It has been four months to the day since the stranger handed me the bag. I will never forget it. I was sitting in the park, where I usually went for my lunch breaks, when I saw him approaching.

  The old man was dressed in a black trenchcoat sporting a tall black hat. His face was old and worn with time. He tugged at his long gray beard as his eyes darted around the park. That's when he saw me sitting there alone, reading the paper. I looked up and our eyes met. He picked up his pace and started towards me. I looked down at my paper trying to ignore him but it was too late. He slowed down as he got closer, still looking around.

  Finally, he stopped in front of me, staring, searching for the right words to say. “Look, I don't have much time,” he leaned down and whispered. “Soon they'll find me and…well, I can't explain it all.”

  I sat there with my mouth open in shock.

  “Here,” he said, pulling the little leather bag from the inside pocket of his coat. “You must take this. Guard it with your life. People will come looking for this bag. They will have many reasons to try and take it from you. It is very important you never, under any circumstances, give this bag to anyone. Nor should you tell anyone of your seeing me today.”

  He looked over his shoulder towards a couple throwing a Frisbee for their dog.

  “Do you see those people?” he asked, lowering his voice even more. I nodded as I glanced over at them.

  “They're after this bag and its contents. They've been following me for two days now. I don't know how they found out I had it. I haven't told anyone since I got it thirty years ago. Pretend as if you know me so they won't suspect I've given it to you. I need them to continue following me after I've passed it on.”

  Suddenly a smile came over his face as if he had just gotten reacquainted with an old friend. I sat with my mouth gaping open, speechless.

  “Here, take it and put it in your coat pocket so they won't see it,” he said, handing it to me. I still don't know why I grabbed the darn thing in the first place. I could have walked away. I could have told the old man he was crazy and went on my way back to work. I could have done all of these things and maybe I should have. Maybe, had I done that, I wouldn't be here in the shape I am now.

  For whatever reason, I took the bag like he requested and inserted it into my right coat pocket. It was small and light, but there was definitely something solid inside it. The bag itself looked older than the man who gave it to me.

  After he saw I'd put the bag in my coat, he looked around once more pretending to laugh like I had told some hilarious joke. Then he mouthed, “Good to see you again. Have a good one,” as he turned to walk away. He looked back one more time and whispered, “Oh yes, one last thing I almost forgot to mention; odd because it's the most important thing. Never under any circumstances open that bag.”

  “Why?” I asked as he continued on his way. He never looked back at me and I never saw him again. I don't really know why I asked him that question or what I meant by it. I suppose I meant a number of things such as why me and why can't I open it? They were questions to which I would never get the answers. It's strange how fate has a way of doing things sometimes.

  I looked for the couple with the dog. They were gone. I was alone again. In a matter of minutes, what could have been the single most important thing that had ever happened in my life was over and I was yet again by myself.

  I can't even recall all of the things that ran through my mind as I walked back to my office on Fifth Street. I pondered over the contents of the leather bag. Whatever was in it seemed of little importance to the old man; at least knowing what it was anyway.

  I sat in my cubicle, staring blankly at the computer screen. I couldn't keep my mind off the encounter. I didn't know whether to tell my co-workers as if it were no big deal, just some crazy man giving me a bag and telling me people were after him, or to keep my mouth shut about it like the man had warned. He did look ragged but he definitely didn't sound crazy. No, what I saw in those eyes that day was definite sincerity. So I went on with my day as if nothing happened.

  A few weeks passed and I had almost forgotten I had the little bag. I carried it around so religiously it became a habit. Like brushing your teeth or driving the same route every day and forgetting the drive because it was so routine. I went on about my day-to-day life, never mentioning the little bag to anyone, not even my wife. In fact, I rarely thought about it at all. Not until they came that is.

  It had been almost two months since fate had placed the bag in my possession. It was about six o'clock in the evening and I was sitting enjoying a nice dinner with my wife and two sons when the doorbell rang. My wife and I looked at each other, surprised.

  “Were you expecting company tonight?” I asked her.

  “No,” Linda said shaking her head, “I wasn't expecting anyone.”

  I opened the door to find a young couple standing on my porch.

  “Yes, can I help you?” I asked them.

  “Yes, sir. My name is Don and this is my wife Laura. Listen I know this is going to seem strange but…” he stumbled over his words, pulling something out of his wallet, “have you ever seen this man before, sir?”

  The man flashed a photo and I recognized the person immediately. It was the old man. How could I ever forget his face? I stood, gazing at the picture for what seemed an eternity.

  “The face doesn't look familiar to me, sorry,” I said as I moved to close the door.

  “Wait,” the man shouted, reaching out. “Please, can you at least hear what we have to say?”

  “Honey, who is at the door?” my wife asked from the kitchen.

  “No one, dear,” I shouted back, “just a salesman.”

  “Go on,” I said to the couple.

  “Well, this man is…was my father,” he said. “One of our friends said the last time they'd seen him, he was talking to a man sitting in the park. They said the man used to frequent the park during lunch, but had not returned since he had seen my father. We did a little investigating and found out it was you. You see he's gone missing and…well, we fear the worst.”

  “Yes, I used to go to the park on my lunch, but since the summer has begun, I find it too hot to eat there, so I take my lunch in my office now,” I replied. “Although I must say, your father does not look familiar to me.”

  “So you never saw him then?” the man asked once more.

  “Not that I can recall anyway,” I lied.

  “Well, it's just that…my father had something very valuable to the family with him, an heirloom. We thought perhaps he'd given it to you that day, but I suppose not if, as you say, you don't recall seeing him.”

  I stood in silence for a moment, staring at them. The old man's words replayed in my mind. “People will come looking for this bag. They will have many reasons to try and take it from you. It is very important you never, under any circumstances, give this bag to anyone. Nor should you tell anyone of your seeing me today.”

  What if the old man were a little off though? Perhaps he thought his family would try to steal the bag. Now, his children were here at my door looking for this important family heirloom.

  “Fred?” my wife called again. “Dinner is getting cold.”

  “I'll be right there, sweetie,” I shouted back once again.

  “I'm terribly sorry, but no one has given me anything and I don't recall seeing your father. He certainly is very distinctive. I'm sure I would remember him if I'd ever met him.”

  “Well, thank you for your trouble, sir,” the man said. “If you do happen to come across him or you find anything out about him, could you give me a call?” The man handed me a business card, which read:

Mr. Donald Barthos
Antique Dealer/Appraiser
555-2758

  “I most certainly will, Mr. Barthos,” I said as I took the card. “I'm so sorry about your father. I hope everything turns out okay.”

  “Yes, sir, as do we.” With that, the couple walked away. I closed the door, put my back against it, and only then realized that I was trembling with fear. My heart was racing. Had I given them reason to think I'd done something with the old man and stolen the bag? Linda came around the corner from the dining room.

  “Fred,” she said as she rushed over to me. “Why you look like you have seen a ghost or something. Are you okay? Who was that?” She asked looking out the window beside the door.

  “I-it was nobody. Just some insurance salesman,” I lied. “ I suddenly don't feel so well. I think I'm going upstairs to lie down for a while.”

  “Okay. Do you need me to get you something?”

  “No thanks. I just need to rest. I had a long day, that's all.” I started up the stairs to the bedroom, then rushed up and quickly shut the door. I ran over to my jacket on the back of the chair and reached in the coat pocket. I let out a deep breath as I felt the bag. I pulled it out and held it, trying to decipher its contents.

  It was from this point, my life would not be the same. People were after it. Now, every time I went anywhere, I'd have to make sure it was protected. I still couldn't fathom how the old man never looked inside the bag after all those years. Maybe he never needed to look in it. Maybe he knew what was there and had no reason to look. Or, maybe he felt it was his duty never to look. Well, if that were the case, I feared I wouldn't have the same will power.

  What if there were diamonds or something more valuable in there? I could be set for life. I could put the kids through college or get that dream house we'd always wanted. I caught myself remembering what the man said. Never under any circumstances open it. As I lay in bed that night, I thought about what would be next. I knew I hadn't heard the last from Mr. Barthos. I put it all out of my mind and slowly found myself dozing.

*

  The next day I woke at 5:30 AM as usual. I went down to fix a pot of coffee and watch Sportsreview. This time I looked all over the house first. Then I went outside and looked. I saw a dark car driving away from a house nearby, which was odd for that time of the morning. I rushed back inside, finished my coffee, and began getting ready for work.

  When I arrived at my office and went up the elevator, I found myself holding my briefcase tightly to my chest, protecting my coat pocket containing the bag. I arrived on the sixth floor and rushed over to my cubicle still holding the case to my chest.

  Steve Johnson, the head of the department, stopped me. “Fred, do you think that you'll have those reports done by this afternoon? The boss has really been crawling my behind for them.”

  “Y-yes, sir,” I said. “I'll get them to you first thing.”

  “Yeah, I'd appreciate it” he said as he walked away. He turned back. “Fred, one more thing to ask.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “You look like a wreck.”

  The question completely caught me off guard. I stood there for a few seconds, staring blankly.

  “Y-yes, sir. I'm fine. Just didn't sleep much last night that's all.”

  “Alright, well try and get some rest tonight,” he said, walking to his office.

  I'd lied again, this time to my boss. I'd slept like a baby. What was happening to me? Those reports were the farthest thing from my mind.

  More weeks passed and I found myself becoming more and more isolated. I felt that someone was trying to get the bag everywhere I went. They were on to me now and soon they'd catch me. I had become a living wreck. I even snapped at my wife. “You probably want it too,” I said, one night after she had made me upset. Looking back, I don't even remember why. She had no idea what I was talking about. At least that's what I thought anyway. She had noticed the change in my behavior though. I think everyone did.

  “Honey, I want to ask you something,” she said one evening when we were getting ready to go to sleep.

  “What's that, dear?” I asked.

  “Well, my friend Sara knows this doctor I think could…you know..”

  “No, Linda I don't know,” I snapped. “Could what?”

  “Help you.”

  “Help me? Help me with what? I don't need any help,” I shouted.

  “Oh, Fred, ever since that salesman came to the door, you've been acting very odd,” she pleaded. “I just want you to be the way you used to be. You never laugh anymore and you're always snapping.”

  “Linda, I haven't changed. I love you and the kids just as much as ever.”

  “Well, will you just go and see the man? Just to set me at ease?” she asked.

  “Sure, I don't see where it would hurt.” Surely this doctor would see there was nothing wrong with me; unless he was in on it too. Maybe Linda was too. No, not Linda. I lay down and went to sleep.

  The next day I arrived at my office to see two messages on my desk. One was from the doctor Linda had spoken about. Dr. David Howe, psychiatrist. He was calling to tell me about the appointment my wife had made for me. It would be at 10:00AM.

  The next message was from Mr. Barthos. I knew that it would only be a matter of time before he'd call again. Maybe he had been following me this whole time. He wanted me to call him back at once about his father's disappearance. He said there had been more evidence presented in the case. I decided I'd talk to him later.

  At around 9:30 I left the office to see Dr. Howe. I got there a few minutes later and checked in. The secretary looked startled when I approached her. Her chin dropped and her eyes widened. I paid no mind and sat down in the waiting room. I was thumbing through the latest “Bass Fisherman” magazine when the nurse called me back. She led me to the doctor's office and I sat in the couch across from his desk.

  I sat there for about ten minutes when a man came in. “Dr. Howe,” I said, rising from the couch.

  “No, sir. My name is Detective James Whitfield,” the man replied to my greeting.

  “Detective?” I asked.

  “That's right, Mr. Scott,” he said as he reached behind his back. “You are under arrest for the murder of Todd Barthos. Turn around and put your hands behind your back. We can do this the hard way or the easy way. It's your call.”

  “Murder?” I yelled. “I haven't killed anyone. I don't even know a Todd Barthos.”

  “Yeah, well I have two eye witnesses that say you do and you killed him,” the detective said as he slapped on the handcuffs. “C'mon you can tell it to the judge.” He began reading my rights. He then began searching me. That's when he found it. “Well, well, what do we have here?” The detective asked. “This must be that little bag that Mr. Barthos was telling us about.”

  He escorted me out of the hall and into the police car waiting for me out front. I never did get to see the doctor. I suppose it was for his safety or something such as that.

  We arrived at the police station and I was escorted to an interview room, where I sit now, making this statement. I didn't request a lawyer be present. After all, I was, and still am, innocent. I sit now gazing out the window as my wife stands there crying with Mr. Donald Barthos and his wife. There's another couple standing there too. Wait…it's the couple from the park the day the old man gave me the bag. They're all in on it. They've all been in on it since day one!! My wife too!! No, this can't be. The detective is handing Mr. Barthos the little bag. He's about to…merciful heaven!!

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