Chapter 52
Romoly looked at him suspiciously; she knew he had an angle. He always had an angle. She just needed to catch up with it before it got out of hand. Like that whole gender-switch thing. She should've put a stop to it earlier but it was too much fun. She figured she'd enjoy the next five weeks because after she got her lower-leg cast she was going back to her life, with or without House.
Romoly also knew he's caught a glimpse of the notebook; she saw his eyes light up at the sight of it. This was one manipulation she was going to love. Folding her arms in front of her and raising her eyebrow, she looked him up and down. "And why should I tell you, after everything we've been through lately?"
House shrugged. "You shouldn't but you want to tell me; you're dying to tell me."
How does he do that? He's better at reading people than I gave him credit for.
Romoly sighed and knew she had to finish the story. Face-palming, she rubbed her eyes then sunk further against the headboard. "It wasn't until Clif died that I learned he'd set out to write the definitive psychological thriller with a villain who made Hannibal Lector look like Prince Charming. And I had no doubt he could do it; Clif was a phenomenal writer." Romoly looked away and got lost in her own world; House was on the edge of his seat (or at least the bed anyway). House was a smart guy; he knew how serious she was and that prank time was over, at least for the time being.
"Like a lot of writers, Clif became completely immersed in the characters and the lives of the story he was writing. I'd catch tiny glimpses of this from time to time. And as time went on, the longer I knew him the more "obsessed" he'd get. He'd never talk about what he wrote but he was almost a completely different person when he'd leave his writing office. It would sometimes take up to a half an hour for him to return to the man he was. In each of his works, a desperately strong and impenetrable psychological bond developed between the creator and the created. Sometimes I think he knew his characters better than he knew me. When I look back at that now…" she paused and looked at House, who was watching her patiently for more information. "…I realize I probably look pretty stupid." She stopped once again then continued.
She waved her hands as if to dismiss what she said. "Anyway, back to this novel he was writing. It was two days after Clif was killed that I discovered this fourth book, the one that had become an obsession for Clif. I was cleaning out his office and was completely amazed to discover it. House, I always knew when Clif was writing something; he always told me and I always knew to keep out of the office. But this was something completely different. It was only about three-fourths completed but I read it that day. And it scared me; it made me sick, so sick I actually vomited. I never would've thought the Clif that I knew was capable of such horror."
"What was it about?" House asked quietly, his eyes sympathizing with me and my plight.
Romoly gathered the covers closer around her and shivered despite the warm weather outside. "The main character was a paranoid schizophrenic housed in an insane asylum. Nowadays they're called "hospitals" or "mental wards" but this fictional place was like the hell house for the mentally disturbed. The character is caught between two worlds: reality and the one created by the paranoia. And there's a killer on the loose in the asylum. Sounds implausible, I know, but Clif could just about make anything believable. This book was dark; disturbing; engrossing; horrific. When I was finished I actually had to question whether this man was the man I loved. And I didn't know anymore.
He'd changed; I'm going to venture to guess that, by the time we'd ended up on that hotel balcony, he'd become so immersed in this book that he was living it out; he'd become a paranoid schizophrenic. More than likely he already was but the writing of this book unleashed the demon hiding inside.
Clif had gone to different mental wards and hospitals around the country, researching not only the patients but their living conditions as well. His journal detailed his own encounters with the patients; the state of their rooms; the interactions between the patients; and the behavior when they were alone in their rooms. He kept meticulous, time-and-date-stamped notes, which I found with the novel." Romoly took a deep breath. "Shortly after finding and reading the novel, I was sent to see a shrink, the reason being two-fold: to monitor my mental state and they wanted to know what I knew about his mental state at the time of the incident. I told them what I had thought, given the limited knowledge before his death, and what I had discovered in the novel.
I was declared sane but shook up and psychologically hurt, no more than a person in my situation could be expected to be, and the shrink trusted me. She wanted me to give her my impressions about Clif and how "healthy" he was. After I gave her my impressions about the novel, we'd concluded that Clif had became so engrossed, so absolutely immersed in what he was writing that he inadvertently unleashed some hidden psychological problem. My guess would be the line between reality and fantasy had become so blurred over the years that this novel had sent him over the edge. Now that I look back, it was in the last few months of his life that he'd exhibited the greatest behavioral shift, something I should've caught on I know but I was a stupid woman who thought I could fix it.
As I think back on it now, I know that it was Clif himself who condemned him to his death by not speaking out about his possible illness. That novel helped me see that Clif had never been healthy but had been great about living a double life. Now I'm more attuned to people; I can sense when they're not what they pretend to be."
House sat back and looked at her almost apprehensively. "You mean like psychic or something?"
Romoly rolled her eyes. "Of course not but it wouldn't be hard to read your mind: medicine and sex. Yeah, that's all that's on your mind."
House's eyes widened in phony astonishment. "Wow…how did you do that? You can read minds!"
She ignored that. "No, I'm just more sensitive to the moods and motives of others. I can sense when someone is genuine and when they're putting on a show. House," Romoly smiled and leaned over a bit. "I knew from the moment I saw you in the hallway that you are 100% genuine. You're an ss."
House smiled. "Thank you. I didn't expect such a nice compliment from you."
Romoly wasn't in the mood to go into why that was a compliment; she just let it go. "So now I understand where Clif was at the time of the incident though it doesn't make it right. I just wish I'd seen what was truly going on; Clif might still be alive today."
House, in all his frank selfishness, had been internally grateful it happened; he wouldn't have met her if Clif had lived. While petty, selfish and extremely gruesome as that was, it was the absolute truth. Coughing he sat back a little. "Your right; you should've known." Her eyes fell at this. "But you didn't and it's over now."
Romoly looked up and saw that he was trying to make her feel better in his own blunt way. She nodded. "You're right…just like you've gotta put behind whatever it was that damaged your leg. And a deal's a deal: it's confession time. What happened to your leg?"
"Is that all you want to know? Don't you want to know why I became a doctor? Why I'm so gruff? Why I never shave? Why I'm so damn irresistible even though I'm such an ss?"
Romoly shrugged. "You aren't THAT irresistible. I've seen cuter piglets wallowing in mud though…" she studied his face, "…and with that facial hair you two do look very similar. Are you related?"
House rolled his eyes. "Of course; they were probably my children. I had a run in with this woman, Doris. She was an absolute swine but boy she was good in the sack. Had the biggest hindquarters, though. Did the piglets have blue eyes?"
Her eyes widened. "You know, I think they did. They must be your children! But what kind of breed would that make them?"
House grinned. "Greglets."
