The Bag

Damien was somewhat sad about his life. He lived with the bare minimum, sleeping on a couch he picked up from an alleyway. In winter, he slept in his jacket and used his 70’s era oven to try and warm up his small apartment. He lived on dumpster dives. He took most of his clothing from lost and found bins, and his one plastic cup, plate, and bowl he had stolen from the local Walmart.

He felt bad about stealing, but he hadn’t had the money for a full set, and he needed something to eat off of. He was barely covering his rent and his utilities with his two jobs as it was.

He swept floors at the salon down the street from his school and spent half his nights washing dishes in the campus cafeteria. It’s was a wonder he managed to study at all. His old, worn textbooks had taken their fair share of dips in the cafeteria sinks. He was lucky none of the words had bled beyond recognition yet.

He’d been walking home from a shift at the cafeteria, bone dead exhausted, when he noticed a light on in his apartment. One he wouldn’t have dared left on.

A tendril of dread sparked in him, but really, what did he have the was worth stealing anyway? His borderline useless refrigerator? He pulled his phone out and looked through the cracks on his screen, dialing 911. His finger hovered over the call button as he slowly walked up to the second floor.

His front door is opened slightly. He stood next to it, listening for any sign of movement inside. He heard nothing but the sound of his own breath, so he nudged the door open further with his shoe.

“If anyone’s still in here,” he called, “I have pepper spray!”

A lie. The only way he could’ve afforded pepper spray was if he somehow made it himself.

After another minute of silence, he entered the apartment. There wasn’t a single thing out of place.

The only thing different was an innocuous-looking leather duffle bag, left on the end of his couch.

Had his intruder heard him coming and ran, leaving it behind by mistake? No, that didn’t make sense. It was too deliberately placed. Like it had been left there on purpose...He took a slow step towards it, half-worried it was rigged to blow up.

He shakes his head and steels himself. What dangerous thing could possibly be in there?

He unzips it, peering inside.

Green. Green paper. Money.

In about two seconds, he had upended the bag, emptying its contents all over his floor. He buried his hands in the pile he’d created, not believing what he was seeing was real.

He looks back at his still open door, a thought crossing his mind. No one would have left this behind unless it was intentional.

After he’d triple-checked the lock on his front door, he crossed his small apartment in just a few steps and sat crosslegged on the floor to start counting.

20,000 even.

Why had this been left here? A break in the green catches his eye, and after brushing a few hundred dollar bills out of the way (Ha!) and see’s old, black leather. He picked up a little book, smaller than his hand. The leather binding was cracked, white lines forming random shapes.

He thumbs through it. Most of it is blank, bar a few lines on the first page. The writing is old, but it’s not dated. His best guess was a few months at least, but he couldn’t be sure without it dated.

As he reads, he realizes what’s written is a small list of instructions. The handwriting is neat, written with faded blue ink.

To whom it may concern:

Put the bag on the 10:45 C-Train. Tomorrow.

Second carriage, third-row window seat.

Make sure it’s all there.

We’ll know if it’s not.

He had so many questions.

He doesn’t have to wonder what the “it” in question was. It was clearly the money he was kneeling in. A chill runs down his spine. Was whoever had left this money still watching him? Making sure he didn’t steal any of it?

Why him? He was just some poor college kid. Maybe that’s why they’d chosen him? If the money was stolen, he was the perfect person to move it. Unassuming enough to go unnoticed, but if he was caught, the police wouldn’t question his motives twice. All they would have to do is look at where he living and they’d be able to see he was desperate enough to steal.

Was this all an elaborate ruse? Someone trying to set him up to take the fall?

No. No that didn’t make sense either. He kept to himself in school, and he hardly ever talked to his professors. He made sure to keep a good relationship between himself and his coworkers, and none of them (that he knew of) had money like this anyway.

Had someone else been watching him? His city was no stranger to organized crime. But the same question still rang in his head. Why him?

He was a nobody. No friends, no partner, no real family.

No support system.

Ah. That was why they’d picked him. He was sure of. He had no one to tell.

Could he really bear putting all this money on a train to who knows where? Without taking a single bill?

He had to think about it logically. Whoever chose him, they had chosen him for a reason. Probably multiple reasons. They’d been watching him for long enough that they knew both his situation and his schedule, or they wouldn’t have left his door open for anyone to walk in and t

Odds were, they’d still be watching his apartment now, waiting to see what he would do.

They would also definitely count it when they got it back. And they would get it back. He was smart enough to know that if he didn’t put the money on that train someone was going to come looking for it.

He had no choice but to do what the book said.

It seemed to be the only way he could come out of the situation with guaranteed safety, and even that wasn’t really guaranteed, it was just his best option.

He looked down at his old digital watch, seeing that it was nearing midnight. He gathered all the money back into the bag, spending more than half an hour making sure that he hadn’t missed any. The last thing he wanted was someone bursting into his house in the middle of the night to interrogate him on what he’d done with a missing fifty.

After he’s finished, he dropped the book on top of the money, zipped up the bag, and flopped down on the couch, exhausted. The humor of it all hits him at once, and he buries his face in his hands, laughter bubbling up in his chest. Was this what the rest of his life was going to be? People controlling him, just because they could? Because he didn’t have the means to defend himself?

Alright, he was probably jumping to conclusions, but he had started to spiral. He had no idea what he would be walking into tomorrow morning.

After close to an hour of mulling, and of trying to think his way out of an existential crisis, sleep finally pulled him down. There, enveloped by the warm blackness, he could almost forget his troubles. He let all his worries slide away, thinking only of rest, and of deep and peaceful sleep.

He slept soundly, and dreamt of nothing.

~~~

When he woke up the next morning, all he had time to do was glance at his watch. He balked when he saw the time.

It was already 10.

He rushed to dig some clean clothes out of the pile in the corner of the room, already rearranging his schedule in his head. If he left now and took a shortcut, he would just make it in time to buy a ticket and make it to the far end of the station.

He pulled a sweatshirt on over his head blindly, already headed for the door. He snatched the bag from the couch on his way by and flung the door open. He doesn’t even stop to check that it closed behind him. The last thing in the world that he wanted to do was miss that damn train.

~~~

He barely made it.

It was 10:35 when he’d barreled into the station, red-faced and sweaty. He’d run the last few blocks, not expecting the construction on the way to hold him up as long as it had. He’d emptied his pockets for the ticket fare, paying the entire thing in dimes and quarters. It had gotten more than one dirty look from the clerks, but he hadn’t cared.

It hadn’t the first time he’d bought things with pocket change, and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last.

At exactly 10:40, he walked through the doors of the C-Train. He made his way up to the second carriage, found the third row of seating, and gingerly sat the bag on the window seat.

The instructions hadn’t said anything about staying with it, so he wove through the small crowd of people getting off, and exited through the doors of the first carriage.

All he could do now was hope that no one picked up the bag or reported it as suspicious. He waited until he saw the train pull out, then left through the far exit. He didn’t want to be seen by the same people he’d bought the ticket from.

He shivered as he stepped outside, crossing his arms against the cold wind. It had picked up, cutting through the threadbare sweater like a knife. He pulled his hood up to try and stay warm and walked with hurried steps back to his apartment.

If he hurried, he might have enough time to shower before he left for work.

~~~

Dragging himself up the stairs that night had felt as daunting as climbing Mount Everest. He couldn’t remember being more exhausted. He’d spent all day with half his mind occupied by the bag of money, with the other half obsessing over the Math exam he had on Monday.

When he finally stumbled through his door, he almost didn’t notice another bag on his couch.

Almost.

Was he hallucinating? He had to be hallucinating. There was no way that there was another bag full of money on his couch.

Absolutely no way.

Still, he walked over and unzipped the bag with shaking hands. He spotted the same book, small, black, made of cracked leather. The page with the instructions had been ripped out, and a new message in fresh ink stared back at him.

Nice job. In the bag, you’ll another 20,000.

He chokes, looking at the bag with wide eyes. That couldn’t possibly be true.

This bag’s all yours. Do whatever you want with it. Our only condition is that you take at least 2000 of it and give it to someone who needs it.

The book fell from his numb fingers, hitting the ground with a small thud. He vaguely registered the fact that he was now on the floor. His legs must’ve stopped working.

His mind raced with all the ways this could improve his life, but only one thing stuck out to him.

“give it to someone who needs it”

Sure, this money could help him, but he was doing alright. All he wanted was a real bed.

Depending on who he gave the money to, it would change their life forever.

His mind made up, he diligently counts himself out 2000.

That was all he would keep.