Fic: Sinnerman, Prophet, Saint (7/?)
Title: Sinnerman, Prophet, Saint
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Chase/OMC, House/Chase
Summary: The marks of the saints and a past he won’t remember force Chase and House to face religion head on. They won’t get his fellow without a fight!
Spoilers: Up to season 4 Finale.
Genre: Drama, Supernatural
Disclaimer: I don’t own House. I’m not making any money off this story.
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Language, Adult Situations, Violence, M/M relationships. Do not read this story if any of these bother you!
Chapter 7: Theological Facets
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“Who?” House thought perhaps he meant the people about whom Mayes had been so paranoid. He naturally assumed they were clerical personnel of some sort. Shaking his head Chase stood wobbly from the couch.
“Worse,” he responded as though knowing what House was thinking. There wasn't even enough time for House to contemplate that mini mystery before his apartment exploded into chaos. The door flew open and crashed into the wall with a bang. Chase backed away from it. The window behind him erupted into small shards of glass.
With neither man at their physical peak in that moment in time, there was no way to prevent the sudden invasion. In a matter of a few, diminutive seconds the small living room was crowded with numerous people, many of them armed, and the few exits were effectively block.
Staring down the barrel of a loaded gun House still couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t invite you in.”
“You’ll just have to excuse us. You see, you have something of importance to us,” the man who for the moment appeared to be in charge said as he easily wove his way through his people to stand by Chase. In his navy blue suit and grey turtle neck the man looked like a plain, early-forties American man. He certainly didn’t look deserving of fearful expression Chase was giving him. House, however, wasn’t aware of their history.
“It’s nice to see you again, Robert.”
“I can’t say the same, Clayton.” The waver didn’t make it into his voice but the other man seemed to know how much effort the small success took. Their history was one of violence. And time had only made Clayton more ruthless.
“It’s time to go.”
Shaking his head Chase replied. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Is he the one?” House asked. Chase had nearly forgotten that there were other people in the room besides him and his old foe. House rose from the couch and asked again, “Is he the one?”
The man in the suit, Clayton, looked down his nose at the older, crippled man. “The one that what?”
“The one that held him down and carved a baphomet into his back.” His statement was punctuated with a blow with the hilt of his cane into the stranger’s gut. The next seconds were a rush of movement. The Clayton doubled over, one of his goons moving closer and looking ready to shoot House and Chase stepping into the line of fire.
“Chase,” House said tensely as the other man practically fell into him in his haste to stupidly be a hero. House had one hand on his fellow’s upper arm trying to get him out of harms way but Chase didn’t budge.
“Wait! Hold your fire!” Clayton, having just been assaulted, struggled to speak before irrevocable harm was done. “Don’t shoot. We need him alive.”
Staring down the gunman Chase felt himself begin to breathe again once the firearm was no longer aimed at them.
“You’re an idiot,” he said to House over his shoulder and was barely able to catch the diagnostician’s expression as it soured further.
“So what exactly is Dr. House to you Robert?”
“He’s nobody,” Chase responded quickly.
The man smiled a patronizing smile. “No. I think he’s our insurance.” Having quickly recovered from the blow he’d taken, Clayton stepped close to House and Chase, and gripped the latter by the back of his neck. “You misbehave and I’ll break his other leg.” Turning to House he warned. “You hit me again, and you won’t live to regret it.”
Now usually House would have called his bluff. Clearly Chase knew that because the acute fear in his eyes could only come about if he knew that House would do something inadvisable and that this Clayton would follow through on his threat.
So, House behaved.
“Let’s get out of here. Call Antolovich. Tell him we’ve got what we need, and we got it my way.”
Chase knew that name and his confusion was prominent enough that Clayton commented on it.
“Yes, we’ve decided that working together would be mutually beneficial.” A step behind the small procession House listened carefully while Chase looked to be not listening at all. “One of us will be right about you.”
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Piotr Antolovich, a stocky, ambitious man, had just handed off his phone when it rang again. He took it back and greeted the caller sharply, assuming it was his “partner” again.
“What now?”
“I have him. He’s ready. Where do you want me to bring him?”
“Mister Mayes. I wondered when we were going to hear from you. Seems you’re too late. You left him unguarded and my associates have acquired him already.”
“Then you let Edie go. And I guess my part in this is done,” Mayes’s dispassionate voice informed.
“Oh, no, no, no. The deal was that you bring him all the way. You leave now and we’ll take everything you have.”
“You already have him. What good can I do you now?”
“Insurance. Robert trusts you -unfortunate boy.”
Mayes was given the meeting arrangements and the phone call was concluded. He sat back in the car he’d rented, parked a few hundred or so feet down the street from House’s apartment. He’d arrived back just in time to see both Chase and House being led out and into waiting cars. Warren had been too late so he’d made a call he’d promised never to make again, only keep himself close.
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“I guess that whole vow of poverty thing doesn’t apply to you guys,” House said from his very plush seat in the private jet. Those whom he’d addressed ignored him. Sitting at a pair of facing couches, a table between them, they were quietly discussing something.
At House’s right, closer to the back of the plane where the lavatories were located, Chase lay on the sofa that lined a small section of the cabin wall. He was unresponsive most of the time. House had checked him earlier and the younger man seemed fine, simply tired from the blood loss and the stress. No matter how mystical or divine these people might have thought stigmata was, it was still happening to a flesh and bone person and thus, took a physical toll. After arriving at the airport where the private jet had been waiting it became apparent quite quickly that Chase could no longer walk without help and a great deal more effort than he had in him to give at the moment. Conveniently, Antolovich and his people had prepared for such a contingency and there was a wheelchair in the trunk that Chase had no choice but to use.
Getting through customs and filing a flight plan had been a fairly quick process, though House had to wonder how they’d okayed it for him and Chase to make and international flight with no papers.
Once that was out of the way they’d embarked the plane and took off. There was no way Chase could mount the stairs so Mayes had quickly volunteered and carried Chase into the plane. House still wasn’t sure what this guy’s angle was, nor any of these people. Mayes hadn’t left Chase’s side since take-off and the others had not said more than a few words.
“You’re probably wondering why a Satanic Occult and the Church are working together,” the woman in the nun’s clothing said. She was seated in a single in a seat like House’s. A neat trick about the chairs was that they swivelled all the way around. She spun to face him then released the mechanism to lock the chair in place, and in his mind House heard “Mister Bond” at the end of her evil intro.
“I assume that someone will get double crossed at some point,” House said and didn’t like the smile that she responded with. He also didn’t like the way the clergymen and Clayton’s people, The Infernal Circle, were getting along and planning things out together.
“Not true,” the nun corrected. “One side will be right. The other will beg for mercy.”
“Not that the riddle isn’t interesting, but right about what?”
“Right about which side Robert comes from.” The nun gave House a critical eye and House realized that she was a lot like him, which sort of explained why he couldn’t stand her. “Don’t tell me a smart man like you hasn’t noticed the strange occurrences as of late, and the strange conundrums Robert practically embodies.”
“What of them?”
“What of them, indeed.” She gave a condescending smile and shifted her gaze to Warren and Chase. Warren sat at on the edge of the couch where Chase lay, talking quietly to him, providing comfort through his familiar and welcome touch. Though his wounds no longer bled, the familiar pain in the five regions was bad on its own. “Nails through the wrists, nails through the feet, lashed on the back, a crown of thorns and a spear in the side.”
“Wounds of the crucifixion.”
“Only gifted to very special people. But Robert has more than that, and those gifts aren’t given to people at all.” The woman was amused by House’s expression. “You think we’re crazy.”
“You said it not me.”
“Maybe we need the opinion of the man who knows Robert best. Warren, what do you think he is?”
The man addressed didn’t respond.
“I guess he’s too busy working off his guilt.”
Now House was thoroughly confused. The church and occult in cahoots and a bitchy nun? Weren’t nuns supposed to be round and wise, with bellies that jiggled like bowls full of jelly when they laughed?
Still she was observant (probably manipulative too). House also had noticed that the single-minded attention Mayes paid Chase stemmed from something other than concern.
“Suffice it to say that Robert is very special.”
“Sister,” a man in clerical clothes with small square in his white collar interrupted. “They need your input.”
She nodded and with a final calculated smile at House and the other two men she left. Her seat was filled by the man, Antolovich.
“I’m sorry you’re being involved in this,” the man apologized like any good person wouldn’t have had to.
“Not sorry enough to let me go though.”
“You wouldn’t leave anyway. You’re like him,” Antolovich nodded to Warren. “Curious, resilient, but in the end, only loyal to yourself. I can’t understand why Robert is drawn to that type.”
On the couch Warren tensed at the label stuck on him. A weak squeeze on his hand calmed him.
“I guess he’s just a poor judge of character,” House responded.
“I would think so but I think he might be seeing more than the rest of us. You’ve heard of angels and demons, have you not? Even if you don’t believe in either, which is silly.”
“You’re right -I don’t believe in either. And Chase isn’t good enough to be what you would think is an angel, or bad enough to be considered a demon.”
“What about bad enough to be a fallen angel? Or good enough to be a redeemed demon? That would fit.”
House began to twirl his cane with one hand. He glanced at Chase whose features were still pinched with pain. “Let me guess. The holy people are betting on fallen angel, the Satan worshippers, on redeemed demon. And now ET has to phone home.” It was ludicrous. No wonder Chase fled from life with these people. House had only been near them a few hours and he was sick of their antics.
“You don’t have to believe me, Dr. House. All you have to do is fulfil the obligations set by the oath you took. Keep Robert alive and healthy.”
“That’s going to be hard without proper equipment,” House quipped, though he knew the proper equipment had been helping Chase when he was in the hospital either.
“Don’t worry, you don’t have to do it for long.”
Here Mayes finally interjected, not wanting what might be their only other ally to get the wrong idea. “Yes, not for long. Just until they kill him.”
House turned his sharp gaze back to Antolovich who didn’t appear contrite over his small bit of duplicity. “I am sorry but it has to be done. There’s a great conflict on the horizon. He is our only chance to stave it off.” The balding man leading the clerical contingent of the party stood and headed back to the front of the plane.
“Where are we going?” House asked quietly of Mayes.
“The Holy Land.”
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“I don’t know where he is, but he wouldn’t do that,” Wilson defended.
Cuddy was used to Wilson defending House even when they both knew House had done something wrong. Of course there were also the times when Cuddy defended and Wilson prosecuted. House was always in the middle but he’d never endangered someone unnecessarily like this before. “He wouldn’t break the hospital rules to prove a point?”
“The only way to prove his point would be to do it in a hospital!” Wilson reasoned.
“I’m sending them out anyway. We have no where else to look and a man whose loosing pint after pint of blood is going to need more help than a doctor with no equipment can give.” They’d searched House’s place, where Wilson had finally admitted to having seen both House and Chase last, but nothing other than House’s stuff, a broken window and a slightly broken door had been found. Chase’s apartment was similarly empty but, strangely, full of packed boxes. With all of House’s many haunts and the few of Chase’s they knew about crossed off the list they were looking at local churches, against Wilson’s opinion.
It was Cameron and Foreman doing the searching, since they were now without their patient. When the incident with the smoke bomb in House’s office had been diffused and Chase’s disappearance was noticed, Wilson had managed to smooth things over by explaining that House had Chase. He wished he hadn’t because now, five hours later, both House and Chase were missing. Giving the oncologist accusatory glares Cameron and Foreman had gone on their respective searches.
When those had concluded without having produced results Cuddy became desperate. The next step was send Cameron and Foreman to search local churches, missions, mosques, temples, any religious building she could think of. Wilson didn’t feel right just sitting around.
“I’ll help.” Though he didn’t believe they’d find him.
“No. I’m going to phone other hospitals and clinics to be on the look out for anybody matching House or Chase’s description. You are going to go to your office and do your job. One of us should.” She only needed a short glare to ensure that Wilson would stay.
He was disappointed, and also grateful. The search was just busy work, like House running a battery of blood tests when he knew the answer wasn’t there but needed to rule out the obvious anyway. So it was Wilson, not House, left to sit back and twiddle his thumbs as his mind went to work on a puzzle.
Only a few minutes into his ponderings his office phone interrupted him.
“What,” he asked tiredly.
“Hi.” Wilson recognized the voice. “I’m looking for Doctor Wilson, God’s gift to needy cancer patients.”
“House! Where the hell are you? Is Chase okay?”
“If by okay you mean laid over in Schiphol because of bad weather, while a bunch of misguided clergy hold us against our will, with Chase nearly unconscious with agony, then yes, we’re fine. And why did you only ask about Chase?”
“I naturally assumed that whatever had happened was all your fault. And that your shamefully strong sense of self-preservation would keep you safe,” Wilson dismissed dispassionately. “Why are you in Amsterdam? Who kidnapped you?”
“Some priests or something. Chase has a history with them.”
“So why are you with them?”
“Well, you wouldn’t want me to just leave him alone with these people. You know the rep these churchy types have.”
“In other words they didn’t give you a choice.”
“Not one.”
“Find a way to stall them. I’ll try to get you some help.”
“How? You have connections in Interpol?”
In the face of House’s ritual abuse of him Wilson almost hated himself of worrying so much about him.
The silence over the line said something, or House knew Wilson well enough to know what he was thinking because his voice lost its edge. “I’ve tried to get help but they always have somebody watching. I just paid some kid my last fifty bucks to use his phone in the bathroom.”
“There has to be something we can do.”
“Keep Cuddy and the other two out of my stuff. If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know.”
“House…”
“I’ve gotta go.”
“House, wait!”
It was too late. The line went dead. Wilson stared for many seconds at the receiver in his hand. He was going to put the phone back on its hook but decided instead to leave it on his desk to keep his line occupied. He needed a moment to think the situation through and he didn’t want to be disturbed.
“Dr. Wilson?”
He should have locked the door to his office too.
The tentative call was proceeded by the entrance of Dr. Henderson, a man Wilson had nothing against except his beef with House. But if Wilson hated everyone who hated House, he’d be worse off than House.
“Yes, what is it?” As far as James knew he didn’t have any cancer patients that were crazy too.
“Have you found Doctor Chase?”
“No. Why?” The lie came so quickly it was natural.
Henderson rubbed his upper lip and took a quick glance to his right. “I have a patient,” he admitted as though that were unusual for a doctor. “She needs to see Doctor Chase.”
Wilson shook his head. “Well, she can’t.”
“It would probably help…” Henderson sighed and began again. “She thinks she’s an angel. She thinks Chase is too. She also thinks she knows where he is.”
“Tell her she’s crazy. That is what you do isn’t it?” Wilson almost said, perhaps feeling the need to make up for the lack of poor interpersonal skills House and Chase’s absence had left. Instead he posed:
“Can I talk to her?”
Henderson didn’t have a problem with that, and a few minutes later he was in the room of Angelica Brown, a woman in her late twenties who had been diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia.
“Angelica,” James called softly, trying not to startle the patient. She was strapped to the bed and mumbling to herself, or perhaps to someone only she could see. Wilson glanced to Henderson. He gave a sad shake of his head with his lips pressed thinly together. Angelica was always like this, medicated or not.
“I can see you,” her raspy voice told the air at her bed’s left. “Because…’cause I see,” she giggled softly in her peculiar mirth.
“Angelica.”
All her amusement drained away as quickly as it had come. She jerked her head to look at her latest visitor. “You can’t know my name. I’m looking for Robert.”
“He’s…not around right now.” Her wide, suspicion-filled eyes, and her constant rocking side to side made Wilson uncomfortable. As though she was seeing more of him than he wanted to he had to fight against the urge to cross his arms or dig his hands into his pockets so that he could work his nerves out on whatever loose thread or piece of lint might be found there.
“Do you know where he is?” Wilson asked carefully.
“He flies, like he’s meant to…he just forgot.” Angelica stopped rocking and her eyes lost their disconcerting intensity. “They have the way home if he stops fighting.”
“Angelica, Where is Robert?”
“Half a circle…the Dutch son in the old father land on his way home.” Angelica turned her gaze to the left side of her bed again. “My angel…my amazing and terrible wonder.” Her ghostly whisper pushed the two doctors out of her room.
“She doesn’t make much sense most of the time,” Henderson apologized for her.
“It’s okay.” James began to leave. “I’ll pass your message along to Chase,” he assured quickly before Henderson could remind him. He headed for the stairs and at a landing between floors he stopped to wonder and worry over the situation.
Henderson didn’t know it but Angelica might make sense if one knew what to listen for. Maybe it was just a fluke, a coincidence that he was reading too much into. Whatever the explanation Wilson was going to pay more attention to the woman. Her fractured mind might produce some useful insight in the near future.
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It was a long flight to Israel. A two hour layover in Amsterdam was then followed by another long leg, but thankfully the final leg of their flight.
They arrived by taxi to a private mansion in Jerusalem, owned by friends of the small and secret branch of the Catholic Church charged with this issue -The Tenth Order. These people, named as the next hierarchy of heavenly servants under their God, were a group believed by the followers to have been founded by the Watchers, angels on earth sent to look after man but who may have played a large part in corrupting them. Today that group was said to continue to work in the favour of man and on God’s behalf.
“Father Antolovich, Deacon Voorhees, it’s good to see you both again,” their hostess greeted once she help had settled them in the ornate lounge.
“Miss Stodelmeyer,” Voorhees greeted her in return. The deacon was the leader of this little faction, all orders supposedly going through him. The grey-haired man seemed meagre and insipid next to the strong frame of Clayton and the Antolovich’s aura of certainty and wisdom. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
Chase cringed at the stuffiness of the exchange. His eyes were closed since it made him feel a little better to ignore the stares and the surroundings, but he could still hear. And he could feel the woman’s response. Chase wasn’t sure how screwed up a person had to be to actually enjoy the adherence to old-fashioned, formal exchanges but this woman did. She also ignored anybody that was unimportant to her. She didn’t so much as nod to those that assisted the ordained men, and her gaze was quick to skip over Clayton and his people. Clearly they were unwanted guests.
“Is this him?” Chase heard her ask and felt her eyes on him. Next to him Mayes tensed and seated not far he felt House’s displeasure mount. Despite the open, airy lounge, and the relaxed countenance of those in the room, the front barely concealed the undercurrent of dread, anticipation and malice. In a blink all that peripheral awareness vanished and focused on the basic human senses the moment Chase felt a touch on his face. He startled. His eyes opened and found the dark eyes of the unfamiliar woman meeting his. “You are a beautiful creation,” she whispered, the lines around her eyes and mouth becoming more pronounced as the content expression graced her face. “So precious.”
“He needs to rest,” Mayes said suddenly, his tone magnitudes harsher.
Undisturbed and not insulted by his tone, the Israeli woman looked up at him. “Warren Mayes -Watchman servant of Matthew.”
“I know the meaning of my name,” he told her frostily. “And I know my purpose. He needs rest.”
“Of course,” she relented after a tense staring match with the tall man. “You have a big day tomorrow,” she said to Chase who still looked dazed and not entirely coherent.
Both Mayes and House felt themselves relax a fraction when the woman removed her touch from Chase. They felt even better once they were being led to the guest room where Chase would be sleeping in that night. The pace was slow since Chase had barely the energy to walk at all which was fine by House. The flight of stairs to the second floor had not been fun for him and the pace gave him a good chance to look around. The artwork lining the corridors looked old and expensive but not particularly good in his opinion. The carpet was old and musty and the air smelt a little stale. Though the exterior and the interior façade exuded grandeur, House could still see a few corners where wear and tear on the old structure hadn’t been repaired, only cheaply and badly covered.
Mayes helped Chase settle into bed once they arrived at the room. Nothing was said until the young woman who had led them there closed the door and her retreating footsteps receded into the background hum of activity in the house.
House sat at the edge of the bed and checked Chase’s pulse. The young man was on his side facing the door and the other two. His glassy eyes were open but unknown to them he wasn’t seeing the moderately sized and sparsely furnished room. They attributed his detachment to pain but had yet to learn of the trips outside his existence Chase too often found himself on.
“So what is your purpose? Other than annoying the hell out of me,” House inquired not looking up from his watch as he measure Chase’s pulse rate.
Mayes sighed silently, more to steady himself than in exasperation. “He’s my purpose.” He saw House’s gaze shifted to him but kept his on Chase. “His well-being, his happiness, I was supposed to take care of him.”
“I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you this, but you’ve been doing a pretty crappy job,” House derided.
Mayes agreed sadly. “I know. I just…after twenty-one years I thought I was wrong.”
“I keep noticing these multiples of seven coming up. Coincidence or design?”
“I don’t know. Seven is considered a divine number. There’s also the seven year-life cycles that some people believe in. And, in my experience, every seven years something major happens -sometimes something terrible.”
“He just turned twenty eight. I’m going to guess that you’re thirty five,” House deduced and his deduction was confirmed with a nod.
“When I was seven. I wandered to a hospital in Melbourne. I met a priest there -it was like he’d known I was coming and was waiting for me. He showed me to a room where a tiny newborn was struggling to survive and right then I found my destiny, my purpose and I never questioned it.”
“You do know he was born positive for cocaine and heroin. Not a great start for a divine messenger.”
House was right, Mayes knew, but he couldn’t even begin to describe the awesome feeling he’d experienced when, as a child, he saw Robert for the very first time. The big world suddenly hadn’t mattered because it made sense because of that one little being. He’d felt his purpose like it had been born into him and finally awakened. “I know he’s special. I don’t know how but I can feel it,” was as much as Warren could elaborate for House who’d been waiting for his answer.
House wanted to laugh in his face, ridicule everything Mayes believed to his soul was true. Yet somehow, House found he couldn’t. Chase was different; House believed that the more he delved into his fellow’s life, but House only associated with people who somehow deviated from the norm. Was Chase really more different than what he’d originally suspected -more than just a statistical outlier?
“So what happened when Chase was seven years old?” If he wanted to explain why Chase was different with a hypothesis that was based on something real, he’d need all the information.
Mayes perched himself on bedside table and watched House’s hand on Chase’s. He didn’t question House’s curiosity. They had few allies and at the moment information was the only weapon with which Mayes could arm the crippled man. “Visions I suppose you would call them. Insights into people and things that no child could ever know. Even when he spoke them aloud it sounded like he understood the deeper meaning but not the specific words of the message. They performed a ritual under the guise of his First Communion trying to determine what exactly was going on with him, but there was no final answer. Strike one for the Church of God.”
“So the Church of Satan wanted its chance.” House felt Chase shiver and looked down to notice for the first time that his hand held Chase’s and his thumb was rubbing a soothing motion on the back of it. The motion stopped when House noticed and he was about to pull away until he felt Chase tense. “You’re okay,” House assured matter-of-factly, reluctantly, and felt a swell of something when Chase believed him and relaxed.
Stamping down his emotion, Mayes looked away and went on. “At fourteen they snatched him up from right under my nose. He stepped off the school bus and was coming towards me. I swear he knew it was coming before I did. His smile just,” Mayes snapped the fingers, “vanished into fear and before he could begin to run someone grabbed him, forced him into a car and took off. It took ten days to find him.” His gut still clenched and his eyes still watered at the memory. The thin boy, marked all over with symbols drawn with his own blood. Some were even carved into his flesh by sharp edges enough that blood welled at the cuts. Robert had been pale and unconscious and had remained so for two more days before waking into the pain of the crucifixion wounds, but without the physical manifestation of wounds on his body. And of course one could not forget the curse or whatever they called it, drawn into the smooth skin of his back. They wouldn’t wash off. Fortunately, it and the other marks faded in the coming weeks, but their effect would remain in dim echoes on him forever.
“Then, when he turned twenty-one, I made the worst mistake of my life. I betrayed him, joining the ranks of his mother and father.”
“They knew about what he might be?” House didn’t like the wording but he had no others.
“His father ignored it, ignored both Robert and his mother. His mother…well she was the one who told Clayton and his followers when and where to find Robert that day when he was fourteen.”
House was dumbstruck, though his expression remained blank and unapproachable. Could there ever truly be a mother that bad? House could imagine only Lady Macbeth being worse a maternal figure. “What did they give her?”
“Money, drugs, alcohol; the things that would lead to her death two and a half years later.” Those and guilt.
“And what did they give you?” House asked and insulted all at once. His eyes were expectant, waiting for the worst, and like people always seem to do but never seem to realize until they were called on it; and the worst was most always what was delivered.
“They gave me a life to live, a home, a career,” Mayes said in shame for trading so much for so little. “Father Antolovich promised to give me everything I thought I wanted if I just kept Robert at the safe-house until they arrived.” Mayes stared up at the cracked, discoloured ceiling. He tried to keep the wetness over his eyes from falling into tears of regret.
How badly his Robin had needed him in those days. It had been misery for him. The spectres that he couldn’t tell were good or bad, the sights, too many of them horrors that no person on earth should be burdened with having to experience, and the pain and angry red marks that reddened the flesh all over the boy’s body. Mayes had held him while he screamed, comforted him while he cried, and when Robert told him he loved him and gave his body to him once more, Warren’s thoughts had been full of spite and treachery.
“So what happened?” The words delivered in an American accent broke through the recriminations of Warren’s mind.
“He must have overheard, or seen something. When I was out of the room for a few minutes he slipped out the back and…disappeared. He suffered through the rest of the cycle alone and when he did resurface it was too late for any design that might entail him. They’d have to wait another seven years. Robert finished med school, then left the country. I had no contact with him since then until a few days ago.”
“Well…I guess that explains a few things about him,” House said after the silence grew too long. It explained to him why Chase was the opportunist that he was. When those he’d trusted to take care of him let him down, time and time again, he learnt to take care of himself. And yet in Chase’s pragmatism and pessimism, there was always that small, innocent piece of the boy who’d grown up under a heavy hand of spiritualism, always looking for something to prove him wrong, something to redeem them all. It was why he gave out second chances when a more cautious person wouldn’t. And human nature was the reason they hadn’t yet paid off.
After five or so more minutes of silence House let go of Chase and immediately had to calm him when the blond-haired man began to panic. His wide-open, unseeing eyes searched his sight for something to anchor him. The hand, where House’s warmth was being stolen by the cold winter breeze of south Chile, reached out blindly.
“Chase, you’re okay,” House said reaching to take the hand in his again and letting his other brush through the soft, bright hair. “I just need to go get something. I’ll be right back,” he assured, needing Chase to believe that he wasn’t being abandoned by him too. Knowing his history it was suddenly very important to House that Chase understand him. He spoke simply. “I’m not leaving you. I promise, Robert, I’ll be right back.”
Not sure how it was that House was with him when he was clearly alone with the two women who were beating up on a boy who was barely reaching the cusp of manhood, Chase knew only that he didn’t want to be more alone than he was, so he tried to go back to where he thought House was. He ended up at a sight of more sadness and pain.
Mayes switched with House, taking over comforting the disturbed man while House went to get some water for both him and Chase. The en-suite washroom had no cups so House exited the room to find what he needed. The search only took about two minutes as one of the servants noticed House and after managing to summit the language barrier, brought the required items. The glass stacked in the pitcher to leave his other hand free and House began back to the room. He paused when he heard what sounded like Clayton and Antolovich speaking and unrepentantly listened in.
“…do it this way? All these compromises…” The more gravely voice of Mr. Clayton complained.
“It’s the way he wants it done. There’s too much lore and too much influence here for us to simply ignore them. It’s of no consequence. It all comes to an end the same way.”
“…you do realize that if we’re wrong, we’ll have killed an innocent man.”
House pressed his ear closer, trying to hear the low words.
“…posterity will concern itself with one man?...war, one man will mean less than nothing.”
“And if we’re successful?”
“Then his sacrifice will not be in vain.”
Shoes began to scuff on the carpet behind the mostly closed door. House knew he had to make his escape. He didn’t look back when he heard the door open just a second before he walked into Chase’s temporary room. He didn’t now if the two men saw him but in order not to look suspicious he continued about his business and closed the door behind him.
Mayes glanced a House when he re-entered and quietly finished talking to Chase. He stood, giving Chase one last touch. “I have some things to do. Watch out for him. Hopeful you can do a better job this time than last.”
Mayes exited abruptly with House’s glare at his back. House fished out his Vicodin bottle and took a pill. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was a place to get his pain killer and general vice around here.
He looked down at Chase and wondered what was going on back in New Jersey. Maybe he should call and convince Wilson to take a trip to the land of his faith. He really wished Wilson was around because he trusted James despite recent events. He didn’t trust Chase in his current state of stress. And Mayes, House didn’t trust at all. He claimed remorse over his past actions but the more House thought about it, the more he concluded that Mayes wasn’t being entirely honest with them.
End Chapter 7
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- - - H/C - - -
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Cast and Characters
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Chase/OMC, House/Chase
Summary: The marks of the saints and a past he won’t remember force Chase and House to face religion head on. They won’t get his fellow without a fight!
Spoilers: Up to season 4 Finale.
Genre: Drama, Supernatural
Disclaimer: I don’t own House. I’m not making any money off this story.
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Language, Adult Situations, Violence, M/M relationships. Do not read this story if any of these bother you!
Chapter 7: Theological Facets
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“Who?” House thought perhaps he meant the people about whom Mayes had been so paranoid. He naturally assumed they were clerical personnel of some sort. Shaking his head Chase stood wobbly from the couch.
“Worse,” he responded as though knowing what House was thinking. There wasn't even enough time for House to contemplate that mini mystery before his apartment exploded into chaos. The door flew open and crashed into the wall with a bang. Chase backed away from it. The window behind him erupted into small shards of glass.
With neither man at their physical peak in that moment in time, there was no way to prevent the sudden invasion. In a matter of a few, diminutive seconds the small living room was crowded with numerous people, many of them armed, and the few exits were effectively block.
Staring down the barrel of a loaded gun House still couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t invite you in.”
“You’ll just have to excuse us. You see, you have something of importance to us,” the man who for the moment appeared to be in charge said as he easily wove his way through his people to stand by Chase. In his navy blue suit and grey turtle neck the man looked like a plain, early-forties American man. He certainly didn’t look deserving of fearful expression Chase was giving him. House, however, wasn’t aware of their history.
“It’s nice to see you again, Robert.”
“I can’t say the same, Clayton.” The waver didn’t make it into his voice but the other man seemed to know how much effort the small success took. Their history was one of violence. And time had only made Clayton more ruthless.
“It’s time to go.”
Shaking his head Chase replied. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Is he the one?” House asked. Chase had nearly forgotten that there were other people in the room besides him and his old foe. House rose from the couch and asked again, “Is he the one?”
The man in the suit, Clayton, looked down his nose at the older, crippled man. “The one that what?”
“The one that held him down and carved a baphomet into his back.” His statement was punctuated with a blow with the hilt of his cane into the stranger’s gut. The next seconds were a rush of movement. The Clayton doubled over, one of his goons moving closer and looking ready to shoot House and Chase stepping into the line of fire.
“Chase,” House said tensely as the other man practically fell into him in his haste to stupidly be a hero. House had one hand on his fellow’s upper arm trying to get him out of harms way but Chase didn’t budge.
“Wait! Hold your fire!” Clayton, having just been assaulted, struggled to speak before irrevocable harm was done. “Don’t shoot. We need him alive.”
Staring down the gunman Chase felt himself begin to breathe again once the firearm was no longer aimed at them.
“You’re an idiot,” he said to House over his shoulder and was barely able to catch the diagnostician’s expression as it soured further.
“So what exactly is Dr. House to you Robert?”
“He’s nobody,” Chase responded quickly.
The man smiled a patronizing smile. “No. I think he’s our insurance.” Having quickly recovered from the blow he’d taken, Clayton stepped close to House and Chase, and gripped the latter by the back of his neck. “You misbehave and I’ll break his other leg.” Turning to House he warned. “You hit me again, and you won’t live to regret it.”
Now usually House would have called his bluff. Clearly Chase knew that because the acute fear in his eyes could only come about if he knew that House would do something inadvisable and that this Clayton would follow through on his threat.
So, House behaved.
“Let’s get out of here. Call Antolovich. Tell him we’ve got what we need, and we got it my way.”
Chase knew that name and his confusion was prominent enough that Clayton commented on it.
“Yes, we’ve decided that working together would be mutually beneficial.” A step behind the small procession House listened carefully while Chase looked to be not listening at all. “One of us will be right about you.”
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Piotr Antolovich, a stocky, ambitious man, had just handed off his phone when it rang again. He took it back and greeted the caller sharply, assuming it was his “partner” again.
“What now?”
“I have him. He’s ready. Where do you want me to bring him?”
“Mister Mayes. I wondered when we were going to hear from you. Seems you’re too late. You left him unguarded and my associates have acquired him already.”
“Then you let Edie go. And I guess my part in this is done,” Mayes’s dispassionate voice informed.
“Oh, no, no, no. The deal was that you bring him all the way. You leave now and we’ll take everything you have.”
“You already have him. What good can I do you now?”
“Insurance. Robert trusts you -unfortunate boy.”
Mayes was given the meeting arrangements and the phone call was concluded. He sat back in the car he’d rented, parked a few hundred or so feet down the street from House’s apartment. He’d arrived back just in time to see both Chase and House being led out and into waiting cars. Warren had been too late so he’d made a call he’d promised never to make again, only keep himself close.
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“I guess that whole vow of poverty thing doesn’t apply to you guys,” House said from his very plush seat in the private jet. Those whom he’d addressed ignored him. Sitting at a pair of facing couches, a table between them, they were quietly discussing something.
At House’s right, closer to the back of the plane where the lavatories were located, Chase lay on the sofa that lined a small section of the cabin wall. He was unresponsive most of the time. House had checked him earlier and the younger man seemed fine, simply tired from the blood loss and the stress. No matter how mystical or divine these people might have thought stigmata was, it was still happening to a flesh and bone person and thus, took a physical toll. After arriving at the airport where the private jet had been waiting it became apparent quite quickly that Chase could no longer walk without help and a great deal more effort than he had in him to give at the moment. Conveniently, Antolovich and his people had prepared for such a contingency and there was a wheelchair in the trunk that Chase had no choice but to use.
Getting through customs and filing a flight plan had been a fairly quick process, though House had to wonder how they’d okayed it for him and Chase to make and international flight with no papers.
Once that was out of the way they’d embarked the plane and took off. There was no way Chase could mount the stairs so Mayes had quickly volunteered and carried Chase into the plane. House still wasn’t sure what this guy’s angle was, nor any of these people. Mayes hadn’t left Chase’s side since take-off and the others had not said more than a few words.
“You’re probably wondering why a Satanic Occult and the Church are working together,” the woman in the nun’s clothing said. She was seated in a single in a seat like House’s. A neat trick about the chairs was that they swivelled all the way around. She spun to face him then released the mechanism to lock the chair in place, and in his mind House heard “Mister Bond” at the end of her evil intro.
“I assume that someone will get double crossed at some point,” House said and didn’t like the smile that she responded with. He also didn’t like the way the clergymen and Clayton’s people, The Infernal Circle, were getting along and planning things out together.
“Not true,” the nun corrected. “One side will be right. The other will beg for mercy.”
“Not that the riddle isn’t interesting, but right about what?”
“Right about which side Robert comes from.” The nun gave House a critical eye and House realized that she was a lot like him, which sort of explained why he couldn’t stand her. “Don’t tell me a smart man like you hasn’t noticed the strange occurrences as of late, and the strange conundrums Robert practically embodies.”
“What of them?”
“What of them, indeed.” She gave a condescending smile and shifted her gaze to Warren and Chase. Warren sat at on the edge of the couch where Chase lay, talking quietly to him, providing comfort through his familiar and welcome touch. Though his wounds no longer bled, the familiar pain in the five regions was bad on its own. “Nails through the wrists, nails through the feet, lashed on the back, a crown of thorns and a spear in the side.”
“Wounds of the crucifixion.”
“Only gifted to very special people. But Robert has more than that, and those gifts aren’t given to people at all.” The woman was amused by House’s expression. “You think we’re crazy.”
“You said it not me.”
“Maybe we need the opinion of the man who knows Robert best. Warren, what do you think he is?”
The man addressed didn’t respond.
“I guess he’s too busy working off his guilt.”
Now House was thoroughly confused. The church and occult in cahoots and a bitchy nun? Weren’t nuns supposed to be round and wise, with bellies that jiggled like bowls full of jelly when they laughed?
Still she was observant (probably manipulative too). House also had noticed that the single-minded attention Mayes paid Chase stemmed from something other than concern.
“Suffice it to say that Robert is very special.”
“Sister,” a man in clerical clothes with small square in his white collar interrupted. “They need your input.”
She nodded and with a final calculated smile at House and the other two men she left. Her seat was filled by the man, Antolovich.
“I’m sorry you’re being involved in this,” the man apologized like any good person wouldn’t have had to.
“Not sorry enough to let me go though.”
“You wouldn’t leave anyway. You’re like him,” Antolovich nodded to Warren. “Curious, resilient, but in the end, only loyal to yourself. I can’t understand why Robert is drawn to that type.”
On the couch Warren tensed at the label stuck on him. A weak squeeze on his hand calmed him.
“I guess he’s just a poor judge of character,” House responded.
“I would think so but I think he might be seeing more than the rest of us. You’ve heard of angels and demons, have you not? Even if you don’t believe in either, which is silly.”
“You’re right -I don’t believe in either. And Chase isn’t good enough to be what you would think is an angel, or bad enough to be considered a demon.”
“What about bad enough to be a fallen angel? Or good enough to be a redeemed demon? That would fit.”
House began to twirl his cane with one hand. He glanced at Chase whose features were still pinched with pain. “Let me guess. The holy people are betting on fallen angel, the Satan worshippers, on redeemed demon. And now ET has to phone home.” It was ludicrous. No wonder Chase fled from life with these people. House had only been near them a few hours and he was sick of their antics.
“You don’t have to believe me, Dr. House. All you have to do is fulfil the obligations set by the oath you took. Keep Robert alive and healthy.”
“That’s going to be hard without proper equipment,” House quipped, though he knew the proper equipment had been helping Chase when he was in the hospital either.
“Don’t worry, you don’t have to do it for long.”
Here Mayes finally interjected, not wanting what might be their only other ally to get the wrong idea. “Yes, not for long. Just until they kill him.”
House turned his sharp gaze back to Antolovich who didn’t appear contrite over his small bit of duplicity. “I am sorry but it has to be done. There’s a great conflict on the horizon. He is our only chance to stave it off.” The balding man leading the clerical contingent of the party stood and headed back to the front of the plane.
“Where are we going?” House asked quietly of Mayes.
“The Holy Land.”
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“I don’t know where he is, but he wouldn’t do that,” Wilson defended.
Cuddy was used to Wilson defending House even when they both knew House had done something wrong. Of course there were also the times when Cuddy defended and Wilson prosecuted. House was always in the middle but he’d never endangered someone unnecessarily like this before. “He wouldn’t break the hospital rules to prove a point?”
“The only way to prove his point would be to do it in a hospital!” Wilson reasoned.
“I’m sending them out anyway. We have no where else to look and a man whose loosing pint after pint of blood is going to need more help than a doctor with no equipment can give.” They’d searched House’s place, where Wilson had finally admitted to having seen both House and Chase last, but nothing other than House’s stuff, a broken window and a slightly broken door had been found. Chase’s apartment was similarly empty but, strangely, full of packed boxes. With all of House’s many haunts and the few of Chase’s they knew about crossed off the list they were looking at local churches, against Wilson’s opinion.
It was Cameron and Foreman doing the searching, since they were now without their patient. When the incident with the smoke bomb in House’s office had been diffused and Chase’s disappearance was noticed, Wilson had managed to smooth things over by explaining that House had Chase. He wished he hadn’t because now, five hours later, both House and Chase were missing. Giving the oncologist accusatory glares Cameron and Foreman had gone on their respective searches.
When those had concluded without having produced results Cuddy became desperate. The next step was send Cameron and Foreman to search local churches, missions, mosques, temples, any religious building she could think of. Wilson didn’t feel right just sitting around.
“I’ll help.” Though he didn’t believe they’d find him.
“No. I’m going to phone other hospitals and clinics to be on the look out for anybody matching House or Chase’s description. You are going to go to your office and do your job. One of us should.” She only needed a short glare to ensure that Wilson would stay.
He was disappointed, and also grateful. The search was just busy work, like House running a battery of blood tests when he knew the answer wasn’t there but needed to rule out the obvious anyway. So it was Wilson, not House, left to sit back and twiddle his thumbs as his mind went to work on a puzzle.
Only a few minutes into his ponderings his office phone interrupted him.
“What,” he asked tiredly.
“Hi.” Wilson recognized the voice. “I’m looking for Doctor Wilson, God’s gift to needy cancer patients.”
“House! Where the hell are you? Is Chase okay?”
“If by okay you mean laid over in Schiphol because of bad weather, while a bunch of misguided clergy hold us against our will, with Chase nearly unconscious with agony, then yes, we’re fine. And why did you only ask about Chase?”
“I naturally assumed that whatever had happened was all your fault. And that your shamefully strong sense of self-preservation would keep you safe,” Wilson dismissed dispassionately. “Why are you in Amsterdam? Who kidnapped you?”
“Some priests or something. Chase has a history with them.”
“So why are you with them?”
“Well, you wouldn’t want me to just leave him alone with these people. You know the rep these churchy types have.”
“In other words they didn’t give you a choice.”
“Not one.”
“Find a way to stall them. I’ll try to get you some help.”
“How? You have connections in Interpol?”
In the face of House’s ritual abuse of him Wilson almost hated himself of worrying so much about him.
The silence over the line said something, or House knew Wilson well enough to know what he was thinking because his voice lost its edge. “I’ve tried to get help but they always have somebody watching. I just paid some kid my last fifty bucks to use his phone in the bathroom.”
“There has to be something we can do.”
“Keep Cuddy and the other two out of my stuff. If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know.”
“House…”
“I’ve gotta go.”
“House, wait!”
It was too late. The line went dead. Wilson stared for many seconds at the receiver in his hand. He was going to put the phone back on its hook but decided instead to leave it on his desk to keep his line occupied. He needed a moment to think the situation through and he didn’t want to be disturbed.
“Dr. Wilson?”
He should have locked the door to his office too.
The tentative call was proceeded by the entrance of Dr. Henderson, a man Wilson had nothing against except his beef with House. But if Wilson hated everyone who hated House, he’d be worse off than House.
“Yes, what is it?” As far as James knew he didn’t have any cancer patients that were crazy too.
“Have you found Doctor Chase?”
“No. Why?” The lie came so quickly it was natural.
Henderson rubbed his upper lip and took a quick glance to his right. “I have a patient,” he admitted as though that were unusual for a doctor. “She needs to see Doctor Chase.”
Wilson shook his head. “Well, she can’t.”
“It would probably help…” Henderson sighed and began again. “She thinks she’s an angel. She thinks Chase is too. She also thinks she knows where he is.”
“Tell her she’s crazy. That is what you do isn’t it?” Wilson almost said, perhaps feeling the need to make up for the lack of poor interpersonal skills House and Chase’s absence had left. Instead he posed:
“Can I talk to her?”
Henderson didn’t have a problem with that, and a few minutes later he was in the room of Angelica Brown, a woman in her late twenties who had been diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia.
“Angelica,” James called softly, trying not to startle the patient. She was strapped to the bed and mumbling to herself, or perhaps to someone only she could see. Wilson glanced to Henderson. He gave a sad shake of his head with his lips pressed thinly together. Angelica was always like this, medicated or not.
“I can see you,” her raspy voice told the air at her bed’s left. “Because…’cause I see,” she giggled softly in her peculiar mirth.
“Angelica.”
All her amusement drained away as quickly as it had come. She jerked her head to look at her latest visitor. “You can’t know my name. I’m looking for Robert.”
“He’s…not around right now.” Her wide, suspicion-filled eyes, and her constant rocking side to side made Wilson uncomfortable. As though she was seeing more of him than he wanted to he had to fight against the urge to cross his arms or dig his hands into his pockets so that he could work his nerves out on whatever loose thread or piece of lint might be found there.
“Do you know where he is?” Wilson asked carefully.
“He flies, like he’s meant to…he just forgot.” Angelica stopped rocking and her eyes lost their disconcerting intensity. “They have the way home if he stops fighting.”
“Angelica, Where is Robert?”
“Half a circle…the Dutch son in the old father land on his way home.” Angelica turned her gaze to the left side of her bed again. “My angel…my amazing and terrible wonder.” Her ghostly whisper pushed the two doctors out of her room.
“She doesn’t make much sense most of the time,” Henderson apologized for her.
“It’s okay.” James began to leave. “I’ll pass your message along to Chase,” he assured quickly before Henderson could remind him. He headed for the stairs and at a landing between floors he stopped to wonder and worry over the situation.
Henderson didn’t know it but Angelica might make sense if one knew what to listen for. Maybe it was just a fluke, a coincidence that he was reading too much into. Whatever the explanation Wilson was going to pay more attention to the woman. Her fractured mind might produce some useful insight in the near future.
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It was a long flight to Israel. A two hour layover in Amsterdam was then followed by another long leg, but thankfully the final leg of their flight.
They arrived by taxi to a private mansion in Jerusalem, owned by friends of the small and secret branch of the Catholic Church charged with this issue -The Tenth Order. These people, named as the next hierarchy of heavenly servants under their God, were a group believed by the followers to have been founded by the Watchers, angels on earth sent to look after man but who may have played a large part in corrupting them. Today that group was said to continue to work in the favour of man and on God’s behalf.
“Father Antolovich, Deacon Voorhees, it’s good to see you both again,” their hostess greeted once she help had settled them in the ornate lounge.
“Miss Stodelmeyer,” Voorhees greeted her in return. The deacon was the leader of this little faction, all orders supposedly going through him. The grey-haired man seemed meagre and insipid next to the strong frame of Clayton and the Antolovich’s aura of certainty and wisdom. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
Chase cringed at the stuffiness of the exchange. His eyes were closed since it made him feel a little better to ignore the stares and the surroundings, but he could still hear. And he could feel the woman’s response. Chase wasn’t sure how screwed up a person had to be to actually enjoy the adherence to old-fashioned, formal exchanges but this woman did. She also ignored anybody that was unimportant to her. She didn’t so much as nod to those that assisted the ordained men, and her gaze was quick to skip over Clayton and his people. Clearly they were unwanted guests.
“Is this him?” Chase heard her ask and felt her eyes on him. Next to him Mayes tensed and seated not far he felt House’s displeasure mount. Despite the open, airy lounge, and the relaxed countenance of those in the room, the front barely concealed the undercurrent of dread, anticipation and malice. In a blink all that peripheral awareness vanished and focused on the basic human senses the moment Chase felt a touch on his face. He startled. His eyes opened and found the dark eyes of the unfamiliar woman meeting his. “You are a beautiful creation,” she whispered, the lines around her eyes and mouth becoming more pronounced as the content expression graced her face. “So precious.”
“He needs to rest,” Mayes said suddenly, his tone magnitudes harsher.
Undisturbed and not insulted by his tone, the Israeli woman looked up at him. “Warren Mayes -Watchman servant of Matthew.”
“I know the meaning of my name,” he told her frostily. “And I know my purpose. He needs rest.”
“Of course,” she relented after a tense staring match with the tall man. “You have a big day tomorrow,” she said to Chase who still looked dazed and not entirely coherent.
Both Mayes and House felt themselves relax a fraction when the woman removed her touch from Chase. They felt even better once they were being led to the guest room where Chase would be sleeping in that night. The pace was slow since Chase had barely the energy to walk at all which was fine by House. The flight of stairs to the second floor had not been fun for him and the pace gave him a good chance to look around. The artwork lining the corridors looked old and expensive but not particularly good in his opinion. The carpet was old and musty and the air smelt a little stale. Though the exterior and the interior façade exuded grandeur, House could still see a few corners where wear and tear on the old structure hadn’t been repaired, only cheaply and badly covered.
Mayes helped Chase settle into bed once they arrived at the room. Nothing was said until the young woman who had led them there closed the door and her retreating footsteps receded into the background hum of activity in the house.
House sat at the edge of the bed and checked Chase’s pulse. The young man was on his side facing the door and the other two. His glassy eyes were open but unknown to them he wasn’t seeing the moderately sized and sparsely furnished room. They attributed his detachment to pain but had yet to learn of the trips outside his existence Chase too often found himself on.
“So what is your purpose? Other than annoying the hell out of me,” House inquired not looking up from his watch as he measure Chase’s pulse rate.
Mayes sighed silently, more to steady himself than in exasperation. “He’s my purpose.” He saw House’s gaze shifted to him but kept his on Chase. “His well-being, his happiness, I was supposed to take care of him.”
“I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you this, but you’ve been doing a pretty crappy job,” House derided.
Mayes agreed sadly. “I know. I just…after twenty-one years I thought I was wrong.”
“I keep noticing these multiples of seven coming up. Coincidence or design?”
“I don’t know. Seven is considered a divine number. There’s also the seven year-life cycles that some people believe in. And, in my experience, every seven years something major happens -sometimes something terrible.”
“He just turned twenty eight. I’m going to guess that you’re thirty five,” House deduced and his deduction was confirmed with a nod.
“When I was seven. I wandered to a hospital in Melbourne. I met a priest there -it was like he’d known I was coming and was waiting for me. He showed me to a room where a tiny newborn was struggling to survive and right then I found my destiny, my purpose and I never questioned it.”
“You do know he was born positive for cocaine and heroin. Not a great start for a divine messenger.”
House was right, Mayes knew, but he couldn’t even begin to describe the awesome feeling he’d experienced when, as a child, he saw Robert for the very first time. The big world suddenly hadn’t mattered because it made sense because of that one little being. He’d felt his purpose like it had been born into him and finally awakened. “I know he’s special. I don’t know how but I can feel it,” was as much as Warren could elaborate for House who’d been waiting for his answer.
House wanted to laugh in his face, ridicule everything Mayes believed to his soul was true. Yet somehow, House found he couldn’t. Chase was different; House believed that the more he delved into his fellow’s life, but House only associated with people who somehow deviated from the norm. Was Chase really more different than what he’d originally suspected -more than just a statistical outlier?
“So what happened when Chase was seven years old?” If he wanted to explain why Chase was different with a hypothesis that was based on something real, he’d need all the information.
Mayes perched himself on bedside table and watched House’s hand on Chase’s. He didn’t question House’s curiosity. They had few allies and at the moment information was the only weapon with which Mayes could arm the crippled man. “Visions I suppose you would call them. Insights into people and things that no child could ever know. Even when he spoke them aloud it sounded like he understood the deeper meaning but not the specific words of the message. They performed a ritual under the guise of his First Communion trying to determine what exactly was going on with him, but there was no final answer. Strike one for the Church of God.”
“So the Church of Satan wanted its chance.” House felt Chase shiver and looked down to notice for the first time that his hand held Chase’s and his thumb was rubbing a soothing motion on the back of it. The motion stopped when House noticed and he was about to pull away until he felt Chase tense. “You’re okay,” House assured matter-of-factly, reluctantly, and felt a swell of something when Chase believed him and relaxed.
Stamping down his emotion, Mayes looked away and went on. “At fourteen they snatched him up from right under my nose. He stepped off the school bus and was coming towards me. I swear he knew it was coming before I did. His smile just,” Mayes snapped the fingers, “vanished into fear and before he could begin to run someone grabbed him, forced him into a car and took off. It took ten days to find him.” His gut still clenched and his eyes still watered at the memory. The thin boy, marked all over with symbols drawn with his own blood. Some were even carved into his flesh by sharp edges enough that blood welled at the cuts. Robert had been pale and unconscious and had remained so for two more days before waking into the pain of the crucifixion wounds, but without the physical manifestation of wounds on his body. And of course one could not forget the curse or whatever they called it, drawn into the smooth skin of his back. They wouldn’t wash off. Fortunately, it and the other marks faded in the coming weeks, but their effect would remain in dim echoes on him forever.
“Then, when he turned twenty-one, I made the worst mistake of my life. I betrayed him, joining the ranks of his mother and father.”
“They knew about what he might be?” House didn’t like the wording but he had no others.
“His father ignored it, ignored both Robert and his mother. His mother…well she was the one who told Clayton and his followers when and where to find Robert that day when he was fourteen.”
House was dumbstruck, though his expression remained blank and unapproachable. Could there ever truly be a mother that bad? House could imagine only Lady Macbeth being worse a maternal figure. “What did they give her?”
“Money, drugs, alcohol; the things that would lead to her death two and a half years later.” Those and guilt.
“And what did they give you?” House asked and insulted all at once. His eyes were expectant, waiting for the worst, and like people always seem to do but never seem to realize until they were called on it; and the worst was most always what was delivered.
“They gave me a life to live, a home, a career,” Mayes said in shame for trading so much for so little. “Father Antolovich promised to give me everything I thought I wanted if I just kept Robert at the safe-house until they arrived.” Mayes stared up at the cracked, discoloured ceiling. He tried to keep the wetness over his eyes from falling into tears of regret.
How badly his Robin had needed him in those days. It had been misery for him. The spectres that he couldn’t tell were good or bad, the sights, too many of them horrors that no person on earth should be burdened with having to experience, and the pain and angry red marks that reddened the flesh all over the boy’s body. Mayes had held him while he screamed, comforted him while he cried, and when Robert told him he loved him and gave his body to him once more, Warren’s thoughts had been full of spite and treachery.
“So what happened?” The words delivered in an American accent broke through the recriminations of Warren’s mind.
“He must have overheard, or seen something. When I was out of the room for a few minutes he slipped out the back and…disappeared. He suffered through the rest of the cycle alone and when he did resurface it was too late for any design that might entail him. They’d have to wait another seven years. Robert finished med school, then left the country. I had no contact with him since then until a few days ago.”
“Well…I guess that explains a few things about him,” House said after the silence grew too long. It explained to him why Chase was the opportunist that he was. When those he’d trusted to take care of him let him down, time and time again, he learnt to take care of himself. And yet in Chase’s pragmatism and pessimism, there was always that small, innocent piece of the boy who’d grown up under a heavy hand of spiritualism, always looking for something to prove him wrong, something to redeem them all. It was why he gave out second chances when a more cautious person wouldn’t. And human nature was the reason they hadn’t yet paid off.
After five or so more minutes of silence House let go of Chase and immediately had to calm him when the blond-haired man began to panic. His wide-open, unseeing eyes searched his sight for something to anchor him. The hand, where House’s warmth was being stolen by the cold winter breeze of south Chile, reached out blindly.
“Chase, you’re okay,” House said reaching to take the hand in his again and letting his other brush through the soft, bright hair. “I just need to go get something. I’ll be right back,” he assured, needing Chase to believe that he wasn’t being abandoned by him too. Knowing his history it was suddenly very important to House that Chase understand him. He spoke simply. “I’m not leaving you. I promise, Robert, I’ll be right back.”
Not sure how it was that House was with him when he was clearly alone with the two women who were beating up on a boy who was barely reaching the cusp of manhood, Chase knew only that he didn’t want to be more alone than he was, so he tried to go back to where he thought House was. He ended up at a sight of more sadness and pain.
Mayes switched with House, taking over comforting the disturbed man while House went to get some water for both him and Chase. The en-suite washroom had no cups so House exited the room to find what he needed. The search only took about two minutes as one of the servants noticed House and after managing to summit the language barrier, brought the required items. The glass stacked in the pitcher to leave his other hand free and House began back to the room. He paused when he heard what sounded like Clayton and Antolovich speaking and unrepentantly listened in.
“…do it this way? All these compromises…” The more gravely voice of Mr. Clayton complained.
“It’s the way he wants it done. There’s too much lore and too much influence here for us to simply ignore them. It’s of no consequence. It all comes to an end the same way.”
“…you do realize that if we’re wrong, we’ll have killed an innocent man.”
House pressed his ear closer, trying to hear the low words.
“…posterity will concern itself with one man?...war, one man will mean less than nothing.”
“And if we’re successful?”
“Then his sacrifice will not be in vain.”
Shoes began to scuff on the carpet behind the mostly closed door. House knew he had to make his escape. He didn’t look back when he heard the door open just a second before he walked into Chase’s temporary room. He didn’t now if the two men saw him but in order not to look suspicious he continued about his business and closed the door behind him.
Mayes glanced a House when he re-entered and quietly finished talking to Chase. He stood, giving Chase one last touch. “I have some things to do. Watch out for him. Hopeful you can do a better job this time than last.”
Mayes exited abruptly with House’s glare at his back. House fished out his Vicodin bottle and took a pill. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was a place to get his pain killer and general vice around here.
He looked down at Chase and wondered what was going on back in New Jersey. Maybe he should call and convince Wilson to take a trip to the land of his faith. He really wished Wilson was around because he trusted James despite recent events. He didn’t trust Chase in his current state of stress. And Mayes, House didn’t trust at all. He claimed remorse over his past actions but the more House thought about it, the more he concluded that Mayes wasn’t being entirely honest with them.
End Chapter 7
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Cast and Characters