"H-hello?"
House sat on the edge of his bed, breathless, his heart pounding in his ears as he waited for the voice that haunted his nightmares to enter his reality once more. Shaking, his entire body taut with dread, his left hand trembled as he held the phone to his ear.
"Enjoying your new apartment, Dr. House?"
House's mouth opened to respond, but he could not find the words. He wasn't exactly surprised that Tritter knew he had moved out of his apartment – in fact, he had rather expected it. Still, the knowledge sent a shiver of apprehension down his spine, and he couldn't draw breath.
Where is he? Can he see me? Is he watching?
House's eyes darted around the darkened bedroom, and he glanced toward the window and its tightly drawn curtains, both wanting to go and look outside – and terrified to do so.
"That's a nice neighborhood, House – those Quandt Avenue Apartments. Very safe. Police can get there in about five minutes if they need to. They hardly ever need to, but you know…just in case…"
House could hear the shrug in Tritter's casual voice, and the suggestion in his words made House's mouth go dry. He swallowed hard, his throat aching with the effort as he struggled to find his voice.
"Wh-what do you want?" he finally managed to get out.
Tritter's voice hardened as he replied without hesitation, "I want you to shut your mouth and listen for a change. Think you can handle that?"
House's stomach lurched, and he uselessly nodded again. "Yes," he whispered.
"You know, I'm surprised that a man like you has such good friends, House," Tritter went on, a sly note to his voice. "Of course, I've known that for a while – since your boss lied for you to get you off. How many times did you have to screw her to get her to do that for you?"
As often as he made his own derogatory sexual comments about Cuddy, House found himself mentally defending the woman who, over the past few days, had proven to be a much better friend than he had ever realized. He wanted to protest, but couldn't find the courage to argue.
"Yeah…like the judge said, you've got better friends than you deserve." Tritter paused for impact, his voice softening with menace as he added, "Maybe I ought to remind them how dangerous being friends with you can be."
House's stomach clenched, his forehead breaking out in a cold sweat. "Please," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Please…don't hurt them…"
"That's up to you, isn't it, House?" Tritter reminded him coolly, a deceptive gentleness in his voice. He paused a moment, allowing the words to sink in before he asked softly, "How much have you told them?"
House fought off a sense of panic at the question, torn between the knowledge that in order to protect his friends, he would have to lie to Tritter – and the belief that if he did lie to Tritter, the man would surely know he was lying, and he would only succeed in making things worse – for himself and his friends.
"Nothing," he whispered immediately, struggling to control his breathing, aware that any hesitation or change in his voice would give him away. "They don't know anything. They… they know that I was…a-attacked, but… but they don't have any idea…who, or…or anything like that."
Tritter was absolutely silent, and House felt his stomach drop.
He knows… oh, God, he knows… he's going to kill us… shouldn't have opened my big mouth at all… shouldn't have told them anything… oh, God, no…
His mind raced, searching for a way out of the situation. House knew he had only a very slim chance, and that was to lie, and hope that Tritter believed him. If Tritter knew that he was lying, they were all dead – but they were also all dead if he told the truth.
"Please," he whispered. "Please…I'm telling the truth. I didn't… didn't tell them anything…" House's voice broke over the words, desperate as he added, "Please, you've got to believe me…"
"You think I don't know when you're lying to me, House?" There was a subtle menace in Tritter's quiet voice. "You think I can't tell?"
"I'm not," House insisted desperately, his voice rising slightly in his panic. "Please, I'm not!"
"I know if you are or not," Tritter stated calmly, and House could hear the smirk in his voice. "And just know that if you're lying to me, House… you're gonna pay for it. You, and everybody you care about." He paused, cold mockery in his voice as he added, "I realize that's a short list, but that just makes it easier for me to make you pay, doesn't it?"
"Please," House whispered, his terrified mind unable to formulate any other words. He was vaguely aware of how pathetic he sounded – vaguely ashamed of it, even – but he couldn't think of anything else to say, only able to repeat his desperate plea over and over. "Please, please…"
"Calm down, Dr. House," Tritter advised, his tone cold and taunting. "If you're telling the truth, you have nothing to worry about, do you?"
Realizing that his own behavior was giving him away, House struggled to calm himself. "I… I know," he replied shakily. "It's just… I'm afraid you… you won't believe me…" He held his breath, trying not to sound as on the verge of panic as he actually was.
Please believe me, please believe me, please believe me…
"I know," Tritter informed him softly. "This isn't a guessing game, House. I know if you're telling me the truth or not. And trust me…" Tritter's voice lowered to barely over a whisper, sending a shiver down House's spine. "…if you're lying to me, it's going to be a lot worse for you and your friends than if you just tell me the truth…"
House felt his courage wilting under the threatening power of the calm, controlled voice. His mind flashed back again and again to terrifying scenes from the assault, and he raised a trembling hand to cover his face, drawing in his breath in a shaky gasp. His traumatized instincts were screaming at him to confess, to tell Tritter the truth.
He already knows… he knows, and he's gonna kill us, and it's gonna be worse if I don't tell him the truth… I've got to tell, got to…
"Who are you talking to?"
House jumped, looking up toward the doorway with a trapped expression on his face.
Wilson was standing there.
House froze, unable to respond in any way. His ordinarily sharp mind was too shaken to think of an appropriate reaction to this sudden change in the situation. Wilson's face bore a suspicious frown, his head tilted speculatively as he crossed the room to House's bed. As soon as Wilson was close enough to see House in the darkness of the room, the look on his friend's face gave the truth away.
There was a knowing spark in Wilson's eyes, his jaw clenched with barely restrained rage as he abruptly took the phone from House's hand, and House made no move to stop him.
"Who is this?" Wilson demanded into the phone.
House was sitting close enough to hear that Tritter did not respond at all. He waited, his heart pounding with terror, uncertain as to whether or not what Wilson had done would make things better or worse. He noticed through his panic that, although Wilson clearly knew who was on the phone, he had had presence of mind enough to feign ignorance.
"If you think you're going to get away with this, you're wrong," Wilson snapped, his voice trembling with anger. "We're going to find out who you are, and you're going to pay for what you've done!"
Once again, Wilson's remarks were met with silence.
"Do not call this number again," Wilson ordered coldly, disconnecting the call.
House looked up at him sharply, his eyes riveted onto the phone as Wilson checked the call history, swearing softly in frustration when he saw that the last call was blocked, then turned it off and stuck it into his own pocket. House was shaking violently, his hands clutching the side of the mattress, as his wide, shell-shocked eyes met Wilson's.
All he could think about was how furious Tritter would be that he had been hung up on.
Wilson's expression softened, although his dark eyes still glittered with outraged fury as he crouched in front of House, deliberately placing himself in a nonthreatening position to avoid further unsettling his shaken, terrified friend.
"What did he say to you?" Wilson asked softly, his hands twitching slightly with his desire to reach out to House, though he managed to restrain himself, aware that touching his friend would serve only to increase his terror. "House… what was that?"
House just shook his head, unable to speak.
"I'll kill him," Wilson muttered, eyes narrowed. "We're going to get your number changed first thing tomorrow…"
"It won't help," House whispered, despairing. "He'll find the new number… I know he will, and he'll just be angry at me for changing it…"
"No," Wilson argued. "He'll know I insisted, after that conversation just now. And I made sure I sounded as if I didn't have a clue who he is. Did you catch that?" Despite his anger and concern, Wilson sounded somewhat pleased with himself for his quick thinking.
House nodded, silently grateful for Wilson's convincing ruse, which had probably saved him from incurring Tritter's wrath. Still, with Tritter's threats echoing in his mind, he couldn't help but be afraid. He was certain that Tritter would find a way to punish him because Wilson had hung up on him.
"I…I need my phone," he whispered, not meeting Wilson's eyes. "I need you to give it back to me…"
Wilson's eyes softened in sympathy as he slowly, patiently replied, "No… no, you don't. You don't have to put up with his harassment, House. He's trying to keep you under his thumb, and you don't have to let him do it."
"Just give me my damn phone," House snapped, raising his voice, glaring down at his friend as he held out a shaking palm expectantly.
Behind the anger in his eyes, there was fear, and it only served to make Wilson angrier at Tritter. "I can't do that, House," Wilson gently insisted. "We can't let him keep doing this to you…"
"We can't stop him!" House snapped, rolling his eyes and blinking away frustrated tears as he went on, "You don't understand, Wilson. It doesn't matter if we turn off the phone or change the number, or move to the other side of the freakin' country! He'll find a way to get to me… to us. There's nowhere that's safe from him… nowhere he can't get to me…"
House lay there on his stomach on the floor of the cabin, his hands cuffed behind his back again. He tried not to move, or breathe – because every breath was agony, even the slightest motion tearing ruthlessly through his damaged body. He was vaguely aware of Tritter and his men talking around him – laughing and congratulating each other, then speaking softly in conspiratorial tones.
Tritter brutally jerked House to his feet by the belt still around his neck, the motion silencing his cry of agony. He could barely stay on his feet, and Tritter ended up supporting most of House's weight with a bruising grip on his right arm. When House stumbled on the way out the door, Tritter grabbed his hair and jerked his head back, snarling pitilessly in his ear.
"You'd better keep up, House… You don't want to get on my bad side again, do you?"
House cringed, shaking his head emphatically, gasping for breath against the tight leather that choked him.
The fact that this time he was not blindfolded frightened House; maybe they did not intend to allow him the opportunity to identify them. Three of the men stayed behind, presumably to clean up the mess that had been made, while another got into the driver's seat of a nondescript black car parked next to the dark blue sedan that had brought him there.
Tritter pushed House, still naked and utterly vulnerable, into the backseat, which was covered by two thick blankets, clearly to avoid leaving any evidence on the car itself. Tritter followed behind him, climbing in next to him on the backseat, never releasing his grip on House's arm.
They drove for a long time, and House's terror increased as he realized that they were getting farther and farther from civilization – not that the cabin where they had assaulted him was anywhere resembling civilization. While the driver stared straight ahead, focused on the road, Tritter kept up a continuous monologue of menace in House's ear, enjoying the reaction of terror he invoked in his victim.
"Have you ever felt so helpless in your life, Dr. House?" he asked in a low whisper, his hot breath sending a shudder through House's body. Tritter ran a hand across his bare stomach, deliberately squeezing the bruised, sensitive flesh as he leaned in closer and hissed, "Knowing that your life is completely in my hands? No one to help you… nowhere to run… You're mine, House…" He paused a moment, shaking House slightly as he added in a leading voice, "Isn't that right?"
House nodded without hesitation, unable to find even a shred of resistance left within himself. "Y-yes," he choked out, barely able to speak.
"If I decide to let you live," Tritter continued, "you think there's anything you can do to get back at me? Anything you can do to stop me from doing all of this over again – any… time… I… want? You gonna go to the police, House?" he sneered. "Like they'd believe you over me – a drug addict who just recently got off on felony charges. Nobody'd believe it."
House felt his heart sink, believing that Tritter spoke the truth.
Whether the man chose to let him live, or to take him to some remote location and end his life – there was no doubt in his mind that Tritter would get away with it. There was nowhere to turn for help, no one who would even believe his story.
House's last hope slipped away with the knowledge that, although he had won the courtroom battle…there was no doubt that Tritter was going to win the war.