Creation began on 06-05-17
Creation ended on 06-05-17
Christine
The Car with the Best shall Rule the Rest
A/N: What if the Plymouth Fury from Hell met its match from the future…and from someone else that would end its nightmare? Based on both the film and novel.
He watched how the red and white car reassembled itself, how it took hold of its new owner…and the horrors it unleashed on the road. It had nothing to do with the fact that was a used car; lots of people bought used cars every time they needed the means to travel, had the finances to acquire them, or just had silly dreams of impressing others. No, it had to do with the fact that the vehicle was possessed by the negative influence of its former owners…and fueled by an unending hunger for companionship that would tear holes in any that dared to desire it or come between it and those in possession of it. And as he watched as the young man died because of the car's jealousy, he knew what needed to be done.
"I'm not much of a car enthusiast," said Brother Correction as he got up from his wooden throne, manifesting a wide range of cars not belonging to the time period that he was going to; temporal manipulation was known to cause ripples that were disturbing by bringing futuristic materials to primitive points in the past, but he wasn't too concerned about this being an issue. "First, I'll deal with the family it destroyed…and save the boy it will destroy."
Brother Correction had an impressive display of cars to choose from, from big, beefy trucks to retro-looking muscle cars, of various brands from Ram to Honda to Chevrolet. He decided that in order to beat a Plymouth Fury that was as corrupt as the day it became used, he needed a car that would appeal to the best in everyone without giving too much away.
"You," he uttered to the selected vehicle he stopped in front of. "You will be the heroine of this sad story that needs to be rewritten for the better."
The chosen car's lights flared up and the vehicle moved forward to stop in front of the former mortal man, revving up, purring like a kitten in front of its master.
-x-
Ronald D. LeBay, recently retired from the war, drove around the streets in his Plymouth Fury, just enjoying the scenery. Until he noticed something in front of his house with his special lady.
A dark man, not too much in the standing out department, just a casual-dressed guy in his twenties, talking to her. But what seemed off was the car he was in front of. It was the cleanest, shiniest grey he had ever seen, with four doors and an unusually-smooth shape, like someone modeled the car after the literal curves of a beautiful woman out of something greater than steel.
"Hello, sir," the man greeted Ronald as he parked his car. "I've been…most anxious to meet you for some time now."
He was nervous, as Ronald noticed he was shaking mildly.
"That's a nice car you have there, sir," the man pointed out to the Plymouth Fury.
"Thank you. That's my Christine." Ronald addressed it. "Is this your car?"
"Yes, it is. A Cadillac."
Indeed it was a Cadillac, but not any model related to this year. No, this was a Cadillac CTS-V from the future, but nobody here knew this. No, to any that viewed this car, it was just a regular car that, despite its form, didn't stand out, even though it should've.
Even to Ronald, who had only bought Christine a month or so ago, was impressed by the car. More impressed than by Christine.
"But…that can't be a Cadillac," he told the man. "She's just too…to gorgeous."
"Thank you. You're the first person to call her that. I assure you, Gorgeous is a Cadillac. She's a special one, in fact."
"Special? In what way?"
"First of her family of runners. I swear to you, you take her for a spin…and she will fly for you."
Ronald couldn't deny it in his heart, but he was becoming tempted to want to drive the car to see if the man was right. There was no way that this car was that fast; no car in the history of cars could go any faster than one-hundred miles. It took heavy miracles just to get to one-hundred-twenty miles.
"Here," the man uttered, throwing Ronald the key to it. "Please, you and your wife take Gorgeous for a spin. You're bound to love her."
"Oh, I couldn't," Ronald said, despite wanting to do it. "She's new and…"
"Please, I insist. It's not everyday you ever get a chance like this."
"Please, Ronald?" His wife begged. "He's offering."
-x-
He was right. There was no denying it, anymore. This Cadillac could fly. It passed by other cars on the road like there was nothing left to see but the rest of the world.
"Oh, my God," Ronald's wife expressed; if it wasn't the speed they were going of the ease of her husband's driving, it was the leather seat she was sitting in that was comfortable. "This is incredible."
"Yes, it is," he agreed with her.
It felt like hours had come and gone by the time they had returned to their home, where the man still waited for them, wondering how their joyride was.
"How was it?" He asked them.
"You were right," Ronald told him. "She flew."
"She likes you."
"Huh?"
"Gorgeous admires you. She could only drive her best when she's with someone good."
"Where can we get one as fast as her?"
"I'm afraid she's one of a kind right now. But I'm willing to trade her to you."
"For what?"
"Christine…if you're willing."
Trade Christine for Gorgeous? While Ronald had just gotten the Plymouth Fury, he had to admit that he was attracted to the Cadillac that wouldn't be seen elsewhere until after the dawn of the Twenty-First Century. But could he really trade her for such a beauty?
Please, do it, thought Brother Correction, hoping that Ronald was impressed by the Cadillac enough to be willing to give up Christine before the car had influenced him enough to want to obsess over her. Please, make the right choice.
"Okay, sir, you got a deal," Ronald expressed, taking out his key to the car. "Thank you."
"You won't regret it," Brother Correction told him, accepting the key. "You treat Gorgeous the same as you treat your wife, what you give, you shall receive in the end one-hundredfold."
-x-
"…And he was right," an aged Ronald told Arnold Cunningham as he prepared to give the boy the key to the Cadillac. "That day, I got more than a great ride. It was a good life."
"Thank you, sir," the boy responded, buying the car for just one-hundred-fifty, a hundred less than what was the intended price.
"You treat Gorgeous the same as you treat your girl, and whatever you give, you shall receive in the end one-hundredfold." Ronald told him, looking over at a picture of his wife, adult daughter and teenage son, his rewards from a good life with Gorgeous instead of Christine.
"Yes, sir," Arnold responded, already feeling good about having the Cadillac that, to this very day, while not looking like it could turn heads because of its beauty, could outdo other cars to this day and was quite the marble.
Where shall we go today, Mr. Cunningham? Arnold heard a female voice ask him in his mind.
I…I guess to Leigh Cabot's house, please, he thought, wondering who he was talking to.
You didn't just pick me, young man. I picked you, too. It's the positive and mutual bond between the driver and car.
It was the car that was speaking to him, and he just put in the key.
Believe in your own self-worth…and good things will happen for you, the Cadillac told him as they drove off.
-x-
Christine was not happy to have been deprived of anyone to obsess over her or desire her more than anything else in existence. No, she wasn't even happy to have bee collected like many of these other lowlives that this dark man gathered and imprisoned for eternity. But try as she might, she couldn't escape her prison cell, a large, glass-like sphere.
"It's hard to get anywhere when you can't touch the ground, Christine," Brother Correction told the car, getting flashed at by her high beams. "Go ahead, vent all you want. You're not going anywhere. You're dangerous…and I can't let anyone or anything dangerous running loose and causing mayhem. Ask the Big, Bad Wolf and gold-crazed Leprechaun."
"Hey!" Several of his imprisoned captives shouted in disgust.
"Why don't you come and say that to my face?" The Leprechaun questioned him.
"No, I'll just let the darkness of Cujo maul you over again," Brother Correction told him, and then watched as the corrupted St. Bernard appeared in his inescapable cell and began to attack the powerless fiend, all the while being watched by evil humans, ghosts, aliens, demons and possessed objects that developed sentience in crazy ways.
Some of them laughed at the fiend as he was tortured without death, but Christine just honked her horn in excess at her inability to run this man over or perform any action that required her wheels on the ground; if she couldn't hurt anyone physically, she could at least harm with an attempt to drive him crazy with noise.
"Give it up, toots," the infamous Charles Manson told the car. "He has eternity to go through with each of us. He ripped a possessed hot tub in half more than once when it thought it could do whatever it liked. We don't get to do whatever we like around him or in his domain."
"Play with me!" The robotic Evolver demanded as Brother Correction turned to leave the massive prison of the worst. "Play with me!"
"Maybe another time," he told him, stopping in front of the prison cells of some Asian men that harmed women he had saved a long time ago, looking wasted. "You can play with these fools if you like."
They acted up and backed away from him, shouting at how much they didn't want to deal with Evolver or any other robotic inmates around there.
"Play with Evolver, run and hide from the Cenobites in their labyrinth, take a ride in Christine…or some other form of torment that promises no freedom," he told them. "Whichever choice made, you…and you…and you…are my prisoners with no paroles unless you can give up hurting people…and I permit you to return to a former life."
But all Christine did was honk her horn more…until it broke.
"You won't die, Christine," he told her, "but your powers of regeneration are no more, so you will waste away as time passes. Your paint job will fade, your engine parts will rust…and your tires will flatten. Welcome to the home of the unwanted, undesired and soon-to-be forgotten. I checked you in…and I won't check you out."
And then he vanished from the prison, and only the eyes of all other, lesser forms of a terrible existence were even looking at the Plymouth Fury that would never know the freedom of any terrain, ever again.
-x-
Taking a peek at the fruits of his work, Brother Correction saw Arnold driving around the town with the girl of his dreams and his best friend in the Cadillac, still wearing his glasses until he could get a prescription for contact lenses, but dressed like the regular people his age, more confident in his self-worth, talking to Leigh and asking her what her future aspirations were and the like. He chuckled at the positive results of changing the situations involving the Plymouth Fury.
If he continues down this new path, he'll be a very happy man when he hands the car over to the next guy that could change for the better, he thought, looking away from the sphere representing the world he took Christine from…and into another sphere, looking for perhaps another possessed car causing trouble for some people. "Ooh, and what do we have here? Cars that aren't cars, but with shape-shifting abilities? Looks like Christine will have company of a similar sort soon."
Fin
A/N: And here is a story that I hope will please some readers that wanted to see something better happen in both the novel and film adaptation. To explain to some, I really admire the car they used in the cancelled APB Fox series, and decided to use it in this. Probably the only story or chapter to be finished on my birthday, too. Peace.
