The Bridge Of Sorrows

Chapter 4 Dearly Departed

As the first rays of morning sunlight streamed through my window, I awoke to a world of emptiness—blank walls, devoid of the tapestry of memories they once held. It was around 8:00, and an unsettling stillness pervaded the room. I took a moment to absorb the unfamiliarity, a prelude to the weighty task ahead—I needed to confront Dorris's mom and recount the unfathomable events of the previous night.

With hesitant steps, I made my way to the bathroom, each footfall echoing the haunting memory of Dorris's fall from the bridge. A sense of dread clung to me, intensifying with every recollection of her face as she vanished over the edge. Shaking off the disconcerting images, I stepped into the shower, hoping the warm water could wash away not just the physical residue but the emotional turmoil within.

As the rivulets of water cascaded over me, I couldn't escape the whirlwind of emotions that swept through my mind. The events had unfolded with an alarming rapidity, leaving me grappling with the weight of regret for allowing curiosity to lead me down the path of Mr. Johnson's secrets and the mystique of the bridge. A pang of guilt lingered, and I couldn't help but wonder if the tragic sequence of events might have been averted had that mysterious stranger not intervened.

Exiting the shower, I dressed with a heavy heart, realizing my shoes were among the casualties of last night's ordeal. Opting for a pair of high-top Converses, I found a note on the kitchen counter—a revelation about the fate of my car and the provision of a borrowed vehicle for the day.

Embarking on the journey to Mrs. Delagarza's house, my mind drifted back to a simpler time, each street corner resonating with the echoes of childhood laughter and shared ice cream cones. However, the specter of the previous night's tragedy loomed, casting a shadow over the nostalgic reverie. As I approached Mrs. Delagarza's porch, the weight of the truth I carried intensified, making me hesitate before unveiling the heart-wrenching narrative.

"Hey Vanessa, how are you?"

"I want to let you know something bad happened yesterday."

"Okay..."

My voice quivered as I unfolded the bizarre tale involving the bridge, the mysterious man, and Dorris's tragic fall. Mrs. Delagarza's confusion deepened with each revelation, her vehement denial of having a daughter named Dorris creating a surreal disconnect. The photos that had once adorned the living room walls were conspicuously absent, further muddling the line between reality and illusion.

"Vanessa, as you can see, there aren't any photos of this Dorris person you speak of."

"I see that now."

"Well, I'm on my way to pick up a friend. We are getting away for the weekend."

"Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Delagarza, I'll be on my way now."

"Okay, Vanessa, drive safe."

Leaving Mrs. Delagarza's house, a chilling uncertainty lingered, prompting a myriad of unanswered questions to dance in my mind. What had truly transpired on that mysterious bridge, and who was Dorris if not her daughter?