A/N: Before this fic goes any further, I'd like to point out that this was inspired by Fluffy2001's (amazing) fic, After Life at PPTH, which was pretty much the first House fic I ever read here on FFN, and I've been stuck on this idea ever since. Contributing to the specifics of this rather dream-like limbo is such great poets as Jim Morrison, T.S. Elliot, Dr. Seuss and even a bit of Shakespeare. I draw inspiration from a vast number of sources, including the great, JennifferButterfly who's Satan in Trials of Transgressions (another great read) inspired certain characteristics in creepy-suit kid. (You'll meet him later.)
Just thought I should hand out credit where credit is due before going any further.
Shout-outs to those who reviewed such as the amazing Espavo, Sandy Murray and stealthy290. This chapter is dedicated you y'all.
Disclaimer: I'm not David Shore. This is not mine. Don't sue.
X O X O X
He felt empty.
His eyes should've been swollen shut, his mouth twisted, skin shredded, slick pieces of metal seared through his body, yet he was uninjured. Rain, sweat, blood-soaked clothing clung to his shaking body like a child clings to a dream, but otherwise he was unhurt, his skin smooth, his body strong.
Yet inside he felt hollow.
There was no light wherever he was, only a sort of darkness that swallowed him, consumed him, became him.
"You're not dead," a grimy voice called, its Brooklyn accent lingering long after its words faded, "Not for long anyways."
Chase sat up, feeling fragile as light in the heavy dark.
"Pardon?" he asked quietly, his whisper echoing hollowly through the rather threatening silence.
"You heard me. Don't try playin' the dumb blonde. It don't work on you."
His pale blue-green eyes flickered, adjusting slightly to his strange surroundings. The speaker wasn't standing too far from him; short and slim, leaning against something he couldn't see. What the hell was going on here?
"Where am I?"
"Limbo, purgatory, whatever you want to call it."
"Purgatory?"
"Otherside if you're a Chili Peppers fan. I must admit, I always thought Geisel summed it up best."
"Geisel?"
"Theodore Geisel," the voice called contentedly, "Dr. Seuss, you narisch. Wasn't you ever a kid? The Waiting Place, Blondie, it's called the Waiting Place."
"And what exactly do you do here, apart from waiting?"
Chase watched as an undefined line of shiny white teeth widened with slight glee. "You pray you don't never gotta stop waiting."
Chase began to stand, his legs wobbling beneath him, unwilling to lift his fragile body.
"Wouldn't do that if I were you."
"Why? I can't pray standing?"
"You haven't prayed in ten years."
Chase felt a cold shiver slip its way down his spine, vaguely wondering if there was any part of himself that was at all stable. His mind certainly wasn't.
"And how do you know my religious habits?"
"Let's just say I'm very observant." A small orange flame ignited, flickering for a moment before setting as a small, glowing circle at the butt of his cigarette. "Want one?" the voice cooed lightly, offering the contents of a faded red and white box of Marlboros to him.
"I don't smoke."
"What? You think they're gonna kill you?" A mirthless laugh rang out hollowly through the empty silence. "No, death ain't nothing you got to worry 'bout no more." A pause. "I'd get back on the floor if I was you."
"You're not me."
"Yep. It's not my ass that gonna get bruised when you hit the floor either."
Chase shifted his weight uncomfortably, but before he made up his mind on whether or not the floor was such a good place to be he was on his back, screaming in agony. There was something on his chest, in his chest. He couldn't breathe, only scream.
"Come on narisch, you're not the first kid to get the V-Fib."
A faint voice was screaming from somewhere far away, his words muttled. For a moment, there was nothing, a faded commotion nearly forgotten, and then it came again, the throbbing pain exploding from within his chest once again.
"C'mon kid, stay with me. What's the V-Fib stand for?"
"Ventric...Ventricular fibrillation."
"Good kid, now what's it used for? What have you got?"
"As...as...asysto-" Chase was cut off by another scream exploding through his throat.
"If we fibrillate again we could do permanent damage to his heart."
"If we don't he's dead."
"But the damage-"
"CLEAR!"
Suddenly Chase wasn't laying in the darkness of a place that seemed purely lore, but under the cold glare of trauma room lights.
Suddenly this crazy dream was real and reality hurt like hell, every inch of his skin burning, every breath an impossible prayer for life.
Suddenly the sky was falling, collapsing in on him, razing him from the inside out.
Suddenly death didn't seem so bad.
"Is OR Three ready yet?"
"Strauss needs two more minutes. They're swamped down there."
"We're swamped up here. Somebody bitch to Cuddy and get this guy into surgery."
They don't know. They need to know, they need to know who I am. Check my wallet. Somebody, please check my wallet.
"Aw shit, we got a doctor."
Thank you God, thank you.
"Tell Cuddy got we've got one of our own. That'll buy us an OR."
"He's going under again."
No please, I want to stay awake. I want to live.
"Knock him out."
And he was falling.
X O X O X
"I told you to get down, but no, narisch, you're invincible. You had to fall."
The pain was gone, every inch of his body hollowed where pure-hell had once filled. This numbness felt strange under his skin, his nervous heartbeat nonexistent.
His eyes were closed, terrified of what he might find if he opened them. More darkness? The opaque light seeping through his pale eyelashes begged the differ. No, it was what illumination might reveal that had him afraid to breathe.
Deep breath.
No more falling.
Eyes open.
Then it hits him.
He is not alone.
No, quite the contrary.
He was surrounded by people, all types of people, souls lost within themselves, and a slick-looking kid no older than nine in full-out 1920's gangster garb complete with a worn blue-black fedora tipped over one eye.
"What Blondie, you thought you was alone?"
"How dead am I exactly," Chase began slowly, "and how dead are they?"
"Who knows? Who cares? Hey baby!" He grabbed a passing blonde by the skirt, pulling her close before dangling a gold hotel key in the few inches between their faces. "My room's 356. Be there at eight." The Barbie replica merely blinked for a moment or two and then slowly, to Chase's great surprise, took then key and shook the boy's grip off with as little grace as necessary.
"Need someone to read you a bedtime story?" Chase asked a bit too loudly, not bothering to hide the astonishment that riddled his voice with question.
The boy stood in silence for a moment before forcing out a loud, rather rude laugh that seemed to echo a few too many times. "Wow, did ya think of that all by yourself? It's so creative, ya know? The perfect thank-you."
Chase stood, no longer shaking. "Thanks for what?"
"Nothing," the boy smirked, "Thanks for nothing." He nodded to his left. "Follow the crowd. It'll take you to wherever you need to go. If you need me, ask for me."
Need you for what?
"But what's your name?"
"If ya knew that ya wouldn't be here," he called cheerfully, latching his arm around a brunette in a rather racy red lace dress.
X O X O X
The crowd didn't really go in any particular direction, so there wasn't really any particular direction to follow. Chase wandered, milling amongst the misplaced people all around him, vaguely wondering why he was the only bloody one and what the hell was going on back on Earth.
What the hell's going on here?
For someone who had once devoted his life to the worship and prayer of all that could not be proven, he was finding this hard as hell to believe.
It felt like a dream.
One hell of a dream.
Finally, he picked one lost soul to follow (a blonde with a nice ass, in honor of fedora-boy) and came out to where all lost soul's journeys eventually lead; a high-ceiling, low-price hotel lobby that rang with cheap laughter from liquor and stank of infidelity.
So this was where life led.
This isn't half-bad, an optimistic whisper seemed to sing within his mind, for a half-dead whorehouse, this isn't bad at all.
"Now, now Robbie, you shouldn't doubt the land of the dead. It's far lovelier than Earth once you get to know."
Chase spun around, unsure of where the voice had come from. His eyes traced to a grand staircase, then slowly up it.
"You really shouldn't be surprised to see me," the speaker cooed happily, placing one slender hand on her satin-covered hip, another toying softly with an old-style cigarette. "I mean, you did know that I died."
Chase swallowed, unable to speak. He had never seen her like this. He had never seen...
"What? Not going to say hello to your own mother?"
X O X O X
Okay, here're some explanations of some of the pop culture-references used in this chapter:
'Otherside' is a track on the 1999 Red Hot Chili Peppers album Californication.
'The Waiting Place' is referenced in the Dr. Seuss book Oh the Places You'll Go
Narisch is Yiddish for stupid. Lots of Jews in Brooklyn, where creepy-suit-kid's accent used to live.
Asystole is the medical term for when your heart stops.
Okay, I promise to update soon. This is pretty fun to write, probably because reality is fun to ignore.
EDIT: LASSIE CAME HOME. Chapter three will be up soon, an explination of technical difficulties that took this fic down will be in it, so ya, sorry about that.
So...
Comments?
