WHO: Cordelia Chase and Greg House WHAT: A meeting, surreptitiously set-up by the PTB. WHEN: Mid-afternoon WHERE: A random park to start with RATING: TBD STATUS: In Progress
Having lived in Los Angeles for a good couple of years now, Cordelia knew a few shortcuts to get to certain places. One of her favorites was a quick trip through a local neighborhood park. The paths were old and worn from the joggers who typically used them.
It was while on her way to see a contact of hers about some demons that she'd heard were possibly in the area that she decided to use the coveted shortcut. She didn't jog anymore, and she wasn't going to do so now, but she did manage a brisk pace. Her mind was on her meeting so she really wasn't noticing anyone else around. At night, that could be a costly mistake. During the day, however, the worst she had to worry about was a potential mugging. Even that wasn't likely, given the area.
She sensed the vision, as usual, a few seconds before she actually felt it. Something told her it was going to be painful and she just had time to wonder why, when her visions weren't supposed to hurt anymore, before she was letting out a shriek of agony and collapsing in a heap on the ground. Her hands clenched at her temples, squeezing tightly, and her eyes were slammed shut. Her back arched, shoulders barely grazing the ground and head thrown back. It took every ounce of self control she had not to beat her own head against the ground. It hurt that much.
A woman moving throughout her old apartment. Her steps measured and light. Doors are opening and slamming shut, the lights are flickering rapidly off and on. She can hear them shattering in other parts of the apartment and finally notices the wall belonging to Phantom Dennis.
FIRE! It's on fire, the flames licking a path across the smooth surface. The paint is melting due to the heat. It burns, burns, burns...
The vision ended as quickly as it began. Cordelia remained still for a moment, not noticing the small group of people who stopped to watch her convulse on the ground. She wasn't aware of the warm trickle of blood dripping from her nose or the fact that she'd bitten her tongue so hard that she'd caused her teeth to be stained pink with blood as well.
She just laid there, allowing the implications of what she'd seen to reverberate inside her skull. Then slowly - as though every muscle she had ached in protest - she pulled her cellphone from her pocket and, lying right there on the ground, she sent a quick text message to Peter to tell him she was going to be late. She clearly needed to go by her old apartment and check on her ghostly ex-roommate.