Van
Nearly twenty years ago
Red. Scarlet. Crimson. Fiery.
Associated with heat.
The color of blood.
The color of rage.
The ruby hue colored my vision as I rode the elevator into the sky, the damn thing moving too slowly. My teeth clenched and my jaw tightened as I watched the numbers above the door change, one by one. At my sides, my fingers balled into fists and biceps bulged, itching to make contact, to feel destruction as my knuckles pounded into anything, even the walls surrounding me.
A quick glance at my phone told me it had been forty minutes since her call. It was the middle of the night. Hearing the fear in her voice took my breath away. I'd sprung from my bed, hurriedly dressed, and took off to the garage.
If only I'd been closer.
The elevator finally came to a halt.
