In Sickness and Sonnets - A House MD & Dead Poets Society Fanfiction

Mirrors and Madness

 "God." Chase starts, looking up at the reasonably large house before them. Frost-licked flowers line the cobbled path up to the entrance, a birdbath situated neatly in bushes. "You make this kind of money being a clinic doctor? I'm thinking we ought to pull our heads out of our arses and quit this fellowship." A hint of suspicion rising from his remark as he attempts to jimmy the lock.

"You saw the history. This guy went to Welton Academy. His parents are probably loaded; who does that remind me of?" Foreman asks as Chase rolls his eyes. "Outta the way." Foreman pushes Chase aside, leaning on the door and sliding his card into the gap. "Open, says me." He commands, a click coming from the mechanism as the card frees the lock from the frame. Pushing open the door, he stuffs his card back into his wallet.

The duo walk in, Chase's mouth agape as he takes in the interior. Several ornate mirrors line the entrance hallway, small bookshelves in-between each. Scanning the collection, Chase reaches the end of the hallways and the entrance to the kitchen.

"Guy's a doctor. See how none of these are medical textbooks? It's like I've been transported into a library from 50 years back." Foreman only chuckles at this, still standing by the entrance.

"Living room entrance is to the left, in the middle of the damn mirror maze. You take the kitchen; I'll see if there's more books in here. Could be mould exposure." Foreman walks past the flight of stares to his right and into the living room.

"Yep, more books!" He calls out to Chase, who is busy swabbing painted plates for lead. The living room is very homely, a couch and two leather armchairs are situated in front of a large fireplace, the smell of burnt wood still in the air. There's a blanket and some plush pillows out on the sofa, and a very old-looking book is resting on one of the armchairs. Visitor? Foreman notes, now scanning the bookshelves lining the back wall. Is it even possible to read all these in one lifetime? Guy already has a busy work schedule. He thinks, cracking open a few of them. Pristine, go figure. Guy's obsessed. He scans the titles of most of them as he slowly makes his way to the doorway by the fireplace. Stage plays. Stage plays, more stage plays... All sorts of sonnets? Is that the word? And poems. Chase was right. No med books.

He makes his way through the doorway into what appears to be a study. A large desk and plush chair are facing the door, yet another bookshelf behind it, the smell of flowers mixed with the luxurious wood flooding his nose. "No surprise Wilson took to this guy!" Again yelling through to Chase, "Just got some serious déjà vu walking into the office!" The books in here lack an author name on their spine, a few of them on the desk are half-finished. Self-works? Foreman ponders, moving behind the desk and pulling yet another book from the shelf. "I think he's an anonymous author or something." He says loudly, reading a few of the handwritten poems. "Cameron'd love this feely crap!" He concludes, putting the book back and turning around to leave when a glint from an open drawer catches his eye. Whatever it is, it's nearly entirely obscured by a white cloth. Foreman gently pulls open the drawer some more, reaching into it and slowly pulling the cloth out. That's... weirdly heavy. He notes as he sets it down on the desk, unravelling the cloth. Woah. It glints under the light of the desk lamp as Foreman pushes the chamber out, spinning it to check each compartment. One in the chamber.

"Chase! Got something." He pushes the chamber back into place with a click. Got lucky. Next shot would've killed the poor bastard. Foreman places it back onto the cloth as Chase comes through the doorway, eyes quickly landing on the desk.

"Woah. Is that?" Chase asks the obvious.

"Yeah. Probably an antique. Don't think he has it for collector's purposes though, one bullet in the chamber." He concludes, wrapping the snub-nosed revolver back in its cloth and setting it in the drawer.

"Suicidal tendencies then? As if our guy wasn't eccentric enough." Chase sighs, tucking the sample bags into his pockets. "Not found any evidence of drugs. If they'd be anywhere, it'd be in here, not the kind of game you play sober."

Chase turns to go and check upstairs when a thought crosses his mind. "Think we should bring it back to House?" He questions, turning around again and pulling the fabric back out from the drawer.

"Are you nuts? Arming House? Yeah, great idea." Foreman shakes his head dismissively. "Though..." He sighs, walking past Chase. "Sure. Dump the bullet though." He instructs, leaving the room and heading upstairs.

Foreman is in the middle of searching through the bathroom when the gun goes off, the shot reverberating throughout the whole house.