The Bag

Is it possible to reconcile with the fact that you’re a bad person, or at least have done bad things? My entire life I operated under the assumption that I was a good person, that I would choose the right path, do the right thing. It turns out that I was never presented the opportunity to be a bad guy, that changed when I found a black backpack full of money. Since then, I have been in a car chase, broken into a home, trashed a furniture store, stolen a bike, and ended a life.

Consider how much money it would take for you to abandon your morals, is it a million? 2 million? A billion? For myself it was 1.3 million dollars in hundred-dollar bills, neatly vacuum sealed and arranged like Tetris in that bag. I found it stuffed in a graffiti laden culvert off the side of the LA river bike path just outside Downtown, sitting there, calling to me. Normally I pass by those kinds of things without a second thought, when you’re riding around the city there is constant debris, trash of all kinds discarded in the gutter. It caught my eye for two reasons, it looked full, which they normally don’t, and it was covered in leaves, like a hasty attempt to cover it up had failed. My curiosity got the best of me, I set my bike down and dug the bag out of the leaves. The contents of that backpack nearly gave me a fucking heart attack, it was like a vision of heaven, or unknown to me, hell. Obviously, I knew that this was going to be trouble, nobody just finds that much money and doesn’t get wrapped up in some kind of trouble, some sort of drug deal. Even knowing that I couldn’t resist, that cellophane wrapped bills were like a siren song, calling to me with some otherworldly melody. Quickly throwing a glance over my shoulder I zipped the bag shut, I couldn’t outright see anybody, just cars parked on a narrow street and quiet homes on a Tuesday afternoon. I jumped up, throwing the deceptively heavy bag over my shoulder and grabbing my bike off the floor, that was another reason I felt like I could get away, no license plate to trace, God I wish I was right.

I set off at a blistering pace, my heart thumping in my throat, sweat dripping off the brim of my hat. Like always in the city, it was a sunny day, low 80s, not much of a breeze to speak about. The contents of that pack were weighing me down, physically yes, but more importantly mentally, like a black hole I couldn’t get my mind off. Where did it come from? Who was going to be looking for it? I should have been more concerned with watching where I was going. I nearly hit a pothole and swerved into the path of another cyclist. Have you ever hit the pavement going 20 miles an hour? It really hurts, it will tear up the t-shirt you’re wearing and if your helmet isn’t strapped on you’re likely to end up in the hospital. One of the only smart things I did that day was wear a helmet, I always do, I like to make smart choices, usually. What goes through the mind of a man when he is presented with a seemingly unavoidable choice, and insurmountable obstacle? There is always a choice by the way, even if the second option is death there is always the choice between good and evil, right and wrong. Maybe I just wanted a change from the tedium of life, maybe life never actually mattered. What mattered now was that backpack. “Where did it go!?” I thought. I came too laying on the hot asphalt, the wind completely knocked out of me, scrambling for some sure footing. On my hands and knees I spun around looking for that cursed bag, distant voices calling to me, hands grabbing at my shoulders, my mind in a fog. There it was just a few feet away from me, bathed in light like a secret treasure, moaning in pain I made my way over, grabbing onto it like a life raft.

“Are you ok?!” Somebody shouted “Dude! Should I call an ambulance?” With the bag finally secured I took a second to acknowledge the scene around me, my wrecked bike on the ground, the cyclist I almost hit standing over me trying to help. “Hey man just stay down, don’t get up yet, something might be broken.” He implored. “I need to leave” I gasped “I have to go”. Honestly I’m really surprised he wasn’t angry at me, at least visibly, I mean I almost crashed into him going top speed and now he’s here trying to help me, not knowing what kind of hornet’s nest I had potentially kicked. Covered in blood, scrapes, and debris I stumbled to my feet, unsteady but at least I was up, standing infront of a helpful stranger. He looked at me with confusion and a little bit of disgust, but I was looking through him, behind him, at somebody running up the path, somebody holding something that was sending out puffs of smoke. It wasn’t until the stranger in front of me started screaming and fell to the ground clutching his stomach, until the rending sound of gunshots tore through the air that I understood what was going on. Clearly I hadn’t looked around enough before I took off, somebody had seen and followed me, somebody with a weapon. I left that man there on the ground, bleeding, yelling at me to help, like he had tried to help me, I left him to die. I tried to jump the fence on the side of the path but failed, my body still stiff from the crash, I fell on my ass with bullets striking the wood of the fence just a foot above me. “Run, I need to run.” I thought. I tried to sprint off but stumbled. Nope, legs still don’t work properly, hobbling will have to do. As fast as I could hobble I took off down the path toward the corner, it seemed like the gunman needed to reload because the shooting had stopped, the screaming of the man on the floor hadn’t, I can still hear him now, agony and confusion.

Careening around the corner I was desperately searched for anything that could help me, another person, another bike, safety, an ark to carry me away from this flood. There it was, Noah’s Honda Civic, piloted by Noah himself, a doordasher wearing a medical facemask and a lanyard. Thank god for the trusting nature of a man in a hurry, trying to make a living one delivery at a time, they tend to leave the car running, seconds count. Ripping the door open I tossed the backpack into the passenger seat, crushing some sort of red drink in the cupholder, great, now my money was going to be sticky, Ill worry about it later. I threw the car into reverse and floored it, with the tires screeching I promptly crashed into the car behind me, “Damnit!” I said to myself. As I shifted into drive I saw the gunman round the corner, it took him a second to recognize me, I probably could have gotten away if I had been cool, calm, and collected. Instead of that I floored it again, flipping the surprisingly nimbly car around and crashing into the side of another parked car, “Good lord what is wrong with me” I exclaimed. While trying to find reverse the front passenger window shattered, gunshots tore through the air again, more screaming, this time not from a person struck by bullets but a man witnessing an awe-inspiring scene. “What the fuck! My car!” the driver screamed. He went in to deliver a bag of fast food and returned to see his car in a demolition derby with the neighborhood, and evidently an angry spectator. The rear window shattered next, I ducked down low in the seat and put the pedal down, scraping the sides of what felt like every car in my path. More gunshots, more hollow metallic thumping, I hope I hadn’t been hit, my adrenaline was pumping and my body still in pain, I wouldn’t have been able to feel it if I had been shot.

With the car screaming I drifted around the corner onto a main street, horns blared and tire screeched to a halt, the sound of another car crash followed, “Sorry!” I screamed, but I sure as hell wasn’t stopping. I wasn’t sure where I was going, right now or in the grand scheme of things, all I knew is I needed to get as far from this part of the city as I could, as quick as I could. They were surely going to be coming after me, clearly I had done a shitty job of covering my tracks, I had already committed several felonies and caused tens of the thousands in property damage, not to mention the human lives I had put in harm’s way. “Oh god” I exclaimed. My heart was still thudding “What the fuck!” I belted into the empty car. The totality of my situation had just hit me, I was being hunted, I had really, truly, screwed the pooch. The speedometer was breaching 80 miles an hour as a flew through intersection after intersection, putting more lives in danger because of my colossal mistakes, unwilling to stop. Running reds, weaving in and out of traffic, “I need to get on the highway” I thought. I could see it there to my left, where is an onramp? It was only then I noticed the car following me, dangerously dodging the traffic in my wake, it was dark red, blacked out windows, some kind of old American car from the 80s. With the howl of the wind my only soundtrack I finally found the on-ramp and bottomed out the car trying to get on it, a sickening crunch of metal striking concrete, there goes the oil pan.

Thankfully this freeway is rarely busy heading north, in fact you often have to watch out for people speeding, weaving around with half their windows shattered, leaking oil onto the pavement behind them like a bad game of Mario Kart. With my wild eyes darting between the road in front of me and the rearview mirror I was greeted with a sight that made my stomach drop. The red car was gaining on me, fast. I still couldn’t see who was inside, but I knew it wouldn’t end well for me, I had their money and they had weapons. Where could I go? Check the signs, what offramp is next, any buildings I could see? And there it was, my Mecca stood off to the right, a bright blue building accented in yellow, the name Ikea greeted my eyes like ambrosia, finally something that I recognized, that wasn’t terrifying and trying to kill me. With the red car hot on my tail I waited until the last second and ripped the steering wheel to the right, narrowly avoiding another driver and barely keeping control of the vehicle. I glanced in the mirror, the red car had taken the exit too, clearly more skilled at driving than I was, “Shit.”

Red lights, horns, screeching, plastic crunching, this symphony of collateral damage and a disregard for human life was all I could hear on my mad dash for safety. My knuckles gripped the wheel tight, bloody, sore, scared, my luck was going to run out somewhere soon, I just hoped it wasn’t in this stranger’s car. Still the red car was behind me, miraculously taking every turn and running every light without being struck, it was starting to piss me off, how were we both getting so lucky, how was he taking every single turn without even glancing another car. Almost on command the airbag went off in my face as I T-boned a Porsche right in front of the store. The safety features in these new cars are pretty great, this hurt way less than the bike crash, just a dull throbbing in my nose and a few little drops of blood on the airbag.

Throwing open the door and grabbing the backpack I tried to dash for my blue salvation but stumbled and fell, that stupid bike wreck really putting me in a severe disadvantage in a chase. I could really feel my nose bleeding now, I stumbled to my feet and moved as quick as I could, hobbling, jumping, running all at once. The red car had stopped several cars behind mine, traffic piled up quickly after the crash, 3 guys jumped out unhurt and ready to fight. I was aiming for the freight entrance in front of me, big rigs lining the wall, their cargo of flatpack furniture and meatballs being dutifully unloaded. More ear shattering gunshots went off behind me, bullets striking the wall in front of my eyes, I’m just glad guns are hard to shoot when you’re running. More gunshots, more bullets, more chances at death, I flew through the hanging plastic curtain and into my new home, Ikea.

As I burst into the new space I was greeted by bright fluorescent lights and the beeping of forklifts crisscrossing my path, “Hide” I thought “I need somewhere to hide”. Quickly shuffling across the polished concrete, wiping blood from my nose occasionally, I tried to find the entrance to the showroom. I would find a bedroom display and hide under the bed, just like when I was a kid. As I made my way through the warehouse the employees looked at me in bewilderment, clearly I wasn’t supposed to be here, the lack of yellow uniform shirt and the presence of many injuries attested to that. About 2 shelves were between myself and the loading dock when my hunters ran through the door, I couldn’t see them but I heard their shouting “Where did he go?!” one of them shouted. “I know you saw that guy run in here where the fuck did he go?” he screamed as he accosted one of the workers. I can only assume a hand was raised and a trembling finger pointed my way because the next thing I knew I could hear footsteps running my way. At this point I was trying to sprint, injuries be damned I wasn’t about to die in this loading dock, I had to at least be surrounded by assembled furniture. I ducked under a plastic chain, ran past confused shoppers, and ignored accusatory questions by confused employees.

Suddenly there it was, the stairway to heaven, my pursuers were still behind me, I could hear the shouting and running but the labyrinth of this store would be my salvation. Tearing up the stairs as fast as my injured body could carry me I made my way up, I was almost to the top when the air began to crackle around me, booming gunshots shattering the peace of the store. I tripped, scrambled, fought gravity to make it to the top, I was 3 steps from the finish when a sharp stinging sensation hit my left arm, yelping in pain I kept going, “Oh god I hope I don’t die in here” I thought.

“Jesus that really burns a lot” I said. As I ran through the office section of the showroom I looked down at my left arm, blood. I could still move it, flexing it hurt a lot, but it didn’t seem like it was totally wrecked, I thought there would be a bigger hole when you get shot. I waded through the sea of panicked shoppers, people running, some crouched behind desks and display chairs, distant and present screams. Innocent faces looked at me with panicked eyes, only then did it hit me the danger I was putting these strangers in. They were here on a weekday afternoon, trying to organize their lives, decorate homes they were building with their loved ones, maybe setup a room for their children. Next thing they know there’s shooting, panic, terror, their lives are thrust into mortal danger simply from being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry” I muttered over and over as I ran past them, ducking in and out of shortcut doors sporadically placed along the walls. More pounding gunshots shattered the kitchenware on the walls and shelves, ducking low I felt broken bits of porcelain and wood land on the top of my head and neck. “Holy shit!” I screamed, more shouting, more people running “God I hope nobody gets hit” I thought. Change of plans, I need to get out of here. Looking at directional signs that flashed past I made my way backwards through the displays towards the front of the store, more screams, both angry from my would-be killers and scared, panicked screams from terrified shoppers. “Did he come this way!” was shouted at somebody “no, please, no don’t hurt me” was the reply. My mind was reeling at this point, desperately searching for a way out of the maze, I turned a corner past display of lamps and literally ran face first into one of the gunmen, sending us both sprawling to the floor.

“What the fuck!” he screamed. I finally got my first good look at one of my hunters, not at his face at least, he was wearing a black balaclava, a navy-blue hoodie, some sort of dark denim pants, hands completely covered in tattoos, he didn’t sound like he was foreign, no Russian mafia behind this. I took all of this detail into my brain in a fraction of the second, the next fraction was spent realizing that in between us on the ground was a shiny dark object, a pistol. I looked at the gun, he looked at the gun, then we both made eye contact “Don’t” he warned.

In a desperate scramble we both lunged for the gun, nails scratched hands and bodies clashed, fingers slippery with blood. His hands were underneath mine, on the grip of the gun, I started thrashing around, smacking the back of my head into his chin “Urgh!” he groaned, still keeping a grip on the weapon. We rolled around on the ground like alligators in a deathroll, and this was exactly that, life and death, one of us was not getting out of this. I lost all sense of my humanity and sunk my teeth into his hand, tasting warm copper in my mouth, “Ahhhh!” was his bloodcurdling scream. I felt his grip loosen on the gun, in one motion I wrenched the gun out of his hand and stuck my fingers in his face, tips meeting eyeballs and pulling stretchy fabric away. As we fell backwards, I had pulled off his mask and saw his face, just a kid, no older than 19, still with a youthful look even though his eyes were tired, and now terrified. I didn’t want to do this but completely lost control of myself, it was survival at this point, no thoughts given to my conscience. I leveled the gun at his chest and pulled the trigger. His life ended in a deafening boom and a puff of smoke, falling against a metal shelf, lampshades toppling to the ground. I will never forget the look in his eyes, scared, confused, angry, how had the tides turned to this point where hunter had become hunted. His contorted grimace and cry of pain as he fell into the shelf will forever haunt my dreams. How did life go sideways so quickly?

I got to my feet, slowly realizing that this was only one of the three that was attempting to kill me, I need to keep going. I shoved the gun into the bag and ran, this was the second time today I would leave a man writhing on the floor, dying because of my actions. The next few minutes were a blur, more screaming, more running, the fire alarm had gone off, blaring klaxons and flashing strobe lights. I managed to find my way to the front entrance, past the restaurant and down the escalator to freedom, maybe the other two guys had become lost, maybe they stopped for their comrade. Either way I stepped into the warm air and blinding sunlight and kept running, though that was becoming increasingly difficult. I was bruised, scraped, scratched, bleeding from a gunshot to my arm, and my nose was broken from a car crash. My mind and body were running on fumes, adrenaline had been keeping me going until now but that could only take you so far.

Shambling across the parking lot I headed for a freeway underpass I could see in the distance, somewhere to hide, I needed to hide and rest. My pursuers must has fallen back, retreated to their car before the police got there, I had completely forgotten about the cops, more immediate danger had been on my mind. Now that I had a second to breathe I could hear the sirens, and realized they were for me now, as much as they were for the men pursuing me, now I definitely had to get out of here, off the street. I made it to the underpass and greeting me was exactly what I was hoping for, tents, bikes, trash, and broken dreams; a place to hide.

I should have realized that this wouldn’t work either, should have known that despite its look to outsiders this was a place where people lived, I was basically trying to crash in somebody’s living room. I ducked behind of the tents in a pile of the cleanest looking cardboard I could find when I heard somebody call out "What do you think you’re doing?” I could have cried, thinking it was finally over for half a second and now I’m right back in the thick of it. “Who is that” they asked. A tall skeletally skinny man exited the tent to my left, wiry hair in a ponytail and not much in the way of teeth “Who the fuck are you?” He angrily asked, pointing a baseball bat at me. “You’re trespassing, you don’t belong here” he told me, “So what do you think you’re doing here?” I paused for a second, trying to think of some excuse “Dude I just need a place to hide for a second, please” I pleaded. He looked at me for a few seconds, taking in all the blood, the disheveled clothing, the backpack, then looked behind him at the sirens in the distance, thinking. “All that for you?” he asked. I nodded. “What’s in the bag?” he said. Fuck, of course, of course this was next up on the docket for today’s events. “Just some gym clothes” I lied. His bloodshot eyes didn’t believe me, “Show me” he said. “Dude please, Ill just go” I pleaded, knowing what was coming next. “I said show me” he replied, anger crossing his face.

I took the bag off, unzipped it and saw his eyes go wide, a smile crossing his toothy mouth. Before he had a chance to say anything or make any demands I reached to the bottom of the bag and drew the gun out, pointing it at his haggard face. His smile faded instantly, dropping the bat he raised his hands above his head “Whoa, whoa, whoa” he stammered. Still pointing the gun at him I said, “I just wanted a place to hide for a second, I don’t want to do this again.” I was so tired it was difficult to raise the weapon, all the adrenaline was gone at this point, my body was heavy. “Please just let me go” I said. “Get in your tent and forget you saw me; I’ve already been through a lot today and don’t want to hurt anybody else”. I looked around, a bike was laying on the ground in front of him, “and give me your bike too, I need it”. He took a second, surveying me, surveying the bag, looking back the sirens “Fine, take it, you’ll never get away from them, they’ll get you eventually” he said solemnly. I slung the back over my shoulder, griming from the pain in my arm, grabbing the bike I replied, “I’ll take my chances, I just need to keep moving”. I tucked the gun into the pocket of my cargo pants and took off the on the bike, leaving my skeletal savior staring at me from the shadows.

“Keep Moving”, “Run”, “Escape”, phrases and words like these assail my mind as I pedal the dilapidated bike through the backstreets of the city. My head is pounding, muscles aching, mind in a whirlwind, unable to focus on one string of thoughts longer than a few seconds. So much has happened in the past day, things I never thought were possible, things I’ve done and seen. Who am I anymore? Where can I place myself in this world when my previous morals and values no longer exist? I killed a man today. I know that I had to do it, he was trying to kill me, but regardless of the circumstances a squeeze of my finger shattered an existence, snuffed out in a heap of blood and torn clothing. The heat of the day is starting to get to me, all the sweat and blood are making my clothes stick to my skin, congealing on the surface, tacky and warm. My left arm is throbbing uncontrollably at this point, bouncing painfully in my lap every time I pedal, steering with a right hand that is horribly scraped. I need to get off the street, to rest, I can still hear the sirens in the distance and considering the way I look it won’t be long until they find me. Scanning the now residential neighborhood around me I look for refuge, a garage, a safe looking home, some den that I can curl up in and lick my wounds. Suddenly I see it, a home for sale, a picture of the realtor on the lawn looks at me with their arms crossed and pearly white teeth, “Come in why don’t you?” they seem to say “Take a load off, it’s been a long day.”

Slowly and painfully I come to a stop under the covered carport, careful not to the drop the bike and cause a racket. Thankfully the gate is unlocked, a well-manicured backyard complete with a swing set and a firepit greet me on the other side. “I wonder who lived here?” I say to myself, glancing around the yard, taking in all the details, smelling the jasmine planted along a wooden fence. The smell of jasmine always reminds of late spring, my childhood home used to have it planted in the front, I wonder if the kids that lived here will have those same fond memories of this house. A drop of blood hits the concrete below me, marking my path like Hansel and Gretel, my path through the city today has been marked with death and destruction, wanton danger spurred by my own choices, none of it needed to happen. None of this pain should have happened. Suddenly the edges of my vision start going dark, my legs seem to be moving through soup, the bag dragging me down, down, down until I’m staring at the sky above me, pale blue, the ruffled edges of the clouds moving across the sky with unwavering steadiness, soft grass and hard dirt below me.

The devil tried to speak to me in my dreams, his voice was a screeching train car, shattering glass, evil incarnate. He told me “Well done”, with bleeding ears I tried to run but hands reached through the stone and grabbed my ankles, rooting me in place. Gnashing teeth and jet black eyes peered through the cracks around me, hysterical laughter and blood curdling screams seemed to echo off the roof of the cavern, the cacophony of the damned. My eyes wide, tears falling down my face I looked in horror as the wall split in two in front of me, tearing the world in half. An infernal heat and a deep red glow seemed to grow, glowing and pulsing, the smell of sulfur and death assaulted my nostrils. Unable to move, unable to speak, I could only watch in terror as thousands of wriggling limbs and leathery wings sprouted from the chasm, flowing in torrents towards my doom. “WELCOME HOME!” they shouted in unison, a ghastly choir greeting me, welcoming me to my eternal damnation. With my mouth agape I tried to scream but nothing escaped my lips, only empty air and fear.

“Nooo!” I yelled as I snapped awake in the backyard, the piercing scream ruining the tranquility of the evening. The terror I felt was so intense my body was wracked with unstoppable shaking, tears welled up in my eyes, I couldn’t go on like this. Under the pink sky of that evening I rose unsteadily to my feet, and shambled to the door of the back porch, with my hands cupped against the glass I looked in, the stage furniture giving it a lived in appearance, I wonder if some of it was from Ikea. Bang! The glass shattered in one large sheet, cascading to the ground in small square pieces, smoke from the gun in my hand rising towards the ceiling. With glass crunching underfoot, I threw the gun onto the hardwood floor in a clatter, tired of the metal in my hand, I was too familiar with it’s roar and terrible claws.

I slurped greedily from the kitchen faucet, not realizing how thirsty I was, running and bleeding have a way of dehydrating a person. I shut the fridge door, leaving a smear of blood on the handle, no food in there, just a few apples in a bowl on the counter. Kicking off my shoes and slinging the backpack to the floor next to me, I fell into the soft, plush cushions of the couch. “This is a really nice place” I thought to myself “I could probably buy it now that I have all this money”. My eyes fell toward my doom and despair sitting on the floor, how stupid could I have been. It was already unzipped, the blue bills inside staring at me, taunting me, mocking me. Slowly I removed the contents, feeling the weight of the bricks, knowing I could never have it, or enjoy it, it was all for nothing. Everything had gone so wrong, taken so many turns, hurt so many people. Even if I had gotten away I would never have been able to spend it in good conscience. Instead here I was bleeding on nobody’s couch, the weight of the world on my mind, police cars in the distance again. With the last of my strength I tore open the packages, feeling the crisp bills in my hands, ruffling their edges, smelling their past, trying to picture what their future could have been. The image in my mind would amount to nothing, instead I cast them into the air above me, millions fluttering down around my broken body in handfuls, a smile finally on my face as I listened the sirens outside, my fate has arrived in their chariots.