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: Haven't updated this in a while and I'm sorry. Things have been crazy lately. I hope you all will enjoy this chapter and again, thanks for all the reads and reviews :)
Rating for chapter is still M.
Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters (wishes she owned Dr House)
House wasn't sure how long he had lay there just looking at the screwdriver embedded into his hand but he knew he had to do something soon as the pain was unbearable, even the slightest movement would emit an excruciating pain that started in his hand and travelled through the rest of his body. He tried calling out for help several times but to no avail. He guessed that the cop who was guarding his door was either dead or had momentarily gone tone deaf, the former being far more likely.
House thought about waiting it out until another cop arrived on the scene after getting no response from the one who was supposed to be posted at his door. But he couldn't wait that long, even if it only would be about twenty minutes. He needed to get the freaks little present out of his hand now. Plus, the more time he spent lying here, the more time for the sick bastard to make his escape.
House braced himself for the pain and turned over on to his left side so he was facing the macabre sight of his hand. He hissed through gritted teeth as the pain in his hand flared up and began to throb painfully. What he wouldn't give for a Vicodin right now. He tried to concentrate and inspected his hand, seeing the full extent of the damage. There wasn't much blood which meant the screwdriver was probably restricting the flow, so when he did the inevitable task of pulling the screwdriver out he would probably need a couple of dozen band-aids. He gritted his teeth and took hold of the weapon. His breathing quickened as the pain became as sharp as a razor blade when he began to pull on the screwdriver, trying to get it out of the floor and out of his hand. The screwdriver wouldn't budge. How hard and how deep had the freak hammered it into the floor?
He tried a different method and began to wiggle the screwdriver back and forth, pulling it upwards all the while. This emitted a pained scream from House and his vision blurred through the effort and pain as his eyes began to well up. He was sweating and panting and his face was in a grimace of agony but he wouldn't give up and carried on working the screwdriver. He felt a surge of relief when he felt the tool move an inch and this spurred him on to keep going no matter how bad the pain was. The pain was reaching number ten on the pain scale now, keep going, almost there, nearly out, come on you bastard! Finally the screwdriver came loose and House let out a huge gasp of air. But the work was not done yet; he still had to get the screwdriver out of his hand. He sat up with a grunt, sweat stinging his eyes and mingling with his tears of pure effort and pain. This part was easier however and he pulled the screwdriver out of his hand in one smooth, quick motion. He dropped the tool of torture on to the floor and hobbled to the bathroom to wash his hand and fix it up, which now had begun to bleed a brilliant scarlet.
XXX
"Jesus H, he really did a number on your hand didn't he?" said Detective Bowman as soon as he saw House that morning in the hospital.
"Yeah, and try not to interpret this as a crude remark Detective, but I literally got screwed didn't I?" replied House.
But even House wasn't in the mood to be sarcastic today; he looked and felt like shit. His hair was messier than it usually was and his stubble was growing darker by the day. It wouldn't be long until he had a fully grown hobo beard. He had dark circles underneath his eyes from lack of sleep and his skin was pale. Everything was taking its toll on him now but he knew he had no right to complain. Not while Chase, Foreman and Cameron were being held by the lunatic who was doing God knows what to them.
"Are you okay?" asked Cuddy, a concerned look on her face.
"I'm fine," replied House, taking a seat at her desk which Cuddy was sitting behind while Bowman was sitting next to him. He popped a Vicodin not only for the pain in his leg but for his hand too. He'd had it checked out when the police officers arrived at his place last night after the attack. There was no infection and he had it bandaged up by one of the medical doctors. It would heal up by itself, leaving behind a nasty scar as a reminder of this whole horrific ordeal which he could still see no end to.
Fortunately the cop who was guarding his door was still alive. Apparently the killer had shot a tranquilizer dart at him with enough sedative in it to take down an elephant. He then dragged Sleeping Beauty into House's apartment out of view of the other ones. So the cop was in the room the whole time, oblivious to the gruesome act taking place while he slept peacefully. House didn't understand why the freak didn't kill this cop too. Inflicting pain obviously excites him, as does killing probably, so why shoot him with a tranquilizer and not just kill him? Maybe he didn't want to take the risk of someone overhearing him or catching him in the act. After all, House was the person the freak liked taunting the most so he couldn't chance getting caught and be deprived of the chance to have his little moment with House and the screwdriver.
House ran a hand through his hair making it even more messy and got straight down to brass tacks, "So Bowman, you any closer to finding Houdini or what?"
Bowman was a tall man with mousey strawberry blonde hair and moustache who looked every bit the Detective. He was probably in his mid forties, and his demeanour and cold, hard grey eyes showed years of experience and sights he'd saw that he would never want to see again but knew he probably would. He wore a long grey trench coat and a hat to match. House felt a little more at ease knowing that Bowman would be heading the case.
"Well first off he didn't leave any forensic traces at your place but there's no surprise there as he never has done before. The note he left you was also printed and typed up on Cameron's computer, again no surprise. Officer Cross, the guy who was guarding your door, can't give us a description of our guy as he said the dart just came out of nowhere. He barely had time to react before he was out cold. But we're working up the description you gave to the police last night and see if we can come up with anything. We're also going to try and find an origin of the gas mask you say he was wearing. It's a long shot but we might get lucky."
"What about CCTV, witnesses, that sort of stuff?" House asked impatiently. He was sick of the police constantly coming up on empty at every crime scene, even though he knew that it wasn't their fault.
"There's hours of CCTV footage to go through so that may take some time but we're going as fast as we can. No witnesses saw anyone leaving your building at the time of the attack and no unusual cars parked in the street. But it's possible that he parked a few streets away to avoid rousing suspicion so we're checking on that. We believe that not long after he took Dr Cameron he came over to your place. I'm sorry to say that he hasn't left any evidence at her place either but we're checking with witnesses."
"That's it?" House asked, his temper rising. "He's kidnapped three people, murdered a police man and stuck a screwdriver through my hand and you've again come up with jack shit?!" His voice was rising and his emotions were boiling over. He knew he was being unreasonable as it wasn't Bowman's fault and he realised the police were doing everything they could. He knew all of this anger was towards the killer and seeing as he was as elusive as the invisible man, House was taking his frustrations out on the people closest to hand.
Cuddy stood up, "House! Calm down, Detective Bowman is doing everything he can. We're all pissed at the lack of clues this guy is leaving but that's nobody's fault and getting angry isn't going to do anything but make things worse."
House calmed down. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be an ass. I just want to find this son on a bitch."
"We all do House, and I promise you I've got my best people on it. We will find him, I give you my word."
House wasn't so sure. He could just picture Chase, Foreman and Cameron all chained up in some basement somewhere screaming and crying in the dark. He fought down the urge to vomit. Screaming and crying in the dark...
"Please let us go! Why are you doing this?" She's screaming and crying through choked sobs, asking pointless questions because he doesn't answer her. He just stands there staring at her through eyes that are alive with excitement. She even screams for help a few times which doesn't wake the unconscious blonde one and only gains a look of pain and desperation from the black man. Her cries will go unheard as no one will hear her, no one but him and his other two possessions.
The woman is a lot more panicky than the others at first. She strains violently against her bonds and cries and pleads. This only excites him further though as he is hearing her scream without even having to inflict any pain on her. He imagines what she will scream like when he does hurt her and the thought is so remarkably sweet. She tires herself out after a while though and eventually just lies there sobbing silently, the occasional whimper escaping her lips every now and then.
He stands there intently, marvelling at her beauty. He runs his eyes over every inch of her body and she squirms uncomfortably under his scrutiny. She has such a petite frame and looks so fragile. But he knows there is a strong soul inside of her. He looks at her perfect porcelain skin and longs to touch it. She certainly does have a beautiful face, her emerald eyes and perfectly shaped lips make her face a beautiful sight to behold. How he longs to smash that beauty to pieces with a hammer or a metal pipe. It would be a beauty in itself to destroy something as beautiful as that. Just to smash and smash until there is nothing left but blood and bone. But he resists the urge and just watches her cry. He will have some fun with her but not to that extent, not yet. Instead he goes over to her bed where she is strapped down and runs his fingers lightly over her hair. She flinches at the touch and tries to move away. He then leans over her so his face is inches away from hers and licks a tear off her cheek, savouring the salty taste of her misery. She squirms in disgust and he lets out a low chuckle. Never taking his eyes off her for a second, he reaches for his tools of torture.
