Someone Like Yoo

XII

Chapter XII: The Woman in White

I was lost in my train of thoughts when I felt two short buzzes  coming from inside the left back pocket of my jeans. I would have to lift my butt to fish out my phone, but Deokhwa is leaning softly against my arm, his head on my shoulder and his breathing calm and slow, sound asleep. Glancing at the digital sign board hanging on top of the driver's seat in front, I check the time. 19:15, it read. It must be a text message from Auntie Samshin, asking me where I must be. I haven't told her yet that I had dropped by Mr. Kim's house after my job training. She must be worried, but I'll have to reply a little later when we reach our stop. Just two more stations and six minutes away.

Not more than two seconds later, I feel a second buzz and a third, strangely following one long vibration. I sighed, knowing it must be Taehee, either wanting to tell me something important again or simply worrying. The ringing stopped and I finally heaved myself up to withdraw my phone. Deokhwa shifted for a moment, muttering something in his sleep, before going back to the comfort of my right arm.

Darting my eyes on the screen, I see a picture of ten-year-old Taehee and I in the lockscreen and on top of it were two notifications: 3 new messages and 1 missed call. I open my inbox to the recent message. It's not from Auntie nor Taehee, but from a number I don't recognize.

Sunday, November 26, 2017

GET OFF THE BUS RIGHT NOW.
SMS, 7:15PM

PLEASE
SMS, 7:15PM

YOU'RE IN DANGER
SMS, 7:15PM

I took in a sharp breath, placing a hand over my mouth as if to restrain a scream. Deokhwa stirred again in his seat, suddenly looping his arms around my right arm and mumbling the words, "Don't move, stay heeeeerrrree." I ignore him and went back to my phone with sweaty shaking hands.

Using only my left hand, I attempt to send back a text asking who the person is. I was too slow, however, my phone shaking repeatedly in my hand, but I was shaking harder and almost lost hold of the device.

Two words flash before me on the screen and below is the same unknown number.

Incoming Call
from +82-4-490-9697

I couldn't move. Not because Deokhwa is leaning on me, but because, all of a sudden, I've lost the colors. Everything within my sight slowly fading into black and white, from the leather blue bus seats, the yellow metal poles, to the orange windbreaker of the lady in the front. It was as if the entire bus became a canvas and instead of painting colors, it was being taken away. The grayscale masterpiece crawling into view like steady snakes in the grass. They came to me in blots, in flows, like streams of rivers or mud stains on white textiles.

Blinking excruciatingly hard, I try to attest to myself that this may just be another illusion I'm making to myself out of inner anxieties from yesterday. I try to whisk this vision away, thinking that this could not be possibly happening in real life. Maybe my eyes are just tricking me. But when I open my eyes back, everything is still in black and white.

Except for three things: the red button right beside Deokhwa, the white door with its royal blue frame, and the businessman who was three seats before us. He's not on his phone anymore and rather was hugging his purple backpack so tight that I'm sure whatever is inside it is already squashed and destroyed. These were all still in their colors.

My phone hasn't stopped vibrating in my hand. The unknown number is still calling.

"Yeoboseyo?" I answer under my breath, my voice breaking, my whole body shaking.