His Whereabouts were Unknown to All but a Few
Christmas Eve. A lone man wandering through the streets of New York, ignoring the junkies at either side of the street. He didn't want to be associated by these 'human excreta of society'. He entered the building on his right. It was an old building, like most of the buildings in this area. The steps creaked under his feet as he ascended the stairs. The hall was dimly lit by only one bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. At the end of the corridor he fetched a key from his pocket and unlocked the door he faced.
The room was bare and messy. His shoes stuck to the linoleum floor. He flicked a switch and more light was shed on the space then he wished for. In another street police sirens wailed. He didn't hear them any more. The bed was littered with underwear and clothes. He sat down on it. Then he reached under the bed and pulled out a suitcase. It was an old, leather case. The seams were letting loose a bit at the sides and one of the locks was broken. He opened the case and looked inside. It was as empty as it was when he put it there. He filled the case with clothes and a toothbrush.
Just as he was about to close the case there was a knock on the door. He didn't answer, but the door was still half open. A woman whom he recognized as the landlady stepped inside. She spoke Spanish. He didn't. She sounded angry. He nodded and pointed at the suitcase. The woman was still talking as she left the room. He closed the case and strapped it shut with two thick leather belts. The case was heavy as he lifted it and it had no wheels. He dragged the case out of the room and switched the light off. Then he proceeded to go down the stairs, his weight keeping the case from sliding down the steps. At the bottom of the staircase he rested a while. He then left the building and walked through the streets again. This time dragging the case behind him.
The case was very heavy and he contemplated whether or not he should leave it. The lights on the shopping windows were still burning as he walked passed them. Each window was filled with Christmas spirit. He didn't take notice of the shop windows as he walked into the next street. Even on Christmas Eve the streets were filled with people. Cars drove past slowly and all the cabs were full.
At the corner of North Park Street he was dragged into an alley. His heart pounded as he heard a Puerto Rican voice ask for the case. He gave it him. Then he felt a sharp pain in his lower abdomen and he sank to the ground. After about five minutes he crawled out of the alley and tried to stand. His stomach was feeling as if it was on fire and he checked the wound. Cold gripped his body as he pulled his shirt up to look at the blood sipping from the injury. He put his hand on the wound and progressed half staggering to the nearest hospital. He knew where to find one, but it was not near.
After ten minutes of coughing he collapsed. He had lost a lot of blood when he came to. There was a small puddle where he was lying and his clothes had big red stains on them. He thought that under the yellow streetlight he looked like a Savanna animal, with the blood being the black patches on the yellow fur. Even though the streets he had been walking had been busy, the street in which he was now was completely empty. The streetlight he was under was the only one that was lit and it made the place very unnerving.
He tried to stand up again, but his legs could no longer support his weight. He thus used his hands to crawl on. He knew the hospital was only a few blocks from here. He also knew the Doctor there. Doctor Pierson. Doctor Pierson was always there, day and night. Doctor Pierson was also the one who had provided him with drugs in times of need. He knew the Doctor was a user as well and that through his profession he was able to get to them easily. He thought Doctor Pierson was a good man. He would be able to help him. He always had been..
He didn't feel as if he was going to die, but as he entered a state of delirium he saw himself thirteen years younger, attending a Christmas dinner at his grandmother's house. He had been eight years old then. It had been cold outside, just like it was now, but the house was cozy and warm. They all sat around the table. The tablecloth had little Santas and Christmas trees on them. On the table were two lit candles in gold colored candleholders. After an incredibly long time his grandmother appeared with the Christmas turkey. The turkey was placed in between the two candles and then his grandmother sat down as well. His father wanted to cut the turkey. At that time his father became very pale and slid from his chair unto the ground. His mother had panicked and the whole house seemed to shake. He ran outside, into the cold. It was snowing that night and his breath condensated in the cold air. He had been found the next morning, sleeping on a bench in the nearby park. Since that time he never celebrated Christmas again. He had traveled to New York when he was sixteen. The odd job kept him alive and provided him with enough money to rent an apartment in a hostile area of 'The Big Apple'. He had been out of a job for a month when it was made clear that he had one more week before he was to be evicted.
Incessant coughing woke him up again. It had began snowing and his legs were covered in a thin layer of snow. He dragged himself into a doorway so as to be out of the snow. Blood marked his trail in the snow. He felt his eyes getting heavy and he didn't try to fight the somnolence that overcame him.