A/N: This is way too long and I know both medical truths and laws of physics are broken. Sorry!
Title: A Man of Letters
Chapter 2: The Big Black Book … OF HOUSE'S DEATH!!!
"You seem pretty distracted considering your case is solved. Did you pick up another one," Wilson asked picking at his salad. He was right. House was distracted, but he wasn't going to let Wilson know that.
House hadn't bothered trying to not fixate on Wilson's journaling. A mystery involving Wilson? The only thing that could be better was if Wilson's hypergraphia was a symptom instead of just an outlet for his murder fantasies. He couldn't stop thinking about it. He decided he needed another look at Wilson's Little Black Book of Death. Certainly House wanted to see the other book more, but looking at the other book he had already read might give him clues. It had been a few days. Maybe he'd updated it. Maybe the other book was hidden in Wilson's desk, too.
"Not exactly. I'm just thinking of my next prank on Cuddy. I'm not sure where I can buy fleas. Looks like my afternoon will be google-rific."
"Just don't bring any over to my place. You still coming over tonight to watch the fight?" House grunted.
"Since you're paying for the fight and, as a good host, will no doubt feed me, I wouldn't miss it for the world!" They both smiled and Wilson pushed a plate of French fries towards House.
"Speaking of you mooching food, fries? That sandwich looks like it's missing its fried goodness sidekick."
"That's ok. I'm not really hungry." There was scarcely anything else House could have said that would have made more warning bells go off in Wilson's head. House not stealing food? Not eating offered food? Not being hungry?? Either he was sick or something horrible like Armageddon was on the horizon. Or, Wilson thought, House is up to something.
Neither said much the rest of lunch. House was distracted and Wilson was worried causing both to be too preoccupied for idle gossip. Then House didn't stop by Wilson's office for his afternoon coffee break/nap. Wilson apprehension meter hit a solid 9. House finally stopped by at 4:30 to say he was going home and would meet Wilson at his place later. Wilson offered to knock off early and drive him back to his place so they could start the party early. House politely refused, reiterated he'd be over soon, and left. The apprehension meter went to 10.
House went back to his office and packed up his stuff just like he did at the end of any other day. He rode the elevator down and walked through the lobby. Then he went outside and met Kutner who was waiting there.
"It's cold out here! What took you so long," Kutner whined as he hopped from leg to leg trying to get warm.
"Shut up. It's only a little below freezing." House handed Kutner his backpack. "Take this with you. Here are my keys. Make sure you go someplace Wilson won't see the car." Kutner took the keys and smiled broadly.
"This is so cool! Are you going to let me in on the rest of the gag?" Kutner's enthusiasm spilled out in every word. House was beginning to regret his inclusion of Kutner in his plan. Chase never bounced happily like that.
"We'll see. Now get going before Wilson sees us talking!" Kutner saluted and ran off to move House's car. At least, House thought, he was quick about it.
House went back inside and hid in the stairwell until he heard his George Clinton "Double Oh-Oh" ringtone.
"The bird has left the nest. Do I really have to say it like that," the voice on the phone asked.
"You do if you want the 40 bucks. Thanks." House ended the call and headed to "the bird's" office.
It wasn't necessary for House to go to great lengths to get into Wilson's office, but the extra effort made Operation Anne Frank more fun and this was all about fun for him. Well, fun and finding out how Wilson imagined killing House. House propelled himself over the low wall separating his balcony from Wilson's while quietly humming the Mission Impossible theme song. He pulled out his Dyno Kwick Pick and poked out his tongue in concentration. This, he thought, was going to take nerves of steel, the steady hands of a cat burglar and a genius to realize the door isn't locked. He put the lock pick back in his pocket and tried not to be disappointed at not having to use it. He pulled out his mini maglite and went for the desk. He half hoped the desk would be locked so he could use the Kwick Pick after all. It wasn't.
House pulled out the desk drawer that had hidden the journal before. Since Wilson knew he knew it was there he expected it to be missing. It wasn't. In House's book that was like giving him permission and that didn't fit with the espionage feel he wanted. He sighed and reminded himself that he should be grateful that it was easy. Lazy House liked the easy part, but Curious House liked there to be a little challenge to things. Maybe, he thought, this was too easy. Maybe Wilson was on to him! That brought his spirit back and he reached in for the journal. Holding the flashlight with his mouth, although he could have simply turned on the desk lamp, House flipped through the book to the last few pages. Then he flipped back a few more. It had only been 3 days, 2 and a half really, since he had read the murder of the cable guy. Wilson had already filled 8 more pages.
I said "no ice". I know I said "no ice". I wanted to let it go, but why should I get a glass of water with ice when that isn't what I want? So when the waitress came back I asked her if I could have another glass of water, but one without ice. She said she was sorry for the mix up in that fake apologetic tone that waitresses use and I hoped it would end there. It didn't. I had to ask her a second time. This time she said she thought somebody else had already brought it out to me.
House remembered this. It was about a week ago. Clearly Wilson had been behind when House read the book last time.
She came back the third time with no iceless water and made some crack about how the ice had melted in the original glass so I should just drink that.
Oh no she didn't, House thought. He had said that and Wilson had shot him a really mean look that made him laugh.
I picked up the glass and smashed it against her right temple. It shattered and she started screaming. I punched her in the face and told her to shut up. She fell to the ground and I grabbed the knife from my plate. I stabbed her in the shoulder. She tried to curl into a ball and I kept slashing and thrusting the knife into her back. Finally she stopped screaming. I looked down and saw I had her blood all over me. I kicked her corpse in the head. Now I was going to have to go home and change before the movie.
House chuckled. He knew on some level that wasn't the appropriate response, but he knew the knife on the table had been a steak knife that hadn't been sharp enough to saw through his ribeye. He was impressed with Wilson's imagination. Then he wasn't chuckling. He reread the passage. House had been with him at the restaurant. Why wasn't he in the book? And the final straw that turned Wilson into a blood thirsty savage had been what he had said, not anything the waitress had really done or said. He wanted credit. If he had been the one to push Wilson into a murderous rage then he should be the one in the journal getting stabbed to death. It just didn't seem fair.
The sign says "Physician Parking" and the sign below that says "J. E. Wilson". I know because I had to kill somebody a few months ago when the painted over the "ilson".
Hey, House thought, I'm not a "somebody"! You better not have killed somebody else for that one!
But there she was pulling into my space while I was coming down the aisle. I stayed calm, though. I pulled around and waited for her to get out of her car and started walking towards the entrance. I looked both ways before turning my car towards the crosswalk and slamming on the gas.
House could believe Wilson would obey all traffic laws up to the point of committing vehicular homicide.
She bounced off the front fender and got just enough height to hit the hood before I slammed on the brakes and she kinda rolled up the windshield. I hit the gas again and she fell onto the pavement. I put it in reverse and ran over her again. I wasn't positive both the rear and front tires hit her solidly so I put in in drive and ran over her again for good measure. Does it qualify as road rage if I was in a parking lot?
House didn't think that was Wilson's best work. He did seem like more of a hands-on kind of killer.
I really like hazelnut hot chocolate.
Well that certainly sounded different from the rest of the journal.
I decided to treat myself to one on the way to work this morning. I ordered a large hazelnut cocoa. Please. This 20 year-old punk…
Punk! House couldn't imagine Wilson uses the word punk like that!
…smiles like the idiot he is and asks me if I mean "grande". Is that a large? "No, it's a grande!" My hand caressed the handle of the gun in my pocket and I relaxed a little.
Wilson doesn't know anything about guns, House thought. If he carried one in his pocket he'd keep his bullets in his shirt pocket a la Barney Fife for safety! And caressing the handle? I hope his shrink isn't a Freudian.
Then he wanted to know if I wanted regular or "Signature". Can't I just get some cocoa!! He started explaining to me in this condescending voice what the difference was. Fine - give me the goddamn grande hazelnut signature hot chocolate with whole milk! Then he said something patronizing about how that would quadruple the calories and fat. Was he criticizing my weight? I don't need some bitchy barista pointing out that I've gained a little weight.
That explains the salads and rabbit food. House made a mental note that calling him Weeble Wobble Wilson could be very funny and/or disastrous.
I didn't say a word. I just pulled out the gun and put a bullet right in the center of his forehead. There was another barista standing there all smug so I shot her too. The woman behind me in line screamed so I had to shoot her to shut her up. If that stupid coffee jerk had just given me my cocoa everything would be fine. Two more customers were coming in as I left so I shot them to be on the safe side. No witnesses. The second one started running so I had to shoot him in the back. I had to reload before finishing him off. I hate wasting ammo.
House involuntarily laughed at Wilson saying "ammo". He imagined Wilson wearing a bandolier under his lab coat. House giggled around the flashlight. He flipped through and while the accounts of mayhem were amusing they still didn't include House. If anything other people were brutally dismembered for things House did. House needed to get his hands on the other book. If strangers got 8 pages in 2 days he must get 18 in 1!
House put the book back and searched the rest of the desk. There was no sign of the other book, but House hadn't expected there to be. Wilson knew he knew where the Little Black Book of Death was kept and Wilson was far too crafty to make it easy for House. House put everything back and left. Safely in his own office he called Kutner to bring his car back and told him to give the parking lot booth operator $40 on behalf of the Falcon. The game was (still) afoot.
* * *
Wilson had hid and rehid his journal four times. He thought House was up to something and the only thing they had talked about recently was his journal. Did House know the book in his desk wasn't the only one? He might. That was the problem with having an obsessive genius as a friend. He had to know everything all the time and if something was private that just brought it to the top of his must-know list. Wilson finally settled for hiding it behind a some oncology books on the top shelf of his book case. He carefully arranged the books in front of the journal without disturbing the rest of the books on the shelf. He felt like Wile E. Coyote trying to pull one over on the Road Runner. Well, not exactly. He wasn't using any rockets or malfunctioning spring powered traps.
* * *
House arrived early carrying more beer than what was necessary or, more specifically, more than what was necessary for two men to enjoy a boxing match. It was just enough to make a lightweight like Wilson drunk and drowsy enough to go to bed early leaving the happily buzzed heavy drinker to "sleep" on the couch and riffle through the lightweight's belongings. For House that was the evening's real entertainment.
"Wow! That's…a lot of beer," Wilson said opening the door.
"All the better to get you drunk and take advantage of you, " House said barging through the door and heading towards the kitchen.
"Now that I know you're crafty plan maybe I'll just stick to water," Wilson said following him.
"Would you like some ice for your water?" Wilson knew that meant House had gone back to his journal.
"No thanks, I'll go with the beer." Perfect, House thought. Wilson has no idea I read about that in the journal.
They both overplayed the jovial camaraderie angle causing them to vacillate between suspicion and cockiness at having fooled the other. The fight lasted three rounds so they didn't feel completely robbed, but it did leave a small sense of disappointment as it hadn't lived up to the hype.
That pretty much summed up the evening as well. Wilson would go to the bathroom and House would run to the bedroom and riffle through as many drawers as quickly as he could before rushing back to the living room to look casual. He hadn't found the book, but he was pretty proud of himself for not getting caught. He might be a cripple, but he had the stealth of a ninja!
Wilson blamed the beer to make frequent trips to the bathroom. He had to stop himself from laughing at the image of House trying to covertly scour his home every time he closed the door. He tried to make a little noise before he opened the door to give House a chance to get back to the couch which only made it funnier when he'd walk out and see House trying to look nonchalant. He didn't give him enough time once and House had to pretend he was examining the print hanging in the hallway. Wilson had to head straight to the kitchen to hide the smile on his face. Best of all, from House's no so subtle searching he knew House was nowhere near the book.
Eventually Wilson yawned and informed House that he needed to get to bed. He knew he'd be out like a light as soon as his head hit his pillow. Alcohol made staying up difficult for him on many levels.
"'kay. I'm just going to sleep here on the couch." Wilson was suddenly wide awake.
"What do you mean sleep on the couch?" Wilson was hoping that was some kind of House code for "leaving without a fuss".
"I've been drinking! I can't ask you to drive me home because you haven't just been drinking; you're drunk. I'll just sleep here." House began fluffing a throw pillow.
"I'm not drunk," Wilson argued.
"You're drunk like lemonade on a hot day."
"What does that even mean," Wilson questioned loudly. House shook his head.
"Either you are too drunk to understand it or I'm too drunk to explain it. Everything will be clearer in the morning." House smiled. Wilson tried to not be too outwardly apprehensive as he got up to go to bed. On the bright side, he thought, House hasn't a clue the book is in this room and even if he finds it that's not the end of the world. He'd find it eventually.
"'Night, House."
"'Night, Wilson," House said arranging his lanky frame on the couch. He wasn't sure where the book was, but, House thought, based on Wilson's reaction it must be in this room. He waited until he heard Wilson snoring and then began his search. He opened the drawer of an end table and looked in all the cubby holes on the television stand.
Then he decided to try to think like Wilson. Where would Wilson put a book? He'd put it on a bookshelf, but that's way too obvious. But, he reasoned, that is what he'd think I'd think. He walked over to the book case. The very bottom shelf was his first guess. It was just low enough to make it impossible for him to look at it without sitting down on the carpet. No sign of it. He took a look at the next two shelves while he was down there, but he hadn't expected to find it there. House grabbed onto the bookcase for support and almost toppled it over in the process. A book from the top shelf nearly beaned him, but his cat-like reflexes meant it only bounced off his arm. The fact that he yelped was not indicative of his cat-like reflexes being more Kit Kat and less Jaguar, House mentally assured himself.
House picked the book up. The Cancer Biopathy by Wilhelm Reich - Wilson you closet beatnik, cancer perv, House thought flipping through the book. He chuckled to himself and reached to put it back on the top shelf. The other cancer books didn't seem nearly as hilarious. He shoved Reich back into place, but felt it hit something before it should have hit the back of the shelf. He pulled the ottoman over and climbed it, again using the rickety bookcase for support, to see the top shelf. Having knocked most of the books off the shelf, House could clearly see the journal. Victory is mine, he thought as he hopped off the ottoman.
It was black just like the other journal, but this one had gilded pages and a yellow, silk place holder sewn into the binding. Clearly this was a more substantial, more dignified, more expensive book than Wilson's Little Black Book of Death. This could only be Wilson's Big Black Book of House's Death.
I tried to let it go. I did. I know it's wishful thinking, but I always hope House will just…shut up.
That's more like it, House thought. Finally Wilson was going to find a more worthy victim!
Yes, I get it. The new receptionist Dr. Todd hired for his department is young, hot, and stupid. Got it. Yes, I was talking to her. No, that doesn't mean I'm trying to "do her". But would he shut up? No, of course not. And he didn't care who heard him. In fact, he goes out of his way to make his voice heard. When Todd came up to tell me his new receptionist is his niece and he'd appreciate it if I'd stay away from her since I was old enough to be her father. Does House have any idea how embarrassing that it? Yep. He knows. I went to tell him of my mortification and he tells me he knew it was his niece. He knew! He also knew Dr. Todd was very protective of her. I lost it!
Finally! What are you going to do? Shoot me? Maybe I'll get pushed through a glass wall!
House turned in his chair back to face his computer - I guess that was suppose to be my signal that my audience with the great man was over - and I grabbed the marble mortar he had on his desk. I brought it up and slammed it against the back of his head.
That's it? He hits me over the head? House felt a little crestfallen. He had assumed Wilson would have something more elaborate planned for him.
House slumped over his keyboard. I was worried I hit him too hard so I checked his pulse and found he was still alive. I wasn't sure how long he'd be out though so I'd have to move quickly.
I'm not dead! He didn't even kill me, House mentally yelled. Incompetent cashier gets abducted and stomped to death and all I get is a bump on the head??
I lowered the kick locks on both of his doors and closed the blinds. I went back to House unfastened his belt.
My belt? He knocked my unconscious to steal my accessories?
He groaned when I had to move him around to get it out of his pant loops. I probably should have hit him harder. I wrapped his belt around his ankles and the legs of his chair. I tore off my belt and tied his arms to the back of the chair. I pulled out my handkerchief and stuffed it in his mouth. Then I took off my tie and wrapped that around his head to keep the gag in place.
He tied me up to kill me? I'm unconscious! Take the pestle and bash my brains out!
He started to come to so I lightly slapped his cheeks and told him to wake up. I was smiling down at him when he opened his eyes. Then he realized he couldn't move. Then he started to panic. I told him it was pointless to struggle, but he did anyways so I slapped him hard across the face. He stopped struggling for a moment out of shock, but House doesn't know when to just sit still so he started pulling against the belt around his wrist. I hit him again, this time with my fist. That's when he started looking scared.
Oh please, Wilson! Like I would be scared of you!
I told him he should be scared.
I don't think so!
I put my hands around his throat and squeezed just tight enough for him to realize just how helpless he was. Once I was sure he got that message and tightened my grip until he was on the verge of losing consciousness. I let him go and he almost choked gasping for air around his gag. It made me laugh. I'd finally made him shut up.
I wasn't the one trying to chat up Todd's jail bait receptionist.
As soon as he got his breath back he started struggling again. He almost knocked the chair over. I told him to be still, but of course he wouldn't do it. I told him since he wouldn't listen it was only fair that he couldn't. He looked at me confused and I slapped my hand against his right ear. He yelped so I did it a few more times. I asked him if he heard a ringing sound yet and he said something that sounded like "stop it". I nodded and said "alright". He looked relieved. Then I picked up the his pen and wriggled it in front of him. I told him I was going to help him by giving him an excuse for ignoring people. His ears were huge and he tried to get away from me. I rolled him into the wall and after a little effort got the left side of his face against the wall.
House shivered. He did not like where this was going.
I put the pen in his right ear canal. It barely fit. I let go of it and told him to calm down. Did he really think I would hurt him? He closed his eyes for a second and then it almost looked like he was smiling around the gag. Apparently he didn't think I'd hurt him. I grabbed the pen and shoved it in as deep as I could.
"Ugh," House groaned looking away from the journal. That seemed uncalled for! Sure he appreciated having the extra attention, but that just sounded mean. He went back to reading.
House had tears rolling down his face.
I wouldn't cry, House thought, pouting.
I slowly pulled the pen out. It was stuck so I finally had to give it a good tug. That felt like it hurt! I told him it was time for the other side and he managed to spin the chair, knocking me down. That pissed me off! I got up and punched him in the face. The chair fell over and he landed on his left arm. It sounded like it might have broken. That made me feel a little better, but I was still mad. I kicked him in the face and that did break his nose. I pulled him over until he was on his back. With the back of the chair behind him and his hands behind that it looked awkward AND painful. He tried to roll onto his right side, but the legs of the chair kept him stuck. It looked like his attempts to swivel horizontally were only causing him more pain. The blood from his nose was pouring down his face. He started acting like he was choking. Like I was going to fall for that! I put my foot on his throat and asked him if that made his breathing any easier. Obviously, he wasn't in any position to answer. About then I realized he really was choking and drowning in his own blood.
Thanks for the consult, Doctor Wilson!
I hadn't planned on him dying like that, but there was something mesmerizing about it, something, I don't know, beautiful.
Beautiful? You'd better be finding a new therapist!
I held his head still while he died. In the end he just lost consciousness and then stopped struggling to breath. It was peaceful. I took out the gag and undid the belts before calling security about the apparent attack on Dr. House. I'd blame the blood on my clothes on my attempts to resuscitate him. I hoped they wouldn't question me too long because I needed to get that tie into some cold water before the blood set. I really like that tie.
House was stunned. Sure, Wilson had been callous about his other kills, but he didn't torture them. He certainly didn't watch them die from attrition rather than action. Oh look! House is dying, House thought. Nothing to do, but watch him die! Ho-hum. He almost put the journal down without reading the next entry.
House never forgets anything.
Well, at least Wilson appreciated his mind.
I should say he never forgets anything trivial or meaningless.
Ok, maybe Wilson didn't appreciate his mind.
Does he remember my birthday? No. Does he remember I wear the brown Crockett & Jones on Tuesdays? Yes. Can he just let it go if I wear them on a Monday? No. Mondays are usually Bexleys or maybe even Kenneth Coles, but never the C&Js. Does he think I'm so predictable that wearing different shoes means I'm up to something?
Yep, House thought. And you were.
And when I don't tell give him a good enough reason why I'm wearing them on a Monday he assumes I'm hiding something and lying to him about it.
Which you were.
I decided to show him who was predictable! I told him to meet me in patient room 5206 by elevator C at 7 and I'd explain everything. I knew he'd show up because House needs to know everything.
House snorted. He makes it sound like that's a bad thing.
So when he got there I used his "needle in the neck" move against him.
What! Move? I did it, like, once in front of him!
It turned out House is way heavier than he looks. I guess all those years stealing people's food caught up to him. It's a little comforting to know his high metabolism had given out.
Don't push your food issues onto me! My metabolism is just fine, House thought as he checked his mid-section for bulges.
I figured he'd be out for a few hours so I had plenty of time to get him on the bed. I bruised him up pretty good doing it, but I did get him up there.
Yeah, like in the great shape you're in you could really go that.
I decided House was going to help me with an experiment.
Now who needs to know everything!
I opened his mouth and coated his teeth with the seaworm glue. It hadn't been approved for human trials yet, but since that was the kind of thing that wouldn't bother House, I decided I wouldn't let that bother me. As an afterthought, I put more of the glue on his tongue and then put enough gauze under his tongue so it hit the roof of his mouth. Then I clamped his jaw shut. I wasn't exactly sure how long it would take for the glue to cure, but that was one reason I made sure he'd be out for awhile.
Seaworm glue! Oh come on! That wouldn't…House thought about it for a moment. Yeah, that probably would work.
I already had the patient restraints attached to the bed so strapping him down was the easiest part. I took his shoes and socks off. And I've got to say, he has a lot of nerve talking about my clothes and my shoes. He wears a different pair of sneakers like everyday! He has dozens of them! If I were as obsessively observant about House's shoes as he is about mine I'm pretty sure I'd find several pair he only wore once or twice. And it's not like he's going to wear a pair out or anything!
Now that was below the belt!
So I waited for him to wake up. After an hour I checked the glue seal and it was pretty impressive. He might get his mouth open, but it would only be by pulling his teeth out.
The image of him pulling his mouth open and having all his upper teeth pull out connected to his lower made House squirm. How did Wilson come up with some of this? Yeesh.
I was really getting impatient by the time he woke up. I told him not to try to talk. I told him not to worry or to move. I said he was going to be in an accident. He gave me this confused look and he tried to open his mouth. I smiled at him and let him reason out for himself that he was helpless.
He didn't have any wisecracks to make now. He kept any idle speculations to himself. Well he had to, didn't he? I grabbed on of his right big toe to get his attention. He was looking at me with panic-strickened eyes. I let go of his toe and then very delicately tickled the bottom of his foot.
House was completely confused. You drug me, glue me, tie me up, and then get your revenge by tickling me? I'm scared!
He tried to pull away. He couldn't, but then he suddenly relaxed. I wasn't sure what to think of it at first, but I realized he was trying to even smile. He was making a sound like a muffled giggle.
I don't giggle!
I asked him if he'd been scared by my little joke. He nodded. He looked relieved. I let him think that for a moment. Then I pinched the bottom of his foot. I told him I wasn't joking. I said I appreciated all the attention he pays my feet, but it was time for him to be concerned about his own. I picked up the scalpel and showed it to him. I warned him that this was going to hurt. I made the first cut quickly right down the center. He tried to recoil. I feigned an apology and told him that I didn't mean to do that. I grabbed his left foot. "Since you already have a bad right leg, I really should concentrate on your left foot to help even you out." I slashed the bottom of his left foot blindly and then watched a red diagonal line appear.
Again with the torture! Couldn't he just kill me?
I injected House with heparin and waited a few minutes before making another cut. He was writhing in pain as much as the restraints would let him. His toes were more sensitive than I expected. I spent a lot of time on each one. Even cutting the tops of his toes seemed to cause him excruciating pain. But, as could be expected, he was getting use to it. As somebody in chronic pain only sudden pain seemed to really get his attention. I explained that I had to make due with what I could find. Luckily the cafeteria was still opened. He looked at me questioningly. I think if he could have talked he would have criticized me for not being better prepared.
Damn straight, I would!
I held out a lemon wedge to him. He didn't seem concerned with it.
Yeah yeah yeah. Lemon juice on the cuts. Got it.
I moved up to the head of the bed and grabbed his face. I squeezed the lemon into his eyes. He closed his eyes and tried to hold them tightly shut. I ground the lemon against his lids. His eyes shot open in pain. He looked so ridiculous I started laughing.
Arg! My eyes! House had a whole body shiver. It was like Wilson knew how to get to him.
I waited for the stinging in his eyes to stop or at least for him to get use to it before I took another lemon wedge and rubbed it against the cuts on the top of his toes. Turned out - that was really bad. I gave up waiting for him to stop twitching his foot around and slid the lemon against the bottom of his foot. The juice mixed with the blood and gave me the idea to clean the blood away with the lemon. Some of the blood had dried so I had to rub it hard against some of the cuts. I told him how this reminded me of this exfoliate treatment Bonnie use to use. I told him that gave me a great idea. I didn't have a pumice stone, but I did have lemon wedges and salt. I used the wedges to push the salt deeper into the cuts. His body contorted like he was vomiting. With his mouth glued shut that couldn't be pleasant. I let him rest for a bit while I went for some coffee. It was getting close to midnight and I was getting tired.
You poor thing! Cutting my feet sounds like hard work!
When I came back he wasn't looking too good. I took some scissors and cut up the seam of his left pant leg to just below the knee. I explained to him that I didn't want to cause him any more pain so I was going to make it all go away. I told him about a case study I read once where a man cut his saphenous vein and how it took hours for him to bleed to death. I was pretty sure we could beat that record. I expected him to struggle or groan or something, but he didn't It was like he'd stopped fighting, gave up. I decided that killing him would truly be a kindness.
I started the incision at the medial epicedial and made a cut about 10 centimeters long. I had planned to go knee to ankle, but it didn't seem necessary. He bled to death in less than an hour. Impressive! But then I had a moment of regret.
You'd better believe you'd regret killing me!
By gluing his mouth shut I robbed him, well the world really, of his pithy last words. As I said - it was only a moment of regret.
Bastard! He'd have some great last words! House spent the rest of the night reading and trying to construct his last words. By the time he made it through Wilson Torturing House Scenario 12 he decided two things. One - Wilson had a fertile, twisted imagination, but went for cutting off his senses too much. Speech, hearing, vision - it became formulaic after awhile. Two - he was glad Wilson had left him blank pages.