Submitted for your approval- a rusting police car. In her day, circa 1955, her model was one of the most efficient, state of the art vehicles on the force. Now cracks spiderweb her windshield, stuffing bleeds from cuts in the seat covers, and the scarlet tinted globe sits silently on the roof. For all intents and purposes, a relic from a long ago time.
Enter one Ray Sloan, aged 72, retired police lieutenant and like the aforementioned patrol car- a relic from a long ago time. His faded leather shoes tread into our story on the hay swept paddock that hosts Lake Tardis' annual automobile show.
The car exhibits include the '60's Batmobile, Bonnie and Clyde's getaway car, a time traveling DeLorean, Stephen King's Christine and as you may have guessed- the old patrol car in all her rusted glory.
The town council may have leased Farmer Bradley's land on the outskirts of town for the car show. The Flyers stuck in every nook and cranny across town might indeed list Farmer Bradley's land as the location for the event. Farmer Bradley himself is being financially compensated for the tyre track upheaval of his grass, soda cans littering his field and the merry-go-round stamping its mark on his Earth. However, despite all of the above evidence, the car show is not being held anywhere near Farmer Bradley's land. In fact, it isn't even taking place in the same state. This year's annual car show has been relocated to a shadier place. Rain, hail or shine- the car show will be showcasing automobiles of all makes and models in the grounds of the Twilight Zone.
Ray Sloan, a man who is not only owned by the past but who belongs to a certain rusting police car, ever since a traumatic altercation in his past. He hasn't seen the car since the incident, nor has he been looking. For the last time he lay eyes on her, the car was sinking into frozen Lake Tardis with his partner, Officer Dave Sanderson, trapped inside. Both were never recovered, and like them- Ray Sloan never did either. Not only dropping out of the force but dropping out of life itself.
No, Ray Sloan hasn't seen that patrol car for over half a century and he would have bet his right arm with absolute certainty that he never would again. But as his tired eyes gaze past fenders and tyres, all bets are off. For his eyes focus on the specter from his past, a resurrected phantom from an ancient nightmare- the rusting patrol car.
Like throbbing strokes of engine pistons, the old timer's heartbeat speeds up the nearer he gets to her. Like headlights on high beam, his tired eyes illuminate the serial number on the black and white door, '789,' leaving no doubt that it was hiscar- despite the fact that the car has a very different view of the ownership situation.
Stalled in time momentarily, the memory of Ray Sloan reverses back to that chilly snow covered December night half a century ago. He and his partner Dave Sanderson were in hot pursuit of a stolen ice-cream truck that blasted a music box tune of 'Greensleeves.' It made it across frozen Lake Tardis, but Sloan and Sanderson's patrol car did not.
After the earth shattering crack and plummet through the ice, Ray Sloan managed to pull himself through his half opened window and escape the sinking tomb. His next memory was coming-to on the chilled sandy shore- alone.
A search of Lake Tardis yielded no sign of Officer Sanderson or even the car. When a more extensive search was carried out in the Spring, nothing was raised but the same results- no man, no car. Sloan escaped a judicial inquiry but couldn't get away from the grief of loosing his partner.
Now, the haunting feelings rush to the surface of Ray Sloan's mind. Fleeing the car exhibit in disbelief only to bump into David Sanderson's widow- Nan Sanderson, now the 69 year old Nan Presley after a marriage to an Elvis impersonator.
"Ray!" She smiles, more pleased by the run-in than hurt from it. Ray Sloan was hurting however, as he had never gotten over the undercurrent of a passionate crush he harbored for his partner's wife, and then overwhelming guilt for the same feelings for his partner's widow, and then finally despair as he watched Nan date, marry divorce, re-date, re-marry, re-divorce and so on.
The only thing Sloan can muster to say in response is, "how's Elvis?"
Nan laughs, and as Sloan tries desperately to think of the impersonator's real name, she quickly changes the subject and asks if he has seen any interesting cars.
Sloan shudders and glances over his shoulder back at his nightmare on four wheels, only to find an empty plot on Farmer Bradley's otherwise crowded field.
The mind of Ray Sloan was now in a state of rotation. Had he really seen the old patrol car and it had simply driven off while his back was turned? Or had he imagined the whole spectacle? Had years of deep guilt at being the one who survived finally caught up with him?
He abruptly excuses himself from Nan and heads straight to his old workplace- the Lake Tardis Police Station.
Stainless steel has replaced everything wooden and familiar to Sloan. Sergeant Pie ends up being the only old timer still attached to the force who remembers the 1955 disappearance in Lake Tardis. He confirms to Sloan that it is a cold case as no trace of David Sanderson or the patrol car has ever turned up. Sloan thanks the Sergeant and dodges a few memories of, quote- 'the good old days,' before retreating home.
That night, resting in his plaid couch chair, Ray Sloan has successfully blocked the car sighting from his tormented thoughts. He finally begins to drift off to sleep to the music of the Tonight Show theme, only to be shaken awake by a flashing red light piercing through his front window curtains.
He hopes a neighbour has put their Christmas lights up early, he wishes a light aircraft could be flying low, and he prays that a fire hydrant might be on fire. But as his wrinkled, shaking hand draws the curtain back, the sight of the idling patrol car's rotating scarlet siren illuminating the damp, lamppost lit street dashes all of Ray Sloan's hopes, wishes and prayers for a reasonable explanation.