Chapter 43 – Behind Closed Doors
It was quite the change, going from living with House to living with Wilson and Julie. Living with House, more or less, had held more of the feeling of living with one of my male friends. Picking up after his messiness while still being kind of gross in my own right, eating too much, watching lame movies, and playing video games. Loud music prevailed. House and I were basically on top of each other, granting us both little to no privacy. I struggled with a constantly left up toilet seat, we bickered a fair amount, and there was a lot of unmistakable guy odor that I had to (in vain) try to Febreeze out of everything.
Meanwhile, Wilson and Julie's house was an immaculate masterpiece straight out of Better Homes and Gardens, attended to diligently by their maid. The place always smelled of one of the fancy candles Julie had scattered around, and it all felt so big and... well, empty. It was a three bedroom, 2,500 square foot home that only typically had two occupants, both of whom were at work more than home.
Empty. Clean. Peaceful. Quiet. No sounds of traffic outside, really, and the most noise I heard was when the neighborhood dogs got going, or if one of their neighbors decided to mow the grass.
More often than not, I had the house to myself. Wilson, workhorse as he was, was generally at the hospital almost all day. Julie, as I found out, was a middle school English teacher. But on top of being at work from seven to four each day, she also was the local Methodist church's sexton, so she spent most of her evenings at church functions.
Julie spent her evenings at St. James's, while her own James spent his evenings slumped over at his desk, or hanging out with House.
I was slowly starting to see the potential for disaster, here.
It really seemed like the two of them were more like ships passing in the night than an actual married couple. It was almost as if Wilson had been given the choice between House and Julie, and he'd overwhelmingly chosen House... and now Julie and he just lived with each other out of convenience.
"...it's like I'm at a funeral for their marriage," I explained to Zach one day, while we were laboring over inventory at work. "I'm watching the coffin being put into the ground and everything."
"Is Julie a bitch, or something? Or is your dad's friend the bitch?" Zach asked, lifting a box of creamer and putting it back in its rightful spot.
"It's not that simple. I don't actually know why they're so... fucky," I finished unspectacularly, unable to find a better word.
"Fucky?" Zach repeated with a snort.
"You know what I mean."
"Not really," he replied. "Why are you staying with them, anyway? Didn't you have anyone else you could've crashed with while your dad deals with the mob guys?"
I chewed thoughtfully on my bottom lip. "I mean, I guess there's people I could have asked... but it would've been kind of awkward."
The only person I could really imagine asking something like that of would be Cameron, if only because I knew she would say yes. But while I liked Cameron, I didn't know how well staying with her would go.
Zach was quiet for a few moments, then eventually said, "You could've just asked me, you know. My roommates wouldn't have cared, and my apartment isn't too bad."
I looked up at him, forgetting the inventory sheet in my hands. "You really would've let me stay?"
Zach seemed to think that was a dumb question. "Duh. We've worked together for awhile. You're cool. We're friends, right?"
I didn't immediately answer, a little dumbfounded by his frankness.
"Or are we just like those awkward job friends who avoid each other outside of work?" he tacked on after a moment passed.
"No, no. We're friends, Zach. We're definitely friends." You're one of the only ones I have. "I just didn't know you'd be willing to put up with me when we're not here."
"You think you're a lot more annoying than you actually are," Zach observed.
I laughed. "I'll take that as a compliment."
We went back to work after that, but I couldn't help feel a little bit lighter. It was nice to have a friend all my own. One that was my age, and not a fictional character I previously worshiped.
Talk about refreshing.
It was my third night at Wilson and Julie's, and Wilson was nowhere to be found. A quick text to House confirmed my theory that the two of them were together, watching a taped monster truck rally at House's apartment. Julie had been home since about four, and she hadn't left. She'd been on the phone for awhile, and now, judging by the cooking smells wafting through the house, she was making dinner.
Deciding I ought to at least try to be social, I wandered downstairs. Julie was in the kitchen working at the counter, dicing up a green pepper.
"Whatever you're making smells amazing," I told her from the doorway.
Julie didn't jump at my voice. She just chuckled. "I thought it might lure you down here. You like quesadillas?"
"I pretty much just love food in general."
"Now that, I like to hear. Go ahead and sit down. It shouldn't take me too long to make this," she said.
A little apprehensively, I seated myself at their large kitchen table. Needlessly large, considering it was rare that even Julie and Wilson were here for dinner at the same time.
I tapped my knuckles on the table, trying to drum up decent conversation. "You're a really good cook," I told her. Julie cooked every night she was home, and often made breakfast as well, and everything of hers that I'd sampled thus far was incredibly tasty. It was a wonder Wilson ever ate over at House's apartment, where eighty percent of our 'home-cooked' meals were Spaghetti-Os or ramen noodles.
"I was raised in a pretty food-oriented household. My parents owned a short-order diner in Trenton when I was growing up."
We chatted idly about that for a few minutes, and I felt a surge of inexplicable gratitude for the opportunity I was being afforded. I was learning about someone that was barely ever touched on in canon, almost like I was privy to some great secret. I was seeing behind the curtain, the ever-so-mysterious Mrs. Wilson the Third.
If I ever got back to my own universe, I could be one hell of a fanfic writer. Talk about insider information.
"You grew up in Harrisburg, right?" Julie eventually asked.
"Yep. It was just me and Mom. She was a teacher, too."
I wished I didn't have to omit my brother and father from my past, but unfortunately, I didn't really have a choice, as Patrick and Dad definitely wouldn't jive with my House MD universe tragic back story.
I mean, my back story was a little tragic... but I still had both my parents. In the sense that they were alive, anyway. Not necessarily in the sense that I would ever see them again.
I forced myself to ignore the childlike wave of homesickness that gnawed at my gut, trying to keep a pleasant smile on my face.
"Oh really? What did she teach?" Julie inquired.
"American History. She taught at my high school."
"She was in the big leagues." Julie smiled. "Kudos to her, I could never really figure out teenagers. Not kids, but not adults... that's why I decided to teach middle school. I can wrap my head around tweens a little better."
"Ha, my mom was the exact opposite. She said for the most part, teenagers were just tiny, confused adults with authority issues... and middle school kids were just explosive."
"She's not wrong there," Julie conceded. "When you're stuck halfway between teenager and child, it's a pretty messy time. But I have fun with them." She glanced at me over her shoulder. "You're planning on med school, aren't you?"
I grinned. "I've got a meeting with the finance supervisor at Princeton Med tomorrow. I'm due to start next semester, and I got a full-ride. I just have to pay for my text books... which aren't exactly cheap, but I'll figure out something."
"What kind of doctor do you want to be?"
"I'm thinking of doing a double specialty. Immunology and infectious disease."
"That's very ambitious," Julie commented, seemingly impressed. "Hope you like late nights and coffee."
"I'll learn to like it." I smiled. "It's my dream, you know? It won't be easy, but I'm ready to do whatever it takes."
"That's a good attitude to have," she said, stirring the mixture of peppers and onions she had in her skillet. "Just don't let it turn you into my husband."
"Um..." Yikes. This was the kind of conversation I'd been hoping to avoid. "To be honest, I kind of look up to Wilson. I always have." I realize she would think "always have" translated into roughly seven months, when in reality, it was eight, almost nine years.
Julie sighed heavily. "He's a very good doctor. He cares about his patients."
I'd never heard someone say that in such a disparaging way. "He picked a pretty rough specialty."
"He sees a lot of death. It ages a man." She served me my quesadilla with a side of Spanish rice, than sat down across from me with her own plate. "He's wrapped up in his work. So much so that I feel like he barely lives here, anymore."
"I uh, I know the feeling. House is at the hospital way more than he's home." I dug into my meal.
"Here's the difference: House, he's just obsessive. James, he's... avoiding."
"What is he avoiding?" I couldn't help but ask through a mouthful of chicken and peppers.
"Pain," Julie said cryptically. "He and House are a lot more alike than either of them realize."
I had no idea how to respond to that. Julie seemed to notice how uncomfortable I was, and quickly changed the subject, asking me about Princeton and if I was excited for school. The conversation melted into pretty standard small talk from there, and I was grateful for it.
There were obviously a lot of things going on between Wilson and Julie that I couldn't even begin to understand. I felt eerily as though I was in the position that I'd gone to a zoo intending to look at the two hyenas circling each other from outside the glass, but had somehow ended up inside. I didn't know what had led the two of them to where they were; they'd obviously been happy at one point, theoretically for quite some time, if they'd decided to get married and had been together this long.
Wilson was a cheater; the show had made that at least semi-clear, but I didn't know to what degree, and whether he had already had extra-marital affairs while with Julie. Maybe that could account for their damaged relationship? But if that was the case, why were they still together? Why bother staying with someone who was unfaithful?
I couldn't wrap my head around any of it, but I knew that I liked Julie. Much more than I thought I would. I began to realize what must have drawn Wilson to her in the first place; she was a straight shooter, but funny and sharply intelligent. She was self-assured, deliberate, and sugar-coated nothing as far as I could tell. A good foil for Wilson, who tended to spend a lot of his time weighing how each one of his words would affect those around him, while sometimes forgetting that his actions had far more impact.
Yeah. I liked her. Not the most convenient character to be fond of, given that was a particular train that I was pretty damn sure I couldn't stop.
And even if I could... should I?
The following night found me outside of work, trying to hail a cab. I'd been without a ride for the past few days for the most part, unless Julie or Wilson was around to kindly take me to or from work. However, I'd worked a closing shift tonight, and I felt it was way too much to ask one of them to roll out of bed to come get me, so I was trying to get a cab to take me to Rosedale.
I hadn't had any luck so far, much to my annoyance.
Zach stepped out of the coffee shop, cigarette pinched between two fingers. He lit up as soon as he was out the door, taking a deep drag. He seemed surprised to see me there. "You waiting for someone?"
Usually I just walked the couple of blocks back to House's apartment when I got out of work, even if I got out late. Zach would occasionally walk me home, in spite of my protests.
"Trying to get a cab," I explained. When I noticed his furrowed brow, I added, "I'm still staying with Wilson and Julie. They live out in Rosedale."
"How about I just give you a ride?" Zach offered.
I shot him a confused glance. "Zach, you don't have a car."
"Au contraire." He grinned at me, tapping ash off the end of his cigarette. "Follow me."
Together, we crossed the barren street, and he lead me to the parking lot of a pawn shop across the street. It was desolate, and only one car sat in any of the spaces.
He gestured grandly to an old Ford Explorer. "Behold, my new baby." It was a mess of rust and chipping paint, and looked like it had to at least be a couple of years older than me.
"It's..." I gave him a tight smile. "I bet it moves!"
"You make fun, but this thing is a game-changer for me. Up until now, neither me or either of my roommates has had wheels. This is gonna make all our lives so much easier." He patted the hood. "And tonight, it's gonna make your life easier. Hop in."
"Are you going to ask me if I want candy, too?"
"I think there's some half-melted Tootsie Rolls in the glove box..."
I laughed, then clambered into the car. It smelled like a mixture of Zach's cologne, and old cigarettes. "How long have you had this?" I asked, buckling in.
"Bought it three days ago off of my pal Jeremy's boss. I've been saving up for a car for awhile, and I got this for a steal." He started the Explorer, and it's engine rumbled loudly... and a bit unhealthily.
"And it's in okay shape?" I questioned as we trundled out of the parking lot.
"Well..." Zach took a deep drag of his cigarette. "The transmission's almost shot. Brakes are rusty. Suspension needs tuned up, alignment's off..." he rattled off about forty other problems the car had, not many of which I could make sense of.
"So I should feel completely safe right now?" I asked weakly.
Zach nodded. "Totally."
Peels of laughter erupted from the both of us, but mine were more on the hysteric side as I mentally prayed that Zach's new car wouldn't end up being my coffin, if it ended up blowing up on us.
"So, has the mob come after you yet?" Zach asked when we were about halfway to Rosedale.
"Not yet. Hopefully it'll stay that way. I'm still a little nervous that my entire well-being depends on House not being an asshole," I confessed.
We entered a traffic tunnel in downtown, which was empty at this time of night. Princeton wasn't a particularly congested city; nothing like Trenton, which was an absolute nightmare to try to drive through.
"Which from everything you've told me about House, he completely sucks at," Zach said.
"Yeah."
"See? House'll kill you way before my broke-ass car does."
We neared the edge of the tunnel.
"What the hell?" Zach slammed on the brakes.
Two black SUVs were parked horizontally in front of both lanes, blocking the tunnel's exit.
No.
"Maybe they're police?" I asked hopefully, my heart already speeding up in my chest. Wilson's worries had to be unfounded, right? There was no way the mob would actually go after me. The very idea was ridiculous.
All of the doors on the right side of both SUVs opened up, and several men in suits clambered out.
Men in suits. With assault rifles.
"Oh my God," Zach whispered, horrified.
"Reverse."
"What?" Zach was frozen, hands stiff on the wheel, staring at the line of armed men staring us down.
"Get out of the car!" shouted one in the middle, flipping the safety off and aiming his rifle directly at Zach's face.
"I said reverse!" Zach's foot was still on the brake, so I grabbed the column shift and slammed it into reverse. I practically threw myself over the console and mashed my heel into the accelerator, subsequently shoving Zach off of the brake.
We were roaring backwards at seventy miles an hour just a few seconds later. Crap car or not, the Explorer had some perk to it.
A hail of bullets followed us as we tried to escape. The windshield shattered, glass raining down on us. I grabbed Zach hard by the hair and pulled his head down. I was hunkered partially underneath the dash, trying to conceal myself as best I could. We were driving blind, swerving all over the place, my foot still on the gas and Zach trying desperately to steer with one hand while having no idea where we were on the road.
The bullets faded as we made it further into the tunnel. I could feel that at least one of our tires had blown out, and I could hear the bare metal of the hubcab screeching against the road.
Zach and I were both gasping, shaking. I realized tears were streaming down my face, which I wrote off as a side effect of my pure terror.
This was actually happening. We were being chased. By the mob. With guns.
I could die.
That was something I never factored into my cross-dimensional field trip.
What happens if I die here?
"This is supposed to be a medical drama, not a police procedural," I found myself sobbing.
"What are you talking about?" Zach croaked. "What is this? Was– was that the fucking mafia?" He shifted, peeking over the dashboard. No one was in sight.
"Keep your head down!"
"I need to see where I'm fucking going–!" He glanced in the rearview mirror. "Shit!"
The next second, we crashed.
I was thrown into the backseat, cracking my head against one of the windows. Airbags burst to life around me, and I heard Zach scream. The world spun on its axis, tilting, tilting. Blood hung thick in my mouth and nostrils. I tried to catch a glimpse of what we'd hit out the rear window–
Two more black SUVs.
They'd blocked off the entrance, too.
We're dead.
It was the last thought I had before blacking out.