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: I'm sorry I've taken so long with this chapter. Exams, exams, exams. But I've finally broken up for the summer now so hope I can get this baby finished. Again, thanks for all the reads and reviews, really appreciate it.
Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters (wishes she owned Dr House)
Back at the hospital, Cuddy was going out of her mind with worry. She received a call about forty minutes ago at her home from Detective Bowman who informed her of the grim news that not long after Wilson had been taken, House was the next to go.
She was now sitting in her office frustrated by the fact that there was nothing for her to do but wait. She stood up and paced the length of her office for a while. She then sat down. Then she paced again. She tried to do some paperwork but couldn't concentrate. She picked up the phone contemplating calling Bowman and asking if they'd found anything at the chapel yet but he told her that if they found anything he would call her right away, so she put the phone back in its receiver.
She couldn't believe the scale of horror one person could create in just a few days. House and all of his team were gone, nobody certain whether they were dead or alive. She refused to give up hope though and she refused to succumb to tears. If she cried for them all, she might as well tell herself that they were all dead and she didn't want to believe that. She would keep on hoping and praying that they were alive and would not shed one tear unless she was presented with bodies.
Cuddy looked at the phone on her desk wishing Bowman would call. Then, as if by sheer strength of will, it did in fact begin to ring. She picked up the receiver before it even got to the second ring.
"Hello, Dr Cuddy's speaking."
"Hello Dr Cuddy, it's Detective Bowman here. I think we may have just caught a lucky break."
Cuddy's heart leapt. Please let something come of this lead, please.
Bowman continued to inform her. "I've got forensics over here doing a sweep of the chapel and we found the syringe the guy must have used to drug House. We didn't think anything would come of it because he'd always left clean ones at the previous scenes but this one has got a partial finger print on the plunger. He must have wiped it clean but missed a bit. He probably left it for us to find so we would know that it was him who took House, but he slipped up this time by not cleaning it fully."
"So will you have an ID on this guy soon?" Cuddy asked hopefully.
"We're going to run the print through our database now. If the guy has been prosecuted for a previous conviction and has a file, we'll find him."
"How long will that take you?"
"It depends. There are a lot of people on file. We might get lucky and make a match quickly or we may have to wait a while. We're still checking all other avenues in case this one doesn't work out. I'll call you if anything comes up."
"Thank-you Detective." Cuddy hung up and placed her head in her hands. She hoped to God that the guy would be on file and if he was, it wouldn't take too long to make a match. If House and the others were still alive, she hoped they could hang on long enough to be saved.
XXX
The Collector hums happily to himself as he rummages through his toolbox in his kitchen to find the drill. He is eager to get back to work on Casanova and that winning smile of his. He's having so much fun with his collection and will be sad when it's over, but in the long run, the reward will be much greater than the loss.
He knows he saw the drill somewhere but it's not in his toolbox. Maybe he left it in the garage. He stands up and starts to walk across the kitchen when he is stilled by a knock on the door. He's not expecting anybody but he doesn't worry at all. Instead, he calmly takes off his apron, gloves and boots and puts them out of sight in one of the kitchen cabinets. He then pulls on a tatty old sweater that is resting on one of the kitchen stools to cover up the few splatters of blood on the sleeves of his white shirt.
He walks out of the kitchen and down the hall to his front door, taking his time, never rushing. He opens the front door and is not frightened but merely curious when he sees two uniformed policemen staring back at him.
House knew this would be his only chance to do something. He wanted to say something to the others but he knew that he couldn't waste even a second of this opportunity. He had no idea how long the freak would be up there but he guessed it wouldn't be for very long and this made the sickly feeling of fear churn in his stomach, spurring him into action.
He knew there was no way he could struggle out of the rope that bound his hands so he needed something to cut it with. He looked at the tray beside Wilson's bed and his eyes came to rest on the scalpel on top of it. He needed to get that scalpel.
The Collector hadn't tied his legs to the chair, probably because he knew that only one of them was in working order and just one leg wouldn't be much help to him. But when a person has fear, panic and a desire to live within him, he's willing to do anything. For the first time in his life, House wanted to live.
He tried to move his bad leg and let out a sharp hiss when stab of pain travelled up his leg and through his body. Ignoring the pain as best he could, he let his bad leg go limp and with his other good leg, he began to drag himself, along with the chair across the room.
The Collector gives the officers his most pleasant smile and says, "Hello Officers, what brings you here?"
One of the officers, a fresh faced blonde man speaks first. "You are Alfred O'Brien is that correct?"
"Yes, that's correct." It was an alias of course, he had many false identities. "Am I under arrest or something?"
"No, no. Nothing like that Mr O'Brien. We're just patrolling the area and questioning residents about a burglary that occurred at the Greene residence down the street a few days ago."
"Oh yes I heard about that. Terrible thing to happen to that couple, such lovely people."
So he hasn't been found out after all, it's just an innocent inquiry about a burglary. He knew it wasn't possible as he's always so careful when carrying out his work. He's very irritated by this sudden interruption though. He wants to get back downstairs to continue his fun and even though the two policemen are here on an entirely unrelated matter, nevertheless, it's still dangerous to have two cops standing on your doorstep.
"They are very nice people," the cop continued. "Had a lot stolen from them too. We'd just like to ask you a few questions if that's okay?"
The Collector wants to get rid of these two parasites as quickly as possible. He smiles, "Of course."
House let out a grunt of pain and effort as the chair moved an inch forward. The chair was heavier than it looked which didn't help in getting to the tray. He stretched his good leg forward once again and pulled himself a couple of inches closer. He did it again, this time rocking his body forward to gain more distance.
Every muscle in his body burned. His leg was throbbing. His hand had begun to bleed again. Sweat dripped into his eyes, making them sting. He was breathing heavily, but he was getting closer, closer to his goal. The others were watching him intently, silently willing him on.
House pulled himself forward again, the chair making loud scraping noises on the floor and leaving a black trail mark on the white floor. He wasn't worried about the Collector hearing him; he guessed the room was soundproof due to the fact that there wasn't an echo in there. He knew he had to get the scalpel now. If the Collector came back before he got it and saw that House had attempted to move... he didn't want to think about the consequences.
House was almost there now. He thought he was going to black out from the pain but he kept his eyes on the tray through his blurred vision. He realised that he had tears streaming from his eyes from the sheer effort it took to move himself and the chair.
When he finally reached the tray, he had a quick five second rest and shimmed the chair around so his left side was facing the tray. The hard part wasn't over yet.
The Collector is getting tired of the tedious questions the officers are asking him but he answers them politely and swiftly. He doesn't want to seem irritated, he just acts like any other law abiding citizen who is only too happy to help with their inquiry.
"And just one last question Mr O'Brien, did you see any unusual cars parked in the street that night?"
The Collector makes a show of thinking about it for a second; he makes it look as if he really cares about apprehending this awful burglar.
"I'm sorry but I really don't think I did. Everything seemed to be in place, nothing out of the ordinary really. It was just like any other night."
"Okay, well thanks very much for your help and give us a call if you remember anything that you think might be useful."
"I sure will Officer and I hope you catch whoever it was soon. Give the Greene's my regards."
He watches the two officers get back into their patrol vehicle and gives them a little wave before he shuts the door. Now he's more eager than ever to get back to his game downstairs, cursing the scum who's just interrupted him.
He puts his apron, boots and gloves back on and heads to his garage to find the drill.
Now House had his left side facing the tray, he knew this would take all of his strength and cause him a great deal of pain but he didn't think about it. He took a deep breath and with a cry of anguish he distributed most of his weight, but not all, on to his good leg and stood up with the chair on his back like a turtle shell, the legs sticking out at the back.
He was shaking and his legs were bent, his bad leg was painfully protesting against the weight but he had to lean on both legs or else he'd risk losing his balance and if he fell, he wouldn't be able to get back up again and it would be over. Now that he was half standing, the top of the tray was level with his waist, level with his tied hands. He stood alongside it as close as he could get and taking care not to knock the tray with the chair legs, grasped for the scalpel with his fingers. He brushed the metal object but didn't manage to pick it up.
His whole body was shaking now. He couldn't stay up for much longer. His strength was quickly being drained from him. In one last attempt to get the scalpel, he stretched his fingers and caught it between his forefinger and middle finger. He grasped it tightly in his left hand as if it were his life, taking extreme care not to drop it.
He sat back down again in the chair, letting out an almighty breath as he did so. He knew he had no time to rest though and began to frantically cut at the thick ropes.
The Collector smiles as he finds the drill on his work surface in the garage. He unplugs it from the power socket and carries it back to the basement with him.
He twists the knob on the door and starts to descend the steps. Even before he's two steps down he knows something is wrong.
House's heart almost stopped when he heard the door at the top of the steps being opened. He hadn't cut all the way through the ropes yet, he needed more time!
"House," Wilson said in an urgent, frightened whimper.
House began to cut frantically through the ropes, his hands and wrists burning. He was almost there but didn't know if he'd make it by the time the Collector got to him. He could hear the Collector coming down the stairs at a much faster pace now.
The Collector descends the steps briskly. He sees that somehow House has managed to drag himself all the way over to Wilson's bed and is now looking at him with pure panic and desperation in his eyes.
The Collector is impressed with House's strength of will, so strong. But this defiance cannot go unpunished. He walks over to House with a look of disappointment on his face and tuts at him as if scolding a naughty child.
"House you disappoint me. Come on; let's get you back to where you were."
The Collector barely has time to react as House stands up to face him and in one swift motion, the light reflecting off the scalpels shiny surface, slashes his throat.
House watched as a jet of blood spurted from the Collectors neck and sprayed on to his face. He heard the scalpel hit the floor with a clang as he let it slip through his fingers. He slumped back in the chair, all of his energy gone.
The Collector had a look of pure shock on his face as he desperately tried to hold some of the blood in with his hands but it was no good. House made sure he had hit all of the major arteries. He stumbled backwards until his back came into contact with the wall and he slid down it on to the floor, with his hands still round his throat.
House looked at the Collector, the man who had caused them so much anguish, the man who had hurt them all, and for the first time, he saw fear in those cold, grey eyes. He saw a realisation that he was going to die. Blood stained his shirt and apron, his face was drained of all colour, he was taking his last breaths.
It's funny... he feels scared. For the first time in his life, he is scared. He looks at the man who has caused his death, he looks at House. If it's anyone, he's glad it's him.
He's finding it hard to breathe now. He lets his hands fall from his throat and come to rest on the floor. Darkness creeps into the sides of his vision and he carries on looking at House. The darkness has completely overcome him now, and the last things he sees before he dies, the things that even the darkness cannot overcome are House's eyes, those deep blue, piercing eyes.
House watched as the Collector took his last breath and closed his eyes. His body slumped sideways, no life left in him.
House was struggling to stay conscious now. He heard the basement door burst open and managed to stay awake long enough to see Detective Bowman and a whole lot of other officers coming down the stairs with guns in tow.
House let his head fall back against the headrest of the chair and thought with an ironic smile before blacking out, "Now you guys show up."
