A/N: Ahhh! Firstly, I will apologise for the cliffhanger this ends on which is definitely my most evil for this fandom, but I will follow that up by promising not to leave you waiting as long for the next chapter! That said, my plan was to finish one fic at a time in a bid to maintain what remains of my sanity, and I have been trying to complete These Dark Paths (Once) so that I can move on to giving this story my full attention. That is still somewhat the plan, and I'm almost there, but I received some lovely comments/ reviews for this fic lately, so I gave in to the urge to update so that you don't all think that I've left this story indefinitely :) I will try to make sure the next few chapters come out soon so that I'm not leaving you where this chapter leaves you, and I promise that updates will pick up in general in the near future once I've figured out an ending for Dark.
Thank you so much for reading and sticking with me, and reviews/ comments would be super appreciated! :)
Rounding the corner to the tyre factory, House calls out after the two men retreating inside.
"Wait, please!"
"What do you want?"
The younger of the two- Mick, that was what his colleague called him- grunts irritably, his brow furrowed as he stands with his hand rested on the door, itching to get away from any further unwanted questions.
"You must know more about the factories around here. Which are open? Which get checked?"
House appeals, his feigned lack of understanding as to the magnitude of the situation sitting sourly in his gut as he strives to sound amenable.
"Very few of them get checked these days. We have keys for a couple of them in case of emergencies like we do the plant place you claim your little friend messaged you about, but none of that's entirely above board if you understand my meaning. Mostly, we've made a handshake here, or've been bought a beer there, and we make sure nothing catches fire or springs a leak of any kind. The rest of these big buildings have been empty too long for me to recall who owned them. I guess the state takes care of them now... And I use that phrase loosely."
The older man wheezes, pulling a checkered handkerchief from his coat pocket and using it to scrub at the purple lump of his nose.
"How long have you been overseeing things here?"
House asks, hoping to get at least one of the men talking, and while Jerry opens his mouth to oblige, Mick interrupts gruffly
"What's it to you? You writing a book?"
"Not currently, no. Not unless I'm suddenly struck with inspiration for a thrilling plot."
House shrugs, and Jerry chuckles as he gestures towards the desolate husks of the once busy factories surrounding them, while Mick meets the doctor's blue stare with a steely hardness shadowing his gaze.
A knowing look.
"So?"
House prompts as he makes his way up the steps to stand directly in front of the men, vying for an invitation inside to allow the others the opportunity to sleuth undetected.
"I've worked here forty-odd years. Used to work down at the autobody shop that's closed up now, then came over here when my uncle and brother did the same. Once I got too old to work the factory floor and lift them big tyres, I took on custodial work."
Jerry explains, ignoring Mick's pointed glower urging him to bring their conversation to a close.
"Is custodial work less demanding?"
House asks, not especially interested in the old man's life story, but keen to keep him talking.
The others should be making their way inside by now. Surely...
"It is the way I do it!"
Jerry laughs; a hacking, gasping noise, accompanied by an audible flutter of phlegm, and House frowns as he recalls similar sounds coming from their recent spate of patients.
"What about you? Bum leg ever get in the way of your work, doc?"
Jerry asks, gesturing towards House's cane, and he cracks a crumbling yellow grin as he teases jovially
"Or is that why you let that young girlie do your leg-work? If you pardon the pun."
"Girl like that shouldn't be messing around a place like this."
Mick interjects grimly, and House flashes him a stern look as he agrees bluntly
"She shouldn't. She should know better."
She should, and she does. Of course, she does. Cameron knows far better than to poke around where she doesn't belong. If only I'd know better than to force her into making stupid choices. Dangerous choices. If only I'd know better than to hurt her.
Damage her.
"I'm just surprised she decided to stick around..."
Jerry frowns.
"When I told her to get herself off someplace nicer than this shithole, she seemed agreeable enough. Maybe she just couldn't get her car back out in this weather. Called a lift, you know?"
"She would have said. And she wouldn't have sent the text that she did."
House refutes.
"Ayuh."
Jerry agrees uneasily, turning to Mick whose brow speaks darkly of thunder.
"I wonder what-"
"-Shh! You hear that?"
Mick interrupts his geriatric colleague, holding up a meaty palm as he demands silence. A moment later, a second hollow, cracking noise is carried across the snow, and the three men exchange a look before each makes a move to hinder another.
House takes a step back and raises his cane to block the others from descending the stairs.
Jerry reaches out a hand to find his friend's shoulder.
Mick pulls out his gun.
"Kurwa, kurwa, kurwa..."
Lena sobs, digging her nails into her cheeks as her eyes show an impossible expanse of white. A second loud crash sounds from above, and she chokes back a shriek as the blonde flinches violently beside her.
"They come!"
The girl wails, before scrambling to her feet and staggering across the room, her intent clear a second too late as Cameron hisses after her desperately.
"Lena! No!"
"Yes! Yes! I hide!"
Lena insists, her nose and eyes streaming as she yanks at the lid of the barrel the blonde had recently forced open.
"Lena, leave it!"
Cameron pleads, pushing herself up with the intent to run at the girl and tackle her before she realises the horror concealed inside the drum, but her legs shake beneath her, and she does little more than cling onto Lena's coat as she wrenches the loosened nails from their hammered sheaths, and when the girl flails back from the scent and sight housed within, she sends them both sprawling onto the floor.
"Ah... Fuck..."
Cameron croaks as she rolls onto her back with a winded gasp, and she squeezes her eyes shut and grits her teeth as her companion begins to scream.
"Lena-"
She tries, but there is no sanity to that noise; the girl's shrieking utterly hysterical in her dread. In response, the hammering from above them intensifies and she feels her own sense of fear beginning to get the better of her.
Hide. You have to at least try...
She struggles to push herself up, hanging onto the lockers for support as she casts a final glance at Lena, before accepting that she has no hope of breaking through the girl's panic and that taking time to attempt to do so might cost her dearly. It is a decision that makes her feel physically sick, and she opens up the shallow wounds in her lip to spill fresh blood as she bites down and tries to pull herself together.
Pull... Yes, pull...
Her mind urges her onwards, and she strives to comply, driving the splinters from the wretched barrel further into her fingers as she scrambles up the side of the lockers, leaving bloodied handprints smeared over grey metal; morbid copies of the marks House had spied painting her tub what feels like a lifetime ago.
"They come!"
Lena shrieks for the dozenth time, choking over her words as she struggles to pull in the air she needs to keep up her screaming, and Cameron accompanies her with a yelp as she feels her grip slipping as the room spins, before a smashing sound much louder than before causes her to jerk, and suddenly the room really is turning the wrong way up and she suffers a nauseating pain to her shoulder before everything goes black.
Lena. Screaming.
Others. Yelling.
Voices closing in.
Footsteps.
A gunshot.
Silence.