Chapter 2 - Disappearance
By noon the next morning I had already showered and gotten dressed. I
checked out of the motel and got back on the road. It wasn't long before I
came to McKeesport and began the search for the junkyard. With the help of
a man at a bus stop, I got directions and arrived at the junkyard around
12:45. When I got there, there wasn't a soul in sight. However, there was
an office with traces that the scrapyard was still in use. I began to look
around the hundreds of wrecked cars in the automobile graveyard, but most
of these were recent models. The oldest car I saw was a '71 Cougar with the
front smashed in. The junkyard gave off a weird vibe, like there were
thousands of eyes watching my every move. Finally, I found where the owner
kept the cubed cars. I was about to search for the Plymouth when I heard a
yell from behind.
"Hey, you! Stop right there!" screamed the owner. He was a middle-aged man wearing dirty overalls, an oil-covered t-shirt and a tattered trucker's hat.
"Junkyard's closed, get out!"
"Listen, I'm not here for parts, I need your help with something. About four years ago, a red '58 Fury was crushed into a box here, I need you to tell me where it is."
"Do you think I remember every damn car that comes in here? The only cars I keep track of are the ones in one or two pieces, like the wrecks out in the field."
"A State Inspector came here to have this car destroyed, it was a vintage 1958 Plymouth Fury in red. It was custom ordered, the only red one ever made. I really need your help."
"Well, there was an old cube that was stolen the other day. It's been here for a while, and the color was red. It might've been the car you're lookin' for, but I'll be damned if I ever see it again."
The junkman showed me the spot where he had it, it was a couple feet away from the rest of the cubes. In the dirt next to where the cube was, there was a set of tire tracks.
"These tracks here are probably from the pickup or whatever they used to get away in, but I don't understand why anybody would want to steal a crushed car."
The junkman continued to look around while I knelt down to study the treads and noticed something. There were two sets of tracks, one was from the junkman's tow-truck and the other from the mystery vehicle. The tow-truck's tires were much wider than the ones on the thieves' car, so it was easy to tell them apart. Then, something caught my eye. The mystery car only had tracks going out of the junkyard, but none coming in. It's like the pickup appeared out of thin air, or it was stolen from the junkyard as well as the cube. That possibility was deleted from my mind after I realized that there wasn't a single working car in this place except for the tow-truck. I asked the junkman to take a closer look at the tread-marks and try to see if he knew what kind of tires were on the car.
"Well, by the looks of these, I'd say it was a classic, or someone that likes reproduction antique tires. They don't make treads like these anymore, these are off somethin' really old."
I finally figured out what the hell happened, I was astonished. It happened again. Back when I tried to destroy Christine with Leigh, I discovered it was virtually impossible. As the car came along side of Petunia(the septic- tank cleaner I was driving), I couldn't believe my eyes when I looked at Christine's front end. Most of it was badly damaged and the hood was torn off, but as it sped by, a new hood was forming. It was appearing out of thin air, as well as the bumper and several pieces of glass from the headlights and windshield. Although I only caught a five-second glimpse at this sight, I will never forget it. So Christine reformed herself from the steel cube and escaped the junkyard, good as new. Sandy Galton and Mercer were murdered by Christine, piloted by the ghost of Roland D. Lebay. I didn't know where to go next, I didn't even want to know. I just wanted to go back to Ohio and get on with my life and try to forget this whole trip. But I couldn't forget it, it might be coming after me. I didn't know what the hell to do, if I stayed here I didn't have a trace of Christine's whereabouts. If I left, I could put myself in danger. I checked into another motel and dozed off to sleep, confused and alone.
"Hey, you! Stop right there!" screamed the owner. He was a middle-aged man wearing dirty overalls, an oil-covered t-shirt and a tattered trucker's hat.
"Junkyard's closed, get out!"
"Listen, I'm not here for parts, I need your help with something. About four years ago, a red '58 Fury was crushed into a box here, I need you to tell me where it is."
"Do you think I remember every damn car that comes in here? The only cars I keep track of are the ones in one or two pieces, like the wrecks out in the field."
"A State Inspector came here to have this car destroyed, it was a vintage 1958 Plymouth Fury in red. It was custom ordered, the only red one ever made. I really need your help."
"Well, there was an old cube that was stolen the other day. It's been here for a while, and the color was red. It might've been the car you're lookin' for, but I'll be damned if I ever see it again."
The junkman showed me the spot where he had it, it was a couple feet away from the rest of the cubes. In the dirt next to where the cube was, there was a set of tire tracks.
"These tracks here are probably from the pickup or whatever they used to get away in, but I don't understand why anybody would want to steal a crushed car."
The junkman continued to look around while I knelt down to study the treads and noticed something. There were two sets of tracks, one was from the junkman's tow-truck and the other from the mystery vehicle. The tow-truck's tires were much wider than the ones on the thieves' car, so it was easy to tell them apart. Then, something caught my eye. The mystery car only had tracks going out of the junkyard, but none coming in. It's like the pickup appeared out of thin air, or it was stolen from the junkyard as well as the cube. That possibility was deleted from my mind after I realized that there wasn't a single working car in this place except for the tow-truck. I asked the junkman to take a closer look at the tread-marks and try to see if he knew what kind of tires were on the car.
"Well, by the looks of these, I'd say it was a classic, or someone that likes reproduction antique tires. They don't make treads like these anymore, these are off somethin' really old."
I finally figured out what the hell happened, I was astonished. It happened again. Back when I tried to destroy Christine with Leigh, I discovered it was virtually impossible. As the car came along side of Petunia(the septic- tank cleaner I was driving), I couldn't believe my eyes when I looked at Christine's front end. Most of it was badly damaged and the hood was torn off, but as it sped by, a new hood was forming. It was appearing out of thin air, as well as the bumper and several pieces of glass from the headlights and windshield. Although I only caught a five-second glimpse at this sight, I will never forget it. So Christine reformed herself from the steel cube and escaped the junkyard, good as new. Sandy Galton and Mercer were murdered by Christine, piloted by the ghost of Roland D. Lebay. I didn't know where to go next, I didn't even want to know. I just wanted to go back to Ohio and get on with my life and try to forget this whole trip. But I couldn't forget it, it might be coming after me. I didn't know what the hell to do, if I stayed here I didn't have a trace of Christine's whereabouts. If I left, I could put myself in danger. I checked into another motel and dozed off to sleep, confused and alone.