A/N Not sure where to go with this. Just an idea. I'm not apologizing for any cliches in the story and I'm afraid there'll be a lot of them. this plot is so predictable :-) Disclaimer is in my profile.
Summary: Cameron's mother dies and she has to face a past she would rather forget, meanwhile House gets a visit from his old mentor who is looking for his long lost daughter. Like I said, predictable. ;-)
The landlord turned the key in the lock and opened the door to a past she though she'd buried once and for all. A dark and dirty hallway greeted her, graffiti adorning the walls.
He led her to the stairs, probably not trusting the rusty elevator, though the out of order sign might have had something to do with that.
The steps creaked under their feet and she found herself unwillingly drowning in memories long forgotten.
Running to catch the elevator, mummy would be angry if she wasn't there on time.
An angry voice yelling at her…"you're worthless, can't even take care of your brother for a few hours."
Glass shattering, her blood on the carpet…Her little brother crying in his crib…
The rusty voice pulled her back to the present and she cleared her throat.
"Actually, it's Mrs Cameron."
He smiled tiredly and motioned to her right, there it was, number 23, the door to a life she would rather not return to.
The landlord handed her the key, his slim, wrinkled fingers chilling her warm and smooth ones. He smiled sadly and nodded once, clearly remembering the scared little girl she had once been, slim and deadly pale.
Hesitantly she opened the door and entered, taking in the mess that had once been a neat two-room apartment. The smell was the worst, she decided, like something rotten, she would have to check the rooms for cadavers, she thought disgusted.
A small and cramped hallway lead to a bath, a kitchen, and two rooms. Careful not to touch anything, she made her way to the room that had once been hers.
Trying to avoid the woman soundly asleep in the room down the hall she crept into the kitchen and opened the fridge as silently as possible.
Empty coldness greeted her, two half empty bottles of vodka and leftovers that had probably changed into penicillin by now.
She took some bread and hurried back to her room, cradling her broken arm close to her body.
The ER at night, busy doctors and nurses, too busy to notice the frightened child sitting next to a neighbour in an uncomfortable plastic chair.
She entered the room that had once belonged to her, a small almost empty bedroom with only one window.
There was a wet spot on the ceiling and grey areas suspiciously looking like mould.
Her mother's belongings were scattered over the room, the few personal things she left long gone but she hadn't really expected any different.
A box on the single desk in the back caught her attention; she took it to the bed and sat down. Opening it, several old pictures fell on the floor under them she discovered some letters and different officially looking documents.
There was her birth certificate, Allison Elisabeth Clarke, daughter of Melinda and Edward Clarke; her mother had changed their names though, to Hannigan, after Edward Clarke's death.
She took the letters and started to read one. It was from her father, obviously written after her mother had already left him, taking young Allison with her, he'd died shortly after that.
"Daddy, please, I wanna go for another ride on the Ferris wheel." He chuckled at his daughter's antics.
"We've gone twice already. Your mother wants you back in half an hour.
She grimaced at the thought of returning, she'd rather stay with her daddy, he was the best daddy in the whole wide world and she told him so. He smiled sadly and ruffled her hair.
"'Fraid that's not possible, sweetheart."
She smiled at the memory and suppressed a single tear, threatening to fall when something at the top of the letter caught her eye.
The date didn't fit.
It was set about half a year after his death. She took one of the other letters; the date was set two months after his supposed death in the car crash.
Hastily she shifted through the letters, opening random ones and reading the dates.
Most of them were written after the day, her mother had come into her room and coldly told her that her beloved father had died in an accident.
With shaking hands she took one of the letters, date one month after his death and started to read.
Once again I ask for time with Allison. I have been granted at least two weekends a month, Melinda where are you? Your landlord said you had moved out two months ago and you didn't leave a new address.
Please, I just want to see my daughter. I hope this letter reaches you.
Carefully she put the short note back into the envelope and gathered the remaining letters. Putting them into her bag she hurried to the door, wanting to leave this hellhole as soon as possible.
It was time to get some answers.
Well, yes, liked it, hated it, want me to relocate to antarctica and never write again?