wilson made himself scarce. Every time House stopped by his office, the door was locked. At four-thirty he gave up and decided to head home. He tucked the latest AMA journal and the Darla Lucas file in his backpack and hobbled to the elevators. He felt like a little kid in a candy shop waiting to taste all the sweet goodness. Lucas had asked him to read the file in private, which he had hoped to do with Wilson.
For being a good boy and withholding the gratification of knowing the answers, House settled in his apartment, ordered Chinese food and ran a hot bath. Once the food arrived, he settled in the tub with his chopsticks, General Tso's Chicken, his reading glasses and the journal. He wanted to finish the article he had started at work before moving on to the 'juicy' stuff.
Finally the time had come to sate his curiosity. Dressed in his lounging pants and a t-shirt, he brought a highball glass and the bottle of Maker's Mark to his night stand. The file lay on the covers begging to be read. He eased himself onto the bed and propped some pillows behind his back. Reading glasses precariously perched on his nose, House opened the file and took out the top sheet. It was the bio from her LinkedIn sight; nothing more than general information about education and ambition. It didn't resonate with him. The resume was just as bland. The next paper was interesting. Roz had completed three semesters of graduate studies. No grade was under 3.8. Her major seemed to be in criminal justice. She had taken master's courses in Deductive Reasoning, Constitutional Law, Advanced Investigative Procedures, Criminalistic Chemistry and Forensic Anthropology. Roz's last semester grades were from the previous spring term and were listed as INCOMPLETE.
"Who doesn't finish their final semester?" House mumbled. It was a bit of a letdown to see such good grades and then nothing. Hopefully Lucas had uncovered the reason.
The next page was a news article:
PRINCETON CAMPUS ON HIGH ALERT
PRINCETON, NJ - Princeton University is in a state of shock today after a night of terror. Local law enforcement officials and campus security conducted a search of the campus and surrounding area after a graduate student was stabbed and sexually assaulted during daylight hours. It is unknown if the assailant is a member of the Princeton University community. The victim, an unnamed female, was taken to Princeton General Hospital.
Princeton law enforcement officials are urging students, faculty and staff to be vigilant when on campus grounds and to report any suspicious behavior...
House poured himself another drink. He remembered reading the article when it had originally been published. Princeton Plainsboro had also been put on alert. People were afraid this might be the beginnings of a serial stalker on the prowl. It was a tense summer as most of the staff was on edge. A summer without incident had returned things to normal.
The last sheet of paper was a copy of a police report. Before House began to read, he realized why Roz would have changed her name. She had been a witness to the crime. Traumatized by what she had seen; she dropped out and assumed a new identity as not to be targeted by the assailant who had yet to be apprehended. He poured himself a congratulatory drink.
House glanced through the report looking for specifics, his eyes settling on Roslyn Santa Lucia's name. He had been right, yet wrong at the same time. Roz had been the first-hand witness.
"Damn," House tossed his reading glasses on the bed and downed his drink.
