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ADDICTION

G. Allen Wilbanks


��Henry sat cross-legged on his tattered stinking mattress in a dark corner of the abandoned warehouse. Sunlight poured through one shattered window that, for some unknown reason, had escaped being boarded up with the rest, but the light did not reach his filthy refuge in the corner. A candle burned next to Henry’s makeshift bed providing all the light and heat he needed Ð or wanted Ð at the moment.
��A large red sign posted on the door out front proclaimed, “Danger: Condemned,” but Henry did not care about the sign. Police had raided the building three times in the past month to evict all the homeless and destitute squatters who had chosen to live here. Henry did not care about the police. The warehouse would probably be torn down soon to make room for a new supermarket or multi-level parking garage and any one still living in it might be buried by the bulldozers and wrecking crew, but Henry did not care about that either. Right now, at this moment in time, he only cared about one thing. One all-important event in his life that had taken precedence over every other thing that had ever held any meaning for him.
��Henry tied the latex band around his left bicep using his right hand and his teeth. When he had pulled it as tight as it would go and secured it so it would not slip at a crucial moment, he vigorously rubbed the inner curve of his elbow, searching for a suitable vein. Most of the blood vessels in his right arm had become so damaged or weak they no longer showed under the skin or carried enough blood for his needs, and recently his left arm had begun to mimic the same condition of uselessness. Rows of carbon-darkened scars gave mute testimony to years of abuse. A small medical syringe lay on the mattress beside Henry’s knee, waiting patiently for him to call upon its services yet again.
��After a few moments of searching, Henry found a small vein close to the surface that was still serviceable. He picked up the syringe and checked the contents of its tube. Henry’s hand began to shake. A jittery feeling in his guts and a slight feeling of nausea told him he had almost waited too long before preparing his fix this time. Well, he figured it was time to remedy that situation. He raised the needle tip to eye level and depressed the plunger slowly and delicately. An air bubble pumped into his vein might kill him, so he had to clear the needle of any dangerous air gaps, but he also did not want to waste any of the precious fluid contained within. After flicking the syringe a few times with a his index finger to draw all the air to the top, he pressed carefully until a fat glistening drop of moisture grew at the tip and spilled down the slender length of the needle.
��Stroking his left arm with his thumb while cradling the needle between two fingers like a plastic and steel cigarette, he checked once more to be sure he knew exactly where the tiny elusive blood vessel lay hiding. Henry brought the syringe into position and prepared to deliver the one thing in his life that still carried comfort and meaning.
��“Wait.”
��Henry paused at the verbal intrusion. A shadow moved over him, a deeper blackness enveloping the already dismal corner in which he huddled. The candle flickering on the floor flared into a surprisingly bright white light, then guttered out. No breeze roamed the abandoned building to explain the candle’s behavior; it had simply burned itself out. Trying to blink away the glowing silvery spot the candle had imprinted into his vision, Henry peered myopically around to locate the owner of the voice that had interrupted him.
��A few feet away, invading Henry’s self-imposed isolation, stood a man wearing a long, gray winter overcoat with the collar pulled up as if to ward off a chill. The stranger hugged the coat’s fabric around himself as though desperate for warmth, but the air in the warehouse was far from cold. Henry felt the man’s gaze fall on him with an almost physical weight, and though he at first tried to ignore the intrusion, he was finally forced to admit the man was not going to simply go away on his own. He fired an angry glare at the stranger standing over him and opened his mouth to tell him to move along. But the words never came out. As Henry peered more closely at the figure looming above him, he saw that although this intruder resembled a man in general form, it was actually something É else.
��A red-scaled reptilian snout protruded over the coat collar, sprouting from a nightmare landscape of grooved and twisted flesh. Four short pointed horns rose from the deformed head in a single row, starting at the center of its forehead and moving backward. And somewhere between the alligator mouth and the horns, floated two sickly-yellow eyes that gazed intently at Henry, seeming to stare right through him into his drug-poisoned, shriveled little heart.
��At first Henry tried to convince himself that he had waited too long to fix and he was suffering the first hallucinations of withdrawal. But the drug never caused him to see things like this before, and he quickly discarded the theory. The creature Рimagined or not Рspoke again.
��“Heroin?” it asked. The mouth only moved slightly to speak the word, but the movement revealed needle-sharp teeth lining its entire length.
��“Huh?” Henry replied, too dumbstruck to coordinate brain and mouth any more effectively.
��“In the syringe. It’s heroin, isn’t it? Horse. Smack. Shit. The big ‘H.’”
��“Uh, yeah.” Henry remained too shocked to be properly frightened, but he could feel the first stirrings of panic building in him. Or perhaps it was just his growing need for the drug reminding him time was limited.
��“Do you like it? The drug, I mean,” asked the creature solicitously.
��“I don’t understand,” said Henry. The question surprised him, but not as much as the fact this thing from a bad dream could talk to him at all.
��“Do you like the heroin?” it repeated.
��“Uh, I guess so.”
��“Do you really? Does it make you feel good still? Or does it just keep you from feeling sick?”
��Henry thought seriously about the question for a moment. “It used to make me feel good. Now, I guessÉ IÉ IÉ.”
��“ÉJust don’t want to feel bad. Is that right?”
��“Yeah.”
��The creature nodded and actually managed to push its features into a sympathetic expression. “I thought so. You’ve been using the stuff a long time, I gather. And I bet it has cost you quite a lot over the years. Maybe your job. A house and car. Perhaps even a family.”
��“Yeah. Hey, whoÉ what are you?” The fear, previously suppressed by Henry’s confusion, began to manifest. His voice cracked as he forced himself to ask, “What do you want? Are you going to hurt me?”
��“No, no, no. I am not going to hurt you.” The creature laughed lightly in his throat. Henry did not find the sound pleasant or reassuring. “And as for what I am. Well, what do you think I am?”
��“A monster?” Henry asked.
��“No, not a monster. Merely a demon. And not a very powerful one at that. But I’m here to offer you something that I think you will like. How would you like to be able to throw that drug away? How would you like to never have to use the stuff again? You could be free of it forever with no withdrawal and no unpleasant cravings. Doesn’t that sound like something you would want?”
��Henry glanced at the syringe still in his hand, then stared suspiciously back at the self-proclaimed demon. “How can you do that?”
��“It doesn’t matter how. The important thing is I can do it, and all you have to do is say that you want it.” The demon smiled, perhaps trying to be pleasant, but the toothy leer only made Henry flinch.
��“What will it cost me?”
��The demon shook his head slowly, looking slightly disappointed. “Come, come. You’re not stupid. I think you know very well what it would cost you.”
��“My soul.”
��“Yes. Your soul. The drug has taken your life away and I will give it back to you. But in return I will take your soul. I think that is more than a fair exchange. You can go on and get a new job. Get a new home, make new friends. I am offering quite a lot for a damaged soul that will probably fall into my hands in the end anyway. Don’t you think so?”
��Henry did think so. Heroin had made his life a living Hell on Earth, and he had no reason to believe that after he died he wouldn’t be in for more of the same. But then again, if this demon were trying to buy his soul, maybe there was a chance he could still salvage it. Maybe the only reason he was being offered a trade was that the demon believed he might get away from him.
��A second thought percolated to the surface of Henry’s muddled brain. This whole conversation could be some sort of trick. Maybe if he refused the deal, the demon would simply kill him and take his soul anyway. Maybe the creature was playing some sick game to pass a little time before he finished off his newest victim. Henry swallowed thickly before speaking. “If I tell you no, will you leave me alone. Or are you going to kill me anyway? Henry stared at the demon’s polished black boots, afraid to meet it’s eyes. He knew immediately how stupid the question was, but he still wanted to hear the answer.
��“I’ll leave of course.” The creature said with the utmost sincerity in its voice and demeanor. If it had a heart, it probably would have crossed it. “I would love to just take your soul with me now, but I can only take what is freely given. I can’t even snatch the lint out of your pocket without your permission. Truly an unfortunate circumstance, but there are rules to be followed.” The demon paused, waiting until Henry looked up to meet its gaze. “So what’s it going to be?”
��“No,” said Henry finally. “I don’t think I want your deal. Maybe I can quit the stuff by myself and maybe I can’t. But if I take your trade I know for a fact I’m going to Hell. I’d rather be a junkie with the tiniest chance of still going to Heaven than straight and already damned.”
��Henry lifted the needle once more to stab it into his arm.
��“Wait.”
��Henry looked up again, needle poised.
��“Maybe there is some middle ground here,” continued the demon. “Maybe I can help you quit. You will still go through withdrawal. It’ll be painful, but you will eventually be clean and it won’t cost you your soul.”
��“Why would you want to do that?” Henry’s eyes narrowed as he tried to find the trap in the demon’s offer.
��“It would be my good deed for the day,” said the demon laughing unconvincingly.
��“Demons don’t do good deeds,” said Henry. He placed the needle tip to his arm.
��“Wait, dammit!” screamed the demon. Henry stared up in shock at the angry explosion. The creature took a step toward him and held out a viciously clawed hand, palm up. “Give me the syringe,” it hissed.
��“No.” Henry recoiled from the hand and cradled the dope-filled needle against his chest. “I need this. Go away, please. Just leave me alone.”
��“Okay, okay.” The demon backed away again holding both hands up in a placating gesture, the smile that wasn’t a smile back on its face. “I’m sorry if I scared you. Here’s my last offer: I’m going to cure you at no cost. You get straight and you keep your soul. No catch.”
��Henry stared in amazement. The demon’s smile faltered slightly, and a haze of desperation seemed to grow around the creature. Henry could have sworn those monstrous red hands were shaking just the tiniest bit. As the demon once more moved close, Henry held his ground. He did not shy away even as the monster laid one clawed hand on the top of his head. He felt an odd wrenching sensation move through his body, not painful, but disturbing. The feeling, although intense, passed quickly except for a slight residual tingling in his extremities. Henry soon felt normal again. In fact, he felt better than normal. He felt good. And, not good as in drugged and comfortably high, but good as in clean and healthy.
��The craving and need for the poisons that had controlled his life for so long were gone. The idea of injecting any more toxins into his body now repulsed him. For the first time in his life he looked at a needle full of heroin and did not want it. He stood up and, without a second thought, he dropped the syringe onto the dirty mattress and turned his back to it. He felt absolutely wonderful.
��“Thank you,” he told the demon sincerely.
��But the creature did not answer him. Instead, it dived past him and scooped up the fallen needle. Tearing the sleeve of its coat in its haste to bare a scaly red arm, the demon stabbed the needle deep into its flesh and depressed the plunger, driving the liquid contents into its body.
��Henry walked away, out into the bright daylight, thinking about all the horrible and bizarre things he had done in his life just to feed his addiction; while behind him a large, red demon slumped onto a tattered, stinking mattress with a soft sigh of relief.









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