Christine Rides Again Chapter 5 Hit and Run, a christine fanfic

Luck seemed to be on his side for once. Tuesday passed in a blur, and Dennis had managed to avoid Leigh pretty easily despite the few classes they shared together. Being the last one in the room and the first one out had proven effective. By lunch time on Wednesday, he was ninety percent certain that he'd be able to make it through another day without running into her. Though he was also certain that she had caught on to his avoidance, and would probably make it harder for him to do so.

With his mind clouded by many unwelcome thoughts, he grabbed the brown paper bag containing his lunch from his locker and headed out to the bleachers. Every day, five days a week, he and Arnie would come and sit there during the lunch hour. It was the safest place to eat without being harassed by Buddy Repperton and his goone squad. As if it weren't empty enough without Arnie, the school felt even stranger without its regular bullies. He took a seat on the fifth row up and set the bag down beside him, looking out at the field that was full of players practicing for the final game before exams started.

If it weren't for almost being paralyzed from the waist down, he would have been among them. Since his accident, he hadn't thought much about a new career path. Part of him didn't want to, because it would only add to the reality that had become of his life. It was his own fault, really. He'd known the dangers of getting distracted, but just couldn't help himself when he saw Arnie and Leigh together, and Christine too. One mistake, and it had cost him the future he'd spent his life, since he'd been old enough to throw a ball, working towards. Another weight of the aftermath of that damned car.

The junkyard of Darnell's garage remained in its seemingly permanent state of abandonment. Heaps upon heaps of scrap metal, worn down car parts and tyres took up almost the entire vicinity, except for the dirt road that led up to the recently rusted, chain-locked shuttered entrance to the garage itself. The entire place had been still since that night, apart from the brisk visit made by Dennis and Leigh, it was as dead as Arnie himself. Except for the one thing there that was alive;

A 1958, autumn red Plymouth Fury.

Christine remained in the junkyard in the exact same spot she had been dumped in after being crushed. She no longer resembled a car, and her best days seemed to be long behind her, having been reduced to nothing but a compressed cube of faded red and rusted silver. Her once shining paint had become dull, more grey than red, and flaked in places, leaving traces of red on the dirt around her. Everything that she had fixed when she was asked was now broken again, and had remained that way for almost the entire month. She had lost her spark the night that Arnie had been stolen from her by them.

Arnold Cunningham. The sweet, shy and sensitive senior that had stumbled across her in a condition only slightly less worse than she was in now, and had fallen in love with her regardless of how many people tried to tell him otherwise. He had remained loyal until the very end. It was them, the shitters, that had ruined everything. No one came between the two of them, and because they couldn't they had forced her to kill him.

A strong wind swept through the abandoned yard, howling against the broken windows of the garage and causing the rustle of fallen dead leaves in its wake. Christine's crushed frame creaked against the pressure of the wind, but as it faded to a gentle breeze, her movement didn't cease. The cube began to unfold slowly, the creases began to iron out until she was once again the shape of a car. Shattered glass reformed into the windshield, flattened tires became round again and plump with air, and as her grille expanded across her front, the rust disappeared and the red and white paint shone once again. In a matter of minutes, she was fully restored with no trace that she had ever been crushed to begin with. Not even a scratch. Her engine was the last thing to repair itself, and the second the final dent was ironed out, she gave a roar as she came to life which simmered down quickly into a nearly silent whirring noise.

Christine was once again, a 1958 Plymouth Fury, and she was furious.

Dirt crunched under her tires as she crept across the junkyard and her movements were silenced by the asphalt that she had rolled out onto. There were a few names on her list, but she would get to them later. For now, she had other plans.

'Baggy trousers, dirty shirt, pulling hair and eating dirt, teacher comes to break it up. Bang on the head with a plastic cup!'

Mr Guilder drummed on the steering wheel to the Madness hit as he pulled up at a stop sign. He had finished up his out of town job earlier than he had expected, and couldn't wait to surprise his family with his early arrival. A wide grin spread across his face as he turned the volume dial up just a little more, and belted out the chorus of the song as he pulled onto the next road.

'Oh what fun we had, but did it really turn out bad, all I learnt at school was how to turn up and break the rules. Oh, what fun we had, but at the time it seemed so bad, trying different ways to make a difference to the days.'

As the song came to an end, Mr Guilder took the cassette tape out and opened up the glove compartment, picked out another tape at random and shoved it into the waiting mouth of the player. His eyes had left the road for a mere second, but when they returned they widened in horror and with a flick of his wrist, he turned the wheel and the car swerved, narrowly avoiding a collision with an oncoming vehicle.

"Stick to your side of the road, wanker!" He yelled as he slammed on the brakes to stop the car from flying off the road.

His heart was already in his throat when the car came to a screeching halt, and he let his head fall back against the headrest, taking quick deep breaths to recompose himself. He shifted in his seat and then forced his eyes on the road ahead, ready to get moving again.

"No, it can't be…"

Mr Guilder froze. Everything inside him was screaming at him to start the car and drive away as fast as he could, but he simply couldn't move. Fear had taken over, gluing him to the spot as he stared ahead at the bright red and blinding white of a '58 Plymouth Fury. If it moved, it would collide head on with his old station wagon. The roar of the car's engine was followed by the screeching of its tires on the asphalt and it came at him at full speed, like an angry bull, with the intent to destroy. Before he could move, the hood of the Fury and the hood of the wagon had collided, trapping him between the wheel and the driver's seat.

'Bye bye, miss American pie, drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry. And them good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye, singing "This'll be the day that I die". This'll be the day that I die.'

Christine reversed, her entire grille and hood having taken immense damage, and then the whirring of the engine sounded again and she sped forward across the asphalt, smashing into the station wagon again. The sound of several bones cracking at once cut through the music that was still playing, and blood sputtered from Mr Guilder's mouth as he wheeled for breath that his position didn't allow him to take. Christine reversed again, and he could only watch, bleary-eyed, as she made one final charge. This time the impact caused the wagon to fold, now only half the size it had been, and the already shattered windscreen exploded, showering him with shards of glass. With one last attempt at breathing, his head fell forward and his chin rested upon his chest, and the last thing he saw was the Plymouth Fury, ramming into him again, crushing him like a bug.

Only once his last breath rattled through his body, did Christine retreat. All the damage she had sustained during the attack was beginning to repair itself, and after a minute spent driving with her grille dragging along the road with a sound like nails on a chalkboard, it was as though there was never any damage to begin with. She disappeared around the corner, and back in the direction that would lead to Darnell's garage, leaving Mr Guilder in a growing pool of his own blood. His entire body from the chest down had been crushed, all the broken bones pierced through vital organs, and his life stolen.

Dennis drew in a shaky breath as he closed his locker. Classes had finished, and the practice test with them, and he had managed to avoid Leigh for the remainder of the day. All that was left to get safely to his car without her seeing him. The uneasy feelings had been coming and going all day, and he'd managed to ignore them without an issue, but as the school day was coming to an end, it was getting harder, and by the time he reached his blue Duster, he fell completely off balance. Everything from the grey clouds in the sky to the cawing of crows in the trees sent chills down his spine. He fumbled with the car keys, trying to get it in the lock despite his quivering hand. After several unsuccessful attempts, he managed to unlock the car and he'd just about opened the door when his name was spoken from behind him. Dennis gulped, and turned around partially to see Leigh, with her arms wrapped around herself. The keys slipped from his hands and landed on the ground with a small chinking sound, and he bent quickly to pick them up, smacking his head against the open door and falling back into the driver's seat.

"Dennis?"

"I'm fine, Leigh."

Leigh bit the inside of her cheek, and she bent down to pick up the keys, hesitantly handing them back to him. He took them, being careful not to touch her hand, and muttered a small thank you. Worried that he would drive away, she stepped forward before he could close the door and leaned against it, trying to think of the right thing to say.

"Why are you avoiding me?" She blurted before she could stop herself.

"I'm not-" He started to lie, then stopped and didn't bother to finish. "Are you playing me right now?"

"No, I'm not." She insisted. "You're the one who's been acting weird since we kissed, and you were the one who asked me to make the move, I don't understand."

"You've got to be joking, how can you not understand?"

"Because you're obviously not telling me anything, just avoiding me after your weird behaviour."

"It's not weird." He denied.

"Yeah, it is. How many people do you know ask to be kissed then spend the night alone in the bathroom when it happens?"

"I was sick!"

"Sure you were. I didn't hear any retching, and I was awake at least half of the night."

Dennis sighed, knowing that the longer they remained there talking, the harder it would be to keep coming up with excuses. That, and he couldn't avoid her forever. She didn't make it easy. He still couldn't decide if her confusion was genuine or if she was really good at acting, but there was only one way he would find out.

"Jump in, I'll give you a lift home and maybe… we can talk. Just not here, okay?"

"Why should I when you've been avoiding me?"

"Because you asked me a question and I said I'll answer it, but not in the middle of the school parking lot."

"Well…" Leigh considered it. "My parents won't be home until Friday, so I think that should give us enough privacy." She concluded, then hurried around to the passenger side.

Dennis slammed the driver's door shut and waited until Leigh was seated beside him before twisting the key in the ignition and setting off on the road. The silence between them was almost too much to bear, and glancing down for a split second, he pressed a button and the radio came on.

'A long, long time ago, I can still remember how that music used to make me smile. And I knew if I had my chance that I could make those people dance. And maybe they'd be happy for a while.'

The knot that had been in his stomach all day clenched tighter, and he found the music to be more unsettling than soothing. It seemed irrational, but the silence had been a better option, and he quickly switched the radio off. Leigh shot him a questioning look that didn't go unnoticed as he fixed his eyes back on the road.

"Not a favourite of mine." He answered before she bothered to ask. Though he wasn't sure why he'd gone with that excuse since the song didn't bother him; he neither liked nor disliked it. He had done a lot of things in the past couple of days that could be considered odd, and this was just another rung on the ladder of insanity.

"I thought that's why different stations existed." She teased lightly.

Dennis didn't laugh, and he didn't smile. His lips remained in a firm line and his eyes kept on the road ahead. She didn't bother to try and make any more conversation on the drive to her home, and it was only once the front door was shut behind her and they were both seated at the dining table that he decided to speak.

"Right, there's no one around. So, tell me and be honest; are you playing me?"

"You already asked me that, and I already told you the answer. No. I'm not playing you, and I have no idea why you would think that."

"I feel like I'm nothing to you, nothing but the plan b, since you can't have who you really want."

"You're being ridiculous." She scoffed. "After everything that has happened, you should know that's not true."

"Then why did you-" Dennis stopped. He wasn't about to give away his reasons for avoiding her, it would make it too easy for her to lie. "Do you really not know what you said?"

"Clearly I don't, and I don't understand why you won't just tell me."

"Because if I told you then it puts you in a position to lie to me and I wouldn't be able to tell what was true and what wasn't."

"I can't believe you think I would lie to you, how shallow do you think I-"

Leigh's rant was cut short by the loud ring of the telephone, but that didn't stop her from glaring at him as she got up and went to answer it. Dennis propped his head up in hands with his elbows planted firmly on the wooden table. He was beginning to think that coming back here was a mistake.

"Certainly… I understand… no, he's here… yes, I'll get him for you…"

His eyes fell on Leigh as she turned to him, with one hand over the speaker of the phone, and a look on her face that had his heart already pounding before he knew what she had to say.

"What is it?" He asked, the air around him thinning by the second.

"It's your mom, she wants to speak to you." She answered, wearily holding out the phone.

"Did she say why? Seems odd to be calling, she usually-"

"It's bad news." Leigh cut in.

Dennis got up, the chair legs scraping against the floor as he did, and hurried to take the phone from her hand. He waited until she'd sat back down at the table before putting it to his ear. His heart was beating a mile a minute, and no matter how many times he swallowed, he couldn't rid himself of the lump that had formed in his throat as he heard his mother's distraught voice on the other end of the line.

"M- mom?"

"It's your dad… he- he was on his way home from work earlier this lunch time and there- there was a hit and run accident. He uh- he didn't make it."

His mother continued to ramble on about police and something about the state of the family's station wagon, but he didn't hear much after 'he didn't make it' as a loud ringing in his ears began to drown out every other sound, including her voice. The air around him seemed to grow thinner with each passing second, making it harder to breathe. He barely noticed his grip on the phone loosening until it slipped from his hand and hung in mid-air, with only the cord stopping it from hitting the floor. She hadn't uttered a word about the other car involved, but she didn't need to. It wasn't confirmed, somehow he just knew that it involved a custom autumn red '58 Plymouth Fury.

"Dennis… Dennis…"

Despite his mother's voice on the other end, he made no move to grab the phone again. Instead, his hand moved to his heaving chest and pulled at the neckline of his t-shirt. It took him longer than it should have to realize that he was hyperventilating. Short, shallow gasps for air replaced the steady breaths that he'd maintained the entire time he'd been there, and his legs shook before giving way under his weight, causing him to drop to his knees. Leigh hesitated, then picked the phone back up, and spoke into it as she glanced down at him.

"Hello?... Yes, he's still here… yes, I'll ensure he doesn't drive just yet… no, he should go home… yes, I'll give you a call when he leaves… okay, bye."

Dennis barely registered when she put the phone down and knelt beside him. The kitchen was suddenly hotter than it had been only minutes ago, and he shed his jacket quickly, discarding on the floor beside him. He couldn't breathe, and he couldn't think. Only one thought remained;

Christine was alive, and she had killed his father.

"She killed him." He managed at last.

"What? Who?"

"My dad…" He began. "He was killed in a hit and run at lunchtime today."

"Oh Dennis, that's awful… I'm sorry-"

"It was Christine." He added through gritted teeth.

"Don't be silly, Christine was destroyed. We've seen her with our own eyes. Twice."

"No." He shook his head, drawing in a deep, heavy breath. "It was her. I know it."

"You're letting your mind go crazy with grief, and I get it, I do, but this wasn't Christine. There are thousands of hit and run accidents all over the place throughout every year. There's always a drunk driver, someone asleep at the wheel or-"

"This wasn't a drunk driver, or someone who dozed off at the wheel, Leigh. I'm telling you… I can feel it. I've been feeling it since Arnie's funeral." He paused, and his eyes darkened as he thought it over. "Christine killed my father, and she's not going to stop there."

"You're being silly, you're upset and rightfully so, but coming up with all these conspiracies isn't healthy."

"It was Christine. Yes, I'm upset but I have this feeling and until today it was manageable, and I've been struggling with it all day. I couldn't figure out why but… that feeling is stronger than it ever was right now."

Leigh's eyes flashed with sympathy, and she placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay. Just take a breather, I'll make some food and make sure you're good to drive home." She offered.

"I'm not hungry." He refused.

"Okay, well at least have some water."

"I don't want any water either."

"You can't go without, you'll dehydrate and get sick again."

"Not like it'll matter when Christine catches up with me."

"She's not-" Leigh bit her tongue, not wanting to be too harsh or say something she'd end up regretting. "I know you're hurting, but you need to pull yourself together. Going to see her the other night hasn't helped at all. You should really see someone before your PTSD gets even more out of hand."

Dennis raised his head and his glassy eyes met hers, filled with a silent plea, begging her to believe him. Though through everything he was feeling, he knew that she already thought that he'd lost the plot. Maybe he had. Christine was gone. He'd seen her crushed form with his own two eyes, and he still struggled to believe it. Arnie had been obsessed with her, and he feared that he was becoming equally as obsessed with her. He didn't love her, as Arnie had, he hated her. A hate that was deep seated and had been from the moment he'd laid eyes upon her.

"You don't believe me, you think I'm losing my mind."

"No, I-"

"Maybe I am." He added. "Maybe I am just as crazy as Arnie, or worse. I don't know anymore."

"You're not crazy, I just think that Chris- that car, had a heavy impact on us and we're both struggling with that trauma… perhaps you a little more than me."

"That's just a nice way of saying crazy." He choked. "It's the same no matter how you say it." He added, biting his bottom lip as it trembled and gave way to heavy sobs.

"I'm not calling you crazy, Dennis." She insisted helplessly, but he didn't seem to hear or care if he had.

Leigh hung her head, not knowing what to do. It seemed like a bad idea to push further on the subject of Christine, and there wasn't much else she could say. She could express sympathy, tell him how good of a person his dad was and how much he was loved by him, but he already knew all of those things and with the news so fresh, they were likely to do more harm than provide any shred of comfort. As the minutes ticked by, his cries didn't lessen, and increased instead. He continued to choke on the floods of tears that were being shed, and the ragged breaths continued, making it hard to breathe.

"That's it, I'm going to get you some water." She decided, getting to her feet and shuffling over to the kitchen counter.

Dennis paused for a moment, closed his burning eyes and drew in a deep breath. Then another, recomposing himself. His head started to pound in time with his heart, and he felt the start of a splitting headache coming on. Leigh returned to him quickly, with a glass of water held out, which he took and nodded a thanks. He drank only half before he handed it back to her.

"I… I gotta go." He said hoarsely.

"Oh, but are you sure you're okay to drive?"

"Guess you'll find out when you show up at school tomorrow. I may or may not be there, I guess Christine will decide that."

"Don't say that." She scolded. "Christine is gone."

"I should be able to believe that after everything we've seen, but I just can't." He shrugged. "Goodnight, Leigh."

"But you-"

He didn't wait for her to finish. If he heard one more word about Christine, it would push him over the edge. His mind was already clouded by fear, and now grief and anger too. The driver's side door to the Duster let out a loud squeak as he opened it, drilling right through his aching head, but he didn't linger, and as soon as the engine purred into life, he hit the road. He should have headed straight home, but he wasn't ready to deal with his mother and sister just yet, as harsh as it sounded. There was one place he needed to return to before he went home, and if it didn't ease his mind, then nothing would.