Chapter 2 - DANGER IS IN THE AIR

LIVY P.O.V.

The bitter drink goes down my throat leaving a burning sensation in its wake. What minutes ago was full of golden liquid is now completely empty, and the ice that once floated in it has vanished, although for me that is the least of it.

Inside my purse the unpaid bills pile up, all threatening to spill over the bar counter and expose my woes.

I juggle to keep them from scattering as I pull out what little money I have left to cover the cost of the drink. The last pennies of my severance pay seem to taunt me as I hand them over to the bartender, who doesn't hide her annoyance at the totally absurd amount of coins to pay for a simple drink of alcohol. But what choice do I have? I have no more and money is money, no matter what it looks like.

My only intention is to ease my mind, although even when I'm drunk I can't escape my worries.

"I can't believe I've reached the lowest point in my life," I mutter, more to myself than in search of an answer, as I play with the empty glass tumbler.

"You're just having a bad day," the voice from one end of the bar reminds me that I'm not alone. A stranger becomes a confidant when you have no one else to share your misfortunes with.

"I'd say it's more like a bad life," I retort.

"Things will get better soon if you just wait a little longer," his convincing tone has a positive effect on my mood, at least to some extent.

Come on, let's focus on the present. Just in this moment at least. I turn to the girl I've been talking to, she has red hair and is very tall, but other than that I don't really know her, but I can't help but think it's ridiculous of her to try to cheer me up. In general, most people don't care how bad I might be, it's just not their problem.

It's not like I'm used to drinking alcohol, but today it triggered me. I want to forget everything about my life for a while.

Shouts of pain coming from a door near the bar draw my attention, followed by a few thuds.

"Fuck..." I hear the bartender say, but I can't take my eyes off the door. The screams sound so piercing that they make the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Startled, my hands instinctively clutch at the empty glass, feeling my heart pounding wildly in my chest.

I turn to look at the bartender, but she has disappeared from my sight at some point. I look everywhere, but I can't find her, and I haven't even realized at what point I've been left alone. I want to run away, but my senses are petrified. The bottles displayed on the walls of the small bar shake at the painful screams. Are they killing someone? I must call the police.

But in an instant the screams stop, which doesn't mean anything good. I can think of only one thing: call the police.

I reach into my bag for my phone, but just as I manage to find it, a man comes out of the door. He has gloves on his hands that he is wiping with a rag that formerly looked white, his dark hair is tousled and his golden eyes glint in the dim light of the bar's bulbs.

My blood runs cold just feeling his presence, I'm sure the dark stains on his suit are blood. He pauses for a moment near my seat, his face scrunches up as he seems to smell something in the air, but then continues on his way.

How is it possible that no one seems affected by what just happened? I look around and everyone continues chatting as if nothing has happened.

I am motionless, I follow him with my eyes, the man continues on his way ignoring everyone around him. He walks as if nothing had happened towards one of the farthest tables of the bar. For an instant he looks back at me, but I turn my face away as quickly as possible to dissimulate. I just pray that he doesn't come towards me.

I hear footsteps approaching, I pray that the man doesn't come towards where I'm sitting.

"Are you okay?", I give a gasp in my seat as I realize it's the bartender, she's back. "You look a little pale," his voice full of concern brings me back to my senses.

"Where did you go..." I say in the shrillest voice I've ever heard myself say before. I try to calm myself. "Never mind. Uh, yes, I feel perfectly fine," the lie comes naturally to me.

The bartender seems calm, relaxed, as if she hasn't been affected either. There is no way this is all a figment of my imagination. However, I seem to be the only one concerned. I decide to put out of my mind whatever might be going on behind that door and try to calm my nerves; I definitely need another drink, but I'm out of money.

I turn to the girl, looking for some way to ease the tension in the air.

"Do you know what that was?" she asked in a whisper, my voice shaky. I don't want the man to hear me, despite being so far from my seat, it's not a good idea to risk it.

She shakes her head, her eyes still fixed on the man with the gloves. "I have no idea," she says dryly. "This place has always been a little...strange, so to speak, but this...it's best not to get involved."

I nod slowly, feeling my pulse calm a little as I talk to her. I know she's lying to me, but I'm not going to complain to her about it. She's right, whatever is going on is none of my business, and I have enough of my own concerns without adding more. Let's just ignore what happened and get out of here.

Almost as if they've caught my thoughts, my phone rings, reminding me that I can't put my life aside no matter how much alcohol is in my system. It must be the hospital reminding me that tomorrow is the last day to pay the debt if I don't want my mother taken out. However, answering the messages won't be possible; my remaining battery barely lasts for a few more moments before it shuts down.

A drink identical to the last one rests in front of me, though something is unusual; I didn't order it. I cast a glance at the bartender, surely the question mark that swirls in my head is reflected in my expression, as I receive an answer without articulating a word.

"A gift from the gentleman at the back table," the bartender mentions with a tone of distaste in her voice, as if she is fed up with that person as she continues to watch him. The way she clicks her tongue only adds to my unease, as if she knows something I don't. "Just be careful with him, okay? You seem like a nice girl."

"Why should I be careful?"