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: Wow, I haven't updated this in forever! Really sorry about that, life and everything. This is the last chapter in this story, it's been great writing it. Thanks so much for all the people who have taken the time to read and review, it makes it all worthwhile =]
Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of its characters, I wish I did but we can't all have everything can we?
A loud tap-tap-tapping on his apartment door awoke House from his slumber. He had been watching TV when he had fallen asleep but was glad for the wakeup call. Since the horror two months ago, he didn't like to sleep and tried to stay awake for as long as possible. Every time he closed his eyes and drifted off, instead of finding himself in dream land, he would be in a continuous loop of blood and torture. He would see the Collector's face clear and vivid in his mind and would hear him saying, "Such beautiful eyes" over and over again like whispers on the wind.
It was due to his borderline Insomnia, amongst other things, that House wasn't ready to go back to work. He longed to solve cases again and to keep his mind occupied but even if he wanted to go back to the hospital, he would be sent home again. His fear of sleep which he couldn't see coming to an end any time soon, would prevent him from working at full capacity. The cuts from the experience where still deep and raw for him and for everyone. But he was trying to heal, God was he trying.
House reached for his cane and limped to the door. He opened it to find Wilson standing on the other side. Wilson smiled in greeting and House noticed Wilson's false tooth he'd had fitted a month ago. To any other person it would look like an ordinary tooth, but House couldn't help looking at it every time Wilson smiled. It was a constant reminder of what happened, there were reminders in many forms on everyone who had the bad luck to be involved in the ordeal.
"You ready to go?" Wilson asked.
"Yeah, I'm ready." House shut the door behind him and they both made their way outside to Wilson's car and got inside. Wilson started up the engine and pulled away from the curb. House looked through the side window that was full of condensation due to the cold weather outside. He looked at his apartment until they rounded the corner and it disappeared from view.
"How's Foreman?" he asked Wilson who had been to see Foreman before he stopped at House's place. He went to see how Foreman was doing at least once a week. House had been a couple of times, but not as much as Wilson. He wasn't as good as Wilson in those situations; he never knew what to say.
"He's doing better. He told me that the doctors think he'll be out of the wheelchair in a few of months and then he'll be able to walk around on crutches until his legs are fully healed. As long as he keeps up with his rehab, he should be okay. I think he's just frustrated that he can't go back to work."
House thought that out of all of them, Foreman had got the worst end of the deal physically and he felt a pang of guilt every time he thought about it. That was the main reason he couldn't go and see Foreman as often as he'd like. Every time he saw him in that wheelchair he couldn't stop the little voice in the back of his mind saying, "All because he was close to you." He knew that the Collector, or Gary Patterson as he was later revealed to be named, was solely responsible for this mess but he couldn't help thinking it. Patterson was still causing damage even after his death.
Physically, Cameron and Chase were doing better than Foreman but they had both been to counselling a couple of times in the past two months. Cameron's cuts and bruises had healed up and her face left no evidence of what had happened. Chase however had a three inch scar on his forehead so he would be reminded of the past every time he looked in the mirror. But he didn't need to look at the scar to be reminded. House knew that the past would never be erased for any of them, no matter how hard they tried to forget. For some of them the scars would heal and for some of them the wounds would still hurt. Only time would tell.
House looked at the passing streetlights and saw a fine stream of silver crystals falling to the ground. It had started to rain.
"You see the news today?" asked Wilson, interrupting House's thoughts.
"Yeah. They're still talking about it. I wish they'd just let it die."
"I know. If they keep uncovering bodies like this though, I don't think they'll stop talking about Patterson for a long time. He'll probably go down in history along with Ted Bundy, the BTK Killer and all the other serial killers."
After finding the partial fingerprint on the syringe left at the chapel, the police had been able to find out Patterson's real name and ultimately his residence. He had a previous conviction sixteen years ago for assault on a woman he took home after meeting her in a bar. He had changed his name over the years and switched his identity, he was very careful. Not careful enough though. He had registered his home under his real name when he moved in twenty years ago, seven years before he went on his killing spree and killed his first victim. During those seven years, he had modified his basement, making it soundproof and turning into his perfect torture chamber.
He had changed his name to Alfred O'Brienafter killing his first victim. Nobody in his quiet neighbourhood had batted an eyelid at his name change because nobody knew he'd changed it. He never spoke to any of his neighbours and kept himself to himself and lied when he told the police officers that questioned him about the burglary at the Greene residence that they were "lovely people." The Greene's later said that they had never spoken to him since they moved into the neighbourhood three years ago. They were quoted saying on one of the news stations, "It's a huge shock, we hardly ever saw the man. He was like a phantom, only appearing every now and then."
He was always switching and in-between jobs; he was a master a deception. Since the incident two months ago, the police had found twelve bodies buried in his backyard, all with organs or body parts missing. Detective Bowman who was determined to finish the case, even if it killed him, had told House grimly that they expected to find more bodies.
"Cuddy said that she wished you'd call more often. She's worried about you House," exclaimed Wilson, stopping at a red light.
House snorted, "More like she's longing for the eye candy to get back to the hospital. You and I both know that she's had the hotts for me ever since I asked her if she'd had a boob job because a woman of her age couldn't have breasts that pert naturally."
Wilson laughed and so did House. It felt good to be able to laugh after all that had happened. It was progress, even if it was only small.
House looked out of the window at the rain again. Small tears of blue and silver trickled down his window, intertwining and merging into one another to become bigger tears. Tears. Tears that he hadn't shed since the night Wilson was took by Patterson.
"I'm sorry," House muttered, barely above a whisper.
"Hm?" said Wilson, looking at House and then back at the road.
"I'm sorry Wilson. I never had a chance to say it since the night you were taken, so I'm saying it now."
Wilson looked at House fully now as they reached their destination and parked the car.
"Don't you ever say that again House. You have nothing to be sorry for. None of this was your fault and you need to stop blaming yourself because none of us do. You should know firsthand how strong some people can be. We'll all get over this, maybe never fully, but in time we'll heal... and so will you."
There were truth to Wilson's words and House felt a little better that someone else had said out loud what he'd been trying to convince himself of over the past two months.
House gave Wilson a grateful smile and checked his watch, "You going to help a cripple with his things then?"
Wilson smiled and they both got out of the car and made their way to the trunk. Wilson opened the lid and hauled out a suitcase with visible effort.
"Jesus! What have you got in here?" he panted, placing it on the floor and pulling out the handle so he could drag it on its wheels.
"The whole female cast of Baywatch. You'd think it wouldn't be as heavy seeing as they're all so thin. Must be the breast implants."
House and Wilson stood there in the rain, looking at the airport. The sound of aeroplanes taking off and landing were muffled by the sound of the heavy rain fall.
House took the suitcase from Wilson and turned to face him. There was an awkward silence.
"There's no chance of you reaching the airport doors and me shouting after you, making you stay and right on cue the cheesy music starts playing and we all live happily ever after is there?" Wilson half joked. He knew it was pointless. House needed to leave, he needed time. And Wilson knew he had to let him.
"Well your straight man image just flew right out of the window there didn't it Jimmy?" said House with a smirk.
"When will you be back?"
House looked thoughtful, "I... don't know Wilson. When I can look at the others without feeling guilty. When I can dream without seeing his face."
Wilson understood all too well. "Well Cuddy said that your job will be waiting for you when you get back. She's put her neck on the line for you; make sure you repay her by coming back one day and being an ass to her like always."
Wilson smiled but House could see the sheen of tears in his eyes even through the rain. House blinked back his own. He didn't think it would be this hard.
"I will," said House, his eyes blue eyes solemn and truthful. "I will."
He put his hand on Wilson's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He didn't need to say anything more; everything that needed to be said had been said.
He took hold of his suitcase and made his way to the airport entrance and through the doors out of the rain. He didn't allow himself to look back.
He checked in and made his way to his flight just as it was boarding. He got as comfortable as he could and within twenty minutes the plane was in the air, leaving New Jersey behind. He looked out of the window and down at the city, each yellow light like a candle in the dark.
House knew he was doing the right thing, even if it was really hard. He had left his apartment, motorcycle and everything else that he couldn't bring with him in the care of Wilson. He had enough money in his savings to live comfortably for quite a while. He wasn't going to stay away forever, he knew that for certain. Maybe he'd stay away for a couple of months, a year... maybe longer. But he would be back, he'd go home eventually. He couldn't leave his job forever, it was in his blood. And he couldn't leave Wilson either.
He hoped that the pain of the experience would fade for them all. He hoped that the wounds would heal. And as the lights of New Jersey gradually faded as they climbed higher into the clouds, he noticed that one light burned bright longer than the others through the rain. House smiled. Maybe he would be able to sleep without nightmares, one day.
Fin.
