"Mercy Medical Center, how may I direct your call?"
"Yes, is Dr. James Wilson in today?" Cuddy kept her tone calm and neutral, bracing herself to hear that Wilson was out for the day again.
"He is. May I tell him who's calling?"
Relief flooded through her as Cuddy hurried to give the receptionist an answer she thought would keep her from becoming suspicious and arousing Wilson's suspicion as well.
"No, no thank you. I have an appointment. I just called yesterday with a question and he was out sick, so I just wanted to make sure he was in. I'll be by this afternoon."
"May I ask your…"
"Thank you."
Cuddy cut the receptionist off before she could finish her question, hanging up the phone quickly and rising to her feet. She called her own assistant and claimed that she had a personal emergency and would be out for the rest of the day, and asked her to forward only the very most important calls to her cell phone.
She got into her car, her hands trembling as she made her way back to the address where she had left House and Wilson two days earlier. Along the way, she found herself wondering what she was doing, whether or not this was going to do any good. So Wilson wasn't there. She had no guarantee that House would be there.
This could be a pointless two hour drive, for no good reason…
Her hands tightened on the wheel as she turned onto the exit ramp, her lips set in taut determination.
… or it could be the only way that I can help House… assuming he actually needs help…
Despite her attempts at reassuring herself from her own fears, Cuddy knew deep down that there was really little doubt as to whether or not House needed help. She could not forget the fear in his voice as he had responded to Wilson's quiet threats, or the way he had flinched in anticipation when Wilson had raised his hand to strike him – almost as if he was already expecting the blow.
No, House was in serious trouble of some kind, and she would not rest until she had done what she could to help him.
If only she had some idea of what that might be.
Once she reached the address and the house she'd seen the night of the funeral, she wasn't really sure what to do next. She had no key, no way of legitimately entering the house on her own; and she was fairly certain that House would not answer the door for her if she knocked.
She knocked anyway.
There was no answer, but she knew better than to think that meant that House was not there.
She knocked again, louder, waiting on the porch in jittery, self-conscious silence for a few moments, before hesitantly making her way around to the rear of the house in search of another door – one which might be unlocked. When she found the back door locked, she stood there for a few moments beside the back steps, drawing in a shaky breath and letting it out in an impatient sigh as she tried to figure out what to do next.
*****************************
Chained in the basement as usual, gagged but not blindfolded for the duration of Wilson's shift at the hospital, House had clearly heard the knocking on the back door of the house, which seemed to be directly above his basement prison. He had frozen, his heart lurching with mingled excitement and alarm at the sound.
In all the long weeks he had been here, no one had knocked on Wilson's door.
Was it possible that someone was looking for him?
As House stared at the tiny rectangle of light that shone through his window, he blinked, startled, as a shadow passed in front of it. His heart began to race, his hands instinctively straining against the chains that held them behind his back, as he tried to think of a way to get the person's attention.
He struggled to cry out past the thick gag that filled his mouth, frustrated when only a soft, muffled moan escaped his lips, far too quiet to be heard through the cement walls of the basement. He jerked his hands against the chains again, hopelessly, heedless of the pain of his raw wrists jarred against the unyielding metal.
Come on… come on, I'm here… please, someone, hear me!
********************************
Cuddy started to walk away from the door, but stopped when she thought she heard a soft sound. She froze, wide eyes turned back toward the still, silent door. Perhaps there was someone inside, just waiting for her to go away so they could show themselves.
She frowned, equal parts worried and irritated at that prospect.
She tried the door handle again, though she knew it'd be locked, then knocked on the door again insistently.
"Hello?" she called out into the silence, her voice loud and demanding. It softened slightly, tinged with concern as she added, "House?"
**************************
Cuddy!
House recognized her voice, and felt a surge of hope with the realization that she must have picked up on something out of the ordinary at the funeral. He'd done his best to act as normal as possible, but apparently she'd noticed something despite his efforts.
Hope was swiftly replaced, however, by an overwhelming fear for her safety, if Wilson should happen to come home and find her here. He knew that Wilson had not been gone all that long and would still be at work for hours; but it was always possible that he might come home on his lunch break. House shuddered to think what he would do to Cuddy if he thought she had figured out his dark secret.
Wilson had already proven that he would go to any lengths necessary to keep it.
But… if you can get her attention… if she can get you out of here before he comes back… then you'll both be safe…
He tried again to scream, tearing his already raw throat with the effort, but only managing to get out the barest of sounds. He raised his bound wrists and lowered them again and again, banging the chains against the cement floor in an attempt to make as much noise as possible. He had to get Cuddy's attention before she gave up and went away.
She was his only chance.
If he couldn't get her to help him… he knew he'd be there forever, without any hope of escape.
He hit his chains as hard as he could against the floor in desperation, a strangled, guttural moan falling from his lips as he fought for his freedom in the only way that was left to him.
Come on, Cuddy, please… please hear me… please know that I'm here…
******************************
Cuddy listened closely at the door after calling out House's name, and this time she was sure that she'd heard something – some kind of movement inside the house.
Maybe he's hurt. Maybe he can't get to the door. Maybe he wants to let me in, but he's not able to…
Or maybe he's just being House, and doesn't feel like listening to me worrying about him…
She hesitated a moment, trying to decide what was the best course of action to take. If House was there and all right, and chose not to answer the door and let her in – wasn't that his right, after all? Did she really have the right to force him to talk to her if he didn't want to do so?
After a moment's consideration, she decided that she really didn't care.
She reached up and took a pin from amidst the pile of hair atop her head, hoping that she could remember what House himself had taught her so many years ago in medical school. She closed her eyes, focusing her attention on what she was doing as she twisted the end of the pin in the keyhole, listening and feeling for the click that would tell her that her efforts had succeeded.
Her chest constricted, her pulse racing as the doorknob abruptly turned under her hand, the door sliding open a few inches.
She was in.
****************************
House froze, his efforts stilled, when he heard slow, even footsteps on the floor above him. His every muscle was taut with nervous tension, his wide eyes fastened on the ceiling above him as he listened to the soft, rhythmic thuds of Cuddy's footsteps as she entered the house.
Hope stirred within him, though he barely dared to allow it. His dark knowledge of the lengths to which Wilson had gone to conceal his presence in this house ate away at his hopes, as he remembered that Cuddy was not likely to find much in Wilson's home that she would find suspicious – and the basement door was always kept locked.
Cuddy was there, but it remained to be seen whether she would be able to help him, or only end up getting herself into danger.
She hasn't even found me yet…
***************************
"House? Are you here?"
Cuddy cautiously made her way through the house, carefully observing the apparently innocent normality of her surroundings. Everything seemed to be in order – a comfortable living room, kitchen, and single bedroom, all arranged for one.
Is this Wilson's place… or House's?
A closer inspection revealed a shelf of cook books in the kitchen, a well-stocked refrigerator, and a collection of magazines in the living room that House would not have been caught dead reading.
So… Wilson's, then… but… what about House?
Cuddy sat down slowly on the sofa, feeling lost and confused and uncertain. Had she misinterpreted the entire situation? Was House long gone already, back to whatever secret hiding place in which he had spent the last couple of months? She had no idea what to do next, her sorrowful eyes gazing dully around the living room.
Her stomach dropped, everything seeming to freeze around her, as her gaze fell upon something that made the peaceful normality of the entire scene seem like a dark and ugly lie. In the corner of the room, in a tall, narrow basket, nestled among several umbrellas, was an item that definitely did not belong there, especially if House was not there.
House's cane.
Why is it here, if House isn't? Why would he leave it? He wouldn't go anywhere without it…
Something is very wrong here…
She rose and continued searching through the house, looking for any other signs that House might be staying here, or have been here recently, but found nothing else as troubling as the abandoned cane in the corner. She sighed with weary frustration, stopping in the hallway, raising a hand to cover her face.
She knew there was something wrong, but she didn't know what she could do about it without anything more to go on. She could wait and confront Wilson, but she had a feeling that he wouldn't be willing to tell her much – and she had the nagging suspicion that anything he did tell her would not necessarily be trustworthy information at this point.
She glanced around the hallway at the three closed doors to which it led, mentally cataloguing what she'd already found.
Bedroom… bathroom… what's that third door?
She frowned, her interest piqued when she noticed that it was locked from the outside, with a padlock and a chain. She had assumed before that it was nothing more than a closet – but what might Wilson be hiding in a closet, that he'd feel the need to protect it so carefully?
Determination in her eyes, Cuddy took the hairpin from her pocket again, hoping that this lock would prove as easy to pick as the last.