Chapter 112

I had to cut this chapter (which was already a 'filler' chapter) in half for personal reasons. Still, it's 3.5k words.

Enjoy.

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Chase took several more seconds to catch his breath enough to leave on his own, still holding his abdomen, obviously embarrassed, he didn't say anything as he walked out with his head down.

A moment later, snorting, Dr. Foreman also left the room heading toward the patient's room.

Before Cameron could leave the lounge, still surprised by what had happened moments ago. "Cameron" House stopped her, "Get lost for a moment, kid," he added, waving his free hand like he was shooing a dog.

After saying that, House walked toward his office, stopping only a couple of steps later.

"I hope you don't mind me talking to you like that," he said, smiling awkwardly. "Let's avoid, if possible, another violent outburst."

Ignoring House, I rolled my eyes exasperatedly and walked out of the room. I didn't need to be there to know what House and Cameron would talk about. After all the show about the doctor's mistake, he'd possibly even ask her the same question he asked Dr. Foreman, and she'd carve out the path with the least damage possible.

After what happened with Chase, I didn't feel like I had the mindset to go to the library or the skills lab to sit down and read or practice, so I decided to head back to the clinic and chat with Fryday for a while.

Halfway to the clinic, while walking distractedly thinking about what had happened in the lounge, especially the hit, which had been surprisingly easy, an authoritative voice I recognized immediately stopped me in my tracks. "PJ!"

Regretting having chosen to go to the clinic and not the library or the skills lab, which were completely in the other direction, I turned on my heels.

"Mr. Vogler," I said, clenching my jaw.

A conversation or, in fact, any interaction with the man was the last thing I needed at that moment.

"Mr. Vogler was my father, please call me Edward," Vogler said, with an easily recognizable, fake polite smile on his face.

Nodding, with no intention of fulfilling his request, I waited a few seconds to see what the man, several steps away from me in the same hallway, wanted.

To anyone passing by at that moment, the scene would have looked pretty strange. Vogler, who was relatively far from me to be having a conversation, wasn't moving from his spot, a strange psychological game surely, possibly trying to get me to come closer.

A few seconds later, seeing that I wasn't moving from my spot. "I heard about what happened," the man said, keeping a smile on his face as he slowly walked toward me.

Had Chase gone crying that quickly?

Tilting my head slightly, still with no intention of having a conversation with the man, I feigned complete ignorance of what he was talking about, I really didn't know if it was what I thought.

Once he was close enough to me, widening his smile with his head slightly tilted. "The paper," he explained, excited. "Why didn't you tell me?"

I don't like you.

"It's such good news. I heard you sent it to Circulation," the man declared, clasping his hands.

"Yes, now we just have to wait," I said, dryly.

Ignoring my complete apathy. "Unfortunately," Vogler murmured, nodding. "I don't have any contacts at the magazine or we could have sped up the process."

Journal you stupid fuck.

"So what's it about? I only heard the news a couple of minutes ago, I was about to look for you," he said, forcing himself to try to start a friendly conversation.

I didn't know what had changed in the man, but I could imagine it. He had probably figured out that having someone my age capable of publishing 'important' articles would be great publicity for his company.

"Oh, it's a really complicated topic," I said, shaking my head. "I wouldn't want to overwhelm you with something you won't understand," I added, smiling 'politely.'

If he had picked up on my 'subtle' way of calling him an idiot, he didn't show it. "Well, I can't wait to read the article once it's published," he said, still smiling.

Nodding without replying, effortlessly mimicking his fake smile, I waited to see if he would say anything else.

Apparently unable to stand the awkward silence, Vogler nodded. "Well, good talk," he said, smiling once more before turning around.

Quite uncomfortable from having had to interact with Vogler. "Sure," I muttered, snorting quietly before continuing on my way.

At the clinic, I immediately struck up a conversation with Fryday, who, out of all the nurses in the hospital, was the one I spent the most time with and therefore had the best relationship with.

Eating one of Fryday's chocolates behind her desk. "And he said 'good talk' with that disgustingly smug attitude," I said, snorting as I unwrapped another small chocolate.

"Asshole," Fryday declared with disdain, crushing the wrapper of one of her chocolates between her fingers. "You did well not getting involved in the conversation," she added, pointing at me proudly. "The idiot wants to threaten your mother and then be your friend? Ha!"

Shaking my head in amusement, I didn't say anything. There was nothing to say.

Grabbing another chocolate from a small pile on the desk, the voice of a clearly frightened girl startled me from behind. "I need help!" she exclaimed, making everyone stop.

The clinic definitely wasn't the emergency room, in fact, the entrance to the ER was before the clinic; it was impossible to miss, there was a giant red glowing sign. Despite that, without wasting time, I stood up ready to help the girl.

"What's going on?" I asked immediately, seriously assessing the situation as I stepped out from behind the desk.

The girl, a couple of years younger than me, possibly Teddy's age, looked completely agitated, with messy hair, thick crooked glasses on her face, and cheeks flushed, possibly from running, but despite that she seemed fine, with no visible physical harm.

The problem was clearly the child she was carrying in her arms.

The child was practically motionless, but from the position of his body, it was clear he was still conscious. No blood, no strange pigmentation visible on the skin of his arms or neck, at least the visible part, I had no idea what was going on.

"I've let him alone just for a couple of seconds," she declared quickly, shaking her head, clearly forcing herself not to cry. "This can't be happening to me, I'm just his babysitter."

"Okay," I said, raising my hands, trying to calm the girl down a bit. "Let me check him," I added, asking for the child.

In the few seconds the interaction had taken place, Fryday, showing her years of experience, was already on the phone with the emergency wing, preparing for the child's arrival.

Nodding quickly. "Yeah," the girl said, practically pushing the child into my arms.

"All right," I said, moving with controlled speed, mentally preparing in case I had to run with the child in my arms.

Immediately I looked at the child's face for any sign of something concerning, finding red rashes covering his face and part of his neck, no swelling or discoloration on the unaffected skin, just the rashes. Puzzled but less worried, I gave the child a good look.

"Dewey?" I said, after a second, snapping out of my surprise as I remembered the child's name.

Coughing falsely as a response, the child simply stared at me. As always, his silence was strangely uncomfortable.

Noticing how the rest of the Wilkerson kids were nowhere in sight, I understood the situation immediately, exhaling. "It's a false alarm," I said to Fryday, who, without doubting my words, immediately nodded, informing whoever she was talking to.

"Wait, no!" the babysitter exclaimed, visibly shaken. "He ate strawberry jam and he's allergic."

"No he's not," I declared calmly, cutting off the girl's anxiety.

"What?" the girl asked, not understanding what was going on.

Sitting Dewey on the reception desk. "Is this your first time babysitting the Wilkerson kids?" I asked calmly.

Nodding distractedly, she suddenly froze, surprised. "You know them?" she asked, and in her eyes there was clearly a hope that only arises when you believe someone else has lived through the same horrors you have.

Remembering that night so many months ago, I sighed. "Yeah, I babysat them once," I replied, raising my eyebrows.

Dewey, as always completely silent, was staring blankly at Fryday, who was playing with him, trying to make him smile.

"So, what clearly happened here is that the older kids played a mean prank on you," I said, stretching to grab hand sanitizer from Fryday's desk.

They had tried to do the same thing when I babysat them.

With a bit of gel on my finger, I gently rubbed the boy's cheek, wiping off one of the rashes, which, to the kids' credit, were surprisingly well done. It looked like they had upped their game. In any other situation, any other doctor or untrained person would have easily mistaken the rashes for real ones.

Covering her eyes, possibly to keep herself from crying, the girl, whom I didn't recognize at all, exhaled in relief and possibly frustration.

"He's all right, honey," Fryday assured her, smiling kindly.

"I don't know how I didn't see it," the girl said, her eyes red and her lip trembling. "They've been so mean to me."

"Yeah," I murmured, nodding.

"There was even a taxi waiting, how did they know to call a taxi?" she exclaimed in frustration.

"Taxi?" I asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, everything was so frantic I didn't even hesitate to get in the taxi with Dewey outside their house," she replied, slapping her hands against her legs.

Fryday and I, incredulous, silently looked at the babysitter.

Noticing our looks. "I know, I should've suspected something," the girl said, embarrassed. "It's just that it's my first time babysitting, I just didn't even think about it and now I'll have to call another taxi," she added, lowering her head again, ready to cry.

Feeling sorry for the girl, I gently patted Dewey's head.

"Tell you what," I said, sighing, "wait for a couple minutes here with nurse Fryday, and I'll take you two to the Wilkerson home," I added, checking my watch. It still wasn't my usual time to clock out, but I seriously doubted that even if my diagnosis theory about Jessica was wrong, there would be much more to do that day.

"Really?" the girl asked, opening her eyes.

No problem at all. "Yes, just wait here," I replied, nodding, glancing sideways at Fryday, who nodded in complicity, opening her chocolate drawer a moment later, ready to hand out happiness in wrappers to the kid and the babysitter.

"Thank you," the girl said, seeming on the verge of tears again.

Assuring the girl it was no problem, I went back to the lounge on my own to grab my things. Inside, I found Cameron and Dr. Foreman working at the room's table.

Upon seeing me. "You were right," Dr. Foreman said immediately, leaning back in his chair. "We found a tumor on her pituitary."

Nodding without really knowing how to feel, because even though I had solved the case, a surgery to remove a tumor from the pituitary gland was extremely dangerous, there was a strong possibility Jessica would lose her sight.

"The surgery will be tomorrow," Cameron added, smiling slightly.

"Thanks," I said, nodding heavily.

After a brief silence. "Good job," Foreman said, tilting his head before continuing with his work.

Cameron and I exchanged a surprised look toward Dr. Foreman for a second. A moment later, the doctor smiled kindly at me.

With my things, fortunately without having to hear a sarcastic comment from House, since he wasn't in his office, I went back out toward the clinic, where Dewey and the still-sad babysitter were waiting for me.

Inside my car. "I can't thank you enough for this," the girl said, as she put on her seatbelt with extremely stiff movements.

I completely understood her nervousness about getting into a stranger's car.

"I live just a few houses down from the Wilkersons, there's nothing to thank me for," I replied, smiling calmly, checking on Dewey in the back seat, somehow the kid was still eating chocolates.

How many chocolates had Fryday given him?

After my words, a slightly uncomfortable silence settled inside the car; only the low sound of the music and the engine could be heard as we drove.

A second later, surely unable to resist the silence. "I'm Hanna Frey, by the way," the girl murmured.

"Oh I'm sorry, Hanna, I'm PJ Duncan," I said, embarrassed for not having introduced myself. "It's nice to meet you, I just wish it had been under different circumstances," I added jokingly, noticing too late the look of shock on the girl's face.

"You're Teddy Duncan's older brother," Hanna exclaimed, incredulous. "It was true that you work at the hospital."

"Oh, you know Teddy?" I asked, nodding in acknowledgment.

It made perfect sense that the Wilkersons' babysitter, who looked Teddy's age, went to the same school as my sister.

"Yeah," she replied excitedly, "well, I mean, not personally," she added, lowering her head slightly, "everyone knows Teddy Duncan, Baja Miller, and Bianca Stratford."

"Really, they're popular?" I asked, surprised.

Nodding with her eyes wide open. "Oh yeah, they have a table just for themselves in the cafeteria," Hanna replied, "even if they're not sitting there, no one takes it."

That somehow sounded strangely familiar.

Keeping my eyes on the road. "Sounds intimidating," I said, feigning disinterest. I had no idea how Regina, Gretchen, and Karen ended up the way they were, but if there were more similarities between my sister's behavior and my high school classmates', I'd have to do something.

"Oh they are," Hanna declared emphatically, catching my attention.

Possibly noticing my concerned look. "Not in a bad way," the girl quickly assured me, raising her hands, "it's just that they're super popular, Bianca is known as the prettiest girl in school, Baja is really cool, and your sister is super smart, not many people dare approach them."

Surprised by the use of 'cool' as an adjective for Baja, not really knowing what qualified someone to be called that, I raised my eyebrows.

"It's not like they're mean, but it's like you just know you're not on their level, so you don't go near their table," Hanna continued, speaking more easily now, seemingly ignoring how wrong her way of thinking was.

"I can't believe that," I said, snorting. "Teddy's not intimidating at all, she's actually kind of dorky."

"Teddy Duncan?" Hanna asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, I promise you if you approach them, they'll accept you without hesitation. My sister, Bianca, and Baja are good girls."

Snorting, "Yeah sure, me being friends with them," Hanna said as if the idea were absurd.

"I'm telling you, I can at least guarantee Teddy won't reject you if you approach her," I said confidently, relieved to see the girl much calmer than when she first got in the car.

"You're just saying that because you're her cool older brother," the girl denied. "I mean, just look at you, look at your car," she said, pointing at me with her whole hand.

"Well, thanks," I said, smiling, amused by the girl's behavior.

Realizing too late what she had said, Hanna, embarrassed, turned her face toward the car window.

Again the car fell into a slightly uncomfortable silence. "The truth is I don't have the courage to approach them," Hanna said a couple of seconds later.

"Well, I can't force you to do anything you don't want to, but I know my sister, and I can assure you Teddy is the kind of person who always wants more friends," I said calmly.

The rest of the ride was much quieter, and even though it happened in complete silence, this time it wasn't uncomfortable.

Outside the Wilkerson house. "We're here," I said, stepping out of my car. "Do you have the house key?" I asked Hanna, who was helping Dewey out of the car.

"Yeah, they're in my..." the girl replied, patting her pants, at first normally, then quickly turning to panic. "I don't have the keys."

Of course not.

Sighing and checking that the front curtains of the house didn't move, I nodded. "Don't make noise," I warned the girl as we approached the house.

Knocking on the door and a moment later ringing the bell, I covered the peephole with one of my fingers. A couple of seconds later, footsteps were heard on the other side of the door.

"Who is it?" asked one of the kids, from the tone surely Francis.

"Pizza for Hanna Frey," I said, slightly modulating my voice.

I could hear murmuring on the other side of the door, then something leaned against it.

"Why is the peephole covered?" asked a different, younger voice, Malcolm.

"I don't know kid," I responded, smiling. At least Malcolm was smart enough not to open the door. "Look, the pizza is already paid for and I've got more deliveries to make, are you going to take it or not?" I said, making my voice sound irritated.

Again the murmurs, this time interrupted by the door latch.

Without thinking, I opened the door, pushing it without worrying who was on the other side. "No Richie!" Francis, this time I was sure, shouted upon seeing the door open, freezing just like his brothers when they saw me under the doorframe.

Who was surely 'Richie,' crossed his arms with a frown. "Where's the pizza, dude?" he asked.

"There's no pizza," Malcolm replied, eyes wide open, staring at me.

"Get out," I ordered 'Richie'; surprisingly, the kid didn't move.

"Who are you?" he asked defiantly.

It was quite surprising how completely void of intelligence his eyes looked. If he weren't just a few years older than Gabe, I'd be genuinely concerned he was abusing some kind of substance.

Stepping forward until I was practically right up against him, being a couple of heads taller and much broader too. "If you don't leave right now, I'll be your worst nightmare… dude," I said slowly and menacingly.

To be honest, it was an empty threat, I wouldn't hit a kid.

Richie nodded repeatedly without stopping, losing the courage he had with each passing second. Still nodding, he slowly began to walk out of the house without saying a word to anyone.

Watching Richie ride away down the street on a bike, I slowly turned my attention to the Wilkerson kids, who audibly swallowed.

With Richie out of the house, Hanna, carrying Dewey in her arms, stepped inside, shifting the attention of the three boys in front of me.

Francis's eyes lit up upon seeing Hanna enter. "My parents aren't paying you to take care of us," he stated, smiling.

Immediately understanding his older brother's idea. "Yeah, you shouldn't be here," said Malcolm confidently.

"Yeah, get out," added Reese, knowingly or not, doing a poor imitation of what I had done with Richie.

Nodding slowly. "You're right," I said, grinning broadly, "no one is paying me to be here," I added, stepping toward the boys, who took a frightened step back, "and since no one's paying me to be here, I have no responsibility to make sure you're safe and sound at the end of the day."

Once more an empty threat.

I continued moving silently toward the boys, who quickly backed into a wall, unable to step back any further. Broadening my shoulders and chest, I unbuttoned the sleeves of my shirt, adjusting it to show off my forearms as much as possible and clenched my fists tightly.

"So... are you going to be good boys and listen to Hanna?" I asked. "Or are we going to have a problem?"

The three boys just nodded stiffly.

"Which is it? I asked two questions," I said, narrowing my eyes.

Surprisingly. "We're going to listen to Hanna," all three boys said at the same time.

"Good, go watch TV, quietly," I ordered, stepping back and letting the kids run off immediately, away from me.

Watching the boys run to the living room couch, I nodded to Hanna, quite proud of myself.

Giving Hanna the gym's number in case she needed help, and instructing her to call the Wilkersons, I gave the kids one last warning before leaving the house and heading to the gym.

Since I had left the hospital quite early, I had enough time at the gym to organize the books and set aside the money to pay the utilities for the place, in general, to do my job as the manager.

Later that night, back home, with my muscles sore from a heavy day of training, I walked in to find Gabe lying comfortably on the living room couch watching TV. Judging by the number of candy wrappers around him and the dirty dishes, the kid had clearly only moved from his spot to go to the bathroom... thankfully.

"You need to take a bath," I said, pushing his head.

Turning his head to frown at me. "Look who's talking," he said in disgust.

"Wait a second," I said, tilting my head. "Is it just my imagination, or did you just suggest I smell bad?" I added slowly, leaning back on the couch and moving closer to my brother.

"No!" Gabe shouted, surprisingly dodging my attempt to grab him by just an inch. "Mom, PJ wants to do it again!" he yelled, running away from the couch.

"Oh come on, just a hug from your 'cool' big brother," I said, pretending I was going to chase him.

"Stay away from me!" Gabe replied, picking up speed.

Scoffing, I shook my head, amused, and headed to the bathroom to clean myself up.

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Author Thoughts:

As always, I'm not American, not a doctor, not a fighter, not Magnus Carlsen, not Michael Phelps, not Arsene Lupin, not McLovin, not Elliot, not Capone.

Another chapter has passed, so new thanks are in order. I would like to especially thank:

11332223

RandomPasserby96

Victor_Venegas

I think that's all. As always, if you find any errors, please let me know, and I'll correct them immediately.

Thank you for reading! :D

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