Fire Engine Red

Violet clicked the television off with the remote, and laid it down on the mahogany Victorian styled nightstand. She ran her hand along the edge of the table, admiring its craftsmanship. She took a deep breath and slipped her reading glasses off of her head, running her fingers through short auburn hair that had been flattened by the glasses. The glasses she sat down on top of some horror paperback novel. After a while, they all ran together. She wondered sometimes why she still read them; they hardly gave her a scare anymore.

Resting back against the soft goose feather pillow, she rested her hand over her nightgown. She could feel her heart dancing a lively beat. Settle down Violet, she told herself. You’ll never get to sleep like this!

Scooting down the bed, Violet rearranged the duvet and pillow and tucked herself in. Before clicking off the bedside light, she admired the headboard her pillow had been covering all evening as she watched the zombie flick. A matching set with the nightstands and armoire. Very classy indeed.

Slowly her breathing relaxed, and her mind wandered. The gentle lights in a bedroom at night were always so soothing. A soft bluish-white light from the moon sneaking in between the fat slats of the blinds, the faint wash of green from the alarm clock display shone over the bed. Gradually, random images of zombies from the movie and other untold terrors from her pulp novel danced through the head of a fifty-year-old, nearly retired school teacher’s head as she passed into sleep.

“Which one?” He’d kept asking her.

“The red one.” Violet, wearing a yellow sundress with small sunflowers on, had smiled.

“Ah yes.” The man said, twirling his moustache. The man, clad in a full carnival getup of crisp white shirt and red-striped vest reached for the red balloon. “Fire engine red”.

Haaaaahhh. Violet gasped softly as she sucked in air, roused from her sleep. It took a few moments to orient herself and realize she was no longer in the dream where she had been bargaining with man at the fair. He’d had the personality of a used car salesman and kept twirling his oily mustache, his bald head gleaming. He kept trying to convince her into going on the childrens’ haunted hayride, but she insisted on going into the haunted castle, but only at a reduced rate and only if she got a balloon.

Something had woken her. She felt that sensation, when subconsciousness is taken away from a person and the conscious mind is very abruptly placed in control and told “here, something happened, you’re in charge!” She knew something had roused her, but not what. Quietly, she lay in the bed, pulling the duvet up tighter about her small body. Her hands kneaded the thick, comforting feel of the cottony duvet cover. There! She heard it again. Small, abrupt sounds that ran a chill down her spine. Glass falling and shattering, from towards the kitchen.

Violet’s overworked imagination kicked into overdrive. She could almost visualize the tall, brutish man in all black who had broken a pane in the French doors to the back yard, and was now knocking out the loose pieces to get at the handle and unlock the door. Could this be it? The burglary that had haunted her sleep for years. Always some nameless, faceless person. Breaking into her home late at night. Violet, home alone, would be helpless. The floors would creak as he moved to the bedroom. The doorknob, always a noisy one, clicked as he let himself into her room. Slowly, ever so slowly he would come up to her side of the bed, but she would be turned away, balled up in the fetal position around her pillow. In her nightmares she always made the mistake of turning her head slightly and looking up, catching only a glimpse of his face.

Fire engine red.

Creeaakkkk. Oh god! He’d let himself in already. That was him on the hardwoods in the hallway outside her room. It was happening so fast.

Like a lightning bolt inside her, she felt a weird tingle down her spine as this hit home. This isn’t a dream, Violet, girl, this is really happening! Suddenly her palms were sweaty and her breathing became ragged. A drum began beating against her ears: BOOM! BOOM!. No, it was her heart, racing. Surely he heard it from in the hall.

Frantic, Violet’s mind raced for options. Raise the window and jump over the rose bushes? Run like hell screaming? Yes, yes that was it. But her body was paralyzed. She lay on her side facing away from the window and the bedroom door, seeing only dimly the Van Gogh print hung on the far wall. Nooo!!!!!

Fire engine red.

Tears began to run down Violet’s face, and gently, she rocked and swayed in the bed.

Click-click. That stupid doorknob! Options Violet! Think!! Roll across the bed, run for the bathroom and lock the door behind you. Maybe even grab the phone from the far nightstand as she did so.

Despite her sheer terror, Violet allowed herself a momentary smile, almost a laugh. Yes, Violet Merriwether, the action movie super starlet!

Fire engine red.

He was in the room now. He had to be. Just a burglar, just a thief. He’ll look for your money and jewelry and be gone. Statistically, that was all they ever did. Thieves didn’t want to be seen, or get in a fight, much less shot or have the police hot on their tails. But no, not this one. Violet had always known in the back of her head he wouldn’t just settle for necklaces and credit cards.

Her eyes, darting across the duvet cover as if its landscape might reveal a solution, suddenly stopped dead still. The light from the moon barely illuminated the bed, but she could see a distinct shadow across the middle of the bed. Behind her!!!

Fire engine red.

Gulping, Violet summoned up every ounce of strength in her one hundred and eight pound frame and rolled over. The very least she could do was face her attacker. Her head swung around last as she pivoted, her eyes delaying as long as possible the sight of her assailant.

As her view panned across the room, then the wall, and ceiling, a red beam of light shot out from a corner of the wall like a laser across the dim room. The memory sprung up unbidden.

“Alright Violet, everything is exactly to specification. Remember, you see the red beam of light, you only have a final five seconds. We can’t stress this enough to you. Do you understand this completely Violet?”

Meekly, yet thrilled on the inside, fire rushing through her veins, Violet nodded. “Yes, Mr. Grenzberg.”

Finally, finally, Violet’s ironically grey-blue, nearly lilac eyes alighted upon him. A black sweatshirt, the hood pulled up over his face. Her mouth opened and a faint sound came out. Eehhaahhhaaa.

Fire engine red.

The words appeared in her mind. A red balloon. A red fire truck. Red blood. For a moment, just a moment, they were on the tip of her tongue. But the black void opened and sucked her in, pulling at her. She felt the sensation wash over her, and then saw it.

A large machete blade hung poised in the air, glinting off the moonlight. Quickly, it swung down into her chest. Sharp pain. Then warmth, on her chest, her arms, her hands. Again and again. Just as quickly, cold. Darkness. I always knew, Violet told herself.

Fire engine red.

The lights came on in Unit 5 lighting the faux apartment up like fireworks. Josh dropped the blade, shook his head and walked out. Another one.

Ralph leaned over the control console and looked out into the warehouse into the bedroom of Unit 5. He tapped the intercom on. “That’s it folks. Josh, good work. Get cleaned up and see Dr. Walzchek if you need to discuss anything.” Josh never needed to, but it was part of the liability coverage to have a psychoanalyst on hand. “Cleanup in Unit 5, master bedroom. Repeat, maintenance, cleanup in Unit 5, master bedroom.”

Ralph sat back down, the aging avocado green office chair groaning at him and reminding him it was long past due to be retired. “Yeah, I know the feeling.” He told the chair.

Shaking his head, he got up. Talking to office furniture. What next? Damn, this room smelled like stale coffee. Ralph headed towards the door to the control room, passing racks of sound and lighting controls.

Just at the door, Marcus came in and caught him. “Hey! Ralphie!” Ralph just bristled at the nick name. The man ten years his junior, and also his boss, clapped him on the shoulder. “So, we got a live one?” Marcus thought that tired old joke could never have too many miles on it.

Ralph just sighed and shook his head, heading back to the computer running the video editing software. “Nope, she went all the way.”

Marcus just cocked his head and put on his faux “ahh, that’s too bad” face. “No pass code, you checked?”

“Audio diagnostics ran a second check. Jose and I listened in the whole time. Never uttered it.”

“Well, well. Euthanasia, people who want to die and all that. Sometimes it’s a thrill, sometimes helping them finish things up. All in a day’s work I guess.” His cheerful smile nearly made Ralph’s stomach turn. Have just a goddamn ounce of compassion, he thought. “She wanted it?”

Ralph ran the video back to just after the five second warning and ran his fingers across the touch sensitive interface to zoom in on her. Slowly he played it back. Sheer terror there. Every time he wondered: did they just lock up before and weren’t able to say it? But no, like always, just before it happened, this blissful look settled on the woman’s face…Violet Merriwether the control data said in the bottom right corner. Violet. Like a damned crack head getting a hit.

Ralph just turned and shrugged at Marcus, who nodded confirmation and patted him on the back.. Together they headed out of the control room.

“So what was the password this time? Jolly rancher green?”

“No. Fire engine red.”