I made a mistake in the automatic publication schedule.
Enjoy.
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Inside the elevator, still with a full view of where Vogler was talking with the few doctors who stayed once I escaped the place, I pressed the button that would take me to my room floor, waiting for the doors to close without taking my eyes off Vogler, who discreetly, from time to time, looked at me seriously.
Just as the elevator doors were closing, the handle of a cane that I easily recognized as belonging to House hit the edge of the doors, causing them to open again.
Seeing me, House smiled mischievously. "Ah, kid," he said, falsely surprised, "great escape, you lasted much longer than I expected with this whole freak show full of ass-kissers," he declared without caring about the volume of his voice, smiling broadly as he moved to my side, "I'm sure he's loving it," he added, putting an arm around my shoulder, immediately waving toward where Vogler was with a carefree smile on his face.
Vogler obviously saw House's little show, causing his fake business smile to disappear for a second longer than he would have liked, judging by how quickly it returned.
Without anyone else stopping it, the elevator doors finally closed slowly enough for it to be painful to watch the offended expressions of the nearby people who had heard House's description.
Immediately, House lightly pushed me, shaking his arm and part of his torso as if I had been dirty and he needed to clean himself. "That was fun," he declared a moment later, pointing at the elevator door, "do you think Ed had fun too?"
"Oh definitely," I answered confidently, "so much that he might have to take some of his own medicine to lower his blood pressure," I added amused.
"Oh that was a good burn, was that one of the jokes you used with all your new ass-kisser friends?" House asked sarcastically.
Looking exaggeratedly puzzled at House. "What are you- oh, you were talking about that," I said, falsely surprised, "I think you meant socializing, you know, that thing normal people do when they meet other people?" I said slowly, as if trying to keep House from getting scared.
Leaning against the elevator wall. "You and all those clowns can call it whatever you want, but you can't change what's really happening," House declared with disgust.
"Wait a minute, if you think you're so superior to everyone there, why haven't you left until now?" I questioned the man.
"Oh, it was quite interesting watching you pretend to be a 'normal person'," House replied, making air quotes with his fingers.
"Pretending?" I asked, slightly offended. Maybe I had trouble socializing before, but those days were behind me.
"Yeah, as if you couldn't see all the lies the best cardiologists in the country tell," House replied, smiling amused, "I mean, I taught you, I hope at least you can tell horribly fake attitudes from real ones."
House was right; it was, although it didn't seem like it, a constant competition of achievements hidden in such poorly made lies that I could recognize them just by hearing them; there was no need to read people's body language as they said them.
"And surprisingly, for the first time, you surpassed my own expectations. It's obvious you not only saw the lies but used them against them to earn their trust," House added, patting my shoulder with what seemed to be strange pride in his gaze.
I couldn't say anything against it, I really had done that, but not with nefarious intentions like House was making it seem.
Pretending not to care about what House was saying. "You're proud of me?" I asked surprised, widening my eyes exaggeratedly.
Raising his hand quickly. "Wow," House said, shaking his head, "I just said you surpassed my expectations a little, which is not an achievement since my expectations are very, very low," he added, lowering his hand, even bending down a bit to demonstrate his point.
Rolling my eyes, I shook my head amused, at the same moment the elevator stopped and the doors opened a second later.
"Finally," House murmured exasperated, "I've got to give it to you, I don't understand how you could last so long surrounded by those people, even talking to them," he added, pretending to have chills over his body.
"Oh that's it," I said snapping my fingers as if I had discovered something, causing House to look at me puzzled.
Before I could continue my idea. "What? finally figured out who your real father is?" House asked maliciously.
Ignoring his comment. "Nobody wanted to talk to you," I declared, looking at House with pity, "it's that it right, you're just jealous?" I asked, pouting slightly.
Shaking his head with a tiny smile on his face, this time a genuine one. "Have I ever told you how much I miss the days when you were so scared of me you couldn't even look me in the eye?" he asked with longing in his voice.
He had said that before.
Deciding to ignore House's joke. "Aw, you liked me," I declared, holding my chest tenderly.
Looking at my face in silence for a few seconds. "Don't push your luck," he warned me seriously, "I still have the power to make you check asses," he added as his lips curved into an evil smile, and without adding more, he continued walking.
Losing my own smile completely. "You wouldn't," I said, trying to hide how nervous I felt before quickly following the man.
I knew perfectly well that House would be capable of doing it.
Walking carelessly, House saw my face and smiled immediately. "Yeah, something like that," House declared, pointing at me, "those were the days," he added, shaking his head with nostalgia.
Not knowing what to say, afraid that House would use any excuse to send me back to that horrible job at the hospital, we walked down the hallway in silence, the room numbers increasing as we went further, and soon he stopped without saying goodbye or anything a civilized person would say, opening the door to his room, House went in, closing it behind him a moment later.
Exhaling incredulously. "All right, goodbye," I said to the closed door before continuing my way, passing a couple more doors.
Finally inside my own room, the first thing I did after closing the door behind me was take a deep breath, feeling mentally exhausted. Turning on the light, I found a small but comfortable room with only a bed facing a relatively large television for the time and a small built-in desk on the other side of the room.
Letting the air out, then breathing again, the smells of disinfectant and what I could only describe as cold immediately filled my nose. Nodding to myself for encouragement, I dragged my suitcase to the bed in the center of the room, immediately starting to unpack.
Carefully, making sure not to wrinkle or mess up what was left inside the suitcase, I took out only what I thought was essential for these days, leaving the suitcase still practically full.
Chuckling amused, I put the suitcase in the same closet where I now had all my necessary clothes, including my suit, which was hanging. Closing the suitcase with clothes I definitely wasn't going to use reminded me of Mom and the fact that we had arrived in Houston.
Looking around the room, it didn't take me long to find the phone on the desk. Without thinking too much, I approached it and, following the printed instructions on it, called home.
The phone rang a couple of times before finally someone answered on the other end.
"Hello," said the easily recognizable voice of Gabe.
This felt strangely familiar.
"Gabe, it's me, PJ," I said, "I'm in Houston," I added a second later after hearing no response from my brother.
"Okay," murmured Gabe, who even though I couldn't see him, I knew was distracted watching TV.
And that was as far as the familiarity went.
Incredulous, I sighed defeated by my brother's disinterest, who a few months ago at least would have been interested in me bringing him a gift from the city I was in.
Before I could say anything else. "I'll put Mom on," Gabe said carelessly, as if I were a distant aunt calling home.
"Thanks, dear," I heard Mom relatively far from the phone a moment later, clearly talking to my brother. "PJ?" she asked immediately, this time more clearly.
"Yes, Mom," I replied, "we arrived in Houston a while ago, but Dr. Cuddy introduced me to a lot of doctors and I lost track of time."
"Oh, don't worry, dear, I'm glad you arrived safely. How was the trip?"
What followed was a long while of Mom's questions about everything that had happened since Bob dropped me off at the hospital parking lot, questions I answered without much trouble.
Not long after, once all of Mom's questions were satisfied, we said our goodnights, allowing me to take a shower and get ready for the night, not before calling reception and ordering dinner to my room.
With a steak and salad in front of me, I used the phone again, this time to call Diane. I knew she would answer since it was bowling night and Meemaw wouldn't be home.
"Tucker Residence, Diane speaking," Diane answered formally.
Sighing softly at the way she answered the phone. "I'm calling to extend the warranty on your insurance policy," I said, poorly modulating my voice.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Tucker is not home, could you give me your name and number, I will make sure to forward your call," Diane declared seriously.
Closing my eyes, defeated, since my joke was no longer funny. "It's me, Diane, PJ," I said, shaking my head.
Remaining silent for a second, I could practically see her frown. "Oh, hi," she said a moment later, finally understanding that my way of answering had been a joke.
Talking with Diane, I finished dinner, keeping the conversation going until late at night.
The next day, unable to avoid it thanks to my biological clock, I woke up early in the morning with nothing much to do but exercise.
Not very interested in running through the streets of Houston, I looked for the hotel gym, which was completely empty, using the treadmill for my morning run.
Clean and already dressed with a shirt and suit, I went down to the hotel dining room which, unlike the gym, was full of people having breakfast.
From one of the tables. "PJ, over here," Cameron called me.
Ignoring the bitter expression of Chase, who was at the same table, I approached calmly. "Good morning," I said to the rest of the people, taking an empty seat.
Besides Cameron and Chase, there were other people at the table, surely all doctors, whom I didn't recognize but who couldn't be older than Cameron or Chase.
"This is PJ Duncan, he's going to give a presentation about his article that will be published in the next volume of Circulation," Cameron introduced me, "oh, and he's sixteen," she added a moment later as if it were an afterthought.
Smiling at the new faces. "And apparently I'm also in the process of solving world hunger," I declared jokingly, which fortunately earned laughter from almost everyone; Chase was still at the table.
After learning everyone's names, who ranged from former classmates of Cameron and Chase, either from medical school or residencies, to doctors they had met the night before.
It was strange since the only doctors I had met in the lobby were already older people, none under fifty.
After meeting everyone, the breakfast conversation, for some reason, consisted of various pieces of advice for my future as a prospective medical student, mixed with anecdotes from everyone's student days at the table. I had no complaints about it, since it was interesting to see the different experiences of people who studied the same career.
At some point, apparently knowing an itinerary I didn't, everyone began to leave the dining room.
"It's almost time for the opening presentation," Cameron explained to me as we walked out of the dining room, "it's where the convention organizer, who is the president of the-" she continued, but before she could finish, she was interrupted.
"PJ," said Dr. Cuddy, calling me from several steps away from where we were.
"Duty calls," commented Cameron amused.
Sighing. "Yeah," I murmured, separating from the small group that had adopted me.
When I was beside her. "How was your night?" Dr. Cuddy asked me with a touch of concern.
I didn't know if the woman thought that because of my age I would be nervous spending a night away from home or if she simply didn't know how to start the conversation. "Good, the bed was surprisingly comfortable," I replied, puzzled.
"Great, all right, we need to talk to someone from the convention staff," the doctor declared seriously, "I still don't have the full schedule, so we have to find out when your presentation is."
"Perfect," I replied.
I highly doubted that my presentation, not being a lecture from someone important or even having been submitted with enough time, would be on the first day of the convention. Still, it was obviously very important to know when my presentation would be.
Checking her watch. "Do you know where House is?" she asked me seriously.
I shook my head, which was enough of an answer for the doctor to sigh visibly exasperated. "Okay," she murmured, shaking her head, "we'd better move before the best seats are taken," she added, a moment later moving forward without saying anything.
Following her surprisingly fast pace for someone wearing heels, I walked behind the doctor, passing doctors who were walking and chatting carelessly among themselves. A few steps, we were going so fast that in no time we were far ahead of the general group of doctors leaving the hotel.
The convention center was the building next to the hotel, allowing us to arrive practically immediately.
At the door of the convention center, a girl possibly just a couple of years older than me was sitting behind a folding table, waiting with a pile of laminated cards in front of her. "Good morning, are you here for the convention?" she asked, for a second letting her gaze stop on me.
Nodding. "Yes, Lisa Cuddy and Patrick Duncan," Dr. Cuddy replied calmly.
Once again, the eyes of who was surely a first-year medical student stopped on me for a fraction of a second before she searched through the cards in front of her. "All right, Cuddy and Duncan," she murmured while quickly flipping through the cards, "here you are," she declared once she had two cards in her hand, "please keep your badges visible at all times," she added, handing over the badges.
"Yes, thank you," said Dr. Cuddy, receiving both badges, "just one thing, we don't have the schedule and Patrick is going to present," she added, pointing at me.
In a way, it was uncomfortable having Dr. Cuddy solving my problems, but it was also interesting to see how I didn't have to do anything.
This time ignoring any sense of modesty, the girl looked at me, visibly surprised, for a few long seconds, until she finally snapped out of it by herself. "Sorry," she said, immediately looking under her table, "here it is," she added, pulling out a poorly kept pile of papers.
Taking the papers from the student's hand. "Thank you," said the doctor, completely ignoring the state of the papers.
As I had imagined, my presentation would be the next day, along with the pharmaceutical presentations and the posters.
With the gathered information and badges ready, Dr. Cuddy handed me mine before entering, and without giving much room for debate, she made me follow her. Thanks to directions from more students in charge of organizing, we reached the main auditorium of the building where the opening lecture would be held. Making sure to reserve a couple of seats, the woman made me promise to watch them before leaving again at a fast pace.
Shortly after Dr. Cuddy left, doctors began filling the auditorium seats. One by one, hundreds of seats were filled, and when it seemed that people would reach where I was sitting, "watching" the reserved seats, Dr. Cuddy returned.
For a couple of seconds, I felt relieved not to have to go through the embarrassment of denying someone a seat, at least until my gaze drifted to the group the doctor was walking with. This time, they were all doctors I recognized, the full team of doctors from the hospital board, including Vogler.
Honestly, I didn't expect Vogler to want to attend the opening presentation of the convention, which, like any other medical convention, would also have a main lecture on a topic that, unless you were fond of or interested in it, would be extremely tedious.
When the group got near me. "PJ," said Vogler, smiling falsely.
With no intention of standing up. "Good morning," I said dryly.
Apparently ignoring my clear lack of interest in giving him even a bit of respect. "I heard your presentation is tomorrow, I can't wait," he declared, continuing whatever conversation he was having with the doctors beside him.
Fortunately, Dr. Wilson was part of the group. "Hey there PJ," he said, sitting right next to me, "you're lucky you don't have a contract with the hospital or you'd lose it over that little stunt," he added quietly, keeping a smile on his face.
Chuckling amused, I shook my head I really didn't care, I hated Vogler.
With the auditorium practically full, the convention began, and shortly after, the main lecture presentation started.
Halfway through the first hour of the lecture, which lasted a little over an hour and a half, House arrived carelessly limping through the aisles of the auditorium, drawing people's attention around him for at least a second.
Dr. Cuddy, who was a few seats beside me, immediately, as if she were a mother annoyed with her child, discreetly called House's attention, managing to get the man to approach and sit next to Wilson.
"Did I miss something interesting?" House asked in a voice not low enough to be polite.
"The role of HDL cholesterol, homocysteine, and oxidized low-density lipoproteins as risk markers for myocardial infarctions," I replied quietly.
"I said interesting" House remarked, a moment later yawning exaggeratedly, fortunately, in complete silence.
Sharing an exasperated look with Dr. Wilson, I straightened up in my seat, regaining my focus on the presentation.
Even though the topic was extremely interesting for the doctors present who didn't already know it, the monotonous and soft voice of the presenter was certainly sleep-inducing. At some point during the presentation, Dr. Wilson gave me a small nudge with his elbow, pointing to his side, where House was completely asleep.
With the end of the presentation and the applause, aside from House suddenly waking up, I was sure most people straightened up, recovering from the fatigue of sitting attentively. As was common, after the presentation came the questions.
Noticing how the questions only touched the surface of the topic, inevitably everything I knew about medical advances in the coming years came to my mind, and deciding it would be interesting to push the pace of engagement a bit, I raised my hand, pleasantly surprising the doctors beside me, even House looked at me, slightly raising an eyebrow.
Immediately pointing at me. "Yes, the young man there," said the doctor in front of everyone.
"Thank you, doctor, just two quick questions. Do you think atherosclerosis could have a chronic inflammatory component rather than just a lipid one? And therefore, could biomarkers like C-reactive protein be predictive?" I asked calmly.
I knew my questions only had one possible answer: yes. In the future, it would be discovered that chronic inflammation as a cause of atherogenesis caused much of the blockage that inevitably led to myocardial infarction.
Stopping for a second, visibly stunned, the doctor raised his eyebrows. "Quick, you said," he murmured, snorting, causing for the first time since the beginning of his presentation laughter to fill the auditorium. "It's an interesting theory. What it would imply is that cholesterol isn't the main cause of atherosclerosis, but a direct consequence of an inflammatory process," he murmured, losing himself in thought for a second.
With the doctor's silence, as he entered deep thought, the murmur in the auditorium grew for an instant. Several heads in front of me, with little interest in keeping discretion, turned curiously toward me, even those beside me did, something I forced myself to ignore.
I was regretting a little my decision to ask.
The presenter took another second to drink a sip of water before continuing. "Of course, assuming inflammation is the origin, that would completely change our therapeutic approach…," he said with genuine curiosity.
"Exactly," I nodded, speaking calmly and at a volume enough for the man to hear me. "And if that were the case, perhaps low-intensity anti-inflammatories or certain immune modulators could, in theory, reduce the risk of a coronary event even without altering cholesterol levels."
The silence became almost tangible.
Even seeing her only from the corner of my eye, I could see Dr. Cuddy practically vibrate with excitement, as if what I was saying somehow meant I could cure heart attacks.
Nodding, the presenter cleared his throat. "Well… that would be a completely different approach. Medicine has yet to consider such a direct causal relationship between systemic inflammation and atherogenesis."
Tilting my head slightly. "But if there were a marker, say, an acute-phase protein, that could correlate with the inflammatory progression of the arteries, we'd have a more precise predictive tool than total cholesterol," I added, seeking the exact limit between speculation and fantasy.
I knew I couldn't solve the problem right there, maybe just give hints so someone else would develop it, or at least plant the idea in the subconscious of those present so it'd be easier to accept in the future.
Sighing softly, the doctor crossed his arms. "Young man, I'm sorry, what's your name?" he asked as an afterthought.
"Patrick Duncan," I replied.
"Patrick, if you're right, and I genuinely hope you are, I'm sure we're going to see you one day presenting it here in front of everyone, because for now I have no answer to your 'quick questions,' I'm afraid," the man declared jokingly.
"Thank you," I said, smiling at the man.
I hadn't expected him to answer me, and I doubted I'd ever be the one presenting the topic myself, after all, the research would take a long time.
Once again receiving a light tap on my arm from Dr. Wilson, I smiled awkwardly under the man's proud gaze.
Leaning toward me, House seemed to want to tell me a secret. "Next time, I'll get you a giant neon arrow so you can steal even more of the spotlight," he finally said sarcastically.
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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 and not Tiger Woods.
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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