Wilson still wasn't back.
House had finished the last beer, considered starting on the Scotch, thought about heating up the leftover pizza. In the end he'd decided to wait for James's return. Except James hadn't returned. A vague apprehension teased at the edges of his mind as he eased himself down on the couch and picked up the phone. He leaned back, punching in Wilson's pager number. Sirens sounded in the distance and he looked up for a moment, frowning, then began channel-surfing with the TV remote. Thumbing open the Vicodin container, he dry-swallowed a pill.
Commercials, infomercials, World Poker Championships, MASH, Bravo, Animal Planet, Iron Chef, The Highlander, breaking local news, The X-Files, Law & Order, Law & Order, Law & ... wait a minute. Go back. Where was it? There. Breaking local news.
House recognized the location -- the convenience store four blocks away. The reporter from the affiliate station was breathless, describing what she kept referring to as the "WaWa Massacre". A horribly botched armed robbery; five dead, one critically wounded, the store clerk missing. The cameraman panned away from her talking head, taking in the store exterior, the SWAT teams, the suits, the yellow police tape, the parking lot ... House leaned closer, squinting. The parking lot. One car in particular caught his attention.
A Volvo S80, bearing the distinctive PPTH parking sticker.
Wilson's car.
All the air rushed out of the room.
"Ah, shit," he breathed. For what seemed an endless moment he simply sat, unable to move. My fault, some part of his mind repeated numbly, my fault. I told him it was his turn.
He forced himself up, reaching for his cane, grabbing his motorcycle jacket.
The phone started ringing and his pager went off simultaneously. He didn't stop for either.
He had to be there. Whether James was alive or (don't say it, don't even think it), he had to be there.
Once upon a time .
Wilson opened his eyes.
He was in the convenience store, sitting on the counter. Blood covered the front of his body from his chest down, but the previously agonizing pain was absent. Pizza Woman and Chip Boy were there, sitting on either side of him, their bodies unmarked by any wounds.
"You know, Dr. Wilson, I wish you wouldn't call us that." The young woman was looking at him reproachfully. "We have names."
He stared at her. The Tombstone frozen pizza was in her lap, two neat bullet holes punched through the top half. Bits of icy mozzarella were sticking out of the plastic shrinkwrap. She looked down and the ghost of a smile touched her face.
"I guess it was pretty ironic, wasn't it?"
There was a sound of foil tearing next to him, and Wilson looked to his right. Chip Boy had ripped open his bag of potato chips and was eating them. He grinned at the young doctor. Pizza Woman sighed.
"See, that's not us," she said, and shifted her position to face him a little more directly. "I'm Teresa Pasqale. This is Tyler Orozco." The teenager nodded a greeting, and Teresa Pasqale put out her hand. "Might've been nice if we'd met under less ... traumatic circumstances, Dr. Wilson."
Wilson cautiously shook her hand, but his head was starting to hurt. "How do you ..."
"Know your name? That you're a doctor?" She shrugged. "We're dead. The dead know everything."
Wilson swallowed and looked around. The WaWa store was quiet; the only sound came from Tyler (Chip Boy, his mind insisted) Orozco's snack-crunching. With a slight shock, Wilson realized he couldn't see out the windows. It was like the brightest noonday he'd ever known; the white light of the sun in high summer. We're not in Kansas anymore, he thought, and choked down the hysterical giggle trying to rise in his throat. Teresa was looking at him sympathetically.
"I know, it's pretty weird, isn't it?" She gazed at the glowing windows, seeming not to notice the almost painful radiance. "I was just going to get something quick for dinner, and look what happens ..." She sighed.
Wilson sat still, trying to take everything in. The dead know everything. He frowned. He didn't feel any more intelligent or knowledgeable than the day before. Stiffed even in death, he thought ruefully. Next to him, Tyler snickered. Teresa smiled as she rolled her eyes.
"You're not dead. Did I say that you were? No, I did not. Now please pay attention."
"But ... but ..." Wilson gestured helplessly, and Teresa took pity on him. Her voice was calm and matter-of-fact.
"Your heart stopped in the ambulance. You're eight minutes out from Princeton-Plainsboro, and the EMTs are trying to revive you right now. You're lucky -- Dr. Chase is on duty tonight in the ER and he's the best, but you're still bleeding out faster than they can push it in. You'll use up almost all the A positive in the hospital tonight."
The silence seemed to stretch out forever. Neurons firing in my brain, Wilson thought. Random connections. None of this is real. It was the only thing he could think. He stole a glance at Teresa and caught her looking skyward, as if for help.
"So ... do I die?" he asked slowly.
She looked at him, her expression unreadable.
"Then where are we now? And what are we doing?"
Teresa took a deep breath. "We're here," she said patiently. "We're just ... here. After a while we won't be here. We'll be somewhere else."
Wilson opened his mouth, considered the state of his neurons, and closed it.
"Wait a minute," he said. "If you're here ... where's Dead Bad Guy?"
Ha! Let my neurons explain that!
To his disappointment, Teresa didn't seem at all fazed. "Big Jay?" She shrugged. "Not here."
Not fair, Wilson thought. "Is he ... in Hell?" he asked carefully.
Teresa stared at him for a moment, then threw her head back in an amused laugh.
"Really, Dr. Wilson ... do you think a WaWa convenience store is Heaven?"
Wilson couldn't help it; he grinned back, and surreptitiously stole a glance at her left hand. Ring.
He looked back up. Caught, but all she did was shake her head, slowly. "Dr. House was right about you."
"What?"
"Why don't you tell him how you really feel?" Teresa seemed genuinely curious. "You care about him more than any other person in your life right now; shouldn't you tell him?"
"I don't ..." he started reflexively, and stopped. What was he doing in this conversation?
Teresa nodded. "See," she told Tyler, "men can't talk about this stuff. It's a known fact. They're too busy being ... men." She looked at Wilson again. "You need to tell him," she said, speaking slowly and deliberately as if to a particularly stupid child. "Look at me. Look at us. I didn't tell my husband I loved him this morning. Tyler didn't even speak to his parents."
She was leaning closer, and he caught a faint scent of perfume. Lilacs. "Now we're dead, and we'll never tell anyone anything again. How's that for finality? Is that what you want? This half-life of never telling the whole truth, even when it would do you and everyone else a world of good?"
"Hungry?" Tyler held out a single chip, and Wilson reached for it without looking.
"James." Teresa's eyes were suddenly huge and dark, like pools in forgotten caverns. She spoke, her voice seeming to come from somewhere deep inside his head. "Think. It may not be a pomegranate seed, but it will do in a pinch, yes it will."
He turned his head slowly and looked at Tyler. The boy still held out the chip, but his hand trembled, and he looked ready to cry.
"I miss my mom and dad," he whispered. His eyes were bereft, welling with sadness. James felt a sudden, sharp jab in his chest.
The light outside grew brighter. Teresa's voice, very close to his ear.
"Remember, Dr. Wilson ..."
Darkness, and light again, diffused. Red and blue neon flashes above his head. A feeling of motion; a moving vehicle. A siren barely penetrating the buzzing in his ears. Pain.
"Dr. Wilson!" He tried to focus, and for a moment he saw Teresa's brown eyes holding his. Then she was truly gone, and the EMT was staring down at him.
"Come on, doc, stay with us. Hold on, we're nearly there." He spoke into the microphone clipped to the epaulet of his uniform. "You still there?"
Talking to Chase ... must've hit me with ep ... epinephrine ... Even Wilson's thoughts were dizzy.
"How much A positive you got in stock? Yeah? Might want to call P-General for more."
tbc ...