A/N: Sorry for the wait :) It's mostly been down to illustrating a set of creepy cards ready for valentines day ;). I know I've mentioned my art stuff on here before, and I usually try to refrain from entering my work into my fanfics, but as I'm currently unemployed and freaking out juuuust a little, I'm going to be 'that asshole' and mention my art once again :). I have two pages, one that's book-themed art, one that covers everything else, both linked on my Instagram: liseyschokker. So, if any of you were wanting last-minute horror-themed V-day cards, or prints of books, witches, cats and nudey zodiac ladies etc, go take a peek.
Right. Sorry about that! Enough about creepy art. Here is a less creepy (sort of) chapter for you :). I hope you enjoy it, and I hope it reads okay as it was a bit of a beast to write! But, I think we're finally getting somewhere (woo!). Reviews would be lovely as always :).
Oh, last thing (sorry!): I'm not really a fan of 'earlier/later' scenes, but I was having a lot of trouble getting the tenses to read nicely without having the 'earlier' section of this chapter labelled as such and written as it is now, so, please excuse me if you find this similarly irritating!
"Crap."
Cameron mutters beneath her breath, the word escaping her lips - tinged slightly blue with cold - in a puff of mist. She crouches uncomfortably on top of a tall metal locker and imagines that, under other circumstances, she might find this position highly amusing. Certainly, she would have done so earlier today; rolling her eyes at Foreman's suggestion that things might take a turn for the worse were she to pound the pavements on the seedy side of town alone. The notion had been both exasperating and laughable.
She's not laughing anymore.
EARLIER.
By the time she makes her way onto seventh, the snow is driving down in earnest, and Cameron exits her car with the irritable wish she'd opted for a coat with a hood when she'd headed to work this morning, as well as a pair of gloves. Pulling her scarf (this, at least, she'd found folded on the backseat) up over her nose, she takes quick stock of her surroundings, before heading east towards the more prominent of the factory buildings; a couple of cars parked outside lending her hope that she might find someone able to help her gain access in a less hazardous way than House might appreciate from his team.
I'm not part of his team. I'm just stepping in; Cuddy's orders. I have no obligation to behave moronically just because my one-time boss might find it an amusing tit-bit to pick at.
She ignores her mind's cruel follow-up that House acts as a one-time source for other things also with a narrowing of her eyes.
"Enough."
She warns herself - her voice muffled behind navy wool - and she stalks up the sidewalk towards the hulking block of buildings that seem as good a place to start as any, with snow threatening to rise over the tops of her shoes.
Cardboard covers the majority of the windows of the first building she comes to, and when she approaches the first set of fire doors leading into the respective maze of work-rooms and product holds, she does so with no real expectation of her presence receiving a response. Surprisingly, upon pressing the buzzer centring the intercom, a smoke-ravaged voice greets her sternly
"Yes?"
Explaining her unlikely reason for visiting, she waits as the other end of the line falls silent, before taking a step back in surprise when the heavy click of a lock being pulled back sounds on the other side of the door.
"You're a doctor?"
Her host asks almost accusingly, and she nods, extending a hand that goes ignored.
"I can prove it?"
She offers uncertainly, but the hunched old man staring her down shakes his head and beckons her in with the gruff opinion
"No need, I'll take your word for it. You don't seem like you'd have another reason for wanting to spend time in this shithole, pardon my French. Seems a bit odd for a doctor to come by to do premise checks, though."
"Yes, well, my boss is a bit odd."
Cameron shrugs, suffering an inward grimace as, just like that, she's allowed House the title she's been trying to avoid for the last couple of days.
Why? He's the reason you're here. All good intentions aside, you know it's true. Turns out he doesn't even need to say jump, and you're ready to guess how high and then some.
"So what do you want to see, doctor?"
Her companion asks as they enter a large room kitted with several machines she doesn't have the first clue about, and a selection of desks that had once presumably held computer equipment and now host only a thick layer of dust.
"Allison."
She informs him, before admitting uneasily
"I'm not all too sure."
"Then you being here seems rather pointless."
The old man states bluntly, and she frowns and reasons
"I'm looking for obscurities. By definition, those are hard to anticipate until they're found. I'm not an expert in tyre manufacturing, so I have no idea which part of the plant might be of use to me, but if I see a bottle or bag containing something that could explain the symptoms we've been dealing with at the hospital, I'll know what it is and if it's of use... Incidentally, with this factory being closed, you being here seems... Odd."
She finishes, aware that she's perhaps coming off as a little rude, but to her surprise, her irritation lends her guide a wry grin, and he raises calloused palms in mock surrender.
"Okay, doc, you'll know when you know. As for me, I was originally hired as a caretaker back when we were in business... Not much need for that nowadays, but there's two of us that have been kept on by the owner as he looks to sell to keep an eye on the place and keep unwanted people out."
"Oh? Is that a problem? People trying to get onto the premises?"
"Not here. Mick and I make our appearance known, and there's nothing of any interest here. Any valuable equipment was shipped out months ago, and there's nothing much left that can be taken without considerable effort. Tyres are hardly a hotbed for crime, miss."
"Right. What about the rest of these places? Is that the same deal?"
Cameron asks, ignoring his use of the word 'miss' with mild annoyance.
"Hardly. Most of this block has been empty a good while now, save for the vags."
"There's a lot of homeless?"
"Some, not a lot. And if Mick or I catch them hanging around over this way, we tell them to get lost. In this weather, though, people get desperate, you know?"
"Yeah."
The blonde nods, her hands balled tightly inside her jacket in an attempt to warm them up and her cheeks and nose feeling as though they're made of ice. There's no heating in the building now that it's not being used on a daily basis, and the high ceilings and concrete floors offer little relief from the worsening weather.
"Well, if you want to take a wander round, be my guest, doc. There's not much that's still operational that could do you harm, but my recommendation would be to keep your hands to yourself just the same unless you find one of your, ah, obscurities."
"I will. So it's okay for me to just-"
Cameron trails off as her phone rings in the pocket of her pants, and her host gestures towards her hip and grunts
"Go on, answer it if you need to."
"It's okay, it can wait."
The blonde assures; knowing that if anything drastic were going down in the hospital, the others would text her to get back rather than call for a chat... Not a lot of people call her just to chat.
She smiles thinly and gestures towards a wide set of crumbling stairs.
"It's okay for me to just take a look around?"
"Go ahead. I'll be here waiting; those stairs and my hip no longer get on."
"Alright, I'll be as quick as I can."
Cameron assures, taking the steps two at a time before turning around just before she reaches the next floor.
"Ginger."
"Huh?"
"For your hip. Trust me."
"Shouldn't you be prescribing real medicine?"
"I could, and it would cost you around $200."
"No shit, but that's what doctors do, isn't it? Isn't that why you spend all those years booking up? For the money?"
The old man growls, and Cameron sighs as disappears from sight with the disgruntled reply
"I told you; my team's a little odd."
"Anything?"
"Nothing."
Cameron shakes her head as she makes her way back down the steps to find her curious host stood waiting pointedly beside the door.
"Didn't think so. I told you, there's not much foul play when it comes to tyres."
"I've read several articles suggesting that's not strictly true, but in this instance, it seems you might be right."
The blonde sighs, before thanking her new acquaintance for his assistance and allowing him to lead her out.
"Well, good luck finding whatever it is you're looking for."
"Thank you."
"And don't wait too long to get out of here; that snow's coming down thick."
"How do you know I have a way to go?"
She challenges with a frown.
"Sweetheart, I could spy you on the other side of the street and three blocks down and know you aren't from around here."
"I don't live far."
"Not if we're talking miles or minutes, but that's not what I meant."
"Yeah... Well, I can handle it. I'm just doing my job."
"I never said otherwise, just that you would be foolish to wait too long on account of the weather."
The old man reasons, raising a scruffy eyebrow at the blonde who appears visibly flustered in response.
"Right. I won't wait too long."
Cameron agrees in a low voice; privately blaming her defensive approach to a well-meant suggestion entirely on House and hating the fact that her internal frustration is likely something they have in common.
We have very little in common.
Mmm... Convincing...
"Take care."
Her irritable musing gets interrupted, and she extracts a numb hand from her jacket just long enough to raise it to her guide, before shoving it back deep against the lining and turning away. The snow is thicker now, and she walks slowly as she tries to keep from letting it enter her shoes; not quite ankle boots, and not quite flats, and thus a ridiculous choice of footwear to be playing Sherlock in this weather.
"Just get it over with."
She mutters under her breath as she pulls out her phone and offers it a scowl as she spies that her missed call had been from House. Pulling a face; she pulls up her voicemail option with a sigh of resignation and pushes her phone to her ear beneath her hair to try and save it from the continuous flurry.
"You better not be doing what I think you're doing-"
House's voice warns her sternly, and she hangs up with an angry expulsion of air from her nose before allowing his message to further wind her up as was surely his intention.
"Ass."
She remarks, making her way around the corner and onto the premises of an adjacent building. A glance at some of the partially removed signage has her heart beating a little faster as she recognises several of the brand names visible as gardening aids, and the litany of chemicals and undesirable crap that make up household pest deterrents seem much more promising to answer their questions than any tyre factory would be. That is, apart from the fact that - as her new friend had suggested - her incessant pressing of the buzzer goes unanswered.
"Well, I guess this is what I was expecting."
She mutters, as this less-than-ideal situation seems much more in keeping with her memories of toeing the legal line when under House's tuition. Looking around, she spots a couple of good-sized rocks half-submerged in the snow - presumably once offered for sale to those wishing to kit out their pond or patio - and she picks one up with a wince; the purple tinge to her nailbeds visible in the failing light as her fingers tremble slightly with cold.
"Next time, Forman can do this. Stereotyping at its finest, or not."
She grumbles, carrying the rock back to the door and using it to smash against the lock after a quick glance over her shoulder to check for unwanted company. It gives with surprising ease, and she pauses with a slight frown as the heavy door creaks open with very little force. Taking a step into the entranceway, she almost trips over a couple of strips of rotting sod, and retrieves her phone once again to utilise the torch function.
I don't like this... Don't like this at all.
A familiar mantra from her years being coerced into accepting tasks way out of her comfort zone, mixed with just a hint of something else - something... Well... Something validating - that she tries to ignore.
Stuff like this always made you uncomfortable, but that's when he liked you best. When you were nervous or doubtful but pulled through anyway.
"Don't romanticise that. Of course he liked you best when you were bending to his wishes and squirming while at it. Don't mistake smug satisfaction with being proud."
She hisses through gritted teeth, and she replays House's voicemail in her head as she makes her way carefully into a dark room filled with assorted machinery.
You better not be doing what I think you're doing.
A bit fucking rich!
Teasing almost, and while she's certain that they will somehow, someway get back to their familiar shtick of him making her feel like crap, and her letting him... Right now, she isn't in the mood.
Not when she's freezing her ass off in a creepy old warehouse in the middle of a snowstorm with the sky swiftly turning from bruised indigo to a pale moon cutting through ink.
"This was such a good idea, Allie. Really, one of your finest!"
She reprimands herself as she peers over the top of a giant barrel to find nothing but rust coating the insides.
Still, this place feels weird. There's a smell - a smell beneath the more prominent odour of soil and ammonia - and while she can't quite place it exactly, she's bothered by it. It's neither unpleasant nor offensive, and yet...
"... It's not right."
She mutters, and she pulls her jacket more securely to her slim frame and resolves that she'll complete her inspection of this building and then call it a night; her nerves suddenly all over the place and her chest tight with cold.
Coming to a stop in a gangway leading to what looks like some sort of office or control room and whatever lies beyond its doors, she crouches down to study a couple of sealed bags of slug repellant that have been discarded in a relatively orderly pile. Submitting to a moment of darkness, she sacrifices her phone's torch function for the camera instead and takes a couple of pictures with the flash on; hoping she's captured enough of the ingredients listed to be of some use.
She resorts back to torchlight swiftly.
Stepping into the control room, her brow furrows as she spies several items on one of the workbenches and understands what she'd smelled earlier.
Malt liquor. Five cans, most likely empty, and an ashtray packed full of cigarette butts.
That shouldn't be here.
A panicked voice in her head warns her, and she tries to appease it with a more patient voice of reason.
Why not? Vagrants. Kids. Either of them would take up shelter somewhere like this. Just look how easy it was to get in...
She isn't truly convinced, but she's come this far, and she knows a factory like this must have a warehouse or stock shed where she'll find more noxious chemicals than those used in a couple of bags of slug repellant. That, and she doesn't exactly relish the idea of returning to House and the boys and having to explain she'd opted to take off after being spooked by a couple of cans of Schlitz.
Sighing (and wondering why she didn't choose to become a vet instead) she forces herself to walk to the back of the room and try one of the doors. Stepping back, she wrinkles her nose as she's accosted by a smell she knows all too well.
Bathrooms.
Male, by the stench and the urinals, and she shifts her weight uneasily as she tries - yet again - to convince herself that the freshness of that unpleasant aroma is nothing to worry about.
"Just kids."
She mutters, trying another room with little luck as she opens the door to some mops and an industrial-sized hoover. She takes a couple of snaps of the backs of the cleaning products just to be diligent, before switching her phone back to torch mode and coming to a stop in front of a door bearing a small, plastic plaque.
FAULTY GOODS/ RETURNS
She tries to let herself in, but finds the door to be locked; not that odd, save for the fact that the method appears to be a couple of slide locks on the outside of the door.
Don't go in there, are you crazy?!
"Well... I've come this far, so who can say..."
Cameron murmurs, and she supposes that while she is arguably in possession of knowledge concerning a remarkably vast array of fields and topics, chemical factories are not one of those areas, and her wariness over what she perceives to be a rather odd choice of locking mechanism is likely nothing but a result of her nerves.
Probably.
"Go in, get out, the rest can wait until morning. At least now we know there's stuff worth looking into out here."
Yes, and with a couple more poor-quality pictures taken in the dark to prove it, she won't need to suffer through the others groaning at the fact that they'll likely be sent out in a small team (that is until they realise they'll avoid Clinic duty) as she will have well and truly played her part.
You already have, and then some! This isn't about Foreman bitching at having to play hood-rat, and you know it. It isn't about trying to avoid spending the day poking through compost with Thirteen whilst enduring unwelcome comparisons. It's not even about denying Taub a reason to question your abilities or worth to the case... It's about House. House, and the fact that six shitty pictures will lend him that smug fucking smile as he asks you what kept you from looking around the rest of the place when it would have taken you only a little while longer. House calling you out on being a little girl spooked by her imagination and privilege, and with the way you currently feel about everything, there's a chance that him doing so will make you do something stupid. There's a chance he'll make you cry; not obviously, not publically, and the others probably wouldn't even notice. Wouldn't even know. But he will. He'll know.
"Not happening."
She hisses, and she thumbs open the locks one at a time before peering around the door. It leads to a stairwell, which really looks more like an ominous black hole with the lack of light, but the blonde's frustration over the events of the last couple of days forces her onwards, and it's only when she's halfway down iron steps with narrow gaps between the treads that she realises she's moved her hand to cover her nose.
"Fuck."
She murmurs, replacing her hand with her scarf and breathing in the familiar scent of her detergent mixed with rain. It helps mask the smell of this place, but it doesn't cover it completely, and the quick hammering of her heart now has very little to do with excitement or vindication, and a lot to do with the fact that she's come across that foul odour before. Unlike the men's bathrooms, this isn't fresh. This isn't normal. This is animalistic; it's not just piss and shit, it's blood and sweat and fear.
Okay, that's it. Turn around, get out, now.
Yes, whatever that smell is or how it originated, she suddenly decides she doesn't give two fucks - and who's counting?! - whether House calls her out on making herself scarce or not. Hell, she'll just challenge him to take a look for himself, and she really couldn't care less right now whether he chooses to take her up on her offer or simply rolls his eyes. She wants out. Badly.
Turning around and making her way back up the stairs, she frowns as the light of her phone catches something unsettling further up. Swallowing as she makes the horrifying confirmation that what she thought she'd seen is in fact what she is seeing - marks, nail marks; scratches littering the wood of the door - she bites back a scream as a loud bang sounds from the other side of the door, followed by a beam of yellow light spilling around its perimeter.
"Shit. Shit, shit, shit..."
She breathes, and she shoves her phone inside her jacket pocket to drown out the light of the torch before taking the only option available to her and making her way blindly down the stairs. Groping in the dark, her eyes adjust to the shadows just enough to make out a row of shelves and lockers stacked with a couple of neglected sacks and pots lining a small room about six by seven feet in all, the floor sticky with something she doesn't want to think about.
It's kids. Just kids, or someone wanting shelter from the snow, it's-
But such naive hopefulness no longer flies, and she scolds herself furiously for being so goddamned stupid - so fucking egotistical and wrapped up in this mess with House - as she does all she can think of to do and shins her way up onto one of the shelves, and further onto the metal locker.
The locker is deep, and when she shuffles back and crouches low, she's mostly hidden behind a couple of bags of fertiliser and a thick snake of cable.
"Crap".
She mutters now; her breath misting in the cold air and her hands shaking while her side aches miserably in light of her recent acrobatics.
There is nothing laughable about this situation.
Nothing at all.
You'll just have to wait it out... Wait it out and hope to god that they don't realise those latches have been opened. Pray they don't shut you in here.
Or worse.
"Shush."
She hisses, aware that her voice trembles a little.
It will be okay, it has to, it will be okay, it will be-
She stills, her eyes wide and her expression horrified as her phone begins ringing in her pocket.
No, no, no, shut up, shut up! Shut up!
She scrambles as she tries to pull the traitorous device from her jacket, cursing House hysterically as his name shows up on the screen, before that hateful noise stops and a small icon lets her know that a message is being recorded.
"Fuck!"
She accuses her cell as several panicked tears escape down her cheek, and she bites her lip between her teeth as the voices on the other side of the door have fallen ominously silent.