i spent three years driving around

PART 1/2, section 2/2



Cuddy had taken pity on the guests and substituted the early horror music for an instrumental ambiance.  House found one of the surround-sound speakers and planted himself next to it, content to blow out his eardrums until his head felt bloated with the bass line.

He was still there an hour later, watching the varied interactions of the masquerading guests.  Chase had, thankfully, discarded his Jason mask and looked to have spilled a fair share of alcohol on his fake bloodied shirt as well.  House counted the number of circles he tried to casually walk around Cameron; each “accidental” run-in resulted in Chase’s sloshing but well-meaning smile and Cameron’s thin-lipped response, and away she went.

Most of the time, she sat with ankles crossed among a group of women who frequented the ICU.  She was still having trouble confining her enlarged ass to a chair.  House wondered what she had done with her unruly wig.  Foreman was missing from the dim panorama of people, but House had seen Wendy leaving not long after he and Wilson had returned from the porch.

Wilson, now, was the one impetus House had to move.  He’d gone from talking to Brown to Brown’s assistant, a redhead who certainly looked too potent for Wilson to handle.  Sure enough Wilson slipped away ten minutes into that conversation.  He drifted to the kitchen for a little and then returned talking with Cuddy, who was looking incrementally frazzled; it could have been due to the fact that someone had just spilled punch all over the living room carpet.  House watched as Wilson offered to help clean but Cuddy waved him off, and Wilson ended up sitting on the stairs, back against the wall, and chatting to a Portuguese woman House didn’t recognize; but she wore a sundress with slits along her sides, which was a crappy costume and she was beginning to sit a little too close.

A suit cut into House’s view.  House frowned and leaned his head away from the stereo to look around the large body in front of him.  The body moved back in his way.

Annoyed, House raised his eyes to whatever head was attached to the obnoxious body now blocked him.  An egg-shape with white hair looked back down.

The mouth moved but the music volume blurred House’s hearing.  He winced and pointed to his ears.  The man paused calmly and gestured to the spot behind him.

“My drink,” he said again.  House glanced back and picked up the half-filled mug, which had been set on the windowsill.  It smelled strong, but only of coffee.

The man took it without House having given it to him.  He raised the cup in a small toast, mouthed thanks, and wandered away.

His view again clear, House glared at Wilson, silently commanding him to notice.  At the moment he was smiling, a detail House actually couldn’t see through the dim-lit room but surmised well enough.  The woman would be playing with her hair, biting her lip, touching his arm.

House grabbed his cane and made a beeline for the stairs.  He was oddly disappointed that, when Wilson saw him coming, he excused himself so quickly House didn’t even have time to publicly embarrass him.  Wilson shot an annoyed look over towards the kitchen, and House, smirking, followed without question.

“It can’t really be that much fun to you,” Wilson muttered.

“This party?  Why how perceptive of you.  I’m actually having a horrible time.”

“No, ruining my time can’t be that much fun to you.”

“She was, what, half your age?  And married.”

“She wasn’t married!”

“Are you kidding me?  She had kids at least.  You could tell by those subtle stretch-marks, her practical shoes, her breasts.”

“Of course.”  Wilson threw his hands up at his side.  “How could I have missed that when you obviously noticed from across the room?  Get her medical history, by any chance?”

House plowed right along.  “But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it, because that was your chance and you blew it.”

“No, you blew it.”  Wilson sighed and leaned back up against the counter.  He glanced over the drinks, looking like in no way did he want to continue the conversation.

Bored, House surveyed the ICU women again, where Cameron was, and saw the same white-haired man laughing with the bunch.  Coffee Man gestured loosely with one hand while the other still held his mug, and he looked to be involved in a wildly entertaining story that had everyone in wide grins.

“Who is he?” House asked.

“Who?”  Wilson followed his eyes and tilted his head.  “Looks kind of like a James Bond suit, but he’s not scruffy enough to pull off Sean Connery…”

“Not his costume, I mean who is he?”

“Oh.”  Wilson shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I honestly don’t recognize most of the people here, except for Oncology, and then of course your people, and some friends of friends scattered throughout the rest of the hospital.  And a couple from accounting.”

“You’re just a social butterfly, aren’t you?” House returned, but it failed to have its usual zing as he watched the man command the group.  Cameron looked particularly amused, but then again, House thought, it didn’t take much to win her over.

Cuddy cut through to the living room not much later and announced anyone interested in the murder mystery game should head over to the foyer and pick a card from the hat, which would supply the identity and back-story of a character.  The murderer and victim were pre-chosen, but only those two people and Cuddy knew of the identities.  Everyone else was still in the dark.

Surprisingly, a fair amount of the crowd shifted away to join in.  The ICU women rose to from their seats.  Cameron did as well, although she continued speaking to Coffee Man and neither one looked as if they were going anywhere.  Wilson moved to follow the group but House stuck out his cane and tapped his knees.

“I have to go,” Wilson insisted.

“It’s just a stupid game.  Why go off to be one of the sheep when you could stay here and get intoxicated and forget how much I’m annoying you?”

Wilson stood akimbo and stared at the ceiling.  “House, I have to go.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do.”  Wilson glanced around conspiratorially, then reluctantly whispered, “I’m the murderer.”

A smile crawled across House’s face.

“Cuddy asked me to last week,” Wilson defended.

“Is it possible for you to say no to one thing?  Ever?”

“She said I was the person everyone would least expect.”

“And so the person everyone should be most suspicious of.”  House lowered his cane and made a show of allowing Wilson to pass.  “Fine.  I hope you have an interesting victim.”

“Are you coming, House?” Cameron called.  House shook his head.

“House,” Coffee Man repeated, his face lighting up with recognition.  “Oh, you’re Dr. House.”

House was less than pleased.  “Whatever Cameron’s been telling you about me, she lies.”

“No, no, she’s told me nothing.  But you’re the guy who got shot last year.”

“My claim to fame.  I can show you the scars, man are they ugly.  If you were a hot chick I would tell you I got stabbed running with the bulls.  Impressive stuff.  Makes the clothes come off real fast.”

Coffee Man spoke and laughed softly, an odd sound to hear from such an otherwise imposing, solid figure.  “I’ve actually heard a lot of about your run-in with a loaded weapon.  I’m one of the cops Dr. Cuddy brought in for extra security after your incident last spring.”

“Great,” House said, growing less enthused by the instant.  “Well maybe you’ll be the one to stop future madmen from unleashing chaos on innocent people.”

“That’s my job,” he smiled.  The corners of his small, blue eyes crinkled.  He extended a hand.  “Michael Tritter.”

“The-guy-who-was-shot-and-got-you-a-job,” House reciprocated, and shook hands in hopes of ending the conversation.  “Now, if you don’t mind, I have some important 80-proof business to keep me busy.  But enjoy the murder mystery.”

“I’m not really one for murder mysteries,” Tritter said.  “They’re tedious to me.”

“I happen to know the murderer personally,” House boasted as he popped the bottle to the closest, strongest looking alcohol.  “Let me save you your police profiling:  He snapped because he was unloved as a child.”

“Really?  Tragic.”

“Oh yeah.” House took a quick shot.  Tritter was unfortunately still there when he finished.  “Or, since murder isn’t your thing, you could go get your fortune read.  The woman is scarily accurate.”

Tritter looked interested.  “There’s a fortune teller?”

“Yeah, down the hall.  She’s probably lonely.  Everyone’s deserted her in the name of half-assed parlor games.”

“Well then I guess it would only be polite to pay her a visit,” Tritter said.  He smiled and nodded again at House, extending a hand for a goodbye shake.  “Pleasure meeting you, Dr. House.  Thank you for the paycheck.”

“Anytime.”

He’d almost forgotten Cameron was standing there, too.  She remained as Tritter walked away down the hall.

“You’re not going to play, are you?” she asked.

“Um…that would be no.  But you are.”

“I have to,” she said and looked oddly proud of the next fact.  “I die tonight.”

“Well I hope you’re murdered in an interesting way,” House said as if it were a blessing.  He downed another shot of alcohol and let the rest of the party fade as best he could.

* * *

A shriek wailed through the house, so clearly it seemed to be ubiquitous and without origin.

House had given up on getting drunk, and was now lounging about the living room.  He watched as incompetent people tried to interrogate one another in hopes of finding clues to solve dear Dr. Cameron’s horrific murder.  Word was she’d been discovered upstairs, supine, with a sheet half-draped over her body.  In her poofy dress, she’d looked like a strange, exploded snow angel, curled limbless on the carpet.

She was now lying still on the couch—a stupid place to rest the “dead”, House thought, considering the living were the ones milling about for a place to sit—and able to answer one yes or no question privately to each murder mystery player regarding the person who did the deed.  It was immensely tiring to watch.  Given that he knew the murderer’s identity, it wasn’t even fun for House to play along.

Wilson wandered back in, looking rather disappointed that no one was striking up conversation with him.  Cuddy was right:  No one would suspect him of having blood on his hands.  He plopped down next to House, and they both looked across the room to where Cameron was lying, eyes fluttering as she tried to keep them closed.  Cuddy had turned on a lamp, and it lit her head in a ghostly nimbus.

The sofa moved again, and House looked over to see Chase stumble into the open space on the other side of Wilson.  Chase was just as drunk as before but even more pleasantly so.  He couldn’t hold his liquor to save his life—which, House assumed, was a direct result of having avoided it so stoutly after his childhood memories of it.

“Hey,” Chase mumbled.  He waved at House but spoke to Wilson.  “So Cameron got killed, huh?”

“Yeah.  It’s sad, really.”

“Yeah.  ‘M sad too, you know.  Like I would’ve been around for her more, told her more stuff instead of just…not telling her.”

“It’s a cruel world,” Wilson empathized.

“Yeah.”

House, leaning back with an arm rested over the sofa, looked to Wilson.  “He does know she’s not really dead, right?”

Chase tried to stop a laugh but failed, and it resulted in a sputtering giggle.  His eyes shone liquid-bright with amusement.  He slapped his thigh twice before the third joyous hit landed on Wilson’s and stayed there.

House raised his eyebrows.

“I would have definitely kissed her more, I think,” Chase continued.  He tilted his head affectionately.  “She’s pretty, yeah?  I think she’s pretty.  She has nice lips.  Like yours.”  Barely stopping to break between sentences, Chase leaned in and pecked Wilson’s mouth.  “Because if you think you should kiss someone, then I guess you should, I mean if they want you to.”

“Absolutely,” Wilson nodded, and House watched in shock as Wilson flushed furiously but looked only amused.  He touched the hand Chase rested on his thigh.  “And you know what?  I think you should go over and pay your respects to her.”

“That’s a really nice idea.”

“She’d appreciate that.”

“Yeah.”  Chase smiled happily at Wilson and kissed his cheek once more before standing up and walking unsteadily towards the other couch.  Cameron had already cracked open an eye and was staring out of it in aghast confusion at Chase; House figured most of that was directed towards his inebriated rambling about her lips, not the fact that he’d sat there and kissed Wilson twice.

That last point was his alone to dwell on.  He didn’t even care if anyone else had seen; this was his concern.

“Did you ask my permission before making out with my employee?” House inquired, trying to keep his voice light.

“He’s drunk, House.  Be glad he’s a friendly drunk.  We all can’t be as angst-ridden as you are.”

Cuddy suddenly reappeared looking distressed, and Wilson avoided saying anything more to House by asking what was wrong.

“Lydia left,” she said.

“Who?”

“Lydia.  The woman I hired as a fortune teller.  She was supposed to stay until two but it looks like she cut out early.”

“I’m sure she stayed around long enough to figure out where you hid the good china, then she grabbed it all and bolted,” House offered.  He rubbed his thigh, which was beginning to hurt.  “If you didn’t pay her yet, she’ll be back.”

“I didn’t pay her yet,” Cuddy agreed.  She sighed.  “I didn’t even have a chance to get my cards read.”

“You’re the Empress,” House said without hesitation.  He stretched out his legs and rose to his feet.  Chase was busy giving a mock eulogy to Cameron, which was becoming nauseating.  He also didn’t want to be in the same room as Wilson for quite some time.  “Tell me if anything remotely interesting happens,” he said to Cuddy.  “I’m going back outside.”

House focused on the screen door as he approached it, blocking his mind of any other thoughts that started cluttering around the outskirts.  He didn’t want to think of the party anymore.  If he’d driven himself, he would be going home now; but he’d been dumb enough to let Wilson drive, because it had seemed like a good idea at the time to make as little effort as possible.  Now he was regretting how perfectly he’d trapped himself.

He passed the fortune telling room and was surprised to see that Lydia had left many of her cards behind.  He peeked in further.  Cuddy’s washer and dryer were covered with an ornate, burgundy rug and a small table was set up in front.  A crystal ball, the same kind that supplied light to the living room, had been rolled off its stand and cracked on the ground.  Lydia’s chair was toppled.

House hesitated.  The beaded curtain swung from when he’d parted it, and it now tapped his shoulder with light regularity.  He left it swinging as he stepped outside.

On the porch, the night had cooled by another several degrees.  No one was out in the yard, and the sky was as bleak as ever.  He felt himself pulled to the house on the left and the second-story.  There were no lights.

He’d stood there for a half-hour until a new scuffling sound emerged, one of shoes hitting the pavement and then entering the grass.  House stilled but his eyes searched the darkness, trying to discern where the noise emanated from and what direction it was moving.

He saw the tall, broad shape cross over from the neighboring house and back into Cuddy’s yard.  The figure’s hands wiped against his pants.  He wasn’t moving like a criminal, but like a creature with a single-mindedness that would not be dissuaded.

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