You reached for the bag with numb fingers.
It was slick with condensation and speckled on one side with blackish spots of mildew. Taped shut. Heavy. When you shifted it, something inside thudded dully against itself.
Your first thought was money.
Your second thought was drugs.
Your third thought, unwanted and instant, was body parts.
By the time you peeled back the first strip of tape, you were crying without realizing it.
The bag opened with a wet, sticky sound.
Inside were clothes.
Women’s clothes.
You recoiled so hard you nearly hit the nightstand.
A silk blouse, once ivory, now yellowed and stiff in places. A cardigan with pearl buttons. Dark slacks. A pair of flats. Under them, wrapped in another layer of plastic, a leather purse with water damage around the edges. And beneath the purse, what looked like a stack of papers tied with a faded blue ribbon.
