Monster: The Story Of A Maniac

by Peter Cry

  “Get out of here! I’ve called the police!” Jessica shouted from afar, afraid to get closer to the bullies beating up the homeless fellow.

  Hearing a menacing cry, two warped criminals, with virtually no shadows, disappeared into the evening darkness without even turning around. The homeless man, whom they had so eagerly beaten for ten minutes, remained lying in the backyard of one of the eateries, by a trash container in which he apparently wanted to find something edible. The stranger was wearing several frayed coats, ripped jeans, and different winter boots. He seemed to be unconscious, and maybe even dead.

  Jessica cautiously looked around, listening to the noise of the city, hoping to catch an approaching police siren out of the monotonous hum. But it was not possible to hear anything even closely resembling it. The poor fellow continued to lie on the asphalt, not moving and apparently, not breathing. Taking a deep breath and wrapping herself warmer in her down jacket, the dark-skinned young woman, getting over her anxiety, decided to approach the victim.

  “Hey, are you alive?” she asked warily, coming closer.

  “No, please... Please, don’t!” uttered the mauled homeless man.

  Getting up, he began to move away. He pressed himself against a nearby brick wall with his back, crouched and covered his face with his hands.

  “Please, don’t. I'm leaving now... I don’t want any problems. Please...”

  Looking at the man who had just come back from the underworld, at first Jessica hesitated. But realizing how frightened he was, she felt sorry for him.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” the woman said carefully. “I am here to help you.”

  The bum wasn’t hurrying to show his face. He breathed deeply, with each exhalation shuddering either from cold or from fear.

  “Thanks! Thank you…” he was calming down.

  Looking around, realizing that there was nobody there, Jessica wanted to come nearer and examine the victim, but at the same time, she was afraid he might stab her. Local newspapers were full of headlines about the crimes of the homeless, who killed people not for robbery or rape, but for unknown reasons.

  “Err... Mister, I'm a doctor, I work in a hospital not far from here. I will come closer now to examine you. It is important to me that you don’t make any sudden or violent movements.”

  The vagrant hiding by the wall obediently nodded. It seemed, he had calmed down a bit and stopped shaking. After taking a few steps and approaching him, Jessica crouched.

  The battered homeless man dropped his hands and looked into the eyes of his savior.

  Jessica was empathetic and delicate, able to share the pain of the people who were next to her. But, after seeing the face of the man sitting against the wall, she did not have time to screw up her face in a grimace of complete pity. She was rather surprised.

  Injuries, bruises, a broken nose, stubble and dirty greasy hair with well-groomed skin and confident black inviting eyes just did not fit together. Before Jessica was an ordinary mauled homeless man with a huge bruise under his eye and a lot of injuries. He looked more like an actor who had been made up for the role, rather than a man who had been roughed up by all the burdens of hungry life in the street.

  “I managed to cover my face,” the man smiled sadly. “They kicked my ribs mostly. No way they could ever heal.”

  “And that voice... That bloody voice!" Jessica wondered.

  There was not the slightest hint of alcohol, drugs, or even cigarettes in his voice or breath. There were no side effects of addiction on the face. The girl’s gaze slid over the man’s hand and settled on his fingers. The manicure that crowned them could hardly be called perfection, but there was no dirt under the nails.

  “What did they want from you?”

  “I don't know, ma'am. These days a lot of people are helping the homeless, so I don’t think that they became angry at me because I was digging in the wrong garbage container,” the stranger sighed wearily. “They might have mistaken me for somebody else.”

  Jessica smiled sadly. And suddenly she caught herself thinking that she did that not because she felt sorry for the battered guy, but because somewhere in this pile of trash that was talking to her, she saw something attractive that sometimes women see between the lines, looking at men.

  Jessica pulled herself together and stopped before her attraction to him became noticeable. He was a bum, after all.

  “The police are coming. They will help you.”

  The man suddenly turned dark and almost merged with the brown brick wall against which he leaned. After wiping away the fresh blood under his nose with the sleeve of his coat, he stood up. Jessica stood up with him.

  “No... Please, no police, ma'am,” the homeless man said excitedly. “They are looking for me. They know about me.”

  Witnessing such strange behavior, Jessica suddenly became concerned again. For some reason, not because of the police not catching their man, but for the battered stranger.

  In the meantime, he tried to get past this caring young woman and disappear somewhere into the dark.

  “Wait, where are you going?” Jessica stopped him. “You must stay, and perhaps the police will come in time to arrest those animals that have beaten you.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” the anxious homeless man shifted from one foot to the other. “They are looking for me... And they, they…”

  “What have you done? Something bad?”

  The stranger suddenly calmed down, and his eyes looked at the asphalt under his feet. He briefly withdrew into himself. And when he raised his head and looked at Jessica, she eased up. He gazed at her with cold eyes, full of a subtle metaphysical bitter meaning.

  “Yes,” he nodded his head unwillingly. “I’ve done a lot of bad things, ma'am.”

  A police siren was suddenly heard from behind the stranger. The car drove around the corner of the building and, turning off the road, drove up to the couple standing in the back street. Doors opened, and two policemen got out of the car. One of them, having seen the unpleasant homeless person standing in front of the woman, put his hand on his holster. Leaving his partner by the car, the officer walked over to Jessica.

  The homeless man, realizing that he had nowhere else to go and it was useless to run, resigned himself but, having no desire to look into the cops' eyes, kept his head down.

  “Did you call 911, ma'am?” the policeman asked, looking at the young woman, then at the bum.

  “Yes, I did,” she answered carefully, without understanding if she had done the right thing.

  “Have you been assaulted?” the policeman continued warily, approaching the vagrant. “It looks like you’re still in one piece.”

  The ragged stranger reluctantly nodded his head.

  “They hit me in the face a couple of times. It’s nothing. No need to worry, officer. It happens between guys.”

  Jessica looked at the unknown man, who kept glancing down, recalling how badly he had been beaten as had she watched from the window of the break room. She remembered how he had scrambled on the ground, fearing anyone who approached. Why did a person who had suffered so much not want to see his tormentors punished?

  “Almost normal,” Jessica muttered under her breath.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” without looking back, the policeman said, standing next to the homeless man and examining him from head to toe. “Did you say something, ma'am?”

  Taking a deep breath, the woman smiled awkwardly and said, “Apparently so, but it had looked serious, officer. I am sorry.”

  The homeless man raised his head and, avoiding a direct eye contact, also smiled slightly.

  “It was nasty. But, you know, it was just another street fight, it happens to everyone.”

  The discerning officer nodded and smiled too.

  “You seem familiar. Did I happen to see you anywhere? Maybe in the photographs of wanted criminals?”

  The battered poor fellow began to tremble a little.

  “No, sir, I don’t th
ink so. I am a quiet peaceful homeless person, looking for work. I have never offended anyone.”

  The policeman continued to smile acidly, trying to catch the stranger's direct gaze.

  “Should we check the data for me to be assured?”

  Jessica looked over the shoulder of the officer at the down-and-out beaten by fate and strong fists. She had heard a million stories about how the good guys who got the wrong loans ended up in the street without doing anything wrong in life, trying not to debase themselves and maintain their human appearance. That shaking man was probably one of them. He was just a little out of luck.

  “I know him, officer,” Jessica blurted out. “He used to work here not far away. Nothing to worry about.”

  The policeman turned around and looked at the defender of the homeless.

  “Are you sure, ma’am?”

  “Yes, I used to visit his car dealership, I even thought about buying something... But there were only Hammers there,” Jessica smiled timidly, winning over the cops. “And who needs them after all!”

  The officer turned his head back and glanced at the homeless man with his crafty gaze again.

  “Yeah... Hammers suck, man. You should have joined the police. They are always needed.”

  After looking into Jason’s eyes for several more seconds, the policeman walked away and headed to his car.

  “Thanks for the call, ma'am! And if you see something suspicious again, do not hesitate to inform us!” he opened the door and, before getting inside, looked at Jessica with a noticeably ironic look. “But only if it’s not some drunkards fighting again.”

  “Yes, of course, excuse me, sir,” she said guiltily.

  The car drove off, and the cops hastily lost themselves on the roads of the cold, evening, Seattle.

  Jessica stood and looked at the one who needed help. But, as it turned out, she was completely perplexed by the current situation.

  “You made a fool out of me.”

  “I understand,” the stranger said. “I’m sorry. You saved me from those two scumbags.”

  “Are you talking about the cops?” Jessica asked with a smile.

  The stranger smiled back slightly.

  “Yes, about them, too.”

  Feeling guilty, he decided not to impose on his savior any longer and leave.

  “Thank you again... And I'm sorry. I think I should go.”

  “No, you are not going anywhere!” commanded the swarthy young woman. “First, we shall go to the hospital. I will examine you, treat the wounds, and only then you will go wherever you want. As a doctor who saw what injuries you received, I must do so.”

  “No, no,” the vagrant shook his head. “It’s nothing. I heal very quickly. All homeless people do. And you’re probably fed up with me.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  The stranger suddenly fell silent.

  There are dozens of varieties of hunger, and each of us probably experiences them in our own way. Some of us can afford to throw out slightly spoiled foods, believing that we will never encounter hunger. Some starve intentionally, trying to lose weight or experience lightness, not only physical but also spiritual. But there is also a unique type of hunger that many of us are unfamiliar with. It is forced hunger, experienced not in cycles for healing purposes or losing weight, but on a permanent basis – a hunger that could kill you over time. Recently, the young stranger had been on the edge of that kind of hunger almost every day. In a world where nothing depended on him, he was forced to live a corresponding life. He could even swear that sometimes he quite genuinely felt his stomach stuck to his spine.

  Looking into his eyes, Jessica understood everything. Without forcing him to somehow admit his needs, or even simply answer her questions, she straightened her black down jacket and headed towards the hospital.

  “Follow me.”

  Hiding from others in dark corners, afraid to be caught by the eyes of the police, the stranger had not eaten normal food for a long time. Had he really got a chance to eat at least something without signs of mold, garbage stench, and imprints of someone else’s teeth? After tidying his ragged clothes as much as possible, he followed the good Samaritan.

  Realizing that there would be people in the hospital who would immediately stare at him, the battered man tried to stay a dozen feet behind his savior so as not to embarrass her with his appearance.

  There were several ambulances and people were fussing around the entrance to the hospital. Jessica stopped there and waited until the man, trailing behind her, came closer.

  “Now come with me, walk confidently, and do not stop anywhere. Walk near me, not behind. Pretend to be as much in pain as possible. I'll quickly take you to the storeroom, and you’ll stay there for a while. You have no insurance, it means I cannot treat you, at least in the way that someone can see it. Do you understand what I say?”

  “Yes, sure” as if playing some dangerous game, the stranger began to worry. “I shall do everything exactly as you’ve said.”

  With a quick army step, Jessica entered the bright lobby of the hospital. There were several people with simple household injuries, who were waiting in line for an appointment with a traumatologist. After walking a few yards, she turned left into a corridor with pale beige walls. Illuminated by fluorescent lamps, it neither made a favorable impression nor facilitated a fast recovery. The evening corridors of the hospital were not too crowded, and this pleased not only Jessica but also a dirty, wounded stranger who was not far behind her, afraid to meet someone who could recognize him. Although, the doctor was more worried than her companion, she hurried to the stairs and hoped to find nobody there, so they could easily get to the second floor. She was afraid to meet one of her colleagues or, worse, her bosses. She violated all possible rules, helping the ones she was not supposed to help, sometimes doing things for people that they simply didn’t have money for. A couple of times she even went for stealing expensive drugs for helpless patients suffering from unbearable pain. She was not interested in attracting unnecessary looks at the beginning of her medical career, especially when a battered homeless person, who was penniless, walked next to her.

  They made their way through the corridor, from one end to the other, and came to the stairs. Quickly jumping over several stairs at one step, they had almost reached the cherished goal. At the last doorway of the second floor, they met a short old cleaner with a cart. The saintly woman and her partner breaking into the hospital, stopped.

  “I was looking for you,” Jessica said in a commanding voice. “Do you have a key to the storeroom?”

  “Yes,” the janitor was confused, looking at the strange beaten homeless man, dressed in several coats of different lengths and different boots.

  “Give it to me.”

  “Here, take it, ma’am” he obeyed.

  Grabbing the key, Jessica and the stranger opened the door and boldly dived into the corridor of the second floor. Having quickly got through it, without catching anyone's eye, they found themselves inside a small room with no windows, which was used as a pantry. Jessica pressed the switch, and blinking fluorescent lights illuminated a space of nine feet by nine feet. The room was full of household chemicals, drawers with overshoes and other wares, so necessary for the hospital.

  “Sit here,” the girl pointed with her finger at the decommissioned battered swivel chair. “I'll be back in five minutes and bring everything we need.”

  Jessica rushed out of the door. Once again in the corridor, she stopped for a moment, looked around, and caught her breath. The worst, as it seemed to her, was behind, and if everything is done quickly, then it would be possible to help the stranger and not to compromise herself in front of her omnipresent bosses and colleagues.

  Going to the admission room, Jessica took off her down jacket, straightened her hair, put on a mask of calmness, then opened the door. Entering inside, she found three visitors waiting for her on the brown leather sofa, polished to shine after many years of use. Their faces, despite
the absence of serious problems, were painted with a cry for help and mercy.

  Throwing her down jacket on the chair, Jessica put her hands on her hips and stood in front of her patients, who clearly suspected that their doctor would now say something serious and almost fateful. Two elderly women and a huge middle-aged fat man were ready to hear the harsh truth.

  “So! You must drink mineral water every day,” the doctor confidently pointed a finger at everyone to whom the advice was addressed. “You should take Creon according to the old scheme. Unpleasant sensations should pass soon. And you,” Jessica raised her voice slightly, “you should stop eating all the garbage in the colorful wrapper that you see in the store, with all that sugar, salt, fats, in general, with all the poisons that you could only imagine. I also love to eat but I do not kill myself each time as you do. Your organs are still fine. But in five years you’ll come to me, and I will have to cut something out of you.”

  Having finished scolding her patients, Jessica fell silent for a moment.

  “That’s all, you can go now. I don’t have time for you anymore,” said the doctor, smiling sarcastically.

  Immediately two elderly women and the fat man, realizing that they had been spared hearing the worst, stood up as if having lost a hundred pounds and a couple of decades, and hurried to leave the doctor’s waiting room. Not without some hesitation, though, while maneuvering through the doorway.

  Jessica went into the office and turned on the desk lamp that painted her cool white cabinet a cozy soft orange color. First, she quickly opened the small refrigerator that stood in the corner of the room. It was always possible to find something useful, and not too useful, there, like ham sandwiches, or a container with meat salad which for some reason, despite being prepared every morning, she never ate. Putting everything that was stored inside the refrigerator in a paper bag, Jessica hurried back to the hungry, beaten-up, stranger waiting for her at the other end of the corridor. From a first aid box, she took some antiseptic, plasters and some bandages.