Demitri exited the premises of the Marquee Glass-Blowing company, around 10pm. 5 hours later than usual. It was once very rare for him to deviate from his schedule, but it was beginning to become a recurring pattern for him to take any overtime he could get. That night he had decided to volunteer to stay late to do some extra deep cleaning of the furnaces, sweep up the floors, and organize the wide variety of colored glass canes. He didn't even care that much about being paid any extra, he simply was looking for something more to do.
In the winter months, Demitri tended to adopt a rather somber affect, that he deeply sought a distraction from. So, he was in no particular hurry to go home to his lonely apartment that night. He wasn't the kind of man who liked to drown his woes in drink, nor any other number of common vices, so he resolved that putting his hands to work would suffice just as well. He watched as everyone else eventually filtered out of the factory, and even the Clockmaster tipped his hat to him, having enough of a rapport with Demitri to know that he would never put a false record on his time card, and so waved a merry goodbye, and wished him a happy holiday.
When he was satisfied with the improved state of the factory, he made his way out. The shop bell rang as he opened the door, which the time keeper had locked from the outside hours earlier, but would allow him to exit freely. He turned up the collar on his coat to try to stave off the winter chill, which blew right through his sweat soaked clothes. It was hard not to sweat when you spent all day in front of a furnace after all, no matter how tidy you tried to keep.
It was a particularly cold night. The kind of cold that pulls the heat out of your breath, turns your lips blue and settles a persistent chill into your bones. Demitri thought he might hurry home, were it not for the occasional patches of ice on the sidewalk. So he kept a steady but careful pace. Passing by the warm glow of street lamp, after street lamp, casting their inviting comforting aura to illuminate the cold dark streets. He was completely alone. Though, not to his surprise. After all, the streets should be bare at such an hour. Then, as if the heavens above were waiting for him, he noticed that it had begun to snow just as he began his amble home.
He hadn't been walking long, the light sprinkle of glitter from the sky became large wafting flakes that sought to bury that which remained still. Out of the blue, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye, an ominous figure shambling down the other side of the street. It was hard to make out details from far away. It appeared to be a thin shadow, wrapped in some kind of shroud. The blue collar worker was slightly unnerved by its atypical gait, hobbling towards his direction, though remaining on the other side of the road. Passing through shadow, then briefly illuminated by the lamps, then bathed in shadow again as it walked, Still it was far away. Whoever it might have been was as thin as a skeleton, he could tell when the wind blowed the cloak up against its frail form. The figure had drawn up the thin cloak tightly to offer whatever protection it could from the chill, hiding away their face.
Demitri had seen plenty of downtrodden folks before on these streets. Lochshore was not a place that took good care of its poor or homeless. Charity was certainly not enough, and his heart had wept many times for many gaunt, hungry, sunburnt faces he had seen. Cursed to never stop wandering lest ye be caught for loitering by the patrolling constable and taken away. Skin that had weathered the elements, and spirits worn down by the brutality of a world that forgets about you if you aren't someone who can make an already rich man, more money. It was a sight that always made his heart ache, and that which would make his coworkers avert their gaze. He knew enough that it was a complex cascade of issues that lead to those people of the streets, who were treated like living ghosts. For some it was addiction, drink, illness of the mind, or dysfunction in the body. Circumstance, bad luck, any manner of things really. It was bigger than him though. Out of his hands, he always thought. He tried his best not to judge though. He would just simply go on his way and that was that.
Tonight, however, he cautiously just kept his pace and continued on his way, keeping an eye on the atypical subject. He couldn't shake a growing anxiety that began filling his gut. The figure draped in shadow was slightly closer to passing him now, while still relegated to the other side of the street. Jack frost let out an icicle of a breeze in the face of this person. The cloak they wore was tattered and seemed threadbare and almost transparent in parts. He noticed it started to slow its walk, its pace becoming an erratic stagger. It seemed sickly, and unnerving as it slowed, its thin limbs seeming to fail. Demitri was becoming frightened. He was, at least, until it finally stopped, wavered a moment, then fell to its knees, then to the hard cold sidewalk, completely motionless.
The anxiety in his gut turned to fear that he just witnessed some poor souls' untimely death. The snow continued to fall perpetually as if the cruelty of the world seemed to pay no heed to what it deemed an insignificant event that it paid no pause at all. The thick flakes of snow could care less as it did not hesitate to begin burying the figure the moment it ceased it's never-ending wandering. His legs began running to the figure as fast as he could, before even he realized he was doing it. Heart, pounding in his ears, it was like lightning shot through his body as it acted faster than he could think.
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After a longer time than he would have liked, he breathlessly rounded a corner, and saw the great gothic obelisk at the end of the street. St. Olga Memorial Hospital!
He heaved as he finally made it there, never quite a runner, but the adrenaline gave him strength enough to carry himself and the mysterious figure as he pounded on the doors in a mad scramble to rush inside.
After the person was taken away by the emergency staff, he waited in the sitting room by the check in desk, feeling like it was inappropriate to leave until he was sure of their condition. He was a nervous wreck after catching a glimse of their poor face, and feeling their freezing cold limp body. He felt like he had been carrying a skeleton. He was only jarred out of thought when an attending that beckoned him up to the front desk and fill in some information about the patient.
Demitri stood up and asked with exasperation. "Are they okay?!" There was fear in his gray eyes, that he hadn't made it in time. The nurse was taken aback a moment, then regained composure.
"Yes, they appear to have passed out due to exhaustion, perhaps malnutrition, but we are getting them stable now and soon I'm sure they will be resting," She replied. Demitri was filled with relief, and his tight shoulders relaxed a bit.
"Sir, could you answer some questions for me?" the older woman asked politely.
"Y-Yes of course, I'll do my best," he replied as he collected himself.
"What is the name of the patient?" She said, as she looked down at her clipboard ready to write.
"I can't say I know Ma'am," Demitri replied sheepishly. The Nurse cocked her head to the side with a look of disappointment, like she knew where this might be going. "They're a complete stranger to me, I was just walking home from work and they just collapsed in the cold! They were so cold! And the bruises all over their face, I-I-I didn't know what else to do! Will they be alright!?" Demitri stuttered out in a panic.
The nurse closed her cloudy blue eyes and sighed a heavy sigh. "If that is the case, it appears as if they have no identification on their person, and well…." She searched her mind for an acceptable term. "It seems that they are a transient," She explained to him.
Demitri looked at her searchingly, waiting for her to continue to explain. The nurse sighed further, beginning to grasp that he wasn't quite understanding the implications.
"I'm very sorry sir, that you came all this way, truly it speaks to your character, but this is a very busy hospital, and we simply don't have enough rooms or staff to accommodate every homeless person that collapses on the street. I don't mean to be harsh, but that's just the reality of the situation," She said with practiced sympathy. "We have to focus on the paying patients we already have, that are paying. I apologize for the inconvenience, really I do,"
Demitri just stared at her blankly, not able to process the implications of what she was saying as the adrenaline had yet to subside.
"So then… What happens to them now…?" Demitri said with desperation. The nurse sighed, resisting the urge to rub her temples.
"Well, they can't stay here, I'm afraid. But we can arrange for them to possibly be taken to a poorhouse in the morning," That was the most generous offer she could make. "To be completely blunt with you sir," she attempted to be tactful. "Homeless people come in here with any sorts of ailments, often under the influence of illegal substances or with any number of venereal diseases, self harm, or plain madness no matter how much help they are given." A hint of judgment was on her tongue. "Sadly, it's a very common occurrence, but I've seen it many times, even if they recover this time, they'll only go out and get themselves in the same situation again. You seem like a decent man, you've done more than enough, but this just isn't someone worth your time," She feigned a sympathetic demeanor. Her tired eyes etched with wrinkles lacked any genuine sympathy.
Demitri fell silent, staring at the ground, deep in thought. When he raised his head again, he asked her. "How much?"
"Excuse me, sir?" She raised her eyebrow.
"How much for their room and adequate care to recover?" he asked bluntly. She went to further convince him toward the contrary, but Demitri was having none of it. She leaned forward and whispered to him the amount and he his eyes widened for a moment, but in a moment's consideration, his resolve retook him. "Alright, now please admit them to a room. I will pay for it myself."
"Sir, you must understand, your money might just as well be wasted on this person-"
"But my conscience will rest assured that I did not stand aside as someone freezes to death in the snow alone on the street. Now please ma'am, I've made up my mind," The normally very timid, quiet man found some resolve in his voice for the first time in his life that surprised even him.
The old woman with graying hair sighed and nodded, bringing him to the desk where he began writing a check, which she examined.
"Is this also the best name the patient can contact you with? I'm sure they would want to repay you in some way, or a thank you at the very least," She said with the vaguest hint of contempt through her cold professional demeanor. Demitri considered the thought a moment.
"If you could, Ma'am, I'd like to remain anonymous," The bespectacled man decided. "I don't want them to feel any obligation to repay me. Just please make sure they get the best care they can," He said, folding his hands, looking down at them with consideration. "Although I may return tomorrow with some books for them.. It is Candlenights after all.. Would it be possible for someone to take them up for me?"
The old tired nurse looked at him incredulously, studying his face to determine his motivations, suspiciously. "You are aware they may not know how to read?" She said, in a flat tone.
"Then I'll be sure to bring one with pictures," He smiled in the warm lowlight of a nearby lamp glinting off of his glasses, the nurse was unable to tell if he had spoken the words in a resentful tone or if he was truly that genuinely kind. "If you could, please telephone this number if their condition changes, or if there are any unexpected expenses." He wrote it down and gave it to her.
She sighed and nodded. He smiled, tipped his flat cap to her, and wished her a happy holiday, and a blessed new year.
Demitri walked home that night, with a lighter step than before. His whole body felt a little lighter, despite doing so many hours of heavy labor that day, and all that excitement toward the end. He didn't even think of the considerably heavy weight of the bill that would very likely clean out his savings. Maybe it was the holiday spirit, or the act of going out of his way to ease someone else's burdens for a change, but his forlorn feeling of seasonal depression had left him. A smile crept on his face as he climbed the steep, creaky stairs to his apartment that night. It felt good to do something for someone who needed it, probably more than he knew.
It wasn't for his conscience, or any sense of superiority, or any feelings of obligation. He didn't have any expectations, in fact he thought very little of the future to come of this. Something in his gut had just possessed him in that moment, that he simply couldn't walk on by as someone lay dying. Nor could he simply drop them at the hospital and hope for the best. He decided that even if it was as that nurse said, if it was someone who would do nothing but go out and perform self destructive behaviors as soon as they were healed, he wouldn't regret it. All he wanted in the world that night was for that person to live. If he accomplished that, then he was all the more grateful for it. After all, what's it to that nurse. No one has the right to decide the worth of a life. Everyone needs help at one time or another. No one can do it all alone.
When he opened the door to his apartment, he was met with Delilah meowing with frustration, he scooped her up and apologized profusely! Feeding her before doting on her to excess before stoking up a warm fire, and going to bed.