(We had an hour to conceive an idea, write it and polish it. The image I chose was a girl carrying a bag, walking across a wooden bridge.) 

 

Cynda listened to her boots as she walked along the wooden planks. Click, click, click. The bridge and the park were empty, understandable as it was close to sunset.

She shivered because the temperature was dropping. It could be hard to tell the time of day as the park boulders were covered with vines that stayed green year-round. But the chill in the air and her heavy coat and boots reminded her it was fall in the northeast.

She grunted as she lifted the heavy bag in her left hand. Cynda needed to get this package delivered and end her ties to Jerome. She shivered again, but not from the cold this time. It was fear deep in her soul, and it all tied to Jerome.

Cynda met the con man when she was a naïve newcomer to Ithaca, New York. She’d come with hopes and dreams of setting up an art studio in the old section of town that was being injected with creativity from artists, writers and musicians from all over the world.

Jerome was sitting under a table outside of a coffee shop on a side street. Jerome looked up as she came closer. Cynda noticed his piercing blue eyes, aquiline nose and rigid posture. He was sitting straight up and staring at her like she had two heads.

Cynda glanced over her shoulder, thinking something was behind her. But she was alone. She wasn’t sure why this man would be staring at her, and the words her mother told her before she left their small town was to watch out for strangers. Well, here was a stranger all right, and she hated to admit it but maybe her mother was right.

Instead, the man smiled as she came closer.

“Hi, you new to Ithaca?” he asked. Cynda noticed he’d leaned back in the chair, but those eyes didn’t waver from her face.

“Yeah, but I fit in really fast,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted. She was hoping she’d get past this man and on her way, but she noticed he was getting up.

“Oh no,” she thought. “This is all I need. Some stranger following me and then robbing me.”

Those were the words from her father. He was convinced every person in a new city was either a rapist, murderer or thief. Instinctively, Cynda pulled her purse closer to her side.

“My name is Jerome,” he said, a smile now on his face. “I’ve been here for about six years, and I absolutely adore this city. Would you join me for coffee?”

He sensed Cynda’s hesitation and laughed.

“This is a public street in a very public city,” he said, opening his arms and shrugging his shoulders. “Why don’t you go in, get a cup of coffee and come sit out here to chat. I promise, I don’t bite.”

Cynda hesitated. She had to admit – she was lonely. She didn’t know anyone except her landlady, and Mrs. Hallett was her mother’s friend, not hers. Cynda knew the old biddy was reporting her every move to Cynda’s mother every night.

“The girl eats alone, sleeps alone and washes her clothes alone at the laundromat,” was probably what old Hallett was telling her mother.

So Cynda considered the offer. She could see people starting to come down the street and, if she had to be honest, she was thirsty and lonely. One cup of coffee couldn’t be that bad. That was six months ago and so much had changed. If only she hadn’t stopped. If only she hadn’t met Jerome, her life would be so different.

Cynda shifted the bag in her left hand. It was heavy when she picked it up an hour ago and it was getting heavier every minute. She tried not to imagine what was in the bag. Jerome had asked her to pick something up for him and meet him at the Fall Creek Suspension Bridge. Six months ago when sitting in that coffee shop, Cynda would’ve never wondered why she had to meet this man in a park. But after everything that had happened in those 24 weeks, all she could think about was getting this package delivered and getting out of New York and back home to Texas.

Back to her parents.

Back to safety.

Back to where she didn’t sleep with a butcher knife under her bed, the nightmares waking her up.

She and Jerome seemed to hit it off immediately. They met a few more times at the coffee shop and he even asked her to stop by his shop in the what was known as the New Age district. People sold holistic medicines there as well as home-grown vegetables and fruit. It wasn’t unusual to find local honey, soaps and even goats and pigs on occasion. Jerome’s store was a butcher shop where he specialized in kosher meats.

Cynda was fascinated by all the rules he had to follow. One day, he’d invited her to watch him butcher a lamb, and she was both mesmerized and horrified as he systematically cut up the animal.

She shivered again, not from the cold this time but from the memory.

The bag in her left hand felt heavy, too heavy, but she was half way across the suspension bridge. Soon, she thought, soon, I’ll be done.

Cynda had gotten into trouble six weeks into her stay. She’d accidentally hit a bicycle rider one night when she’d had a few too many drinks. She’d only meant to drive to the 24-hour grocery store to pick up some aspirin when she hit the biker. She panicked.

“Jerome,” she screamed in her cell phone. She was sitting in her car, the motor idling, while the biker lay motionless in the street.

“I hit somebody with my car,” she sobbed into the phone. Her words seemed garbled, but Jerome understood her.

“Where are you?” he asked. She told him and he told her he’d be right there.

Jerome had shown up in minutes. Nobody had come by, and Cynda was terrified a police officer or someone would come around the corner. The man was still lying there, and Jerome opened his car door to go over to him.

“No,” screamed Cynda. “What if he’s dead? I can’t know.”

Jerome ignored her. He went to the man and, miraculously, the man sat up. Jerome talked to him although Cynda couldn’t hear what they were saying. Jerome helped the man get his bearings and back on the bike. After a few minutes, the man rode away and Jerome came back to the car. He got into the passenger seat and closed the door.

“He’ll be okay,” he said. “He doesn’t remember what happened.”

Cynda started crying, her cries turning into sobs so hard, she couldn’t catch her breath.

“I thought he was dead,” she kept saying. Jerome sat there silently.

Then he reached over and slapped her, hard, across her face.

“The only ones who know about this are you and me,” he said chilly. “I did you this favor. One day, you’re going to owe me.”

At that moment, Cynda knew she’d made a deal with the devil. For a while, she thought Jerome had forgotten about her, but then she’d gotten a phone call a few hours ago.

Jerome gave her an address and told her to go there and pick up a bag for him.

“Bring it to the tunnel at Chalk Ridge Falls Park,” he said. Cynda knew the site as she and Jerome had been there before.

“Don’t talk to anybody on the way,” he said. “Get the bag and get here. After you deliver this to me, we’ll be even. Is that clear?”

She said it was. And now here she was click, click, clicking across that wooden bridge, a heavy bag in her left hand. She entered the tunnel and stopped.

“Jerome?” she called out. “Are you here?”

No answer.

She took a few more steps inside.

“Jerome?” she called again.

A flashlight suddenly turned on and illuminated her face. She couldn’t see who was holding the light, but it could only be Jerome.

Or Satan, she thought.

“It’s me,” she said. “I have the bag.”

The flashlight went from her face to the bag and back. A man spoke, and Cynda knew it was Jerome.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said. “Bring me the bag.”

Cynda came forward until she was a foot in front of the flashlight. She put the bag down on the floor of the wooden bridge.

“Here,” she said. “The man gave me the bag, just like you said. I didn’t look inside it. I just brought it here. This makes us even, right?”

Jerome walked over to her and knelt down in front of the bag. He carefully unzipped the top and opened the flaps. Cynda couldn’t help herself – she had to look. She had to see what in that bag was so important.

All she could see was the top of a man’s head and hair covered with blood. She’d been carrying someone’s head around in that bag for the past hour. She thought she was going to throw up.

Jerome smiled and stood up.

“Good job little girl,” he said. “We’re even, but if you ever tell anyone what happened here, I’ll find you. I’ll not only report your little accident but I’ll make sure your name is ruined. You’ll go to jail for hit and run and that’s a long prison term.”

Cynda was terrified, but she couldn’t help herself.

‘Nobody saw that accident but you and me,” she whispered. “There were no witnesses.”

Jerome smiled.

“Do you think I didn’t ask that guy his name and get his address? I’m a man who racks up favors, and I knew I’d need one from somebody. You fit the bill, Cynda,” he said and stood up. He continued talking.

“But, yes, we’re even. You hurt somebody with your car. In return you helped me collect on an overdue bill,” he said. “You rat me out. I rat you out. That means we both have to keep our mouths shut.”

Cynda started backing out of the dark tunnel, never taking her eyes off Jerome.

“As of right now, I don’t know you,” she said slowly. “You don’t know me and I don’t know what was in that bag I delivered to you. Debts have been paid.”

Jerome picked up the bag and turned to go.

“Yep,” he said. “Debts have been paid.”

Cynda turned and ran across the wooden planks, almost slipping on the moss-covered wood. She ran until she got to her car, her side aching from running so hard and fast.

In the back seat were all her belongings. She started up the VW bug and headed south. Home to where the phrase “an eye for an eye” was one her family had practically invented.

If Jerome came looking for her, there wouldn’t be some random head in a bag. Cynda knew exactly whose head would be in that bag.

For the first time in six months, she smiled.