"GUESSWORK"
- Chapter Nine -
"Wonder-Boy Oncologist Rides Again"
Hertz and Avis were both open all night. Avis was closer to Wilson's second-floor hotel walkup, so that was the one he chose.
Avis tried harder …
Stupid one-liners in the middle of the night! He was so tired he was talking to himself. The thing was, it wasn't going to get any better. House had a good head start on him, and he didn't dare delay much longer.
He could feel the beginnings of a headache digging in behind his ears.
Damn!
Earlier, Wilson had dragged a bundle of necessities outside to the curb and loaded them into the Volvo. Casual clothes and a suit were packed into a worn leather suitcase, along with a couple of House's old tee shirts and ragged sweat pants that he'd kept buried among his personal items for years. After thinking about it awhile, he stashed his oversized heating pad in there too. And his well stocked, little used medical bag. And his laptop. No telling what he would run up against on this strange adventure.
Everything he knew about his friend had gone from "carved in stone" to "what-the-hell" in a very short time. He knew he should have seen it coming … but he hadn't. He had
only wanted to help House, but he'd become an enabler instead, and a betrayer. The bottle of Vicodin deep in his jacket pocket represented every kind of bad idea, but picturing House delirious with pain had spurred him on. House with microscopic mechanical bugs imbedded in that wasted muscle didn't exactly turn him on either.
When and if he caught up to Gregg, he would probably be viewed as excess baggage, supercargo; kinda like a deck chair on the Titanic … but he had to know. Had to be there; House's current condition, combined with his impulsive nature, was going to require both a physician … and a friend. James had done enough damage. Now it was time to perform some necessary repairs.
Two old blankets stuffed into a plastic shopping bag completed his collection, and he stood beside the Volvo with hands on hips, biting his lip in concentration, wondering if he'd forgotten anything important.
House's cell phone rested deep in one pocket of his windbreaker, and in the other, his fingers closed around the contours of the slender amber cylinder he'd brought from the hospital and buried deeply. Maybe he shouldn't have. Maybe he was way out of line. Maybe, in his zeal to help his friend, he was doing more harm than good. Again. But he'd gotten his prescribing privileges back, and the Vicodin was there in case everything else tanked. Gregory House should not be forced to deal with yet another failure in what seemed a lifetime full of them in recent years.
James sighed, and felt the sting of bitter tears at the corners of his eyes. What the hell was wrong with him? He had no stake in this, other than his worry for House, and no business following a man who was on a quest of his own choosing. He had broken into House's home, and into his professional office. He had stolen information that was very private, and had experienced no sense of guilt.
He'd lied by omission to Lisa Cuddy, who did not deserve to be lied to. He'd betrayed Gregg in the worst kind of way, and felt no reason for apology. If House found out he was being shadowed all the way across four states, he would not be in a forgiving mood.
Hell, he was already not in a forgiving mood!
Wilson had no idea what would happen at the end of the journey … for either of them. He only knew he had to be there. Had to keep Gregg safe. From the elements, from the sneaky bastards lurking out there … and from himself!
Wilson got into the Volvo and started the engine.
Next stop, Avis Rent-a-Car.
A phone call, a request, his credit card number, all quick and easy … and his next ride would be a new white Cadillac Escalade. Luxury for Gregg's bad leg, if necessary. A cushy ride for a man in considerable physical pain … and a car that rather represented the white hat of a "good guy".
Wilson smiled at that thought for a moment, picturing himself as a modern-day Lone Ranger.
Hi-Yo Silver!
His headache revved up a notch, reminding him of his fatigue and his constant worry, and that strange awkward feeling he'd always had when he intruded into the private life of Gregory House.
He put the Volvo in gear and pulled away from the front of the hotel. He stopped at an ATM, inserted his Visa card, and recovered a bundle of cash. He was committed. Hell or high water!
Avis Rent-a-Car was located on Route 206, the main drag of downtown Princeton. Wilson drove there and was pleased to note that the prodigious Cadillac SUV stood waiting and ready for him in front of the rental agency's office building. He pulled the Volvo up beside it, climbed out and opened the hatch.
The motor of the Escalade was already running, pluming exhaust clouds into the early morning air. His telephone call had confirmed its availability, and his credit card had assured him of the three-week rental agreement.
The aging Volvo, meanwhile, would remain at the agency's detail shop for a thorough cleaning, and would be available upon his return … with or without Gregory House in tow.
Wilson transferred his suitcase and other bundles into the cavernous hatch of the big white Caddy, and then buttoned things down and walked over to the office for insurance papers and rental contract.
The woman behind the desk had everything waiting for him in a compact plastic folder. She looked up from the PC in front of her when the door opened and Wilson approached the desk. "Put a 'handicap' placard in there too, please … would you?"
"You would be Dr. James Wilson, correct?" She asked. She reached into a drawer.
"I am," he replied.
She pushed two sheets of paper across the surface of the desk in front of him. "You need to sign both copies, Dr. Wilson," she said, "and let me see your driver's license. Then you're set to go … and here's your placard …" She shoved it into the plastic case.
Wilson dug out his license, scrawled his signature onto both sheets and straightened up again. "Thank you."
The woman nodded, but said nothing further, and returned her attention to the computer in front of her. His credit card had delivered a sizable chunk of money to the coffers of Avis, and she was more than satisfied.
Wilson shrugged to himself and rolled his eyes in a characteristic manner. He spun on his heel and walked out of the office, sliding his license back into his wallet and stashing the wallet into a hip pocket of fresh blue jeans.
The interior of the huge SUV was like a bake oven when he climbed in and closed the door with a solid "chunk". He fastened the safety belt and studied the cockpit for a moment to become acclimated with the unfamiliar setup. There was an On-Star system, he noticed, with navigational capabilities, but if he still didn't know where in hell he was going, he couldn't exactly set it, could he? He wondered what it would do if he just programmed it for: "Due South". Small joke. He didn't laugh.
He took the plastic folder with his receipt, rental contract and other papers and put it in the big glove compartment, then found the heater in the middle of the fancy dashboard and lowered the temperature a few hundred degrees. He was ready. He put his foot on the brake and pulled the transmission lever out of "park" and into "drive-1". The big vehicle bucked beneath him in its eagerness to be off and away.
Wilson looked at his watch. It was 4:30 a.m. Saturday.
He pulled off the Avis lot and entered slow-moving traffic. He was on his way south toward the bridge across the Delaware River into the state of the same name. After
that, he had no idea where the hell he was going to end up … somewhere between here and Raleigh, North Carolina. But he had road maps strewn on the seat beside him … in case …
Wilson's thoughts returned immediately to Gregory House and his foolish adventure through barren landscape in the dead of winter … on a damned crotch-rocket motorcycle with little more than the clothes on his back. House had done some risky things during the time they'd known each other, but never as idiotic as this.
If he'd thought it through once, Wilson had worried through it a thousand times since yesterday at quitting time, when he'd discovered that House had left rehab four-and-a-half hours early, without a word to anyone. Gregg's health, overall, wasn't that bad, if you didn't take into account the damn leg and all the problems it was capable of causing. House's spare, slender body was tuned like a violin: every inch of it … except for the leg … sinewy, powerful, and almost graceful.
But the condition of the leg gave compromise to everything else. It ruled his movements, his decisions, his stamina, his balance, his life and his world. It dictated where he was able to go, and how he could get there. It restricted his choices of lifestyle and his ability to maneuver his body.
The leg narrowed his choices of activity and his ability to remain on his feet for more than a very short span of time. If one thought about it, one discovered very quickly that Gregg House actually lived most of his life and performed most of his work … when he was able to perform it at all … sitting down. And it became readily apparent that even when he was sitting down, the leg was nearly always propped up… or stretched out!
Those were the rules of the game as dictated to Gregory House by his crippled right leg. And it would never get better. It would never heal. Never "not hurt". He could not walk very far without the assistance of the cane.
One day down the line, as his body aged, the cane would probably be discarded for crutches. Then a wheelchair.
Wilson shuddered.
He had to get these dumb thoughts out of his head before he became useless to Gregg by worrying himself into a blubbering mess who was no good to anyone.
The open road loomed at last. He was out of town.
Wilson sighed and turned on the satellite radio, luxuriating into the soaring raptures of the Bose sound system.
The Escalade's finely crafted suspension enfolded him like a cloud until he felt he was floating. He set the cruise control and let himself float with it.
His headache began to fade away at last.
Thankfully.
Somewhere to the east, the sun was beginning to light the eastern sky.
Hi-yo Silver!
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