The Suitcase

Barney waddled up to George and licked him on the cheek with his semi-wet tongue. Without a word from George, Barney gingerly dropped to his stomach and rolled half-heartedly. George rubbed the old beagle’s belly and showered him with loving remarks.

‘You’ll only be gone a few days,’ remarked Molly, George’s dearest friend.

‘He’s my boy,’ he retorted earnestly. ‘The only guy who’s stuck with me through everything.’ He turned his head back to the resting dog. ‘Aren’t you, Barney?’

‘What about me?’ Molly asked.

‘You’re not a guy. Technically, though, I’ve known Barney longer.’

‘We’re not going through that again.’

‘Well, I knew him when he was in the womb. Queenie’s second or third litter, I always forget.’

‘Yeah, I know, I was the unfortunate neighbor who got dragged into helping.’

‘Don’t sound so upset. That’s when we met. And here we are now,’ he exclaimed with an innocent joy.

‘Yeah, yeah. So when are you leaving?’ she asked with a hint of sarcasm.

‘Oh, yeah, what time is it?’

‘Almost eight.’

‘It’s about that time. I need to catch a cab. I should make it in time for an eleven o’clock flight.’

‘Yeah, you should be fine.’

Before he stood, he buried his nose into the nape of the Barney’s neck. The dog glanced backward nonchalantly and licked the air a few times; the last tongue swipe landed on George’s cheek.

‘Bye, bye Barney. Good boy.’

Barney remained on his stomach but tracked George with his sad, brown eyes. Barney knew what was happening, but he just didn’t have the energy to leap and lick with as much enthusiasm as he did even a few years prior. At almost seventeen years of age, everything was a chore.

George donned his jacket and grabbed his suitcase. ‘Thanks again, Molly.’ And then to the dog, ‘Good boy, Barney. Good boy.’

The dog wagged his tail in response. When the door closed, Barney stood and waddled over to it. He then plopped down in front of the door and closed his eyes.

Molly grabbed the remote and turned on the television. She decided on a marathon of the seventh cycle of America’s Next Top Model. She became absorbed in her disdain for Melrose, her least favorite contestant, and jeered aloud when Melrose won multiple challenges.

Sometime in the middle of the ninth episode, Molly noticed that Barney hadn’t scratched at the door as was his habit when he needed to potty. She hoped she hadn’t ignored him accidentally. She got up from the couch and walked toward the front door, where Barney had seemingly remained since George left. She reached down and patted his head as a passing gesture. Not only did the dog not move but his head felt unusually cool. She let her hand skim Barney’s nose; it was sandpaper dry.

‘Barney?’ She tried his name a few times with increasing volume. The dog didn’t stir. She felt her hands getting sweaty; her heart was starting to race. She reached down and jiggled him a bit. Nothing. ‘Oh my God. Don’t be dead.’ She felt hot tears forming in her eyes. ‘Barney!’ She put her ear down by the dog’s mouth and nose. There was no breath.

The dog was dead.

‘Oh my God, oh my God. What am I gonna do?’ she asked herself as she sat back down on the couch.

Molly started thinking of anything that could get her out of this situation. She thought about leaving the dog in front of the door until George came back. But she couldn’t lie to George if he asked how Barney was doing. She thought about getting another dog, another Beagle she could call Barney so she could soften the blow. But that was ridiculous.

Of course, there was only one thing she could do. She had to call George. But she didn’t know if she could do it; she didn’t know if she could speak the words without breaking down. She picked up her cell phone and found his name. She pushed the call button and readied herself to blurt out what she needed to say.

After the third ring, she knew he wasn’t picking up. And then she remembered that George was on a flight to Seattle and wouldn’t be landing for another four hours. Molly hung up the phone and put it down on the table.

At that moment, it became apparent to her that she was sharing the apartment with a corpse, a dead body. Her brain took it from there. Her hands became clammy. She heard strange noises. She was convinced she smelled rotting meat. She turned off the television to try to focus on what to do next, but the silence proved louder than noise; she turned the television back on. She noticed she had to pee, but ‘it’ was blocking the path.

After a few paralyzing moments, she shook her head vigorously. ‘Snap out of it,’ she said to herself. ‘What’s next?’ She found that talking to herself often helped when she felt nervous or upset. ‘I could leave him here. But then he’d start to stink. I can’t do that.’ She paused and looked up the ceiling. ‘I have to do something with him, but what do I do with a dead dog in the city? I can’t throw him away. And George would be pissed if I did anyway.’ She curled her legs underneath her until she was sitting Indian style. ‘I should call someone.’ Her father’s calm face appeared in her mind, and she felt the lump in her throat. Then she thought of her mother; not a chance. ‘Who would I call in this situation?’ She paused. ‘George, that’s who. Well, what would he do?’ And then it hit her. ‘The vet.’

She bounded off the couch and into the kitchen. The vet’s number was on the refrigerator. She grabbed her phone and dialed. A woman answered.

‘Yeah, hi, I need some help,’ Molly replied.

‘How can I help you?’

‘Well, I… umm… well… uh… there’s a dead dog here, and I don’t know what to do with him.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Was he a patient of ours?’

‘Yes. But I’m not his owner. I was dog sitting. His owner’s gone, and I can’t reach him.’

‘Okay. Can you give me his name?’

‘The dog or the owner?’

‘The owner.’

‘George Bell.’

‘Barney?’ the woman asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘Okay, are you in the city?’

‘I’m at George’s apartment.’

‘Do you have a car?’

‘No, I take subways.’

‘Here’s what you do. Now this may sound strange, but there’s not much choice. Put Barney in a suitcase and bring him to the office. We can take care of his body from there.’

‘Can’t you come get him? I don’t know if I can…’ her voice drifted.

‘Sorry, hon, we’re just not staffed for it. And it’s better if you bring him in sooner than later.’

‘Okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you soon.’

‘Okay,’ the woman said hesitantly. ‘See you soon,’ was the extent of her wisdom.

Molly put the phone down. After staring out the window at the cloudy sky for a moment, she decided that she would heed the woman’s advice; she had to find a suitcase. After she thought a moment, she decided that the only place he could keep a suitcase was under his bed. She hopped the corpse and entered the bedroom. She ducked down and felt for the suitcase; when she felt the handle, she pulled out a gigantic, tan monstrosity made sometime in the 1960s. She unpacked George’s summer clothes onto the bed.

She carried the open suitcase into the hallway and placed it next to the body. Without thinking, she scooped the corpse up and flipped it into the bag. With another motion, she slammed the top down and zipped it up. She took a deep breath and paused. She gathered her keys, cell phone, and money clip; grabbed the suitcase; and exited the apartment.

At once, she realized the suitcase had no wheels; they had broken off at some point in the distant past. She became immediately aware of what dead weight really meant. She struggled down the stairs and through the streets. A few passersby even offered to lend a helping hand, but she politely refused.

She descended the stairs to the subway and somehow maneuvered through the turnstile. It was only a short time before an uptown train squealed to a halt in front of her. She dragged the bag onto the half-filled train and sat in the corner.

All the while, she was convinced that the suitcase was giving off an odor. Or that some kind of bodily fluid would seep out. Or that the suitcase would rip revealing the ear or the tail of a dead dog. She guiltily surveyed the train and caught only fleeting glances from disinterested strangers.

One stop before the closest stop to the vet, the train conductor announced that the next stop was closed because of construction. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough notice for her to escape the train with the suitcase. Instead, she decided that she would get off at the next stop.

She dragged the suitcase off the train and made it to the bottom of the escalator. The broken escalator that ascended the equivalent of 3 flights of stairs. She had the option of getting on another train north and going to the next stop in order to catch another train south. Or she could suck it up and do the stairs. She chose the latter.

And thus she began her trek up the escalator stairs. Luckily, there weren’t many others trying to get by.

About half way up, she heard someone jogging up the stairs at a good pace. She inched to the side and pulled the suitcase close. She looked back and saw that it was a guy with a red Yankees cap, a navy blue t-shirt, and jeans. She looked ahead again and waited. Suddenly, she felt the bag jerk away from her; she grasped the rubber handrail for balance. She looked up and saw the guy with the bag in his right hand galloping up the stairs. She raced behind him up the stairs trying to yell between her breaths. But he was too fast for her. When she got to the exit, he was nowhere to be found.

She asked the nearest couple if they had seen a guy with a suitcase. But when she looked around, she realized how stupid that question was. Half the people around her had suitcases. The couple shook their heads solemnly.

Molly began running south. Down the sidewalk she galloped, knocking into trash, trees, and tourists. She didn’t realize she was crying. She kept yelling, ‘Barney.’

When she arrived at the vet, she was a tear-stained mess. She leaned onto the counter and stammered between sobs, ‘I don’t have Barney.’

The nurse – the same woman who had answered the phone earlier – came from behind the counter and put her arm around Molly. ‘It’s okay,’ she said softly. ‘Where’s Barney?’

‘I don’t know,’ Molly admitted. ‘He’s gone.’

‘I know, sweetheart. I know. It’s okay. He’s in a better place.’

‘No, he isn’t. I don’t know what to do.’

‘Is he still at the apartment?’

‘No,’ she said a bit too loudly. ‘He’s gone.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He took him.’

‘Who?’

‘I don’t know! I couldn’t find him.’

‘Wait,’ the nurse squared Molly’s shoulders. ‘What happened?’

‘Someone stole the suitcase.’

At that moment, Molly’s phone began ringing. She dug it out of her jeans. She saw the picture of Barney appear. And the name George. She sniffled, dragged her finger across the screen, and raised it to her ear.

‘Hi George. I have some bad news.’