The Black Bag (Part 1 of 2)

Look of Knowing ~ 10

Early 2007, Age 9

They sat together in the musty living room: the grown man on the rocking chair and the tiny girl on the stool. He looked at her pensively. She doesn't return it. He exhaled quietly as he turned his searching gaze to the bag in his lap. Through the gaping opening, he studied how intricately she had arranged it inside. If he didn't know better, he would have thought that the owner was deep in slumber when he was decapitated. It was only his sensing of the melancholic aura that practically wafted from the bag which told him that this man's death was anything but peaceful.

"I had a feeling that something was up when my son stopped talking to you. I'm guessing that he knew about this. ...And the reason why he didn't say a word was because he didn't want me involved too."

Carlisle's discovery of the black bag was partially intentional. He had noticed Richard's unease around Sophie lately despite his previous inquisitiveness towards her before they took her in. When he'd addressed the boy to figure out what was wrong, he had dismissed it as mood swings. Of course, being the observant father, Carlisle didn't buy the excuse. Besides, only teenagers were prone to mood swings (at least he thinks so) and he has long been preparing for that. As far as he knew, Richard wouldn't be this docile unless there was something really wrong. 

It was on a Thursday when he learnt of all this. By coincidence, he had decided to travel a different route to Richard's school due to a traffic jam. From the corner of his eye, he had caught sight of Sophie duck behind a tree on the side. The additional glimpse of the black tote back she hauled over her shoulder alerted him further. He didn't mention it though, in hopes of not startling his son, who had fallen asleep during the ride. He returned home soon after and waited for Sophie to head downstairs for her breakfast while he searched her room for the bag.

It didn't take him long to dig and locate it... nor did it take long to scare himself nearly out of his wits. Before he could gather himself together, she had caught him red-handed: she stood there quiet and unmoving at the door frame. He had expected the child to be shocked and run away from the spot. Instead, she just said softly:

'...Well. Now you know too.'

Afraid or not by this revelation, Carlisle had finally found the answer to the mystery. But he decided that he'd preferred to listen to Sophie's side of the story before making any other decisions. Normal parents would most likely regard the girl as completely crazy if confronted with this. The worst result of such a scenario would be Sophie being thrown out onto the street or sent for mental rehabilitation. However, Carlisle could see that the girl was very serious and fully determined about whatever she was doing: definitely far from the crazy side.

So in the end, today was the day. He'd told Sophie to wait at home until he got back from sending Richard to school. Then they both headed to the abandoned bungalow (using Sophie's method: on foot), with Sophie guiding him along. The congealed puddle of dark red in the master bedroom pretty much told the whole story.

"...Now you understand? Why I didn't want to say anything?"

"I do, dear. ...I do."

He had kept himself firm and listened without pause as Sophie narrated the entirety of her tale. She told of how the carpenter, Henry Martin, had died of cancer a few months ago. She narrated her visits to the cemetery to pay respects, and about the one day when she got lost in it. She described the place where she had found the bag: in a hole covered by stones. 

She'd opened the bag, saw the head. She heard a voice the next time she came. The heavy voice led her to the bungalow and she'd surveyed the mess. 

Despite how maddening the events were, Sophie knew one thing: she couldn't leave the bag alone. She has the man's head, she was going to find the rest of it. 

She wasn't going to stop until she found him. 

"...I don't mind if you leave me." Her words catch him by surprise. "I know that Richard doesn't like me all too much, but that's fine. ...You should probably do the same."

...How is he supposed to accept that?

Author's Note: Sorry if the content in this chapter is plenty messed up. Had a bit of difficulty with writing this one.