began to look around and noticed that all the cars at the gas station and driving the streets were classics like his. He saw old Chevy, Pontiac, and Ford cars and trucks like he was at a cruise night somewhere. The houses in the neighborhood on Lincoln Street were also different. The kids that ran the streets wore clothes from the 1950's. Their hairstyles were from the 1950's. Elvis was shocked and wondered again if he had been dreaming. Could it be possible that he was somehow transported back to the 1950's? It had always been his dream, but now that it was his reality – it was disconcerting.
“What the hell?” he said out loud. He fired up a smoke and drove off, leaving the time capsule of Freedom Oil behind. The massive big block engine of his tricked-out Mercury roared.
Now Elvis wondered what he would find when he got home. His parents should still be there. His dad had a race tonight in Fairbury, but they would probably not be leaving for another hour or so. Maybe they could explain what was going on to him? Maybe he would awaken from the dream before he got home?
He barely drove two blocks before a police car sped up quickly behind him and then suddenly the lights and siren turned on. Elvis pulled over and put the car in park.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” he exclaimed, slamming his hand against the dashboard, not wanting to be late to pick up Cindy. She's going to be pissed off, he thought.
His bony fingers nervously tapped the steering wheel as he saw not one but two cops exit the squad car. Both had .38 revolvers drawn! Elvis could feel his pulse quicken, not knowing why the cops would be approaching a simple speeding violation like this. He assumed that's what they were stopping him for.
Only a few feet from the car, one of the cops stopped and crouched, with his gun pointed at Elvis. The other cop stood on the passenger side of the car, his gun also drawn.
“Get out of the car with your hands up!”
Elvis couldn't understand what was going on. He knew they must think he was someone else. He didn't think he did anything wrong at all. Not even speeding! Then he wondered if the old man at the Freedom called the cops, saying he didn't pay for his gas. He knew he didn't pay, despite what the man behind the counter said.
As Elvis got out of the car, the cop closest to him grabbed him forcibly and shoved him up against the car. Careful of the paint job you fucker, he thought.
“Grab the keys Tommy, and let's open the trunk. I don't see anything in the back seat from where I'm standing.”
“What's going on man? I haven't done anything!” Elvis pleaded. Despite the fact it was Friday afternoon at a time when the roads were typically busy, it was eerily quiet. The cicadas were the only noise Elvis could hear right now. They were loud in the trees above.
“Just be quiet son,” said the cop who had him up against the car. His grip was incredibly strong.
The other cop took the keys out of the ignition and opened the trunk. Elvis watched him as the massive trunk popped open.
“Oh Christ! Oh fuck! Sarge, come look!” His mouth was agape. He took a step back, putting a handkerchief up to his nose.
The Sergeant who had a hold on Elvis pulled him toward the rear of the car with the trunk wide open. Inside the trunk were two young women. They were definitely dead, entangled limbs and hollow eyes in distant stares stuffed in the large trunk. One was blonde and wore way too much make-up. She was wearing a red bustier with a short skirt. Both of her shoes were gone. The other was older, brown hair, and glasses. She also had on a short skirt and was only missing one of her high heels. Their skin was a sickly gray color, like they had been dead a while. Elvis didn't know what to think. The world was spinning around him.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” said the Sergeant. “Get on the radio. Tell them we found the two hookers from the 76 truck stop from last night and the sick bastard who killed them.”
Now he threw Elvis face
“What the hell?” he said out loud. He fired up a smoke and drove off, leaving the time capsule of Freedom Oil behind. The massive big block engine of his tricked-out Mercury roared.
Now Elvis wondered what he would find when he got home. His parents should still be there. His dad had a race tonight in Fairbury, but they would probably not be leaving for another hour or so. Maybe they could explain what was going on to him? Maybe he would awaken from the dream before he got home?
He barely drove two blocks before a police car sped up quickly behind him and then suddenly the lights and siren turned on. Elvis pulled over and put the car in park.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” he exclaimed, slamming his hand against the dashboard, not wanting to be late to pick up Cindy. She's going to be pissed off, he thought.
His bony fingers nervously tapped the steering wheel as he saw not one but two cops exit the squad car. Both had .38 revolvers drawn! Elvis could feel his pulse quicken, not knowing why the cops would be approaching a simple speeding violation like this. He assumed that's what they were stopping him for.
Only a few feet from the car, one of the cops stopped and crouched, with his gun pointed at Elvis. The other cop stood on the passenger side of the car, his gun also drawn.
“Get out of the car with your hands up!”
Elvis couldn't understand what was going on. He knew they must think he was someone else. He didn't think he did anything wrong at all. Not even speeding! Then he wondered if the old man at the Freedom called the cops, saying he didn't pay for his gas. He knew he didn't pay, despite what the man behind the counter said.
As Elvis got out of the car, the cop closest to him grabbed him forcibly and shoved him up against the car. Careful of the paint job you fucker, he thought.
“Grab the keys Tommy, and let's open the trunk. I don't see anything in the back seat from where I'm standing.”
“What's going on man? I haven't done anything!” Elvis pleaded. Despite the fact it was Friday afternoon at a time when the roads were typically busy, it was eerily quiet. The cicadas were the only noise Elvis could hear right now. They were loud in the trees above.
“Just be quiet son,” said the cop who had him up against the car. His grip was incredibly strong.
The other cop took the keys out of the ignition and opened the trunk. Elvis watched him as the massive trunk popped open.
“Oh Christ! Oh fuck! Sarge, come look!” His mouth was agape. He took a step back, putting a handkerchief up to his nose.
The Sergeant who had a hold on Elvis pulled him toward the rear of the car with the trunk wide open. Inside the trunk were two young women. They were definitely dead, entangled limbs and hollow eyes in distant stares stuffed in the large trunk. One was blonde and wore way too much make-up. She was wearing a red bustier with a short skirt. Both of her shoes were gone. The other was older, brown hair, and glasses. She also had on a short skirt and was only missing one of her high heels. Their skin was a sickly gray color, like they had been dead a while. Elvis didn't know what to think. The world was spinning around him.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” said the Sergeant. “Get on the radio. Tell them we found the two hookers from the 76 truck stop from last night and the sick bastard who killed them.”
Now he threw Elvis face
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