Chapter Six – Nowhere

There was no answer at her house; he knocked continuously. An old lady creaked open her door halfway down the corridor and eyed him for a moment.

“If you’re looking for the pretty girl, she didn’t come home last night. Her car isn’t outside either.”

House glanced at Cameron’s door again and sighed. The old lady probably spent most of her time sat next to the widow, watching the ins and outs of her neighbours. He could trust that she’d be clued in as to whether Cameron had returned last night.

“If you can find the pretty boy who’s been here a lot lately, I’ll bet you’ll find her.”

And with that she hobbled inside again, shutting the door. He heard a series of locks go and couldn’t help but shake his head.

 
As he made his way back towards his bike, it suddenly occurred to him. Of course she was at Chase’s. That’s why he’d been so up in arms about it this morning. She’d gone to him the night before after the altercation. The ache in his chest grew stronger at the thought of her running back to him. But why shouldn’t she? He’d hurt her, yet again, and Chase was the ‘fall guy’ as he had described. Mentally kicking himself, he realized he’d pushed her straight back into her ‘fall guy’s’ arms.

Pulling up outside Chase’s place, House faltered a moment, before killing the engine and making his way up to the door. Ringing the doorbell and getting no answer, he used his cane to knock…

He got that dreadful sinking feeling in his gut when the door slid easily open. The silence within was deafening.

“Cameron?”

He called out tentatively. No answer, but he hadn’t expected one, just…hoped. Damn her for being the only one to bring out that certain emotion in him.

Taking a cautious step into the hallway, he noted the smashed lamp and overturned plant across the doorway to what appeared to be an ominously upturned living room. There was no way this was any kind of accident. The tables and cabinets were overturned, along with the chair. Glasses and lamps, books and CDs were scattered across the floor, the widescreen TV was smashed – not taken, House noted – and the open-plan kitchen was nothing short of a disaster.

“What, did you try cooking?”

He called out through the empty rooms. He inwardly asked himself why he always had to resort to mockery. This was clearly serious. Not only was she gone from work…she was literally, gone. And it didn’t look like it had been voluntary. That crushing sensation he felt in his chest was becoming stronger. He could safely say he was worried for her safety, not just her whereabouts.

---

“Chase, you might want to get home.”

The police had been quick on the scene and House was now stood outside the property, leaning against the railing outside the gates, his phone pressed to his ear. Deciding to be the bearer of bad news, he'd dialled Chase's cell number. Crime tape announced to the world that something had gone on here, which did not constitute as good.

“What? Why the hell-“

“Cameron’s gone. The police are going through your place now.”

The silence on the other end allowed both men to take in the gravity of this whole situation. The woman they loved had gone, almost definitely against her will. And there were no guarantees she wasn’t hurt.

“Have they come up with anything yet?”

His voice was panicked, guilt-ridden. House shook his head, as though Chase could see that across the line.

“I don’t know. I got here and everything was overturned, so I called them. They’ll want a statement off you, I’ve told them everything I can.”

“House…what if she’s….”

His words tapered off and House scowled. Hadn’t his fellow realized yet that comforting words weren’t his forté? That was...Cameron's job.

“She’s a fighter, she’ll be alright.”

”But she’s pregnant, what about the baby-“

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Why don’t we just concentrate on Cameron before we start whining about the kid?”

He berated himself as soon as those words left his mouth. He knew deep down he’d have the same concerns for the little life inside her if that little life was partly to do with him. But it wasn’t, and the thought of her even sleeping with Chase was bad enough. He didn’t want to contemplate that baby right now. He just wanted to focus on getting his Cameron back. His Cameron.

---

Pain swirled though her head as consciousness slowly returned, the world spinning as a stream of light assaulted her eyes. A wave of nausea rolled over her and she heaved herself up to a sitting position, gagging on the thick atmosphere of the room. The dust clogged in her throat and nostrils, dancing in the air and catching the light as she struggled to breath. Her whole body was shaking slightly and she gingerly touched her head, where she could feel a deep gash on her hairline. Looking at her fingers she saw the dried blood from the head wound and wanted to cry. Where the hell was she and what had happened?

Looking up toward the light she saw she was in some kind of basement. The tiny, dirty window close to the low ceiling, a large crack in it allowing the harsh sunlight into the empty concrete prison, gave no clue as to where she was actually being held.

Torn between wanting someone to open the door and enter, to at least give her some clue of who her attacker was, and wanting to be left alone for as long as possible, until the police found her – if they even realized she was missing yet – she dragged herself into the corner, seeking some kind of safety in appearing as small as possible.

She looked down at herself. She still wore the black track pants, now grey with dust, and the strappy tank top from the night before. Gently touching her stomach she prayed nothing would happen to her baby. Pulling her knees to her chest – and flashing back to doing exactly the same the night before, in the same kind of self-protection technique – she fought back the tears that threatened to overcome her.

It seemed to her like she was down there for years before the door at the top of the concrete steps began to open. The heavy creak of metal on concrete went though her and she was almost afraid to look up. When she did, putting a face to the identity of her attacker did nothing to ease the overpowering sensation of fear bubbling within her.