IN THE LAST DAYS OF AZRAEL

A House fan-fic

By entercreativename

Author's note: I know I have taken several twists and turns in this story, and it has been awhile since I've updated (research and life). Here's what happened so far:

Sandra Livingston is a doctor working in Diagnostic Medicine at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital in the year 2016. House, Cuddy, and Wilson have disappeared with questions surrounding their deaths, Cameron has taken a teaching post at Northwestern University, Foreman is now Dean of Medicine at PPTH, and even though Chase is mentioned as being dead, he is not (I will reveal what happens I promise). House has suddenly reappeared after ten years being thought dead, only now, he is a homeless man.

Several things that will help in reading this: remember as you read this the mantra, "Everyone lies," because it is key in figuring out the mystery (each chapter has some lies in it told by characters for various reasons, especially Foreman); the narrator plays with entries in a journal of sorts, and each start out with clues to the final ending; each chapter has some clues in it as well.

Evening, Day Seven:

Stories can be more powerful than truths. Ancient persons passed down stories generation by generation to keep their truths and to keep their histories; these stories were later recorded into such books as The Bible and The Qur'an. I even read Ray Bradbury's book Fahrenheit 451 shortly before the government had banned it; this book too dealt with the passing of stories aurally from generation to generation (too bad they also banned non-Christian religious books out of fear of terrorism - we could have learned a lot). Each story I've ever read has had relevance in my life, except one, the one most people find the most comfort from.

Why am I so reminded of these stories? Why do these stories suddenly bring me comfort?

I am sitting on the worn bed in a hotel room on the outskirts of Chicago. In its heyday, this hotel had probably been a rather decent one, but now, it has shown its age. The mattresses in the room have sunken in, springs poke out in random spots. The sheets and walls have stains that are too old to ever be removed without a fresh coat of paint, and the television has long seen its last day in times once forgotten. The last time I was at a hotel willingly was on my honeymoon.

Times forgotten; too many things have been forgotten.

I had left House at Dr. Cameron's office at Northwestern as the two wanted to talk privately; I made it my point to show myself out. Was it really my place to have paid his way here just so they could visit? They had some chemistry, yes, but not a lot. I don't know why Cameron's secretary was so happy to see the two of them together.

So, here I sit, in a hotel room, alone with a cheap pad of paper purchased at Walgreen's and nothing else to do. I lie back on the too painful mattress and the bedside table falls forward; a red book falls to the floor. I look at it and see the word "Gideon" barely embossed on its worn cover. Why is this here? How did this survive all these years in this hotel? I look closer and realize it is House's book.

I pick it up, and see a note tucked into John 11; why is House carrying a bible? I look more closely at the page and realize that it is the story of Lazarus. Why has House book marked Lazarus? I looked closer at the book and felt an envelope near the back cover. I took out the envelope and found a key and a note between House, who had apparently been using the name "Azrael" and a mystery person who used the name "Gabriel." What was going on.

First the key - why did it look so familiar? I went to my jacket pocket and fished out my own keys; the key House had been carrying in this bible was my apartment key. Why did he still have this key? Hadn't the door locks been replaced after each tenant for security reasons? Gut instinct was starting to betray my trust in House. What was going on here?

Second - the note. Azrael was the Islamic angel of death. Or was it law? I could never remember. And, Gabriel, wasn't that one of the archangels or something? I looked at it closer and realized that my name was in it, and the words "Save her and you save yourself." What was really going on? As I began to examine the note closer, the door opened and House barged in drunkenly, not noticing what I had in my hands.

"You have a meeting scheduled with Cameron tomorrow morning, you can thank me later." House stumbled further into the room and collapsed on the other bed, the smell of cheap alcohol evaporating from his sweat overpowered all other sensations.

"What is this note?" I asked, holding it in front of his face as he stared into the oblivion of the stained, cracked ceiling above us.

House took a moment and grabbed the note from me, "It's nothing."

"It's something, my name is in it, that key is identical to mine."

House blinked and rubbed his alcohol-weary eyes, "Your landlord is cheap - never changes the locks. Remember, I used to live there?"

I grabbed the bible House had been carrying around and in a fit of rage, threw it at his outstretched abdomen, a hiccup of air escaping his lungs as he reacted to the sudden impact of book meeting creep. Whatever was going on, whatever game he had been orchestrating, I wanted no more, and I told him so. My lecture had suddenly sobered him up.

"You've come this far, you are so close, and now you're just giving up?" House bolted at me as I pounded towards the door, moving too quickly for a man missing too much thigh muscle. He got in front of me, blocking the door, "You can't leave yet!"

"Watch me!" I reached for the doorknob but he gently grasped my wrist before I could get that far.

"I haven't been completely honest, well, I have, but not to the extent that you apparently need to believe." House guided me back across the room and sat me down at the broken table near the window. "You have questions, and I understand that. You are impatient at people withholding information from you, and I understand that even more, but you need to trust me right now and not your instincts. The world is bigger than you think! I learned that lesson the hard way."

I looked him straight in the eye as I tried to pull my wrist from his gentle grasp. He wasn't hurting me, but I was uncomfortable with someone being so close to me. Rather than picking up my subtle hints, he continued with his speech.

"I used to think that, no, I used to know that there were things that were not possible because I could not explain them using rational thought. I used to know that we are born, we live our lives, and when we are just getting good at everything, we die, returning into the nothingness that we are all born from. Ten years ago, that all changed."

Ten years? House released his grasp on my wrist and went over to the bed where his bible lay open, taking out a newspaper clipping and handing it to me, "Seeing isn't always believing."

TWO DOCTORS LEFT DEAD AFTER ACCIDENT, ONE MISSING

PRINCETON, NJ - Three notable doctors from Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital were confirmed to be dead early this morning after the car they were traveling in lost control. Gregory House, head of Diagnostic Medicine, James Wilson, head of Oncology, and Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine, were rushed to the Princeton Plainsboro ER. Cuddy and Wilson were pronounced dead on arrival, however, House, who had been in a coma from critical injuries, went missing after being admitted. It is believed the three were celebrating Cuddy's birthday...

"Wilson and I had tricked Cuddy into leaving the hospital for the night, we were trying to get her mind off the stress of the hospital and her trying to get pregnant. We were just going down the block, and I lost control of the car. I don't even know what happened. One minute I was driving, the next I saw myself being wheeled into the PPTH ER."

…A new mystery surrounds the disappearance of the body of House as doctors confirm there was no possible way he could have recovered from the accident, as his injuries were too severe. Police are looking into the possibility of kidnapping, however, there is no evidence that a crime was committed...

"I remember seeing Foreman performing the neuro-checks on me, trying to get my GCS. I wasn't even responding to pain stimuli. I saw Cuddy's and Wilson's bodies in the room next to mine; how could I have done that?"

… "When they brought House into the ER, I was the one to take over his care. The vital signs he was showing were all over; we were unable to stabilize him before taking him to the ICU. He couldn't have just gotten up and walked out of the hospital, despite what anyone says." Neurologist and Diagnostician Eric Foreman was quoted in a press conference early this morning.

"Foreman, he's always had something against me."

I looked up from the article, momentarily dazed and confused by what I was reading and who was sitting in front of me.

"If you're worried that I'll hurt you, don't worry because there is no way that I can. I can help you however."

…Charges are being considered to be filed against House for the deaths of Cuddy and Wilson, however police do not know what to make of the disappearance of a man who should be dead. A mystery remains, shrouded in secrets and scandal, hidden, cleansed within the walls of this hospital.

I put down the article, wondering what was going on, what unseen forces were at play, using my life and my livelihood as its pawn in this now deadly game. Two people were dead, and by all accounts, their killer might be sitting in front of me. I knew that I should have called the police, but what was I to say to them? Tell them that the ghost of a man who went missing ten years ago is sitting in front of me, trying to tell me the truth? There was so much I should have done, so much I should have sad, but all I could muster was a simple question, "What happened House?"