Bruce Ordway

New writing from the USA

Bruce Ordway hails from the city of Grand Haven, Michigan. His writing is a diverse mix of the surreal and the very real, with just a hint of the paranormal. Addiction is an example of just such a story.

Wade's memory wasn't exact. He just knew what he needed to know. It was the right place and almost the right time. He just had to wait for a few extra minutes until the silent, dark figure walked down the driveway into the street. Wade wondered how much the man was carrying with him before and after his visit to Stone's.

Stone owned the place and was the absolute master of it. If you couldn't help him turn a profit, he had no use for you. Fortunately Wade always had money. Stone tolerated him. He was safe and had cash ready. That was as long as Wade obeyed the rules.

There were a lot of rules. Wade was able to learn them all. He had to in order to get what he wanted -- a small chunk of the white stuff, crack cocaine. When the white took him, he was above all mortal concerns that were worth anything. So he waited in the shadows watching the silent figure leave.

The time was right. The door was open and Wade was burning. If he was lucky the group would soon be there. A crack head would only share if he were in the company of others. Wade had shut his eyes at the term 'crack head'. He wasn't one of them, he just pretended to be like them. It did trouble Wade that he fitted in so easily. Perhaps it was because he was so intelligent.

He watched as the group began to arrive. First was Cheryl, a short, stout black girl who seemed a bit strange. Daryl and Moe, straightforward. Two people to avoid. To Wade's surprise, Steve walked in. Something wasn't right. It was Wade who usually brought Steve here, bought the white and then cut it up.

Stone had cut up the stash and handed it out. The crack pipes had been brought out and made ready. John was flippant as he took his share, preparing his amount as he went on about how much his new clothes cost. Wade was hardly hearing a word. His eyes were set on Steve as he brought the glass stem up to his lips. The large flame was drawn into the open end, a crackle and air intake echoed through it. Wade's need diminished his patience, it was all he could do not to reach out and take the stem. It was him next, even though he was usually first.

But Steve held his hit as he passed the stem over Wade to Cheryl. A surge of anger went through Wade for a moment. Steve had a thing for Cheryl, more lust than anything. She was five two, one hundred and eighty pounds, mostly in her breasts, full and smooth, her skin dark and unblemished. It was also enticing that her morals were somewhat loose. Wade pushed all that to one side. He wasn't in the least interested. Cheryl was a bit too strange for his liking, talking about demons and angels, and wild things she claimed to have seen. Her mind was demented and the crack didn't help much.

Tentatively, Wade reached out, waiting on Cheryl to pull back. He could feel the rush she was about to experience, watching her eyes close as the smoke began to travel. As Wade reached, his fingers began to tremble. She had more to go and Wade tried to pull back. His fingers flicked and Cheryl wasn't holding it tight enough. It flipped lazily out of her fingers, hitting the floor.

A look of horror crossed Cheryl's face. What she'd got from that hit was lost. Fear and panic made Wade look around him. Sure enough, everyone held their faces in a stupefied glare.

Wade scrambled down to the floor, finding the pipe empty. The small chunk was lost in the shag carpet. It would be nearly impossible to find it. It was the size of a pinhead. He had to try. Take some of the guilt from himself. He would have to drop another twenty for Cheryl, then wait for her to take another hit. Wade's anger vied with his panic, confused and feeling small, a full grown man crawling around on his belly.

His hand came into contact with another hand. Cheryl's. Looking up, he made direct eye contact with her. Slowly, Cheryl began to stand, her lips trembling. She pointed to the large picture window in the front of the house.

"I know what's happening. I went through this before. I know what it is."

The first thought in Wade's head was that Cheryl was losing it again. He stood and moved towards her, hoping to control the insanity that was soon to follow. The others looked at her with a grin and a caution. Wade even heard a snicker. It wasn't a good sign. He hadn't even got a hit yet, whilst everyone else was slipping into hyperdrive.

Throwing the large curtains aside, and pointing out of the window, Cheryl cried, "There. You see what I'm talking about? You all seem to have forgotten. He didn't."

If Wade was to calm her, he knew he had to get her away from the window. He took her in his arms to do so, at the same time looking to where she was pointing. What he saw made him take a sharp intake of breath. His eyes had a hard time focussing, but eventually he made out a faint chalk line in the shape of a sprawling body.

"He's still here!"

Wade's insides lurched. It began to make sense. Before Wade got to Stone's, he remembered leaving here. Nothing in between. Steve acting like he was here by himself. No one talking to him. His hit being bypassed. Wade remembered. He never got past the street when he left that night.

The knowledge that he had died overwhelmed Wade. No one here knew that he was still with them. Cheryl was the exception. To the others, Wade no longer existed. The worst part was that he still felt the need for a hit.

He backed away, trying to breath, even though it was no longer possible. He had been so stoned that night he didn't even see the car coming. The driver never stopped.

Wade's arm connected with the large lamp near the chair he sat in. It fell and shattered, even though it wasn't supposed to. How could he affect anything in the real world? For a moment, Wade stared at the shattered remains of the lamp. Everyone else was looking at it too. No one looked at him. They didn't see him, didn't speak to him. He was a ghost. It would take time to understand and, perhaps, to act. The only one who had a clue was Cheryl and she was crazy.

"Wade is here. He doesn't want to be dead."

The room was silent.

The only one who could act was Steve. He had taken his last bit and stuffed it into the stem, intent on getting another boost. It infuriated Wade. Walking up to Steve, he slowly lowered himself to look Steve directly in the face.

He watched as Steve fired the lighter, bringing it up to the stem, about to draw on it. He needed it more than Steve. He yelled, waved his hands and wasn't even noticed. He flared out in frustration, a single sweep of his hand.

The stem flew from Steve's hand as it turned under the impact. The entire group was watching, mouths open and stunned.

"You freaked out or something, Steve?" John sounded unsure of himself, stepping back a step. His voice wasn't more than a whisper. He was heard because it was silent.

Moe cleared his throat, reassuring some form of sanity. "Hell, the boy is just nervous. So am I, what with that crazy bitch and Wade getting wiped.

"No, I think she's right. He's still here. Wade wants what we have. He can't have it and he is pissed royal." Steve spoke with an emotional charge rare in him. He wanted to get with Cheryl, so naturally he was on her side.

"Crap. Things get stranger as things go on." Stone turned in disgust and walked towards the kitchen.

"It's going to get stranger," Cheryl growled at Steve as he left. She turned towards him. "Let's get the hell out of here, Steve.

"What about what we're supposed to be getting? "

"Leave it. I've had enough. I'm not going to get sucked into hell like the rest of them."They both headed for the door.

"Yeah, well we don't need freaks like you two hanging around." Wade turned to see Moe standing at the front door, John and Daryl behind him with an air of agreement.

Steve and Cheryl walked towards the street, past the faded chalk line. Wade followed, wanting to see what would happen. The slam of Stone's front door behind him turned him around. Cold pain travelled up and down his spine. In a reflex action, he swung his arm to slam it against Stone's car in anger. It took a moment to realise that his arm had passed through the metal and glass and that the underside of his fist had made contact with the steering wheel. It had triggered the horn - one long, continuous blast. Wade pulled back his arm in shock, trying to comprehend. The horn kept blaring. Wade made another impact, which made him think.

Stone threw open the front door. Someone had touched his pride and joy and he was ready to jump - except that no one was near it. He raised an eyebrow. Finally the horn became silent. Stone stood in his doorway, his rage replaced by confusion.

He closed the door, leaving Wade alone and in silence, knowing he could never be a part of that group again. Never to have another hit, watching others enjoy the coke rush for who knew how long, and seeing the degradation of the living.

He walked towards Stone's door, determined to exact revenge. Wade couldn't taste Heaven, so he was going to create Hell.