Over the next twenty-four hours, Wilson came down twice to take House upstairs to the bathroom, and brought him two delicious, carefully prepared meals – but he gave him no Vicodin. House was careful to be as compliant as possible, allowing Wilson to lead and manipulate him in whatever way he saw fit, afraid that even the slightest resistance would result in a longer period of punishment.
By the time a full day and night had passed, House was in a lot of pain – though perhaps less than he would have expected, due to his recent forced detox. After going nearly a week without Vicodin, and then only having it in very limited amounts, a single day was not as difficult as it would have been before.
It wasn't exactly easy, either.
Overwhelming relief filled him when Wilson helped him sit up and placed two pills in his mouth, following them with a glass of water to wash them down. House's shoulders shook with relief as Wilson carefully inspected his wrists and ankles, making sure that the bonds had done no damage since the last time he'd checked.
"Okay." Wilson's voice was mild and patient. "You need a shower. Think if we try this again, you can behave yourself this time?"
House nodded, not venturing to speak, and doing his best to cooperate as Wilson pulled him to his feet. This time, the bath was carried out without the benefit of a drug to dull House's senses, so the shame and degradation of the event was fully felt by him. Wilson left the blindfold on throughout, and House knew better than to either try to remove it, or try to fight Wilson without the benefit of his sight; so he was basically as helpless as he would have been bound.
Even when Wilson left the room to get clean towels, leaving House's wrists free as he knelt blindfolded on the floor, House knew better than to try to take advantage of such limited freedom. He had no way of knowing how quickly Wilson might return, and knew that after more than a week of being confined to the bed in the basement, his strength would not be enough to overpower his captor.
Despite these facts, Wilson seemed reassured by his cooperation.
Once he was clean and dry, Wilson led him back down to the basement, pushing him onto his knees on the mattress. House kept still when he felt the familiar pain of Wilson's hand in his hair, harshly pulling his head back in a gesture of dominance. He swallowed hard, his breath quickening, but kept quiet and still, waiting for Wilson to speak.
"How would you like to have the blindfold off for a while?"
House's stomach lurched, and he felt a sharp pang of longing at the very suggestion. Besides that brief glimpse of the dim, bare bathroom upstairs, he had seen nothing but darkness for over a week. Both eager to receive the offered privilege, and terrified that he might accidentally do something to forfeit it, House nodded slowly, with difficulty against Wilson's restraining hand.
"Y-yes," he whispered. "Yes… please…"
"It won't be permanent, you know," Wilson reminded him in a calmly warning tone. "You can have either the blindfold off, or the restraints – but not both at once. I don't trust you that much yet."
"Okay," House agreed, his voice hoarse with disuse. "Okay. Thank you," he hurried to add, remembering Wilson's previous orders.
He could hear the smile in Wilson's voice as his hand became gentle in House's hair, and he murmured approvingly, "You're welcome. That's good, House. I'm glad you're learning so quickly." A moment later, House's stomach dropped as he felt Wilson's breath against his ear, and his voice lowered to a hushed, controlled tone of soft menace. "Just remember… I can take or give your sight… control your freedom of movement… as I choose. If you prove to be unappreciative of these privileges, House… you'll lose them. If you push me hard enough… possibly on a permanent level. Do you understand me?"
Too terrified by the implications of Wilson's vague threats to even speak, House nodded frantically, his breath ragged and uneven as a shiver of horror went down his spine.
"Then… you'd have no choice but to surrender, would you, House?" Wilson mused. The strangely wistful note in his voice only served to increase House's dread. "You'd have to depend on me completely… wouldn't you? There'd be no option…"
"I will," House promised, his voice a shallow, breathless whisper as pleading words fell from his lips in a desperate, frantic babble. "Please… I will without that, Wilson, I swear. Please don't… I mean… you don't have to…"
"Shhh," Wilson soothed him, a trace of cruel amusement in his voice. "That doesn't have to happen, House, not if you cooperate. I'm just saying… if you don't…"
"I will," House assured him desperately. "I'll cooperate. I will."
Wilson released his grip on House's hair, and House tensed as he waited for the next touch, unable to know whether it would be gentle or violent. Abruptly the blindfold was removed, and House blinked against the dim light of the room as his neglected eyes began to adjust to the restoration of his vision.
His prison was a large, bare basement room, with stone walls and a cement floor, and no furnishings at all besides a washer and dryer in the far corner of the room, and the mattress to which he had been confined. House shivered as he looked at the thick rings bolted to the floor at the four corners of the mattress, to which Wilson had connected the cuffs for his wrists and ankles.
A chance glance upward drew House's vaguely bewildered gaze to a tiny rectangular window near the ceiling, through which he could see a section of midnight blue, lit by a tiny sliver of moon. House had completely lost track of time in the endless hours of his captivity, and was a little surprised to find that it was night. He stared up at the bright white crescent, barely within the field of his vision, strangely transfixed by the sight that under other circumstances would have seemed so ordinary.
So the world outside these walls does still exist.
The thought passed through House's mind with nearly equal parts ironic sarcasm, and genuine wonder. In the struggle to simply survive the next agony to which his life had been reduced, he had all but forgotten the existence of the outside world. He knew he needed to escape, to somehow get to freedom – but that freedom had become an abstract hope, the alternative to the torment of his daily existence. In the past few miserable, terrifying days, he hadn't once thought about his job, or the people he knew, or the basic simplicities of life such as the pale glow of a bit of moonlight.
"We'll start off slow," Wilson explained, and House glanced anxiously toward him, afraid to appear as if he was not paying attention. Wilson seemed oblivious to House's distraction as he continued calmly. "As long as you continue to behave in a manner that's deserving of it, we'll take the blindfold off for a couple of hours every day from now on. Does that sound good to you?"
House nodded meekly, his wide-eyed gaze drifting unconsciously back toward the window and the tiny bit of bright light beyond it. He couldn't help but think of the sweet, fresh scent of the cool night air just beyond the window, and the stars that were surely visible on a night as clear as this, if only his tiny patch of sky were big enough to reveal them to his sight.
As Wilson replaced the blindfold a little while later, House felt a profound sense of loss and disappointment as his brief luxury was stolen from him; but it was mingled with a hope like none he'd felt since this ordeal had begun. It was so easy to lose himself amidst the horror and confusion of what was happening to him – so easy to give up the fight and surrender to the oppressive power of the madman holding him captive.
But tonight, he felt like he could fight again.
Tonight… he'd been reminded what it was that he was fighting for.
*******************************
Following her conversation with Wilson, Cuddy felt a little bit better to know that House had actually contacted Wilson to let him know about his plans. If House would have told anyone the truth about where he was going and what he was doing, she was fairly certain that person would be Wilson.
Still, she couldn't shake the nagging sensation that something wasn't quite right.
Wilson had seemed perfectly calm and casual when she'd spoken with him, despite the fact that she'd been trying to reach him for weeks with no response. His explanation of being out of town and unreachable made sense; but it wasn't like Wilson to disappear for so long with no means of being contacted – not in his chosen field of practice. He could never be sure when one of his patients might need him, and it was not like him to ignore that possibility.
Unless… maybe he was just ignoring me…
That was a troubling thought, and she found herself wondering why he would have deliberately chosen not to take her calls. True, things had been awkward between Wilson and… well, anyone who'd known Amber, really… ever since her death. But that didn't seem to be reason enough for him to reject what was a potentially important call from his former employer.
But why, then? What is he hiding? Maybe he's helping House hide? Maybe House is trying to avoid everybody – that's much more in character – and Wilson's just keeping his mouth shut to protect him?
She had just about decided to call House's parents and risk the awkwardness and embarrassment of tracking him down at home – just to alleviate her fears and reassure herself that he was indeed safe – when her cell phone rang, the screen displaying a familiar but utterly unexpected name.
Blythe House.
Cuddy's eyes widened in surprise, and she drew in a deep shaky breath as she opened the phone and hit the button to accept the call. Anticipation filled her with the knowledge that for better or worse, her questions were about to be answered.
"Dr. Cuddy? This is Gregory House's mother…"
"Yes, of course," Cuddy cordially greeted her, trying not to sound too concerned. "What can I do for you, Mrs. House?"
"I'm trying to reach my son…"
Cuddy had to struggle to focus on the rest of the woman's words, her mind struggling to process that first statement, and all its various troubling implications. Still, she forced herself to listen as Blythe continued in a voice that was soft and subdued and tremulous, as if perhaps she'd recently been crying.
"I've tried Dr. Wilson's phone," Blythe explained. "But he hasn't answered or returned my calls."
"Yes, I only just reached him yesterday," Cuddy reassured her. "He's been out of service for about a week. If you try him again, you should be able to reach him now."
"Oh, thank you," Blythe sighed with clear relief. "I'll try him again. I tried Greg's number, but it's been disconnected. I thought perhaps I could reach him here…"
"Mrs. House, I'm very sorry," Cuddy began cautiously, trying to decide how much she could tell the clearly distraught woman without further upsetting her. "But… Dr. House gave me his notice over a week ago. He… no longer works here."
Blythe was silent for a long moment, her shock nearly palpable through the phone lines. "But… surely he would have mentioned… Well, no… I haven't spoken to him in months, but… Why would he quit his job? Did he find another in the area?"
"I'm… not sure." Cuddy hesitated, then decided it was best not to tell House's mother where he'd said he was going. Such information would certainly only further worry her. "He wasn't exactly clear on that, I'm afraid."
"Well, I'll keep trying Dr. Wilson, I suppose. I really need to reach him. Could you pass on a message for him if you happen to hear from him before I do? I really need him to call me right away."
"Is everything all right?" Cuddy asked with genuine concern. "Any way I can help?"
Blythe sounded weary as she answered. "I appreciate that, Dr. Cuddy, but I just need to let him know what's happened as soon as possible. My husband… Greg's father… has just passed away."