Caroline

We were going pretty fast when Caroline decided to scare me and thrill me. But even Caroline couldn't know the thrills in store for us.

 

We had been to a party, Caroline and I, and Caroline had finished off a beer or two. Not enough to make her drunk (She always starts crying when she gets drunk.) but enough to make her a little unsteady on her feet. I was sober; I was driving.

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She was wearing a knee-length green skirt and this green sleeveless sweater that she knows drives me crazy. The sweater shows a lot of cleavage, and you could make out the outline of her black bra through the weave. It is also a little short for her, so that it always rides up a bit when she moves, showing a tiny bit of her midriff's skin. Caroline's bare feet (she hated hose) were in sandals and her long red hair lay loose across her shoulders. She wore no jewelry except her rings. She didn't wear makeup. Caroline hated makeup. Caroline didn't need makeup.

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So, anyway, when everyone at the party was getting tired of each other, I got Caroline into our Toyota and headed for home. I should have guessed something then. She leaned on me a bit heavier than I thought she needed to. Not that I minded. I didn't notice that she did not buckle her seat belt.

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It was a pretty long way home. I got the car up onto the interstate, and started to put my brain in that kind of transcendental state you get in when you have a long way to drive late at night.

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Caroline was smiling at me.

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I don't really know how long she sat there, staring at me and smiling, but the look on her face, lit by the glow of the dash, was the look which made my flesh dance on my arms and neck. Funny how she can do that, just looking at me.

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After a second, or a minute, or an hour, Caroline grabbed her stomach with both hands and cried a soft, moaning "Oooooh..." Her expression was confused and a bit frightened.

 

"Caroline, are you all right?" I asked, my head swiveling between her and the road. "Do you want me to pull over?"

 

Then, it was gone, turned off as if it had a switch. Caroline, no longer grasping her stomach, looked at me with that smile of hers and said, "No, don't stop."

 

Then, it was back. Caroline, pulling at her stomach (and working up that incredible sweater), moaned louder as her face wore the mask of someone truly terrified. It was all I could do to remember I was driving on that deserted highway. She began to convulse in her seat, tossing that red hair forward and back, crying out "Oh, no! Oh, no!"

 

Caroline screamed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, her wondrous hair falling behind her in a soft cloud.

 

Suddenly, she stopped screaming, and let out a little sigh. Her eyes rolled back in her head. She said my name in a soft, plaintive voice, almost a whisper. Then, her head fell forward, her hair concealing her face, her hands limp in her lap.

 

I reached over to touch her, the back of her neck, and at my touch she began to slide, ever so slowly, falling limply toward me like a rag doll, until her head rested in my lap. Her left hand lay, palm up, near the gear shift. Her right hand lay on her now bare stomach. She twitched once and then was still.

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My heart beat like a bass drum. I placed a hand on her bare neck, savoring the feel of her. "She's dead," I said. I saw the barest curve of a smile on her face, or was I imagining it?

 

I got off the highway. The road from the highway home is riddled with those little yellow signs warning of dangerous bends. I took them fast, relishing the feel of her as the Toyota's motion moved her back and forth, her head lolling back and forth (as much as I and the steering wheel allowed) and her left arm flopping about. Her face was hot to the touch. Gooseflesh danced on the skin of her arms.

 

I got careless. There's this one turn, about a half mile from home, that you never, ever take at more than 20. It looks innocent enough when you start, but the turn gets sharper as you go along. It is a death trap. I was thinking about what we'd do when we got home. I hit the curve at 30.

 

Caroline told me later she thought I was horsing around. I was not. I felt the back tires slide out from under me and, for the next few seconds, or minutes, or hours, I did not think of Caroline.

 

My car is far too old for anti-lock brakes. I concentrated on engaging and releasing the brake pedal, trying to slow us down and regain control, and at the same time twist the steering wheel to steer out of the skid. Trouble was, the road kept turning at sharper and sharper angles. The car spun nearly 180 degrees around, leaving the pavement and only stopping when the rear fender hit a tree. Fortunately, I had managed to slow the car down enough that the impact only dented the bumper and right rear fender. I didn't even feel the seat belt lock on impact.

 

Caroline didn't move. Was she really hurt? I shook her and shouted, "Caroline! Caroline! Wake up!"

 

She opened her eyes, lifted her head a bit, and looked me full on in the face with angry irritation. She said, "I'm dead, remember?" Then she closed her eyes and dropped back onto my lap with a little sigh.

 

Wanting to cover my moment of concern, I shook her a bit more, saying "Oh, no, not now! Not now!" I took her limp hand (the one which had been on her stomach) and stroked it, "Please, wake up! Caroline, my dear Caroline!" I moaned.

 

I'm nothing like the actor Caroline is, but I think she appreciated the effort. I felt her face begin to heat up on my leg again.

 

I placed her hand down, so that her arm lay across her stomach, opened the car door, unbuckled my seat belt, and got out, carefully laying Caroline's head on the seat. I was just as careful to make sure her long hair fell messily around her. As an afterthought, I reached in, took the hand I had just released, lifted it to my lips and kissed it. Then, I let it fall onto the driver's seat. In the process I had inched that precious green sweater up another little bit. Caroline later told me she knew what I was up to.

 

The flashlight was under Caroline's seat. I walked around and opened her door. I reached in, lifted her legs from under the knees, and let her feet fall onto the ground outside the car door. She rocked back a bit. I slowly leaned over her, placing more and more of my body in contact with hers, until I could reach under the seat and get the flashlight. I then just as slowly got up and flicked on the beam. I took a moment to run the beam up and down her limp body. For a dead woman, her face was certainly flushed. My blood was pumping so hard I could hear it in my ears. I decided I should turn my attention to the car so we could get home as quickly as possible.

 

One more thing, though. By the light of the flashlight, I unbuckled her sandals and removed them, letting her beautiful feet touch the cool early morning grass by the side of the car. I kissed each foot gently, only once, before I set it down. I put the sandals back inside the car. I pretended that I didn't see Caroline's "body" shiver when I stood.

 

By some odd twist of fate, the rear bumper had been bent into the right rear tire, not puncturing it, but pressing in against it. I probably could have bent it back, but then I thought of another option. We were less than half a mile from home, after all.

 

I walked over to Caroline's door, and without warning, reached in, grabbed her arms, and pulled her to a sitting position. As I hoped, her lovely head flopped back and then forward. I leaned forward, put a shoulder against her as low as I could, put my hands under her thighs as far up as I could, and then rocked back, letting her weight carry her onto me. I stood up. She rocked a bit and I could feel her limp arms swing gently against my back.

 

I carried her most of the way home like that, and then bent down and lay her on the soft grass on the side of the empty road. I grabbed her bare feet and dragged her a foot or two, just enough to pleasingly bunch up that knee-length skirt, dampen her hair, skin, and clothes a bit with the dew, stretch those marvelous arms out over her head and work that sweater up as far as it would go. Caroline told me later how incredible it felt to have the cool air and damp grass touch her skin.

 

Again, I examined her with the flashlight (if only I'd had a camera). I knelt down beside her and ran my fingers across the smooth flesh of her stomach. Then I placed a hand below her breast and a hand under her thighs and I lifted her again. Her head fell back and the now-damp hair dangled down. As I walked her arms, her legs, her head swayed limply back and forth.

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Then, we were home. I started to just lay her down by the front door while I got my keys, but then I thought better of it. Instead, I posed her sitting there by the door, her head drooped forward, her hands at her sides, her legs together. I fiddled with the position quite a while, adjusting her clothes, her hands, her hair. Then, I opened the door and went in.

 

In a moment, I was back with the video camera. I muttered, "Now one for the video collection," so that Caroline would know what was going on, and I walked around her photographing her from every angle I could.

 

Then, I paused the tape and said, "Caroline, I know you're dead and all, but would you mind slowly sliding down the wall, like you did in the car? For the video," and I started the tape. And Caroline slowly slipped down the wall until she lay again on her side. It was hard to hold the camera steady.

 

I stopped the tape, set the camera inside, and walked back out to where Caroline lay. I lifted her under her arms and began to drag her into the house.

 

When I had half pulled her through the door, the friction from the carpet pulled at the waste of Caroline's skirt. I set her down, undid the skirt's button, picked her back up under her arms and pulled her the rest of the way in, leaving her skirt in the door. Her black panties and smooth legs were all I saw for a minute. Then, I walked to the door, gathered the skirt, and locked us in. I got the camera, made another long pan over her lovely body and her long legs, and then set it on the coffee table, aiming it so that it would catch what would come next.

 

I pulled Caroline's miracle sweater up over her head, her arms coming limply along, until she fell back on the carpet. I turned her over onto her stomach and kissed the back of her neck, her shoulders, the small of her back. I undid the hooks on her black bra, and kissed the skin beneath.

 

Caroline would hate me if I told you much more.

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Copyright 2001 DPsleepy.

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