Scarlet

SCARLET

By Janet Lorimer

    It all happened so quickly, I didn’t have time to think. I had the light, and I was driving with the flow of traffic. I maintained a few feet between my car and the car in front. Rush hour traffic in San Francisco can be tricky to navigate, but I’d driven in this city for years. It was second nature to me.

I was on my way out of town to spend a few days with my cousin in Los Angeles. I was a little tired from a long day at work, but I didn’t think I was distracted.

As my car entered the crosswalk, a woman appeared in front of me. I gazed at her in terror - terrified of her, not for her – as she stared back at me in disbelief.  Too late, I slammed on the brakes, but I knew I had hit her. I unlocked my seat belt to jump out of the car to see how badly she was injured. At that moment, the car behind hit mine full force, pushing my car forward and me against the windshield. 

    My next memories were unbelievably strange. I found myself floating above my car. How I rose to that height I had no idea. I felt weightless and peaceful. There was no pain, no fear, no shock. Just curiosity as I watched the first responders trying to save my life. 

    Bits of disjointed conversation reached me. “…a pulse?” “…name…Carrie Wheeler, lives….” “…oxygen….”   

Then I was wrapped in light, a warm sparkling white mist that surrounded me and carried me away to a place of great peace. 

All at once I heard a calm, gentle voice in my head telling me that I could not stay there, and I plunged back into my body and horrific pain. I felt a sharp prick in my arm, then nothing.

Little by little I regained consciousness. I was in a hospital, with medical staff coming and going, asking me questions, administering medications, checking the equipment I was attached to. 

The doctor came to see me. He said I was lucky to be alive. That’s when I told him about the white cloud of light and he told me about Near Death Experiences.

I shivered. Too close for comfort. “What about the woman I hit?” I asked. 

He frowned. “What woman? You were the only one they brought in.” 

Later, a cop came to my room. He identified himself, said he was following up on the accident. The first thing he asked was why I had stopped so abruptly when I had the light.

I told him about the woman. I could even describe her. Fairly ordinary, except for her hair, which was dyed a very bright cherry red and streaked with shiny black. I didn’t add that I had a strong feeling I knew her, only not in a good way.   

 There was no woman, he told me. I was stunned. I had hit her head-on, and the car behind me had pushed my car over her body. 

He shook his head. No body, no woman, nothing under my car. If she had been hit as I described, someone would have seen her. Besides, if she was that badly injured she would have been unable to walk away.   

They had tested me for drugs and alcohol when I was brought in, but there was nothing in my system that could have caused impaired driving, let alone a hallucination. 

How, I shot back, could I have hallucinated before my head injury? The cop had no answer. 

A few days later I was deemed well enough to be released. My best friend, Melissa, was there to take me home. She’d visited me every day in the hospital. She’d contacted my cousin in Los Angeles, she was dealing with the insurance company, and she’d sneaked in a hamburger when lime Jell-O didn’t suffice. 

    On the way home I told her about the woman with the weird hair. “I know her, ‘Lissa, but I don’t know how.” I shuddered. “Except she gives me the creeps.”

    ‘Lissa, ever practical, said, “Your mind is playing tricks on you.”

    “But I saw her before I hit my head.”

    ‘Lissa shrugged. “Who knows what your concussed brain conjured up.”

    “But how do I know her? And why does she scare me so much?”

    ‘Lissa had no answers.

    Back in my apartment, with nothing much to do but recuperate, I replayed the accident over and over in my mind. By now I had become so obsessed with the red-headed woman that I decided to give her a name: Scarlet.  I didn’t remember much about her features or her stature, but I would never forget her hair. 

    I combed back through my memories, trying to connect her to a time, a place, an event, but she remained elusive. What I was certain of was that she terrified me, and what was worse I had no idea why. Finally, I gave up and went to bed.

    That night, she visited me as I dreamed. She was trying to tell me something, but I was too frightened to listen. I turned to run. I thought I felt her touch my shoulder and I screamed. That scream woke me up.   

    I turned on the bedside lamp and sat on the edge of the bed, gasping and shivering. If, as ‘Lissa had suggested, the woman was nothing but an illusion, why was I so afraid of her?

    The next day, feeling stronger, I decided to get out of my apartment and my dark thoughts. I would walk to the corner deli, treat myself to something sinfully delicious, wallow in chocolate.

    But as I drew close, I saw Scarlet emerge from the building. I froze, shocked. In my head, in my dreams, and now on my street?  As I stood there, unable to move, she looked at me. She clearly recognized me, mouthing something and gesturing. 

I rushed back to my apartment and called ‘Lissa. “She’s real,” I cried. “She’s alive. She should be dead, but she’s not, and she’s coming after me. She horrifies me. And I don’t know why.” I burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably.

    “Take a deep breath, Carrie,” ‘Lissa said calmly.     Little by little, my heart stopped its rapid-fire pounding and my sobs abated. “I’m not delusional, ‘Lissa. I saw her. She’s real. I’m scared to death, and I don’t know why.”

    ‘Lissa didn’t argue with me. “I’ll be there in ten,” she said and hung up.

    By the time she arrived, I was thinking more rationally. Whatever else I had assumed about the accident, Scarlet was real. And for some ungodly reason, she was hunting me.   

    ‘Lissa took me firmly in hand. “Let’s get you away from here. I know a good, out-of-the-way restaurant where we can have something to eat and figure this out.”

    The restaurant – small, dark, Italian – was on the other side of the city.

“She won’t find you here,” ‘Lissa said, as she parked. Inside, we slid into a booth at the back where we could see anyone who came through the front door before they saw us. 

    Over lunch we traded ideas about Scarlet. I was willing to admit that I might have been wrong. Maybe, after I’d hit my head, I’d imagined I’d seen her. Or maybe she’d actually been on the sidewalk, not in the crosswalk as I’d thought.

    “But why is she hunting me?” I asked. “And how did she find me? And why can’t I remember where I know her from?”

    “I have no idea. Maybe she’s a psycho. You have to go to the cops and—.”

The door opened, and Scarlet entered the restaurant. I gasped. “There!”

    ‘Lissa looked. “Oh, god, I see her.”

    “You see her?”

    “How could anyone miss her? Look at that hair.”

    Once again I freaked. “I told you, she’s stalking me.” 

    “I’m beginning to agree with you. Come on.”

    ‘Lissa threw a handful of bills on the table to cover our meal, yanked me out of the booth, and hustled me through the kitchen and out the back.

In the alley behind the restaurant, she said, “Stay here,” as she disappeared around the corner of the building. Moments later, her car pulled into the alley. She climbed out and said, “Get in.” I started around to the passenger side, but she stopped me. “You’re going to drive.”

    “What? Where?” I was shaking so hard I didn’t think I could drive ten feet.

    ‘Lissa bundled me into the driver’s seat. “To L.A. To your cousin’s house. When you get there, call me.”

    “Wh—what are you going to do?”

    She smiled. “I’m going after the bitch to find out what she wants. And then to the cops.”

    I drove out of the alley and onto the street, heading south. 

    As I negotiated streets and traffic, I didn’t think much about Scarlet, but once I was on the Five, fear began to take hold again. How had my life become such a nightmare? 

‘Lissa’s Lexus ate up the miles as the sun descended. That time of year it got darker earlier. I stopped once for gas and a restroom break, and then I was back on the road. Exhaustion was replacing fear, but I knew I didn’t dare pull over for a catnap. I had to get to L.A., and as far away from Scarlet as possible.    

    Traffic moved at a steady pace.  I just stared at the tail lights in front of me. Then I saw wisps of fog, that dreaded Tule fog that could cause pile-ups in California’s central valley. I turned on my headlights, and concentrated on my driving.  

The fog grew thicker. Sound blurred. I could see nothing but the red tail lights, although seen through the fog they looked fuzzy. I turned on the radio, but I all I got was mesmerizing white noise.  Finally, I turned the radio off. 

    Tule fog was wet fog. I switched on the windshield wipers, but their repetitive thock, thock filled the car with more mesmeric sound. It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen or heard cars coming from the opposite direction. That was odd. My fear of Scarlet was being replaced by an unrelenting uneasiness about this stretch of the Five.  

On I drove, the thick fog pushing against my car like a dark blanket, smothering exterior sound and scene. I glanced to either side of the road, but I saw no lights that would indicate truck stops. I still had enough gas, but the incessant silence, broken only by the sound of the wipers, began to frighten me. 

    Then the unthinkable happened, so quickly I had no time to react. The car ahead of me stopped dead. My car slammed into it as the car behind me crashed into mine. I remember the horrible screech of metal, my own terrified cry, then nothing.

    I had no idea how long I was unconscious. Maybe only a minute, maybe more. I sat up slowly, putting my hand to my head. My fingers came away clean. No blood. I realized the air bag had not deployed nor had the seat belt held. But for all that, I felt no pain. 

The door on the driver’s side was hanging open. Figures moved in ghostly fashion through the fog. I heard moans and sobs. I climbed out of the car and peered through the gloom in every direction, but all I could make out was more of the pile-up. 

The air was viciously cold and wet. I shivered, pulling my jacket tighter around me, and stared ahead through the fog at what appeared to be a large, brightly lit building.  A neon sign flashed on and off: Open 24 Hours. A restaurant or coffee shop. I breathed a sigh of relief. Inside would be hot coffee, cell phone coverage, civilization!

In front of the building was a large empty parking lot. All at once I realized that between me and the parking lot was a single pot-holed asphalt lane. It appeared we were on a narrow frontage road. But how could that be? Had the cars ahead of me exited onto a side road and had I just blindly followed?   

     I crossed the road and the parking lot, and entered the restaurant. I was instantly wrapped in steamy warmth, but no welcome aroma of freshly brewed coffee. And where were the diners? Where was the staff?

    I chose a table and sat, by now feeling completely overwhelmed.   

The door opened and Scarlet walked in. I gazed at her in despair, too exhausted to try to escape.

    She smiled as she approached my table and sat. “Mind if I join you?” Her voice was calm, gentle.   

    A dozen questions spun in my mind, but what came out of my mouth was something else. “Your hair is very striking.”

    She nodded. “I get that a lot.”

    Silence grew between us. Finally, I said, “Do you have a name?”

    “Doesn’t everyone?” But she didn’t volunteer hers. 

    “What do you want from me?”

    “I came in part to apologize, to tell you how sorry I am that I frightened you so badly. That was never my intention.”

    “What is your intention?”

    She pointed at the big windows that faced the parking lot. “Look. The fog is lifting.”

    I slid out of my chair and walked to the window for a closer look.  

    Scarlet joined me. “I want to tell you a story,” she said.

    “What?” Her statement caught me off guard. A story? “Why?”  

    “By way of answering your question.”

    I tried to remember what I’d asked. But I was increasingly caught up in the scene of the accident. I thought I heard the wail of sirens sounding like agonized cries of mourning. But it might have been my mind playing tricks on me.  

    “It’s a good story. You’ll like it,” she went on. “It’s an old story, dating back to the ninth century, if you can believe that.”

    I didn’t reply. This was the oddest conversation I had ever had.     

“A rich man in Baghdad sent his servant to the marketplace,” Scarlet began. “Almost at once the servant returned in great distress. ‘Master,’ he cried, ‘in the marketplace I saw Death. Death looked right at me and made a gesture toward me. I fear this is a bad omen. What should I do?”

    Why hadn’t I seen any flashing red and blue lights? Where were the first responders?  

“The rich man gave the servant his fastest horse, and told him to ride at once to Samarra. ‘I will go to the marketplace and investigate,’ he said. When the rich man reached the marketplace, he spoke to Death. ‘Why did you frighten my servant?’”

    I was able to make out the Lexus, and oh, what a horrible mass of crumpled metal it was. Poor ‘Lissa. She so loved that car. 

    “‘I didn’t mean to frighten your servant,’ Death replied. ‘I was just so surprised to see him here, because I have an appointment with him tonight….’”

    The driver side door still hung open. The interior was dark but something else inside was darker. A form in the driver’s seat, jammed against the shattered windshield.

    “‘…in Samarra.’”

    All at once, I felt inexorably weary. I longed for that warm peace in the white sparkling cloud. “Where are we?” I whispered.

    And Death replied, “In Samarra.” 

The End