Author's Note: Keep those reviews coming if you want more. Yes I'm evil and I know I'm being a bastard about it, but I really don't care. To those of you who have been reviewing, thanks.
Addicts Never Lie
Chapter Four: Waiting
House had gotten up early that morning, popped a vicodin, and then quickly got dressed. He avoided his usual morning shower, trying to be as quiet as a mouse. In fact, the only sound that could be heard throughout the apartment as he got ready was a mouse. Well actually a rat, he thought to himself, as he stopped for a moment to watch Steve McQueen as he ran inside his cage on his new shiny little metal wheel.
He walked out into the living room and grabbed his jacket from the closet, patting it to make sure his spare bottle of pills was tucked safely in the inside left pocket. He looked down at Wilson, who was sound asleep on the couch, as he put on his shoes before grabbing his bag off the floor by the door. He was as quiet as someone who walked with a cane could possibly be, but wasn't too worried about Wilson getting woken up if he made a little noise. It was common knowledge that Wilson had always been a deep sleeper, something that House had often envied about him, considering that for most of his life he had suffered from insomnia.
He managed to slip out the front door a right at 7 a.m., knowing that Wilson's alarm would soon be going off. He put on his helmet and got onto his motorcycle, wheeling it down the street about a half a block before starting it up. The sun was just coming up on the horizon and he could fell the motorcycle rumble under him as he drove off towards his destination.
On the way he stopped at McDonalds, ordering coffee and a bagel sandwich, which he shoved into the compartment on the back of the bike. He arrived a few minutes after 7:30 a.m. and started to eat his breakfast as he waited outside the old brick building. He actually had a bit of an appetite and ate slowly, savoring the sausage bagel dripping with cheese as he sipped on the coffee.
He looked down at his watch as he swallowed the last remaining bite, and crumbled the wrapper up, tossing it back in the bag. It was 7:37 and as he dismounted the bike and walked towards the entrance, other people started to arrive in the parking lot. He walked over and deposited the bag and cup in the garbage and then went through the front, walking directly to the back of the lobby area to sit on a padded wooden bench.
Several people were also shuffling inside, smiling at him as they walked past concentrating on accomplishing their own business. Some were putting money in machines, while others were grabbing forms or looking through the showcase at the recent releases of collector's sets that had been shown on display for all to see. He turned to the left and saw several people being waited on and a line being formed, but was disappointed when there was no sign of what he was waiting for.
He rolled his eyes and started thumping his cane on the floor loudly, growing impatient. He held out his right hand and looked down at his watch again, annoyed that only a few minutes had past. He shifted on the bench uncomfortably, growing anxious with each passing moment. He tilted his head back and let out a sigh as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his vicodin.
He popped the white lid and tilted the bottle until two fell into his palm. He replaced the lid and put the bottle back in his pocket, looking down at the tiny white pills for a moment before putting them in his mouth, swallowing them dry. He sat continuing to thump his cane on the floor, getting increasingly irritated as he watched the minutes pass on the clock above the front entrance until it was ten minutes to 8 a.m.
He pulled out his cell phone, went to contacts, highlighted the desired number and hit send. It rang two times before someone answered.
"Yes, my package was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago and it hasn't arrived yet," he said to the customer service representative on the other end. He tried to be as patient as possible as he gave her his client I.D. and the tracking number of the package, and then waited for her to check on its status.
"Sir, it shows on the electronic log that the package was already delivered about fifteen minutes ago."
"No, it hasn't," he said, his voice rising. "I am sitting at the post office in front of my P.O. box and I am sure that I would have noticed if someone had put a package inside it."
"Give me just a moment to check," she said typing. "Sir, we show that the package was delivered, but it was sent to the billing address."
"No!" he said shouting, as he lost what little patience he had left. "I called a week ago to place my order, and I specifically requested that it be sent to the post office box and not my home address until further notice."
"I'm sorry sir. There must have been a mistake, that request was never relayed to the shipping department," she said slowly, hearing the anger in his voice. "I apologize for the inconvenience and I am personally correcting it now, and I assure you it won't happen again. I just need the post office box number and you'll be all set."
He could barely keep the venom out of his voice as he told her the information that she needed. He hung up immediately after she confirmed the new mailing address, and cursed as he grabbed his cane and headed towards the front door. He started up the bike and headed back towards the apartment, breathing a sigh of relief when he rounded the corner and saw that Wilson's beige Volvo was gone.
He pulled the bike up to the front of the apartment and parked it, hopping off and making a beeline for the mailbox. He hobbled up the two stairs and opened the main door as he looked down at his keys, finding the one for the mailbox. He inserted the key, turned the latch and opened the door. He smiled as he saw the package and reached inside to retrieve it.
He walked over to his front door, opened it and stepped inside. He took off his jacket and threw it over the back of the couch as he walked into the hallway, heading towards his room. He opened the bedroom door, walked over to the bed and sat down.
He looked at the package and was relieved to see that they had at least wrapped it as requested, before opening it up and quickly removing the prescription bottle from inside. Carefully he began to peel the label off the bottle, leaving behind only orange plastic and the white lid. He stood up and walked over to the dresser placing the bottle on top, next to his lamp slightly hidden between two books.
He walked out of his bedroom, closing the door tightly behind him, and then walked down the hallway. He grabbed his jacket off the couch and locked the front door on his way out. It was almost 8:45 by time he reached the hospital, and as he snuck past the front desk he heard the nurses say that Cuddy was already on the warpath and was searching for him. He managed to make it to his office, grab a magazine, and duck into an unoccupied exam room without setting off her radar.
All morning he stayed hidden, occasionally seeing a patient, giving him a legitimate reason for being in the room, and everyone left him alone. That is, until lunchtime, when Wilson finally had time to track him down.