Under the Bridge

chapter fifty nine-"nights like these"

L I A M

THE ROADS ARE SLICK on nights like these, where the wind is howling, the sky is cloaked in a dimmed blanket of stars, and snow is like a wisp of a memory. Nights like these, when I'm the only one driving, usually feel serene, but now, feel like something is terrible wrong. 

The large houses of my girlfriend's neighborhood no longer seem like the pinnacle of wealth, but instead, reflect deserted funds. They look lonely, dim, some lit up only in certain windows, the rest, dark in the mirror of night. The streetlights on this street are flickering, some kind of wiring problem, I can only assume, but still ominous in the empty, alluring, sky. 

Suburban wasteland and all that, I guess. 

The gates outside of the Bear mansion are unusually closed, as though there's some kind of threat from the outside. It makes me feel uncomfortable. I push the button next to the gate so Mrs. Bear can unlock it, feeling a bit of worry come across my features. 

"Who is it?" The voice asks, obviously stiffing some sort of emotion. 

"It's Liam," I say. "Hope told me what happened, I think I might be able to find her." 

The gate opens. 

I drive in. 

Stepping through the door, I feel an underlying current of worry, like something wrong is in the air. Olivia's mother looks distressed, her eyes red with tears, her head down. Her posture is still excellent, her outfit, even down to the high heels, are still intricate. She looks like a fallacy. 

"Sorry for not coming right away, I was downtown," I apologize, keeping myself as professional as possible. Even in a vulnerable state, she still intimidates me. The beat-up leather jacket and t-shirt for my band probably don't help. (Yes, I wear my own merch on stage, I have to make money somehow. Did you think I sold drugs or something?) 

"It's alright," Mrs. Bear tells me, her voice surprisingly quiet. 

I bite the inside of my cheek, unsure of what to say. "She hasn't been answering your calls?" I ask, stuffing my hands in my pockets since I don't really know what else to do with them. 

She nods. 

"I'll try," I say, pulling out my phone and finding her number in my contacts. Her mother gives me a worried look as I bring it to my ear. 

It rings. 

Once. 

Then twice. 

"Hey, Liam," Olivia's voice sounds meek, raspy, like she's been crying. I feel like I am going to crumble to the ground, just from the sound. 

"Hey, Olivia," I reply, trying to sound as calm as possible. 

"I thought you were at a show," she mutters after a moment. "How was that?" 

"It went well," I explain, giving her mother a reassuring look. "Would have been better if you were there, though." 

I hear a sigh over the phone. "Yeah, for sure." 

"Hey, what's wrong?" I ask, seizing the opportunity to gain information on her whereabouts. As much as it hurts me to be deceptive, the chance that she could be on the brink of something that I can't understand. 

Olivia stews in silence, each second compounding my worry. "A lot, actually," she squeaks. "I don't want to talk about it over the phone, I'll tell you in person."