Chapter 12: Everybody Lies - Part 4
The house smells like vanilla candles and desperation.
House heads straight for the kitchen, rifling through cabinets with zero regard for privacy. Foreman takes the living room, checking bookshelves and desk drawers. Cameron hovers near the door, clearly uncomfortable but committed now that we're here.
"Chase, bedroom and office," House calls from the kitchen. "Look for anything medical—pills, supplements, travel documents, weird dietary stuff."
I head down the hallway, flipping light switches. The bedroom is neat. Too neat. Like someone who's trying very hard to maintain control of their life despite everything falling apart.
Focus. Find the evidence.
I start with the nightstand. Books—mostly children's literature and teaching guides. A journal with careful handwriting documenting lesson plans. Nothing medical.
The closet is organized by color. Dresses, blouses, professional teacher clothes. Bottom shelf has a box labeled "Travel Memories."
There.
I pull down the box and open it. Photos spill out—Rebecca at beaches, Rebecca at ruins, Rebecca with other teachers. I flip through them quickly, looking for locations.
Mexico. Six months ago. Multiple photos of her with a group of other teachers, clearly on some kind of educational trip. Street food vendors in the background. Local markets. Traditional restaurants.
I grab the photos and keep searching. Find receipts tucked in a side pocket—restaurants in Oaxaca, hostels in Mexico City, a cooking class in Puebla.
"House!" I call out. "Found something."
He appears in the doorway, Cameron and Foreman behind him. I hand over the photos and receipts.
"Mexico. Six months ago. Educational trip with other teachers." I point to one photo showing her eating at a street vendor. "Street food. Probably pork-based, given the region."
"Tapeworm." House's eyes light up. "Pork tapeworm from contaminated meat. Larvae migrate to the brain. Neurocysticercosis."
"That would explain the eosinophils," Foreman says. "And the inflammation Chase saw during surgery."
"But the MRI—" Cameron starts.
"Was too early or the larvae are too small," House interrupts. "It fits. Travel to endemic area, street food consumption, seizures starting months later after larvae had time to migrate and encyst in brain tissue."
From the kitchen, there's a crash. House has knocked something over.
"Found ham!" he shouts. "In the trash. Partially eaten."
We move back to the kitchen. House is pulling a wrapped package out of the garbage—deli ham, half-consumed, dated from three days ago.
"She's been eating pork recently too," House says. "But that's not the source. Incubation period's too long." He looks at me. "Mexico trip is better. That's six months—perfect timeline for neurocysticercosis."
I nod. "The inflammation I saw during surgery—that would be the body's immune response to the larvae. The mild eosinophilia fits. The seizures fit. The location in the temporal lobe fits."
"Specific tests?" Foreman asks.
"Antibody screening for Taenia solium. Repeat MRI with contrast looking specifically for cystic lesions. Possibly LP to check for eosinophils in CSF." House is already pulling out his phone. "Treatment is albendazole plus steroids to reduce inflammation while we kill the larvae."
He dials, puts it on speaker. A groggy voice answers. "Wilson. It's midnight. This better be good."
"It's ten PM, and yes. Neurocysticercosis. Get Adler on albendazole and dexamethasone. Now."
"Based on what evidence?"
"Mexico travel six months ago, street food consumption, specific brain inflammation Chase noted during surgery, eosinophils, and a ham in the trash that has nothing to do with anything but makes me look thorough." House's voice is gleeful. "It fits. Start treatment."
Wilson sighs. "I'll order the tests to confirm, but yeah, I'll start empiric treatment. If you're wrong—"
"I'm not wrong. Chase found the travel evidence. Good eyes."
House hangs up and looks at me. "You saw inflammation during surgery. You found the Mexico evidence. You connected it to tapeworm before I did."
"You would've gotten there."
"Eventually. But you got there first." His eyes narrow. "You remember specific tissue appearance from a surgery twenty-four hours ago. You found travel evidence in five minutes that three other hospitals missed. And you connected two pieces of information that shouldn't necessarily connect without medical expertise in parasitic infections."
Oh no.
"I pay attention," I say carefully.
"You pay too much attention. Nobody's that observant without practice." House steps closer. "So where'd you practice? Seminary? ER work? Or somewhere you're not mentioning?"
The room feels smaller. Cameron and Foreman are watching the interaction, sensing something important happening.
"ER work. Brisbane Central. Four years. High volume, diverse patient population." All true. For the original Chase. "When you see fifty patients a shift, you learn to notice details fast or people die."
House studies me for a long moment. Then shrugs. "Fair enough. Still interesting how good you are at it."
He heads for the door, pulling out his phone to call the hospital. Foreman follows, already discussing test protocols. Cameron lingers, looking at me with an expression I can't quite read.
"That was impressive," she says quietly. "Finding that evidence so quickly."
"Just thorough searching."
"That's not—" She stops herself. "Never mind. Good work."
She leaves. I'm alone in Rebecca Adler's bedroom, surrounded by evidence of a life interrupted by parasites and bad luck.
I knew the answer before we even came here. Had to pretend to discover it naturally. Had to let House think he's still the genius while I'm just the observant fellow.
I put the photos back in the box, return it to the closet. Make sure everything looks undisturbed. Then head out, locking the door behind me the way House showed me.
The drive back to the hospital is quiet. My hands are steady on the wheel, but my mind is racing.
House noticed. Really noticed. The surgical observation, the evidence finding, the connections I made—it's all adding up to something he can't quite figure out.
And he won't stop until he does.
By the time I get back to the hospital, Rebecca Adler is already starting treatment.
Albendazole to kill the parasites. Dexamethasone to reduce brain inflammation. Seizure medications to prevent another episode. The ICU team is running confirmatory tests, but Wilson's moving forward with treatment because the fit is too good to ignore.
House is in his office, feet up on his desk, victorious.
"She'll be fine," he says when I walk past. "Couple weeks of treatment, the larvae die, inflammation resolves, no more seizures. We saved her."
"We did."
"You did." He swings his feet down, suddenly serious. "That surgical observation saved her life. If you hadn't noticed the inflammation, we might not have looked in the right area for evidence. Good work."
It's genuine praise. Rare from House.
"Thanks."
"Don't let it go to your head. You're still a fellow. Still have a lot to learn." But he's grinning. "Still, for a first major case, not bad. You held your own."
I nod and head to my desk. Foreman's already documenting everything. Cameron's updating the patient chart. Normal post-case routine.
But nothing feels normal. House is watching me with calculation in his eyes. Cameron keeps glancing over, something shifted in how she sees me. Foreman's treating me with slightly more respect.
First case complete. Diagnosis made. Patient saved.
But at what cost?
I pull out my notebook when nobody's looking and make careful notes:
Case: Rebecca Adler - RESOLVED
Diagnosis: Neurocysticercosis (pork tapeworm)
My contributions: Surgical inflammation observation, Mexico travel evidence, connection to parasitic infection
House's reaction: Impressed but suspicious. Questioning how I'm so observant.
Risk level: ELEVATED. He's watching me specifically now.
Note: Successfully contributed without revealing metaknowledge, but walking very thin line.
I close the notebook and look up at the conference room. House is still in his office, phone to his ear, probably updating Cuddy. Rebecca Adler will recover. The team proved itself on the first case.
And I proved I'm different from normal doctors.
Now the real challenge begins: staying valuable without becoming suspicious. Contributing enough to help but not so much that House figures out I know things I shouldn't.
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead. The hospital continues its eternal rhythm of crisis and resolution. And I sit at my desk, Robert Chase in body but someone else entirely in mind, trying to figure out how to be brilliant without being impossible.
The game is on.
And I'm not sure I'm winning.
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