Some days are better than others.
On this particular day I was late. Mr. Flaherty had asked me to stay after, again. I had wanted to say no, especially since overtime pay was not in Mr. Flaherty’s vocabulary. But I needed this job. I can only imagine how it would look if I lost it. But still, two hours of overtime I wouldn't get paid for. Two hours worth of listening to complaints, and completely redoing the schedule of appointments. I had checked my phone in the elevator after locking up my office. Battery was dead, just as well. I knew there would be messages from Kelly. And I knew that I would have to hear her complaining when I got in. She was always on me about “working for free” and standing up to Mr. Flaherty. "Oliver, you have to learn to say no. How hard can it be!?" I could almost hear her now….
I didn't like having to work late. And I sure didn't want to have to pick up all the pieces at the office when Mr. Flaherty decided to call it a day at 1pm so he could “rest his back”. Which I knew just meant playing golf for three hours. Yeah, I thought my boss was a class A jerk. But I sure as hell wasn't going to say it. Not to Mr. Flaherty anyway. I needed this job. The rent was too high, and Kelly didn't want to move. Not when it was so close to the gym she rarely went to, even though $40 bucks still came off of the credit card every month. And of course the private elementary school was just a mile away, despite not having any kids yet.
I would have to tell her I stayed late again, and wasn't paid. Part of me would almost rather tell her I had an affair. What it would be like to not worry about money. I had been thinking this same thought for the past three years. More so in the last couple of weeks. We could finally take that long overdo trip to Paris Kelly had always talked about, but we never could afford. I would still keep the job of course. Quitting wasn't an option.
I was thinking this when the train pulled in. I hopped on, and noticed it was nearly empty. I almost smiled. It had been a while since I actually got to sit on the subway. I wasn't the type who could walk onto a packed subway car and take one of the last seats next to some stranger. Instead I would stand by the door, and pretend not to notice when someone stood too close, or stepped on my shoe, or smelled like they just had a bath in shit. My phone came in handy for these situations. I would stare at the screen, pretending to be busy texting someone, when in reality I was only busy playing 8 pool ball, or Angry birds.
I rarely got a chance to sit on the ride home, and so rare was it a window seat. One perk of working late, I suppose. I chose a seat in the middle of the car, and sat, putting my briefcase between my feet. I wasn't completely alone. There was an old man sleeping in the back of the car, a big green trash bag on the seat beside him. I guessed he was homeless by his disheveled appearance. There was a middle age lady a few seats away from him, reading a book, and eating something that smelled like raw onion. It could be worse, I knew. And I'd seen it many times. Small blessings I thought, with a smile. When the subway car pulled to a stop, the lady and her foul smelling meal departed. It was at least 5 minutes before I realized someone else was in the car with me.
Just across the aisle, a few seats away, sat a man that looked to be about my age, certainly no older than 30. The man was dressed in a suit, but no tie, and his hair looked a bit sweaty and uncombed. Maybe he had a lazy boss too, I thought. The man was staring straight ahead, a black duffle on his lap. I pulled out my phone, forgetting it was dead. I stared at it anyway, pretending to text. I found myself stealing looks at the man. The duffle bag on the man's lap seemed to be of some importance to him, as he kept looking down at it, as if it might somehow grow legs and run away. The man held it tightly to him, and would glance down at it occasionally, a peculiar look in his eyes.
When the man turned his eyes on me, I quickly averted my gaze to my phone again, wishing I hadn't forgotten to charge it. I spotted a newspaper lying on the floor across the aisle, and stretched out my foot to slide it over. I shook it free of dirt, then smoothed it out. I read the sports section, even though I didn't care too much for it. After I'd grown bored of that, I started reading an article about crime watch in the neighborhood and how to get involved.
Our neighborhood had been a pretty ideal place to live, but in the last year or so crime had found its way in our little suburb, trickling in from the more dangerous areas. Earlier in the week Kelly had seen a news report about a murder of a young woman who was killed just blocks from where she worked. Kelly had refused to go out alone at night, which meant I had to meet her at the bus stop after she got off work. Another reason she'd be furious about my coming home late. I flipped the pages until I got to the comic section, trying to push away the image of Kelly's angry expression standing in the doorway, arms folded over her chest. But she had a right to worry, I guess. Just last month the apartment two doors down from us was robbed. Crime was everywhere, no matter the cost of the rent.
I tried to keep my focus on the paper, but found myself sneaking looks at the man. I watched him stroke the black leather duffle bag with his finger, still holding it tight. I could see his lips twitch just slightly, every time he looked down at the bag. At first, I almost laughed. But I suppressed that impulse. Laughing at a man these days could get you killed. I'd heard of people losing their lives for less. I turned the page, ignoring the man and his bag.
A small article caught my eye. It was a few paragraphs at the bottom left hand corner of the paper. There had been a robbery at a local bank. More than seven hundred-thousand dollars stolen. No suspects. The article claimed a man walked into a bank and slipped the teller a note. That simple. I laughed out loud.
“What's so funny?” The man with the black duffle asked. His voice was neither angry or friendly. It just was. I stiffened, and looked at the man, whose eyes were now watching me carefully.
“Uh… Nothing. I mean, just an article I was reading." I said, hoping the man would be content with leaving my explanation at that. The man glanced down at the newspaper in my hands. Then smiled. I looked away. I didn't like that smile. His teeth were crooked and stained with tobacco and the smile was almost knowing.
“What's in the article?” The man asked, his voice soft and inquisitive.
For some reason I didn't want to tell him. We both stared at one another for a long, uncomfortable moment, until I caved under the man's intent scrutiny.
“Just something about a murder.” I lied, looking back down at the paper, but reading nothing. I could feel him still watching me, and though I couldn't be sure, I thought he was smiling.
“A murder?” The man said, somewhat theatrically. He paused for a second, and I was hoping he would just leave me alone. “You find murder funny then?” the man asked. I felt my cheeks burn.
“No… of course not. I just remembered something funny my wife said.” I fumbled, hoping the man wouldn't press me further.
“Ah, I see. Whatcha reading now?” The man asked, and I could hear the man shift in his seat closer toward the aisle.
“Nothing really.” I said, my stomach tightening. Why did I have to sit so close to this idiot? I thought. Why couldn't I have sat in the front?
I didn't want to tell the man anything about the robbery.
“Nothing?” The man asked, and without looking over, I knew the man was smiling. I could hear it.
“Well, there was a robbery.” I relented. My eyes met the man's, almost involuntarily. His eyebrows rose just a bit, and I could see his fingers tighten on his duffle bag.
The man swallowed, “A robbery, huh?” he asked, again he sounded phony.
“Yeah. Seems a lot of money was stolen.” I said, immediately regretting it. He shook his head, hand gripping his bag so tightly, his knuckles turned white.
“That's awful.” He said, mockingly. “Never can trust a thief.” he winked at me, trailing a finger along the duffle bags zipper, but not opening it.
“Is that so?” I said, plastering a smile on my face. I was wondering how long I'd have to walk if I got off at the next stop. Or what I'd do if he followed...
“Sure is. My father used to say that” he said. “He was a very wise man.” I nodded. The lights flickered in the car, and I could see the station up ahead. I would get off, and walk the rest of the way home, I decided. I was about to stand up, when the man spoke.
“Well, this is my stop. It was nice chattin with you.” He said, and gave a little two finger salute. I nodded, and pretended to read once more, relief swelling in my chest. I heard the man shuffle down the aisle, and when the car pulled to a stop and the doors opened, he hopped off. I only looked up when I heard the doors close, and the car lurch forward. I looked out the window, hoping to see him walking off to creep someone else out.
The man was standing on the platform, casually waving goodbye, a sly smile on his face. I relaxed against the seat a little.I hadn't realized just how tense I was. Now that we were moving, putting distance between that man and myself, I felt better.
“That guy was trouble” a voice, slurred and groggy called out from the back of the car. I turned around. I had forgotten about the homeless old man.
“Gotta watch who you talk to…You just never know….” he added, pulling a wool cap down over his eyes, and rolling onto his side. I had to admit, the old man was right.
I normally don't converse with strangers, and after that experience, I didn't plan on doing it again. I crumpled the newspaper into a ball and tossed it onto one of the seats across from me, my eyes widening. Across the aisle, lying on the seat, was the man's black duffle bag. I stared at it, the thought that maybe the man had left a bomb behind crossed my mind for a moment. The man had held that bag so protectively, it was hard to imagine he'd have just forgotten it…
I casually glanced up and down the car, despite knowing me and the old man were the only ones inside. The bag rocked gently on the seat. My curiosity was tugging at me. I needed to know what was so important in the man's bag. But not important enough to take with him. I slid over, reaching my arm across the aisle, wrapping my fingers around the handle, and pulling it over.
I set it on my lap, and looked down at it. It was lighter than I'd expected. My heart was pounding. I pictured sliding back the zipper, revealing wads and wads of cash. The car was pulling into the station. I had to be quick. I could just take it and go, no one would know. But part of me had to see what was inside. I quickly pulled the zipper, and opened it, and gasped. I inhaled a mouthful of rotting flesh. I stared down at the severed head, her blue eyes staring back. Her mouth was open, exposing two broken teeth, and a swollen tongue. Dark purple bruises marked her pale face. Her blond hair was caked in dried blood and what looked like dirt. A rather large maggot fell out of her nostril. I gagged, and fumbled for the zipper with trembling fingers, finally getting it on the third try. I grabbed my briefcase, tossed the duffle bag onto the seat across the aisle, and hurried for the door. A young couple were getting on, and I had to step aside to let them pass. I lowered my head, and kept moving, my body humming with nerves at what I just saw. I could hear a young male voice behind me, complaining about the stench of the car. When my feet hit the platform I finally breathed.
I didn't get two steps before I jumped at the sound of pounding on the window of the subway car. A young girl was waving her hand at me from inside the car. She had blond hair, like the head in the bag... She was pointing at something that I couldn't see but knew what it was all the same. I turned to go, wanting to get as far away from there as possible. I made it a few steps before the pounding continued, harder and more insistent. I could hear her muffled voice calling to me. I didn't want to look, but I did. I looked back at the girl, my heart sinking at the sight of her holding the black duffle bag up to the window, her brow knitted. She was saying something. I shook my head quickly, waving my hand. She seemed to understand, and as the car sped past I saw a blur of her, walking to her seat beside her young male friend, bag still in her hand.
My steps quickened. I pictured her sitting beside her friend, holding the bag on her lap as I had done, excited fingers unzipping…. I pictured their terrified faces, their screams.
“I saw him officer. He was walking very fast, carrying a briefcase”
My stomach churned. Why had i opened the damn thing? I stepped out into the chilly November night, and started for home. I passed strangers on the street, some carrying grocery bags, book bags, there was even a man holding a duffle bag over his shoulder. I wondered how many of them carried severed heads… i laughed aloud, a laugh that had a sound of being almost manic, and gripped my briefcase tighter.
The old man's words replayed in my head, he was right. You never knew about some people… You could be sitting right across from a serial killer. I looked down at my briefcase, a smile creeping to my lips. Or a bank robber…I chuckled to myself, and breathed in the autumn air. Seven hundred thousand dollars. ‘Tomorrow, I just may call in sick.’ I thought.
Some days are better than others…..
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