"GUESSWORK"
- Chapter Forty-Two -
"Redemption"
It was dank and overcast Saturday morning, and daylight took a long time spreading across the city of Raleigh and environs. The low cloud cover created an atmospheric box canyon around the area that made extraneous sounds and smells magnify and echo in the thickened, smoky air. Downtown traffic noise, even this early, penetrated in a deafening cacophony that sounded like a herd of brontosaurus stampeding through the living room.
Truck traffic was heavy, especially from the hotel and restaurant suppliers, stocking up their customers' freezers and larders for the weekend's onslaught. Diesel fumes and exhaust emissions of stop-and-go driving added to the stench.
Shaniqua Tolliver and her son Tyree arrived at Paramar Clinic at 5:30 a.m., before any vestiges of sunlight had a chance to sneak in on tiptoe. She was a little put out with the kid, and the two of them did not have much to say to one another as she pulled her Dodge Durango into one of the handicap parking spaces reserved for employees. It had always amused her that she, as one of the few able bodied members of the staff, had the right to use one of the handicap spots when the kid was along.
Tyree had balked at getting out of bed so early in the morning. She'd finally been exasperated enough to go into his bathroom, run the cold water into the bottom of a drinking glass and dribble it into his face when he'd tried burrowing deeper into the covers. That had worked in spades. He sat up like a shot, yelling at her that it was just not fair of her to take advantage of a crippled kid like that.
Shaniqua had laughed in his face and reminded him that he'd promised to get up as soon as she called him, because today Gregg House was having surgery to remove his nanoprobes, and he'd demanded to go along with her. He was still a little upset over the death of the German Shepherd, but she also knew her son held a strange admiration for the grumpy doctor from New Jersey. The positive thing, she reasoned, would overcome the sad thing, and Tyree could visit Gregg before he went into the OR, and they could compare notes on music, WWF and current sleazy TV shows. It might be good for both of them!
Neeka waited until Tyree got his arm canes gathered up and opened his door before she opened her own and set the locks. She did not hover over him or do for him the things he could do for himself. She kept her distance and allowed him as much independence and dignity as he could handle, and he did it very well.
He was, after all, almost fourteen years old, and would soon be clamoring to get a taste of the "real world" far beyond her ability to protect him. He had to find out that most people had little or no tolerance for those with disabilities. The handicapped were all well and good when they kept to their place. But if their special needs inconvenienced the able bodied, it was not unusual for the able bodied to close ranks and simply shut them out. It was not nice, not polite, had nothing to do with the fairness of things. Shaniqua believed that Tyree could learn much by paying close attention to Dr. House's total intolerance for morons.
He waited for her until she walked around the front of the car and caught up with him. "Still pissed off at me?" She asked with a teasing smile.
He made a snoot at her, but then smiled back. "No, not really, Mom. But y'awl don't play fair!"
She laughed, and they headed for the front entrance.
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Gregg House and James Wilson were both wide awake long before Wilson's little travel alarm went off. It was still inky black at 5:05 a.m., and only the glow from the arc lights in the parking lot came through the window to lift the edges of darkness.
Wilson flicked the alarm off and lay sprawled on his back, sheet kicked to the foot of the bed, his PJ bottoms bunched around his legs. His upper torso was bare in the comfort zone of the ventilation system. He lay with both arms up, fingers laced behind his head, and his head turned toward the other man's strangely quiet presence. He could tell by Gregg's breathing that he was not asleep. He cleared his throat and spoke. "House?"
"Um?" The response seemed a little guarded, a little reluctant.
"You okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" Querulous.
"Answering my question with a question again. You know I don't like it when you do that. What's wrong? Foot hurt?" Wilson consciously avoided asking the question that was uppermost on both their minds.
"Yeah. Preparing me for the rest of it …"
There it was, Wilson thought. His friend's worst fear out in the open, and he hadn't even had to beg. "I'm really sorry …"
"Don't be! It has nothing to do with you."
"Oh yeah it does. It has just as much to do with me as it does with you. I'm not here for Bill Bernard's sausage and pancakes, or to listen to you play 'air piano' with Lillian Chan. And I'm not here because I wondered what it would be like to follow some jackass on a motorcycle 600 miles in crap weather. I'm here for the long haul, House. I'm here 'til the fat lady sings, if you get my drift."
A snort from the other side of the room caused a furrow to deepen the space between James' dark eyes.
"I've always known you were a bleeding heart and a mother hen, Wilson. But I know what you're fishing for, and I don't want to talk about it. I just want this mess to be over with and get back to things the way they used to be. It's not like there's anything anyone can do to have it any different. I know. I've been over it and over it in my head … and … ah shit! Crap is crap, and that's it."
James watched House turn his back and roll over onto his left side, facing the wall. He took a deep breath and raised himself onto an elbow. "No it's not!" His words were not haranguing or cajoling or demanding. They were a statement of fact. "I know how difficult this is. We mentioned it last night, and I don't want to discuss it either. But we have to. The last thing in the world I want is to see my best friend go back to a life of pain. But you will … and we both know it."
House made another disgusted sound, this one with a faint shade of tremor in the timbre of his voice. House was scared out of his mind, dreading the return of the chronic pain and the chaotic existence that would ensue.
Wilson grimaced at the back of his friend's tousled head, still turned away from him, and gathered himself for the moment when the shit hit the fan. "I never thought you were a wuss before … but I guess even you turn into one from time to time." He took a deep, shuddering breath and expelled it harshly.
"Y'know, House … for every pile of shit that accumulates, there's eventually a honey dipper …"
There was a moment of silence between them that lengthened into a long, uncomfortable lapse of every sound in the room except for the rhythmic rumble of the big ventilation system. When Gregg House rolled onto his back again and glared at the worried face across from him, the dimples at the corners of his mouth were deepening into dark coal pits.
House chuckled, then laughed. Two sharp spurts of sound exited his throat and climbed up his face until they morphed into a bright pulse of light that danced in the steely blue of his eyes.
Wilson watched, not sure where it would go next. He kept the frown on his face, quite prepared to continue the argument, should the moment warrant it.
"Damn you, Wilson! Did you just call me a 'pile of shit'? … and yourself a 'honey dipper'?"
"Kinda sounded like that to me. Guess it did to you too, huh?"
House's eyes narrowed, but a corner of his mouth remained quirked upward. It was not a smile like before, but rather a look of concession. "Yeah, guess so. You've been pretty sharp lately, Wilson. I guess I don't give you enough credit for savvy …"
"House! Cut it out!" Wilson knew when he was being cleverly derailed. "Time keeps moving on … and we can't outrun it or dodge out of the way. Kip and Bill and Earl are going to come in here and get you in a little over an hour … and it's gonna be all over but the shouting. I'm sorry, House. I wish there were some other way …"
The expressive eyes paled from bright blue to slate gray. "You know what the worst thing about this whole business is?"
"What?"
"I didn't even get to enjoy it."
"What? What do you mean?"
"My leg, Wilson … the thing with the leg! The pain thing! They used me in a pilot program that I willingly signed up for. Rode 600 miles in shitty weather to get here … fucked up my foot on the way and never even knew it. They took care of me. Helped me. They prepped me with the damned 'spikes and stringers' so my nervous system would adapt to the insertion of the nanocites … and then they operated to insert them. They took every precaution possible … and when I woke up from the surgery, the pain in my leg was gone. It worked. But you know what?"
"What, House?"
"It wasn't meant to be, because I can't walk on the foot that got screwed up, so I couldn't give them any idea how well the procedure worked on my leg. I don't even get the damned satisfaction of knowing if the leg might have stabilized a little more … above and beyond the muscle that's missing.
"I'm useless to them for research purposes … which is the whole reason I volunteered in the first place. There's no way to tell how much, if any, mobility I might have gained because of what these guys did for me … and after all that, I still get to be a cripple."
"House …" In that moment Wilson knew without a doubt the anguish his friend felt over the failure of the nanocite program. "There was no way for anyone to foresee what would happen. They have to pull out your nanocites to protect you. Can you imagine the guilt these men would face if anything happened to you because of the failure of their program?"
"Doesn't make sense," House insisted. "All three of them are in greater danger than me. They've had their implants for close to a year. They should be the ones to have theirs removed first. The window between the time the mutt died and the time their procedures begin to fail … won't stay open much longer …"
"No!" Wilson insisted. "Yours are still brand new. Still bunched … not spread out yet. It will be less traumatic for you if they pull yours out first … less invasive … you'll recover far quicker than they will."
"Oh sure … and everything they needed to determine from my procedure will be for nothing. Completely useless! They have nothing to contribute to the advancement of medicine … and I don't get to be the tortured hero …" The sarcasm crept into his tone almost unbidden.
"Sorry … I don't think I really meant that … not this time …"
"House …"
The beginnings of daylight were finally lifting the shadows from the room. Wilson could make out the narrow planes of his friend's face, and the sorrow he perceived there began to divine a hollow place deep in his chest. Gregory House seldom, if ever, allowed his feelings to betray his inner thoughts so copiously, even while sitting in silence. Wilson felt suddenly privileged. The naked hurt in House's eyes touched him to the core.
"It's okay, Wilson," he said at last. "Just a momentary lapse in decorum on my part. It sometimes seems that whenever I get a little too optimistic, a boulder rolls down the hill and lets me know who's boss …"
"I'm sorry, House." Wilson didn't know what else to say.
The tousled head turned in Wilson's direction, and the snark returned to brighten the blueness of the eyes once again. House had pulled the shades back down on the spark of openness he'd just created, shutting it down indefinitely.
"I said it's okay. Don't worry about it. What'll be will be!
"In the meantime, maybe you could see to this damn foot again. It hurts like hell …"
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Shaniqua and Tyree Tolliver walked into reception just in time to see Kip Bernoski hang up the office phone and turn to face them. They exchanged greetings, but the puzzled look on Kip's face gave Neeka pause to wonder.
"What's up, Kippy?" She asked. "Y'awl look a little … 'absent without leave' …"
He smiled a moment at her attempt at humor. He placed a friendly hand on the top of Tyree's head and affectionately tolerated the boy's sham punch to his upper arm.
"I just called Earl's apartment. He was gonna meet me for coffee over at Lab #2, but he's late. I guess he's so used to Bobby getting him up at the crack of dawn that he managed to oversleep. Anyhow, he doesn't answer. We can give him a few minutes to show up, or go over there and bust his butt …"
Tyree was all smiles. "Let's go bust his butt!"
Kip shrugged. "Okay … you lead the way, kiddo. Your Mom and I will follow you."
Tyree grinned with thoughts of conspiracy. He planted his noisy arm canes in front of him and started off down the corridor with youthful enthusiasm. "C'mon then!"
Kip and Neeka hung back, following slowly, watching the boy's clumsy, enthusiastic movements as he lurched along happily. Neeka knew what her boss was doing. Every once in awhile, Kip found a way to observe her son's physical condition without letting on that he was doing it.
Kip kept pretty close tabs on Tyree, knowing the boy was maturing rapidly, hitting the first stages of puberty like a sledge hammer, and trying to bust down all the walls of teenage propriety by being the first in his crowd to be "macho man on crutches". It must be working. Evidently, he was doing a pretty good job of it. He was a popular kid with his peers, and Kip had heard that as far as the fairer sex was concerned, he trailed a long string of broken hearts in his wake wherever he went.
"He looks to be doing pretty well," Kip commented to Shaniqua as they followed the eager youngster down the hall. "Doesn't seem to be in pain, and he's gaining strength in his legs. Does he complain to you much?"
Neeka shook her head. "Nope. Not at all. Other than bitchin' out that he's no good at sports, his attitude is really good. Has plenty of friends, gets decent grades an' never gets himself into trouble. We're lucky … both of us."
Kip nodded in agreement. "He looks fine to me, but just keep an eye on him. Puberty sometimes does strange things to kids with CP. He may experience changes, and he may not. If you notice anything, or if he seems like he's hurting, let me know. He may try to hide it from you if he is …"
The three of them were in front of Earl Keirkgaard's door. Tyree was knocking. They waited. There was not a sound from inside. "Bet he went around the long way an' we missed him," Tyree speculated. "Guess we walked all this way for nuthin' …"
Kip already had his cell phone pulled out of his breast pocket and was hitting Earl's key. The phone rang and rang. No one answered. "That's funny," Kip said. He was a little alarmed.
Neeka, at his side, touched his arm lightly, and spoke. "Ring him again, Kip. I'm gettin' this funny feeling … I think I heard a phone ring inside his room …"
Kip was already punching in the code.
They stood still and listened, their shoulders close against Earl's door.
The faint jingle of Earl's cell phone and "The Saints Come Marching In" reached their ears as they exchanged glances.
Kip knew Earl never locked his door. He turned the knob and barged in, holding his hand backward in restraint to Shaniqua and Tyree. "Stay there!"
"What's wrong, Mom?" Asked Tyree. He was worried.
"Kip's gonna check, dear. He'll …"
"Oh … sweet Jesus!"
Kip came back to them a minute later. His eyes were full and tears ran unchecked down his cheeks. "He's gone," he said. "Earl's dead! I just left him four hours ago! It looks like a heart attack, but I won't know for certain until …"
Neeka and Tyree were crying too, clinging to Kip and to each other. Neeka gathered herself quickly. "Tyree, come with me. I'm going out front and call the coroner. He'll need to be autopsied, but not by us!
"Kippy … you gotta go down and tell Jimmy and Gregg. And then the others. Oh merciful God! You know what this means, don't you?" Her southern drawl had disappeared beneath her alarm and Shaniqua was all business. She gathered her sobbing son and turned around to head back down the corridor.
"I'm so sorry, Kip."
Kevin Bernoski stood in the middle of the corridor in front of Earl Keirkgaard's open front door. His arms and legs were rigid, fists clenched at his sides. His eyes were so filled with tears that he could not see more than a few feet ahead of him.
Ah God, Earl … my friend. This can't be the way it all ends! This can't be the last blowout to all our goddamn work. Your memory deserves a better shake than this … what'm I gonna do without you?
My friend Earl …your life must stand for more than just this! And it will, so help me God!
Kip stumbled blindly down the corridor in the direction of James' and Gregg's room. His right hand trailed down the wall as a guide, for he was unable to stop himself from crying.
He stopped in front of this other door and knocked twice.
James Wilson called out from somewhere inside: "It's open … come on in …"
James had his back turned, gently tending to Gregory House's wounded foot.
From the bed opposite, House looked up and saw the devastation in the other doctor's eyes, and he was reminded of his own.
"Wilson," he said urgently.
"Stop! Something's wrong …"
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