Date: Mon, 11 Dec 1995 17:06:19 -0600 From: "Sharon S. Scott" Subject: Caddy Challenge A short one for the "Name the Caddy" challenge. ********************************* What Did You Do To The Car, Daddy? by Sharon S. Scott He uttered a few ripe Brabantian curses, then got out of the car, walked around to the front end, and opened the hood. He'd remembered to put antifreeze in it before winter started, and he'd used the right weight oil last time he'd changed it. Nothing seemed out of place; the battery was almost new; the cables weren't loose or corroded; and he got a spark when he touched the pliers to the terminals. So why the hell wouldn't it start? He checked the fuses. He got back in and tried to start it again. Nothing. Not even a click. Maybe it was the ignition switch. Or the solenoid. He didn't have time for this. He was already late for his shift. He'd have to fly. He *hated* flying in snowstorms. Even vampire skin felt flayed when hit by snow crystals at high velocity. He locked the car, cursing again, and looked up at the sky, readying himself. "Nicolas." Where did that come from? It sounded like LaCroix's voice. "Don't go, Nicolas." It *was* LaCroix's voice, but it seemed to be coming from the grille of the Caddy. "You cannot leave me, Nicolas." It *was* coming from the grille of the car. "Okay, you've had your fun, LaCroix, now let me be. I'm late to work." He looked back up at the sky, in preparation for takeoff. The headlights blinked once, twice, three times. "I'm ignoring you, LaCroix." He stared daggers at the car. The horn honked, and honked, and kept honking. "Okay, okay, stop that! You'll wake up the dead!" The horn stopped. "What do you want?" "Stay with me, Nicolas," the voice wheedled. "Give me one good reason." "I love you," the voice purred. "You can't "love" me. You're a car, for Chrissakes." "Oh, but I do. I may be a hunk of cold metal, but I have feelings." Nick shook his head, took two steps back, and stared at the car. "Who are you?" "Nicolas, you know who I am. I'm Lucius." Great. It wasn't enough that LaCroix himself wouldn't leave him alone, now the car was torturing him, too. He thought a moment, then stepped closer to the car, put his hands on the grille, and looked deeply into the headlights. "Listen to me. You are not Lucius." "But I am!" "You are not. You are a 1962 Cadillac. You are not a Roman general. You cannot speak. You have no feelings for me or for anyone else. You are a car." "I ... am ... a ... 1962 ... Cadillac ... I ... am ... not ... a ... Roman ... general ... I ... do ... not ... feel ... I ... cannot ... I ... cannnot ... " "Good. When I snap my fingers, you will be only a car again. You will start, and we will *never* go through this fantasy again." No response from the car. "You *will* start. Do you hear me?" He put all his hypnotic powers to bear on the car, then snapped his fingers. No response from the car. He sighed, got out his keys, and unlocked the driver's door. Crossing his fingers, he put the key in the ignition and turned it. The car made a clicking sound, then a grinding noise, and then the engine sprang to life. Soon the motor was purring more smoothly than it had been in years, and he shifted into "Drive" and slowly took off, trying not to spin the tires in the ice and snow. The car got him safely to the precinct car park, and he wheeled carefully into his usual place. He shifted into "Park" and turned the motor off, then got out and caressed the hood. He murmured, "Good girl, Alexandra," and went in to work. ******************************* Scottie scotts@baylor.edu or sss44@aol.com