Fly Free Little WIP #2 -- The Not!Anthrax Thing
948 words, and a really good reason to hope my Google browsing history is never subpoenaed. This is from April, 2008. Notes at the end like yesterday. *g*
Wilson gets a call that his ex-brother-in-law (Bonnie's brother) is in the hospital lobby and wants him to come down. Barney Royce likes to think of himself as an investigative reporter, but in reality the "newspaper" he runs is a tabloid rag.
It was the kind of tabloid the supermarkets stocked by the cash registers, right next to the Weekly World News and the Your Diet Horoscope booklets. The last time Wilson had glanced at its front page, the screaming black headline had read ALIEN TELEMARKETERS ARE TARGETING YOUR HOME!
In other words, it was exactly the kind of crap House would buy in order to read where anyone could see him.
"Dr. Wilson?"
Wilson blinked as the receptionist's voice brought him back to the matter at hand.
"Dr. Wilson, I'm afraid Mr. Royce is -- " Her voice grew softer, almost to a whisper, and he realized she was trying to keep Barney from overhearing her words. "He's very ... agitated, Doctor. I think he might be in some kind of trouble." Her voice dropped still lower, and Wilson pictured her cupping her hand over her mouth as she murmured, "Do you want me to call Security?"
A swift blur of color caught Wilson's eye and he glanced out at the balcony. House was out there, with Taub. House had something flat and red and vaguely triangle-shaped in his hands, and he was gesturing with it towards the sky. Wilson squinted. It was a kite. He shook his head and pinched at the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to stop the inevitable headache.
"No, Marcy," he said. "I'll be right down."
Wilson's first thought upon seeing his ex-brother-in-law was that Marcy Franklin should have asked if she needed to call for a crash cart instead of Security.
Barney Royce was in obvious distress, sweating profusely and holding onto Marcy's desk with a white-knuckled death grip. His trademark trenchcoat gaped open, exposing a white dress shirt now soaked grey with perspiration. He looked up as Wilson drew near; his eyes were huge, the pupils expanding to almost obscure the iris.
"James," he croaked. He ran a shaking hand over his face, then fumbled in his pocket as if searching for a handkerchief. "I panicked, I guess I panicked. I mean, you're a doctor -- " He pulled his empty hand free and stared at it. "I just, I had to see a doctor, and I thought of you, so I got in the car and drove straight here."
"You drove from Trenton to see me?" Wilson eased Royce away from the desk and led him to an empty chair near the lobby waterfall. Royce sank down into it without appearing to notice; he was still talking, his words starting to run together with frantic intensity as Wilson crouched in front of him.
"She sent it to me," he said. "The bitch sent it to me, but I didn't think she was serious but as soon as I opened it I knew I had to see a doctor and you know because of Bonnie you're the first one I thought of." He leaned in close, as if he could make Wilson understand by sheer force of proximity. "I didn't stop. I didn't stop anywhere. I came straight here and I haven't opened it again, not once."
"Barney," Wilson said, in as soothing a tone as he could muster. "Barney, slow down. What are you talking about?"
"She sent it to me," Barney sobbed out. "The bitch sent it to me!" He fumbled in another pocket, one on the inside of his trenchcoat this time, and this time his hand didn't come out empty.
It was a plain brown envelope, the kind of large paper packet that someone might use to send photographs. It was wrinkled, misshapen and half-crumpled as if Royce had been clutching at it through his coat all the way to Princeton. He waved it in front of Wilson's eyes, and Wilson caught a glimpse of the address of Barney Royce's newspaper, inked out in thick black strokes. Barney's hands were trembling violently now.
"Barney -- "
"The bitch sent it to me!" Royce wailed.
A sudden quiet fell over the hospital lobby, and Wilson sensed people turning to look.
"She sent it to me, and now I'm gonna die!"
Royce's arms spasmed. His hands, still gripping the packet, jerked apart. The brown envelope tore open, and a powdery substance puffed out and filled the air.
"Oh, shit," Barney said. "Oh, shit." He started to cry, huge gulping sobs that caused his rubbery face to scrunch up like a bulldog's. The only other sound in the lobby was that of the artificial waterfall. Wilson stared at the powder that now covered him, Royce, the chair, and the floor around them. It was the color of dog kibble, a fine grind with a few granules the size of peppercorns here and there. A white index card lay at his feet; partially folded over, Wilson could only see the last six words, scrawled in a furious red hand.
-- YOU CHEATING BASTARD! HATE YOU, LORENE
"Dr. Wilson?"
Wilson shook his head, tried to take shallow breaths. Not that it would make any difference -- he could feel the powder in his nose, tickling the back of his throat.
"Marcy," he said. "Don't come any closer." He swallowed, and resisted the urge to spit. "Go ahead and call Security, tell them we've got a Code Zebra. Call Lisa Cuddy, tell her the same thing." Marcy was watching him, her dark eyes wide with shock. In the chair, Barney Royce continued to cry. Wilson was suddenly very tired.
"Go, Marcy," he said.
************
So, of course this was before we knew Marcy was really Sandy, but otherwise I think it's okay. This was sparked by a report on our local news -- someone showed up at a hospital saying they thought they'd been exposed to anthrax. It turned out to be a false alarm. In this ficverse, it also would have been a false alarm (B. cereus instead of anthrax), but until that was figured out, there would have been the usual cycle of (1) House making fun of Wilson's situation, (2) House showing that he's actually concerned about Wilson's situation, (3) resolution, and (4) House and Wilson enjoying themselves at House's apartment.
I liked the whole setup, but as sometimes happens, once I'd written a few scenes it was out of my head and my mind was on to other shiny things (in this case, Sins of the Fathers and Divergence, both of which eventually did get posted).
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Wilson gets a call that his ex-brother-in-law (Bonnie's brother) is in the hospital lobby and wants him to come down. Barney Royce likes to think of himself as an investigative reporter, but in reality the "newspaper" he runs is a tabloid rag.
It was the kind of tabloid the supermarkets stocked by the cash registers, right next to the Weekly World News and the Your Diet Horoscope booklets. The last time Wilson had glanced at its front page, the screaming black headline had read ALIEN TELEMARKETERS ARE TARGETING YOUR HOME!
In other words, it was exactly the kind of crap House would buy in order to read where anyone could see him.
"Dr. Wilson?"
Wilson blinked as the receptionist's voice brought him back to the matter at hand.
"Dr. Wilson, I'm afraid Mr. Royce is -- " Her voice grew softer, almost to a whisper, and he realized she was trying to keep Barney from overhearing her words. "He's very ... agitated, Doctor. I think he might be in some kind of trouble." Her voice dropped still lower, and Wilson pictured her cupping her hand over her mouth as she murmured, "Do you want me to call Security?"
A swift blur of color caught Wilson's eye and he glanced out at the balcony. House was out there, with Taub. House had something flat and red and vaguely triangle-shaped in his hands, and he was gesturing with it towards the sky. Wilson squinted. It was a kite. He shook his head and pinched at the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to stop the inevitable headache.
"No, Marcy," he said. "I'll be right down."
Wilson's first thought upon seeing his ex-brother-in-law was that Marcy Franklin should have asked if she needed to call for a crash cart instead of Security.
Barney Royce was in obvious distress, sweating profusely and holding onto Marcy's desk with a white-knuckled death grip. His trademark trenchcoat gaped open, exposing a white dress shirt now soaked grey with perspiration. He looked up as Wilson drew near; his eyes were huge, the pupils expanding to almost obscure the iris.
"James," he croaked. He ran a shaking hand over his face, then fumbled in his pocket as if searching for a handkerchief. "I panicked, I guess I panicked. I mean, you're a doctor -- " He pulled his empty hand free and stared at it. "I just, I had to see a doctor, and I thought of you, so I got in the car and drove straight here."
"You drove from Trenton to see me?" Wilson eased Royce away from the desk and led him to an empty chair near the lobby waterfall. Royce sank down into it without appearing to notice; he was still talking, his words starting to run together with frantic intensity as Wilson crouched in front of him.
"She sent it to me," he said. "The bitch sent it to me, but I didn't think she was serious but as soon as I opened it I knew I had to see a doctor and you know because of Bonnie you're the first one I thought of." He leaned in close, as if he could make Wilson understand by sheer force of proximity. "I didn't stop. I didn't stop anywhere. I came straight here and I haven't opened it again, not once."
"Barney," Wilson said, in as soothing a tone as he could muster. "Barney, slow down. What are you talking about?"
"She sent it to me," Barney sobbed out. "The bitch sent it to me!" He fumbled in another pocket, one on the inside of his trenchcoat this time, and this time his hand didn't come out empty.
It was a plain brown envelope, the kind of large paper packet that someone might use to send photographs. It was wrinkled, misshapen and half-crumpled as if Royce had been clutching at it through his coat all the way to Princeton. He waved it in front of Wilson's eyes, and Wilson caught a glimpse of the address of Barney Royce's newspaper, inked out in thick black strokes. Barney's hands were trembling violently now.
"Barney -- "
"The bitch sent it to me!" Royce wailed.
A sudden quiet fell over the hospital lobby, and Wilson sensed people turning to look.
"She sent it to me, and now I'm gonna die!"
Royce's arms spasmed. His hands, still gripping the packet, jerked apart. The brown envelope tore open, and a powdery substance puffed out and filled the air.
"Oh, shit," Barney said. "Oh, shit." He started to cry, huge gulping sobs that caused his rubbery face to scrunch up like a bulldog's. The only other sound in the lobby was that of the artificial waterfall. Wilson stared at the powder that now covered him, Royce, the chair, and the floor around them. It was the color of dog kibble, a fine grind with a few granules the size of peppercorns here and there. A white index card lay at his feet; partially folded over, Wilson could only see the last six words, scrawled in a furious red hand.
-- YOU CHEATING BASTARD! HATE YOU, LORENE
"Dr. Wilson?"
Wilson shook his head, tried to take shallow breaths. Not that it would make any difference -- he could feel the powder in his nose, tickling the back of his throat.
"Marcy," he said. "Don't come any closer." He swallowed, and resisted the urge to spit. "Go ahead and call Security, tell them we've got a Code Zebra. Call Lisa Cuddy, tell her the same thing." Marcy was watching him, her dark eyes wide with shock. In the chair, Barney Royce continued to cry. Wilson was suddenly very tired.
"Go, Marcy," he said.
************
So, of course this was before we knew Marcy was really Sandy, but otherwise I think it's okay. This was sparked by a report on our local news -- someone showed up at a hospital saying they thought they'd been exposed to anthrax. It turned out to be a false alarm. In this ficverse, it also would have been a false alarm (B. cereus instead of anthrax), but until that was figured out, there would have been the usual cycle of (1) House making fun of Wilson's situation, (2) House showing that he's actually concerned about Wilson's situation, (3) resolution, and (4) House and Wilson enjoying themselves at House's apartment.
I liked the whole setup, but as sometimes happens, once I'd written a few scenes it was out of my head and my mind was on to other shiny things (in this case, Sins of the Fathers and Divergence, both of which eventually did get posted).
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