House, MD: When Worlds Collide
Author's notes: The 100th review of this story included the note that the original first chapter was quick, short, and uninformative.
And I agree. As such, the proposed opening has been tweaked and posted.
To all old readers, I hope you like this first chapter better. To new readers, please enjoy.
Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital
Trenton, New Jersey
Parking Lot—8:27pm
Dr. Allison Cameron was so beyond ready for a quick scrounge in her fridge and a really hot, steaming shower, maybe probably not in that order. It had been a long day that should have been over a good two hours ago. She was free of it now, though, and tiny spurt of energy untapped by her job sped her toward her car where it waited in the hospital's reserved parking lot. Once inside its cocoon she'd rack up the music and autopilot home. If God really liked her there would be no midnight emergencies to disrupt her plans to do absolutely nothing until the morning alarm went off.
Twenty feet from her goal she hit the remote's unlock button and heard the mechanism in the driver's door click. The interior light came on. How the Hell did people live before some genius made those standard equipment? Now, if her model had just come with one of those self-start things life would be—
She glimpsed him as a blur, maybe with a ski mask, maybe in a dark coat, but definitely with a knife. The flash of metal in his hand registered with photographic clarity. He lurched up from the space between two other cars, moving too fast. Cameron veered to bolt away from his threat. Instinct kicked in, fight or flight. Run for your life—scream, only she didn't have enough breath.
She could hear his, though. Rasping. Excited.
Running flat out toward the safe harbor of the hospital entry she dropped her purse, her briefcase, maybe they'd trip him, no time to look back and see, he was too close, too—
An arm made of iron snaked around her, and she was bodily lifted, swung, and thrown down like a child on a playground. The shock of hitting pavement drove the air from her. Something heavy fell on her chest. His hand was holding her down and just like that he'd ripped away her control and was in charge.
She gasped, desperate for breath, but he took that away too, slamming his other hand over her mouth. Black sparks behind her eyes obscured his form. Her lungs strained and a tiny trickle of air seeped in, keeping her conscious. Only because HE allowed it. His own breath was still rasping…excited. The hunter had enjoyed his chase, taken out his prey, and now he would devour the remains.
He straddled her, bent over, one foot on either side. His hands shifted, one grabbing the front of her coat, and he huffed, dragging her forward. He would drag her off and… She still held her car's remote in her hand. The panic button.… Her car's horn blared. That didn't stop him. Everyone ignored car alarms. Everyone. But it distracted him for a second. She got her knees up, tried to lash a kick to his crotch. He dodged, quick as a snake. He even chuckled about it. "It's pointless, missy," he whispered. He brought the knife up so she could see. She froze. "You just enjoy the show. I was a student before. But now I'm a master artist."
Yes, and he'd allowed her enough breath and the freedom to scream. Knife or no she cut loose with a skull-splitting shriek. She didn't have the strength to match his, but got her hands on his wrist to keep that knife away from her. She screamed again. Goddamned bastard, he wouldn't have her without a fight. He yanked his arm free and slashed her shoulder. She clawed his face, ineffective with that mask in the way, but it distracted him. He cursed her, called her a bitch, and raised back to get a better angle. She rolled and kicked, throwing off his balance.
Allison scrabbled along the cold wet pavement, trying to get her legs under. Sometimes the prey escaped. Sometimes…. He caught her ankle, dragging her back. She found breath for another scream and kicked again. Scream and kick, fight for your life, and don't stop no matter what.
"Cameron!" Not her assailant. He didn't know her name. A friend had shouted. A friend from heaven above buying her another few seconds to escape. But she was losing strength fast. Dimly she registered something was wrong with her left shoulder and she had to get free before it got worse. He released her, made a sound of disgust, of disappointment, certainly of anger, and took off, boots slamming heavily on cement. Fading. Allison kept crawling. He could come back. He could…
"Cameron?" The best friend of her boss, James Wilson, stopped short. He stared down at her. Years of medical training should have kicked in, but he was clearly shocked by the view. "You okay?"
What a damn, stupid question. "No, I'm…" She tried to stand, but nothing would work. There was something warm and wet on her shoulder, and it was important for some reason.
"Down, lie down!" Wilson ordered.
'I'm no trained dog,' she thought, irritated. But her body obeyed all on its own, damnit. She fought hard not to scream when he slapped his hand on her shoulder. It was too much like the other man's attack. "Leave me alone!" she bellowed. But it came out as a thin whisper. Wilson ignored her and got his cell phone out. He called the hospital's emergency room. What the hell for? They were in walking distance—if he'd just let her up. She struggled to squirm free, cursing, and—oh hell—crying now.
"Cameron, take a chill pill." A second presence loomed tall over her. Very, very awkwardly he knelt. Movement was difficult because of his bad leg. He eased down next to her, using his cane to keep from falling. Once settled, he didn't touch her, instead he caught her gaze. He had the bluest eyes in the world, and their focus was wholly on her, sad but sane. "There… that's not hard at all," he said. "Now you rest a minute and I'll tell you what happened on General Hospital today." She choked. A sob or hysterical laughter? Dr. Greg House could inspire both at once.
"They're on their way," Wilson announced. He folded his phone up, pulled out a handkerchief, and used it as a pressure bandage instead of his bare hand. "Is it bad?"
"You tell me," said House. "You're the attending, I'm just here for the free popcorn."
His gaze never left her, though. "What happened?"
House answered for her. "What do you think? One of the city's big bad wolves came out for lunch. Might still be lurking around, though. Trying to make a second shot.
Wilson looked around, alarmed. "Tell you what, you keep Cameron from bleeding to death, and I'll be the stalwart sentry."
It took only a second to swap. House pressed hard on her shoulder while Wilson checked the immediate area for lurking two-legged wolves but there were none to be found. She knew he would be out there, though. He would always be out there. Cameron blinked, a definite sob forming this time.
"Now, now, none of that," House told her. "Save it for the big strong policemen. I happen to know you're above that sort of thing. It's shock and adrenaline and it'll wear off soon enough. Use it on someone else." She glared at him, and he smiled back. "That's better." He glanced up. "Here come the marines. My, but they're in a lather. Try not to make them work too hard."
When the time came he let pressure duty go to the paramedic and they rolled her toward the waiting hospital. House wasn't looking at her now, but leaning on his cane, weight on his good leg, and staring out at the now crowded parking lot. Word had spread and people had come out to see what had happened. Doctors, nurses, security guards, they all knew Dr. Allison Cameron as an excellent doctor, but now she was another crime statistic. House ignored them all, scanning the empty areas between. The last glimpse Cameron had of House as the paramedics took her in was his expression. It was disturbing, yet somehow it also comforted her. His blue, blue eyes burned with a frightening and bottomless rage.
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Brooklyn, New York
7:25am
11 hours after the attack in New Jersey, the sun rose over the bustling city of Brooklyn, New York. Already thousands of cars clogged the streets; the day crowd going to their jobs in the stone and steel buildings and the night crowd finally going home to eat, sleep, and be with their families.
Among the group heading into work was the Captain of the Brooklyn Special Victims Unit, Cassandra Ross. Her classic Chevrolet convertible purring happily, Cassie checked her watch. Near 7:30 and she still had to get to the department. Thankfully the traffic started to clear up and Cassie managed to get to pull into the police department at 7:45. She parked and grabbed her bag and cane before getting out of the car and locking it.
Cassie limped into her office and sat down slowly. Resting her cane against the desk, she leaned back and pulled the local newspaper out of her bag and tossed it on the desk. Flipping to the entertainment section, she grabbed a pen and started on her daily crossword puzzle.
Halfway through, Detective Rochelle Davis came in. "Captain, he's back."
Cassie froze for a second and put her pen down as she looked up. She didn't bother to ask who 'he' was. She knew. "The Slasher," she said quietly. Adam Peters, the man who had haunted her dreams for 5 years.
Davis nodded. "Last night, in New Jersey. Peters attacked a doctor. Manhattan SVU's sending a couple of their guys down, but I figured that you'd want to go as well."
Cassie stood up, grabbing her cane. Her leg ached, but she was used to it. "You figured right. Get me the old files. I'll head down today."
"Already ready for you," Davis said, holding up a stack of files. Cassie took them and headed out of the department, down to her car, and was gone before anyone had really registered the Captain's presence.
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Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital
Trenton, New Jersey
Room 115—2:38pm
Cameron was bored. House, Wilson, Chase, Foreman, and even Cuddy had all insisted that she spent at least 36 hours in the hospital to make sure she was okay. She'd protested, but a piercing look from House and the comment of 'I can't have my favorite immunologist getting a wound infected' made her give in.
"Dr. Cameron?" She looked up to see a woman of about 38 standing in the door way. The woman leaned on a cane, and her pretty face was worn.
Cameron sat up, which was hard with her left arm in a sling. "Who are you?"
The woman pulled a badge out of her pocket. "Captain Cassandra Ross. I'm with the NY: SVU. I need to talk to you about your attack."
Cameron started to respond when House came up beside Cassie. "This can wait, can't it?" Cassie turned to look at him. House was only about 3 inches taller than her, but he had a presence.
Cassie however, wasn't intimidated. "I'm sorry, uh… you are…?"
"Dr. House."
"And I'm Cassandra Ross. And, no, this can't wait. Dr. Cameron here is lucky to be alive. Her attacker has gone after 4 other people in the past and killed 2 of them."
Cameron was floored. "What do you mean?"
Cassie pulled out the old case files and handed them to Cameron. House limped forward to look at the crime scene photos. "The man who attacked you slashed and raped 4 students in Brooklyn 5 years ago. Two of them died from their injuries. We believe he's back, and was the one who slashed you last night."
House grabbed the files, then gripped Cassie's upper arm in a strong hold, leading her out of the room and down the hall to his office. Once inside, House looked at Cassie, anger in his gaze. "What were you thinking, scaring her like that?"
Cassie wrenched her arm out of House's grip. "I was thinking that Dr. Cameron needs to know what's at stake. This guy is just beginning."
House studied Cassie. Her blue-gray eyes were hard, with very little softness to them. Her short, shaggy blonde hair was disheveled, as were her clothes. As House studied her, he realized that she looked very similar to himself. Right down to the cane. Hmmm….. "What happened to your leg?" House asked, half curiously, half—actually, it was totally out of curiosity.
Cassie sat down. "The slasher rapist who attacked your Dr. Cameron—whose real name is Adam Peters—shot me. I was a detective then, and I found the last victim. Peters and I had a stand off, and he shot me in the leg. It wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't had an infarction about a week later. Idiot doctors missed it, so I ended up with permanent damage."
House didn't say anything. Instead, he went behind his desk and sat down, setting the files on the desk. He started to say something else when Wilson came into the room without knocking. "House, what did you say to Cameron?"
House looked perplexed. "I didn't say anything. Why?"
Wilson looked dubious. "Cameron's crying. You just left her, so you must have said something. Damnit, House… hasn't she been through enough?
"Wilson, I didn't say-"
"I mean, first she's brutally attacked by some stranger, now she's verbally attacked by you? I mean, I didn't think you were that heartless!"
"Wilson, I didn't do it," House protested. He pointed his cane in Cassie's direction. "She's the one you should be yelling at."
Wilson looked Cassie, whose eyes lit up at the sight of him. "Has anyone ever told you that you look like that kid Neil Perry from Dead Poet's Society?" Cassie asked, her face deadpan, but her eyes twinkling.
Wilson glared at House. "You told her that, didn't you? I swear, next time I'm making a public announcement that you like that movie."
"They probably wouldn't believe it, Wilson," House said, as his friend sat next to Cassie. "Besides, my movie tastes aren't why you're here."
"Right," Wilson said, looking at Cassie. "Who are you?"
Cassie pulled out her badge. "Captain Cassandra Ross, Brooklyn Police Department, Special Victims Unit."
Wilson's gaze narrowed at her. "And what did you say that left Cameron in tears?"