The Black Bag (Part 1 of 2)

Point of No Return ~ 09

Mid - 2006, Age 8

A day before his death, Sophie had paid a visit to a hospital where Henry was confined in bed. Claiming that his time was almost up, he expressed his thanks for her presence as he hardly had any family left. She has been as close a friend since she came to his place whenever she could to watch him carve and paint. He promised her a present the next day when she were to return.

She did. But the bed was empty, save for a rustic wood lantern with a note:

'May it always light your way and help you help others to their end... as you have for me.' - Henry Martin.

***

Tonight though, the fog was so thick and filmy that she near believed that it was trying to prove Henry's words wrong - the 'light your way' part of it, at least . 

She wasn't sure how long she had wandered, but she knew that she was still within the cemetery. She suppressed her panic as she felt the chill along her back and blinked the smog from her tearing eyes. A raven was perched atop one of the stone slabs, leering readily at her as she passed. It was a long while more when Sophie noticed that the ground and grass under her feet was slanting upwards. She hitched up her long skirt as she trudged forward, raising the lantern high and careful to not lose her footing. When she reached the top of the mound, she'd bumped into a large tree - unidentifiable with its barren branches and dry trunk, save for a few leaves here and there. The rocks surrounding it were none too comfortable, but blunt enough for a brief sit.

She slid off her flats upon sitting down and pressed her soles onto one smooth stone, relishing the slight warmth that spiked her skin. The moon was a full one, its glowing light dancing in her eyes. She had always wondered if the moon was watching her - or anyone else who passed its invisible gaze - because it seemed to follow her home no matter how far she went. 

She'd squealed a bit when she felt her foot slip and a couple of stones rolled down. She brought her palm down to stop her fall. A electric bolt of curiosity shot through her brain when she felt fresh dirt between her fingers. Seating the lantern aside, she turned over and stuck hands into the ground, burrowing deeper and deeper... not stopping even when her fingers ached and her nails broke. She almost tumbled backwards when she'd finally pulled the bag out by the straps.

If there was anything which Sophie had learnt from reading 'Goosebumps' and 'Darren Shan' back in the orphanage - why they had those available for kids her age, she had no idea - , it was to be very prepared for nasty surprises. The bag stank literally of grime and metaphorically of something unpleasant. When she unzipped it, she was initially relieved, sighing when she saw a pile of old dish towels, torn and partially eaten. However, her saliva dried when she swept a few sheets aside only to find a pair of eyes - glazed and empty - staring back at her.

He was heavy - she realized - when she pulled him out of the bag. Why he was a he she didn't know, but she somehow knew either way. She held him in her lap, smoothed the fringe back for a better look. The face was handsome with - in her opinion - an offbeat beauty. His pallid skin was surprisingly flawless and soft in spite of age, his dark hair tumbled down in long tangled waves. His lips were lilac, his irises deep green and saturated. What was left of his throat she traced down with her fingers. Left to right, the tips meeting raw scores and pinching bits of dry flesh that hung from the edge.

...Now what to do? She looked towards the lantern, saw the candle melting fast, wax overflowing the socket. There wasn't much time left. She needed to leave and return to the orphanage before the flame extinguished and the candle became useless. With respectful melancholy, she rearranged the towels in the bag. She brushed away the smudges off his cheeks and attempted to close his eyes. When she succeeded, she lowered him gently back into the bag and tucked him in. 

"Sorry... I need to go home now."

She paused mid-way, the slider icy between her quivering fingers. A bead of carmine had rolled from the corner of his left eye, forming streaks that branched outwards down the side of his face, which seemed to twist mournfully at her regretful words. She caught another from the right before it could descend. Her mind seemed to shut when she saw it stain her palm.

"No. Please don't." she begged quietly. A sob formed but was swallowed down. "...I can't help you now... But I'll come back again. I will."

From somewhere, a wistful sigh could be heard. Perhaps the fog was playing tricks with her; but his face regained its peaceful air, features undisturbed but the streaks remained. She zipped the bag shut, covered the hole again. She picked up the lantern again and left, looking back towards the tree every now and then until it vanished into nothingness.

She must have helped somebody by being there that night. Because she was out through the wrought iron gates and onto the main road in seconds flat.

***

'May it always light your way and help you help others to their end... as you have for me.' - Henry Martin.

***

...If she had only known what those words really meant for her that night...

He certainly did.