Summary: A deadly and sadistic killer is on the loose and he's collecting Doctors. He has his deadly sights set on House, Wilson, Cameron, Foreman and Chase; he wants to add them all to his collection. Please read and review!
Authors note: Back from holiday now and can continue to write this story. Thanks for all the reads and reviews, please keep them coming. Also thanks to everyone who has added me or my story to their alert list, means a lot. Rating is still a T for violence and swear words.
Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters (wishes she owned Dr House)
Chapter 5
The words on the computer screen blurred before House and seemed to have no meaning. No matter how many times he re-read the same sentence or how many different ways he tried to read it, he couldn't seem to focus and none of the words seemed to make any sense.
House sat alone in his office, trying to read up on tropical diseases but his mind was elsewhere and he turned off the computer in frustration. When he found out that Chase had been taken, House had been walking around with a cloud of dread hanging over him that only rained occasionally. Now that Foreman had been taken by the same sick freak, that cloud had burst open and was raining heavily down upon him wherever he went, causing a constant feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach.
The cloud of dread was only increasing with each clueless crime scene the freak had left. The police had so far, again, come up empty while searching Foreman's place for evidence. The syringe they found by the bed was completely clean of fingerprints and the place of purchase couldn't be pinpointed as the kidnapper had used a syringe that could be found in almost any hospital or pharmacy in New Jersey. The note left to House was again typed up and printed on Foreman's home computer and according to the computer log; the note was typed up at 3:27am so that must have been around the time Foreman was taken. The time of the kidnapping made sure that there were no witnesses. Everybody was either sleeping peacefully in their beds at that time, or doing graveyard shifts at wherever they worked. The only witnesses to what happened were the quiet apartment hallways and the empty midnight streets.
If this kept on happening and the police didn't get a lead soon, it would only be a matter of time before the press got wind of this and started connecting the dots. House shuddered at the thought. This situation that was getting worse by the minute was the last thing he wanted to see spread all over the news.
House also couldn't stop the same questions from constantly spinning around in his head: Why take Chase and Foreman? Who was next? And most importantly, who was the bastard who was doing this? The last question was starting to drive House insane. He knew that it was the missing piece of the puzzle; if he could just find it then he would unlock the door that seemed to have no key. He would be able to save Chase and Foreman and whoever was the next target. House knew that it was impossible for him to foresee these terrible events that were taking place but he still felt partly responsible. Whoever was doing this was doing it to taunt House and he was having fun while doing it. House felt that if the freak wanted to hurt him he should have just taken him and left everyone else out of it. But he was hurting House in another way though, by taking the people closest to him. House didn't see Chase, Foreman or even Cameron as his friends but he saw these people every day, more than he saw his own family, and apart from Wilson, they were the people closest to him, there was no avoiding that fact. And now they were all being punished for being close to House. That's why House tried to avoid making close bonds with people whenever he could because whenever he got close to people they just ended up getting hurt. It's better to be alone and miserable than to get close to people and drag them down with you.
House was getting increasingly worried for Wilson, Cameron and even Cuddy. He didn't know who was a target in the freaks sick little game but he had to assume that it was anyone who he was relatively close with. House's leg started to ache, as did his head from thinking too hard. Since this all started he hadn't been able to get much sleep and didn't think he would until this was over. Depending upon how this all played out, House didn't suspect he would have another peaceful night's sleep again. He grabbed the bottle of Vicodin off his desk in front of him and swallowed the small pill a little more eagerly than he would have liked. He was teetering on desperation and it wasn't just his physical pain that was making him feel that way.
He needed to keep a clear head, he needed to walk. He would go and find Cameron and then make a stop at Wilson and Cuddy's offices. Without trying to come across as too concerned and worried, although Wilson would probably see right through him, he would tell them all to be careful tonight when they go home. They were all going to have a police guard stationed at their door throughout the night anyway, including himself, but House wasn't sure if even that was going to be enough.
The hallway to the apartment is narrow and the door he wants is the one at the very end of the hall. He watches the pudgy, ageing cop who is guarding the door from around the corner. The cop is leaning with his right shoulder against the wall, more interested in a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe than guarding a potential kidnap victim. He looks like he should be behind a desk about to collect his pension, not doing a job as demanding as this. The cop looks like he'll be easy to deal with and this disappoints him, he wanted a challenge. But the fire inside him grows once more as he anticipates what is to come.
His heartbeat never elevates, his palms or forehead don't get sweaty, his breathing never quickens and his eyes show no fear. When he has to be, he is a master at deception and keeping his emotions in check. Nothing can faze him when he is out to get what he wants and nobody is his equal.
Since the door is at the end of the hall and there is nothing to provide any cover, a surprise-stealth attack is out of the question. Seeing the condition of the cop, he doesn't think he would have needed one anyway. He takes a silent, deep breath and starts to walk around the corner and down the hallway towards the cop.
He walks as casually as a man walking his dog or out for an afternoon stroll. For the first few steps, the cop doesn't even notice him, still engrossed with the gum on his shoe. When he eventually looks up a look of confusion passes across his face for a second and then turns into a smile. His right hand doesn't move slowly towards his gun holstered on his hip and his left hand doesn't move towards his police radio. After all, he wouldn't shoot one of his own now would he? The police uniform looks good on him, although he's not sure if he has the face of a cop. Wearing the uniform makes him think of the cop he killed a while back who used to wear it. There is not one drop of blood on the uniform seeing as he killed the cop by suffocation. How he loved it when the cops body twitched and convulsed and he could hear the last breaths he was ever going to take come out in tortured, ragged gasps. It was such a beautiful sight to behold to watch his soul slip away.
"Hey, haven't seen you around the precinct anywhere. You new or something?" The cop asked him. He couldn't decide whether it was suspicious questioning or just friendly curiosity. He decided to use the name of the cop whose uniform he was wearing. It wouldn't matter if this cop heard it; he would be dead in a minute anyway.
"Hey yeah, I'm Officer Matthews. I just got transferred to this precinct so you could say I'm kind of new to these parts."
"Oh well, you're a little early Matthews. The shift change isn't until another twenty minutes. I'm Smith by the way." The man before him known as Smith held out his hand offering a hand shake. The man took it and pulled Smith towards him in a violent motion. "Nice to meet you Smith," he said and with one swift motion he pulled out the knife from his waistband at the back of his pants and pierced Smiths heart, killing him in a matter of seconds. Smith's eyes went wide with fear and he coughed up blood. He then began to twitch and gasp for breath but his attempts were futile and the last breath came out of him in a small whimper.
He laid Smith down on the floor as quietly as he could and switched off his police radio as to not attract any attention from the other apartments. So far he had made a minimum amount of noise and didn't think anyone will have heard him. He was careful and had been in much riskier situations than this before. He knew he had to hurry though. Another cop would be on the scene in twenty minutes for the shift change, maybe sooner if they tried to radio Smith and got no response. Even more dangerous was the fact that anyone could come out of their apartments that ran along the hallway at any second.
This only excited him further though and made it much more fun. He looked at the dead cop on the floor before him. He looked at the blood that was seeping from the heart wound and how it appeared brilliant crimson against the cream coloured carpet. He looked at the cops lifeless, glassy eyes and felt an incredible feeling of warmness run through his entire body. These are the moments he lives for, he takes lives and gains a piece in the process. It makes him a more complete person. It finds the pieces of him that are missing.
Once he gets inside the apartment he knows he will have plenty of time to do what he has to do and get away safely. Even if the body is discovered before the shift change, backup won't arrive for at least ten minutes and by then he'll be well gone. He steps over the dead body at his feet and picks the lock with ease. He opens the door silently and swiftly and enters the apartment with the chloroform in hand...
