The colour of danger

Over the past 24 hours, Tom has hated the red colour more than anything in the world. It's incredible how just one word can turn someone's life into hell.

It all began on Monday morning when the roads were filled with traffic jams, and the veins-branches of the subway, piercing through New York, buzzed with the stream of scurrying people.

Tom always preferred to get to the workplace by subway, it was faster and safer. He joined the noisy crowd, merged with the stream, and felt great. Probably, most people feel the pseudo-safety, being among their own kind. An instinct as ancient as mother evolution.

Tom was no exception.

He was in a hurry, as was everyone around him. Finally, he was entrusted with the first serious case, and his future career was at stake. The young man was already on the platform when the phone rang annoyingly in his pocket.

“Harrison. Hi, John. I'm on my way, what happened?”

“Phillips withdrew the suit, Tom.”

“What? What does he say about this?”

The train was approaching, and Tom jerked to the edge of the platform, maneuvering between people.

“We find out. This is all very strange. It smells like he wants to sweep it under the rug.”

“Calm down,” a stream of warm air blew, two yellow spots were rapidly growing in the darkness of the tunnel. “ I think it's time to visit him again. I will come soon.”

Tom worked as an insurance investigator, his job was to dig, dig as deep as possible, looking for tiny flaws in the client's case. People are sometimes ready for a lot in the pursuit of money. The company that Tom worked for did not want to give this money away. At least, not in such an easy way.

The train burst onto the platform, stopping and opening its womb, the new passengers rushed in. Tom was picked up by this stream and carried in the right direction.

“I'll go to Phillips as soon as I talk to the boss. Just wait for me, I already have some guesses, and if they prove to be true …”

Tom didn’t have time to finish. He was so concerned by the conversation that he did not notice the couple leaving the car. And only when the collision had happened Tom finally took the mobile away from his ear.

“I apologize.”

A young girl stood in front of him, holding an elderly woman in a long colorful skirt by the elbow. She held a cane in her free hand, and when Tom saw her eyes, he realized that a passing guess was correct. The old woman was blind. Her slightly bulging whitish eyes stared blindly at Tom. He was ready to swear that she did not see him, but for some reason his feet seemed to be rooted to the ground, allowing passing passengers to push him.

“We are sorry. Let's go, grandma." The girl slightly pulled the old lady to the side.

And then Tom felt the unexpectedly strong bony fingers gripped his arm.

“Grandma, let him go,” the girl whispered, trying to take her relative away. John was yelling on the phone, people were jostling, but Tom didn’t hear anything. He stood freezing to the spot, not taking his eyes off the wrinkled face.

“Beware ....” Whispered the old woman, biting into his sleeve. “Be careful …”

“Grandma! Enough!

The angry voice of the granddaughter brought Tom out of his trance. He tore his hand out of an unpleasant grip, perhaps even too roughly, and jerked into the car. Which immediately filled to the gills. Casual strangers standing on the platform were hidden behind the shoulders and heads of other passengers. But Tom could still see them. And he saw how the crane (yes, he thought she was looked like a witch from scary fairy tales) raised her index finger, right at him, and croaked hoarsely:

“Beware of the red …”

The doors closed and Tom never heard the end of the sentence. Her lips moved silently, but the words remained outside the doors of the departing train. It was only when they disappeared behind the tunnel wall that Tom breathed out. It seemed to him that he did not breathe for eternity.

For almost the whole day he did not think of the strange meeting.

Phillips ate his brain out so it took some doing, but Tom was pleased with himself. He is young, promising, what else is needed?

But if he was too busy all day to remember the vexatious incident, then in the evening, leaving the office, Tom first thought about whether to take the subway. Of course, it was foolish to think that the morning strangers would be in the same car with him at the same time, but something nasty scraped his soul. And Tom decided to take a taxi.

“Did she just say it?” Sean, his childhood friend, sipped his beer and raised his eyebrow.

The three of them, Tom, Sean, and Kate, arranged to meet at the bar to wet their whistles. And Tom told them what had happened.

“Beware of the red ... but the red what?”

“I don’t know,” Tom shrugged. “I did not hear, I told you”.

“Maybe she was the Roma?”

“The Roma?”

“Well, yes. I heard they are kind of, you know, the prophets.”

Kate gave Sean a warning look. It said: stop talking nonsense and scaring people.

“Perhaps the old woman’s out of it.”

Maybe she was. But for some reason, Tom played it over and over in his mind. And the more he did it, the more nervous he became. He said nothing, just stared at the guy in the red T-shirt at the next table.

In the next morning it got worse.

He suddenly noticed that his toothbrush was red. A bright saturated hue, almost crimson. The favourite mug in the closet shone with a red side, even the damn loofah turned out to be red in colour. Tom angrily flung open the wardrobe doors and shuddered. Some of the ties fell out with their red tongues as if mocking him. Traffic lights, cars, people, shop windows, everything was red in one way or another. One shade or another, but they seemed to signal: Beware! It seemed that the world had lost all other colors, there was nothing left but the damn red signs. They were imprinted in his consciousness like pulsating spots, attracted all his attention to it, blinded and pressed on his chest.

“Sh**t!” Tom threw the folder with documents away. Circles danced before his eyes, he could not concentrate and did not yet understand that fear was already ripening inside him and putting down tenacious roots.

In this case, some details did not add up, but Tom could not figure out which ones... Instead, he constantly listened to his memory, where the creeping line "beware of the red ..." methodically flashed.

“Tom, you have a meeting with Phillips,” John reminded him as he passed.

"I remember. I'm already going.” Tom put on his jacket listlessly. He hadn't eaten anything since morning, his stomach was empty and itching tedious. But as soon as he thought about food, he began to vomit.

“You don't look good. Are you okay?”

Tom shrugged it off.

“Yeah. Everything is ok. I'll call you as soon as something becomes clear.”

It was cool outside, not yet autumn, but already not summer.

A yellow-sided taxi pulled up next to Tom. He did not dare to go by subway.

***

The day was clearly not the best. Larry got it very soon. Everything did not go well, at first he spilled hot coffee on himself, then got stuck in a traffic jam for an hour, and was almost late at the appointed hour. Now his old minivan didn't want to start, puffing and grumbling with the engine. Everything went awry. It's good, he managed to work off.

“Come on, babe, the Smiths are waiting for us.” Larry closed the hood and got behind the wheel, turning the ignition key. He hated these rich suburbs and the snobs living here. They were so disgustingly clean, in slick suits, and did not count the change in their pockets. He hated their manicured lawns, two-story houses, and straight rows of garages. Life had treated him too unfairly, Larry thought as he loaded the stuff into the van. Someone drives a Porsche, and someone drives a patched minivan with bright stickers on the rusty sides. Bloody life, bloody work, bloody day!

“Come on!” Larry took off the fake nose and tossed it onto the next seat.

The engine rumbled complaisantly, coughing up clouds of smoke.

“Yeah, babe!”

The white minivan pulled off the curb, turning towards the city.

The taxi turned off at 42nd Street and stopped at a traffic light. The burning red circle lamp painfully cut Tom in the eyes, he turned away. An empty stomach began to burn as if its lining was about to digest itself.

Lights up yellow. There was a crossroads ahead.

Larry was late. This job was the only thing he ever found if he got fired because of this old wreck...

“No!” He moaned, seeing the traffic light ahead. He was in too much debt, and Jenny ... She definitely wouldn't wait for her negligent hubby to finally catch his luck by the tail.

Larry looked at his watch. He had another 10 minutes left. It meant, there was no time at all.

“Ok. I'll skip. I can do it.”

He sped up when the yellow flashed at the traffic light.

“You're an idiot!”

Tom flinched. He barely had time to figure out what had happened. Only a bright red spot swept past.

“A****le!” The taxi driver continued to shout, leaning out the window. It was only a couple of seconds later that Tom realized what it was. He saw the bumper of a red Ferrari, which had overtaken them at a traffic light.

A drop of sweat slowly ran down Tom's back. He touched his forehead with his fingers and felt it was covered in sweat too.

“We need to turn around.” He croaked. The stomach twisted more and more.

“What?”

“We need to turn around ... Take another road.”

“Man, this way is the shortest. Don't worry, it's all right.”

But it wasn’t all right. Tom felt it. And as they approached the intersection, he felt sicker and sicker. The palms were nasty sticky, the shirt stuck to the body, the tie made it difficult to breathe. He nervously loosened the knot, trying to breathe.

“Pull the car over!” His voice trembled, threatening to become a scream. “Do you …”

The peripheral vision grabbed a white spot, approaching from the side. Tom turned his head sharply and the words got stuck in a big, rough lump in the middle of the throat.

"Watch out!" He wanted to scream, but he could not. And he would hardly have time to do it. The next thought was: "This is the end."

Before a white minivan with brightly colored stickers swept the taxi from the road and the passenger door was totaled, there was a deafening grinding of metal. A tsunami-like impact knocked Tom out of existence, slamming him into the opposite door. The last thing that fixed his consciousness was the clown's painted white face, his eyes wide with horror. And just an incredible fiery red wig.