Christine was eating into his mind, burrowing into his unconscious. " That night I had a dream again, only in this one Christine was old - no, not just old ; she was ancient, a terrible hulk of a car, something you'd expect to see in a Tarot pack ; instead of the Hanged Man, the Death Car... The engine roared and hissed, and jetted filthy blue oilsmoke. " Christine, blood-red, fat, and finned, was twenty.
Her promise lay all in her past. Greedy and big, she was Arnie's obsession, a '58 Plymouth Fury. Broken doiwn but not finished. There was still power in her - a frightening power that leaked like sump oil, staining and corrupting. A malign power that corroded the mind and turned ownership into Possession.