Hello. A reader requested that I write an epilogue to Sic Transit Hicks showing how the townspeople (townscars?) reacted to the two deaths. Even though the story is over from Chick’s perspective, I thought I would comply. What you are about to read begins at the same time Chick is going through his “nightmare ride.” The scene opens with Sheriff standing on the butte…

BTW- I do not own Cars, or any of the characters in this story. Pixar owns them all, and I do not claim them as my own. I am merely borrowing them and have only the best of intentions towards their creators.

Sheriff sat silently on top of the butte, gazing down at the wreckage. In the pale moonlight the body was barely recognizable; but a twisted, bent spoiler and a few patches of blue paint amidst the charred metal provided the identity of the victim.

The King and his wife had visited Radiator Springs often in the past few months. Sheriff had grown to know them both well. He had liked the King quite a bit. It was rare that a car could be so famous and yet so humble, so successful and yet so down-to-earth. Sheriff closed his eyes, blocking out the terrible sight. This was why he had left the city all those years ago- to get away from scenes like this. Pay was better in the city and opportunities for advancement more frequent, but a city cop had to face tragedy and crime on a daily basis. Most city cops quickly learned to distance themselves. Professional detachment, they called it. They learned not to care. Sheriff couldn’t seem to do that. Not caring wasn’t something he did well. So he had returned to Radiator Springs, the little town he grew up in. A place where the residents cared about each other, crime was almost non-existent, and serious accidents were very rare.

But now the carnage of the city had followed him home.

He closed his eyes. The night was warm, but he trembled. Professional detachment be damned. He began to cry. He was sorry, so very sorry, that such a terrible thing had happened to such a good car.

As he struggled to collect himself, Sheriff glanced down. The moon illuminated dark streaks on the ground- skid marks. With a sense of mounting dread, Sheriff pondered what that might mean. The whole situation seemed wrong. The King accidentally driving off a cliff on a bright moonlit night? Unlikely. These skid marks hinted at an answer that chilled him to his frame. Such an answer was unthinkable, yet he was seeing the evidence with his own eyes. Could there be a killer in Radiator Springs?

Feeling cold and sick and very, very sad, Sheriff turned to drive down the butte. The night stretched out ahead of him, full of all the terrible things he had to do. He had to find Doc, had to figure out a way to recover the body (that wouldn’t be easy), and had to secure what was very possibly a crime scene. And, worst of all, he had to find a way to tell the King’s wife.

He was the Sheriff. The responsibility fell on him. With a heavy heart, he set out to find Doc.

Lynda Weathers looked at the clock. Its face showed that only three minutes had passed since she’d last looked. Once again, she told herself that her husband was fine. Maybe he had blown a tire on one of Radiator Springs’ backroads. Maybe he had simply gotten lost. He’d probably be back any minute, apologizing, wearing his sheepish smile. She could picture that smile, the grin he wore when he knew he’d done something wrong. When he smiled at her like that it was impossible to stay angry.

He gave a similar smile to her when his fans were being especially demanding. He’d be surrounded by admiring cars, each jockeying for an autograph or photo, and would suddenly catch her eye and flash her that smile.

“Oh gee,” it said. “What can you do?”

The look was more than a mere apology at these times. It was his way of checking in with her, of silently asking if it was ok, if she didn’t mind waiting. The King loved his fans, but he put her first. If she needed him, he would excuse himself from the admiring throng and follow her away. She usually didn’t mind the fans though- it made her proud that her husband was so popular. And for his part, he knew that just an autograph or a friendly word could make a fan’s day. He sometimes had whole conversations with strangers who came to see him on the track. In fact, she thought, maybe that was what was happening now. They were in Radiator Springs, after all, and even though it was off-season there were probably tourists about who idolized her husband. He could be passing the time with some of them, not realizing how late it was getting.

Although it wasn’t like him to let her worry…

As much as she tried to rationalize things, Lynda was scared. She was, in fact, scared out of all proportion of what was happening. She was the wife of a racer. Every race was potentially life-threatening. Both she and her husband knew the danger. Lynda had been in the stands when Junior’s father, the Intimidator, had been killed. She knew what could happen to a car. Strip’s last crash, by far his worst, had been terrifying for both of them.

But he was retired now. They could look forward to a peaceful life, just growing old together. The danger was past.

So why did she feel so afraid?

This was Radiator Springs, after all. A safe place. Cars didn’t go around speeding like they did on the freeways in the city. Sheriff saw to that. Her heart warmed for a moment, thinking of the tough old cop she had befriended. Accidents here were rare, and her husband was a careful driver. Everyone in town was friendly and law-abiding. What possible danger was there?

All of this made perfect sense, but her fear and uneasiness did not go away. She glanced again at the clock. Ten minutes had passed.

This was very hard. She thought about going to find the hotel’s owner, that sweet Porsche Sally, and passing the time with her. It would be better than sitting in this room alone. But Sally was probably asleep, and Lynda did not want to wake her. So she was alone with her worries.

To distract herself (as if that were possible) Lynda took inventory of the happiest moments of her life. They all included Strip, she realized. Their wedding. His first Piston Cup win. Their first kiss, shared in front of a movie screen as they cuddled together watching a scary movie. That moment, way back in high school, when she realized that this gorgeous, sweet, beautiful car was actually interested in her. Lynda smiled, lost in the memory for a few moments…

Their parents were away. Matthew, Lynda’s brother, was having one of his parties.

“You better not tell Mom,” he sneered, knowing full well she wouldn’t dare. Matthew would make her life a living hell if she ever did.

She’d sat in her room, listening to the loud music and the voices which grew louder and louder as the gasohol flowed freely. Her brother wouldn’t begrudge her some, but getting drunk with a bunch of his friends didn’t appeal to her. They would probably just make fun of her anyway.

So she sat, quiet and lonely, until a sudden knock on the door made her jump. She was surprised to see Strip Weathers nose his way into the room.

“The bathroom’s across the hall,” she said.

He just smiled. It was sweet, unguarded smile, far from the drunken leer she would have expected from one of Matthew’s friends.

“That’s ok. I’m good.” There was a short pause. A loud round of drunken laughter echoed from down the hall.

“My name’s Strip.” He said.

”I know.” He was a junior; she was a freshman. His good looks had attracted the attention of her and her friends, but none of them had been brave enough to actually talk to him.

“Well, that puts me at a disadvantage,” he said, still smiling. “Here you know me, but I don’t know you.”

Lynda gave a shy smile. “I’m Lynda.”

“You’re Matthew’s little sister?”

She nodded.

“Well, that must be somethin’. Having to put up with him on a daily basis.”

He said it with no trace of malice whatsoever. Still, she said, “You are at his party. So that’s not nice.”

Strip dropped his eyes, looking embarrassed and a little ashamed. His awkwardness made her like him immensely.

“It’s ok,” she said, letting him off the hook. “He is pretty hard to deal with sometimes.”

Strip met her eyes and gave a weak smile. She suddenly wanted to nuzzle him, to cuddle up to him and take away any trace of embarrassment he might be feeling.

“So what are you doing sitting in here all alone?” he asked.

“I’m not really into these parties,” she said. This was the moment he would turn and drive away, she knew. Just as soon as he realized she wasn’t ‘cool.’

He surprised her.

“You know somethin’? Just between us, I hate ‘em too. It’s just watching a bunch of cars get drunk ‘til they’re sick. I never come to these. Tonight, I don’t know. I guess I just wanted ta get out of the house.”

“I know what that’s like,” she said.

They regarded each other for a minute.

Then he cleared his throat. “Um…I guess I should get going.” He started to turn.

“Wait!”

He stopped.

“You can stay a little longer.”

He smiled. “Ok. Hey, you want to go for a drive?”

Wow. “Sure.” She said, her heart pounding.

No one noticed them as they weaved through the guests and headed outside…

Back in the present, Lynda smiled. That drive had led to over twenty-five happy years of marriage.

Fear nagged at her again. What right do we have, she thought, to be so happy? After being so lucky for so long, couldn’t their luck run out? She tried to shake away these negative thoughts.

“Please Strip,” she whispered out loud. “Please be ok. I love you so much. Please come home.”

There came a knock on the door. Trembling, Mrs. Weathers opened it. Sheriff and Doc stood there. Sheriff was staring at the ground, unable to meet her eyes.

Lynda’s heart dropped like a stone.

Doc looked at her. There was a wealth of sadness in his eyes.

“Lynda,” he said. It seemed like saying her name hurt him. “Lynda, I…there’s been an accident. I’m so sorry….Strip has…passed away.”

“No,” whispered Mrs. Weathers. “No- it’s a mistake. He…it has to be…”

“I’m very, very sorry.”

The world seemed to tilt, unbalance. Everything became unreal, like a dream. “No…” she whispered again. “No…”

Sheriff finally raised his eyes and looked at her. It was real. It was truly real. Her husband was gone.

”I…can I see him? Where is he?”

There was an uncomfortable silence. “Maybe that isn’t for the best,” Doc said finally. “It was bad. He…it might be better if…”

“I need to…did he…did he suffer? I need to see him. I can’t believe it…until I see him. Oh Ford….God…no..”

Alone. She felt suddenly, completely alone, even though Doc and Sheriff were there, looking at her with sympathy and pain.

The tears came. She sobbed quietly, as the other two cars looked on helplessly.

And in a dark place of pain, a beleaguered green car heard. Somehow, he heard everything, saw everything, and a cry escaped him. “What have I done?” He moaned. “What have I done?”

The sun was rising on a beautiful day when Sally Carerra nosed her way out of the cozy cone she had been sleeping in. She was happy, knowing nothing about the crime that had taken place in Radiator Springs the night before. She enjoyed the beautiful morning. Ever since coming to Radiator Springs, Sally had enjoyed getting up with the sun. To her, morning was a refreshing time, a time of renewal, and it gave her a sense of peace to move quietly through the sleeping town. Stickers, of course, hated mornings. He liked to sleep in. And that was OK. She loved every minute she spent with him, but she liked to have a little time to herself now and then. A time to relax and be alone with her thoughts. Normally, Sally headed for the butte and sat up there for a little while. Today, however, she felt like doing something different. It seemed a good day to take a drive.

She followed the path that she and Stickers had taken so long ago. The road rose and fell, turned and twisted. She loved the feel of the wind as she sped along, hugging the turns. I’ve got to do this more often. She thought. Maybe I can get Stickers out here for a race later. It’s been a while. I remember when I took him on his first drive out here…

She was so deep in thought that she was right on top of the wreck before she saw it.

It was not a pretty sight. The green car was literally wrapped around the rock formation. The entire front end was caved in all the way back to his eyes, which were hidden behind crumpled metal. The car was sitting in an oil slick. There was no sign of life or consciousness.

Sally sat rooted to the spot for a moment, her mind rejecting the horror that her eyes saw. Her body seemed frozen; her emotions seemed numb. She was violently trembling.

There was no way this car could still be alive, but what if he was?

It took every ounce of courage Sally had to approach the still form.

“Hey,” she said. It came out like a whimper. “Hey.” She drove up to the green, sticker-covered car.

She could not bring herself to touch him. I need to get help she thought Right away. The beauty of the morning was gone, as was the warmth of the sun. Sally was cold. She would continue to be cold for a long time. I need to get help her mind repeated.

She drove away. As she drove, she struggled to see the road, blinking tears from her eyes.

A green car covered with stickers. Obviously a racecar. Could it be the car Stickers was always fighting with? The one who wrecked the King? She could not remember his name. If it was him, what was he doing in Radiator Springs?

By the time she reached the town, she was sobbing. She drove to Doc’s clinic and pounded on the door.

Doc and Sheriff opened it. They both looked troubled and worn, as if they hadn’t slept all night. Sally was so distraught that she barely registered the large, sheet-draped object in the center of the room.

“Doc,” she gasped. “Please, there’s been an accident. It’s the green racer. I-I think he’s dead.”

After Doc had examined Chick and determined that there was no life, he sent for Mater. He did this reluctantly, knowing the terrible effect towing a body would have on the sensitive tow truck, but he felt he had no choice. They couldn’t just leave the body where it was, after all.

Mater rolled out of his little shack, a big smile on his face. “Mornin’ Doc,” the tow truck said cheerfully.

With a deep sigh shaking his frame, Doc told Mater what he had to do. Mater’s face fell as he realized what Doc was saying. Doc headed out, showing the way, and Mater followed him, mumbling sadly to himself, all signs of good humor gone.

When Mater saw Chick, he gasped. “No! That’s that there car, that Chick fella!”

Doc sighed. “Yes,” he said. Despite the conversation of the previous day, despite his dislike for Chick, he felt sadness at the car’s death. It gave him an eerie feeling that he had talked to Chick just the night before. Now there had been two deaths in Radiator Springs in one night, both racecars. At least one had been the victim of foul play.

Mater’s eyes filled with tears. “I was just talkin’ ta him yesterday. He wanted ta apologize ta the King for that wreck. I tole him the King was out on the butte. I wonder if he ever found him.”

Doc snapped to attention. Chick had been looking for the King? Doc’s mind whirred as things began to fit together: Chick at Radiator Springs, Chick looking for the King and heading towards the butte, the skid marks on the ground, and Chick’s obvious attempt to flee Radiator Springs as soon as possible… Doc said nothing, but resolved to talk to Sheriff immediately.

Mater and Doc were silent as the tow truck, with his heavy burden, headed for town.

The next few weeks in Radiator Springs had the surreal quality of a nightmare for Lightning MQueen.

It seemed that every reporter in the world wanted to talk to him, to get his views on the tragedy. Rumors abounded. The prevailing one was that Chick had killed Strip and then died trying to run away. But the truth would forever remain unknown, because the only two cars who actually knew what had happened were dead.

Sally was inconsolable, as was Mater. Doc was almost as hassled by reporters as he was, and Sheriff had taken to sitting alone on the butte, staring off into space and rejecting anyone’s words of comfort.

Reporters were everywhere, everywhere. Tex had come the day after Strip’s death. He was immensely protective of Mrs. Weathers and refused to let any reporters near her. He took her away in a trailer, hiding her from the reporters and comforting her all the way to an “undisclosed location” where she could grieve in peace.

Over the next few days, he gave many official statements. He did not speculate about the rumors of murder, but merely mourned the loss of the King.

About Chick Hicks, he said very little.

It was a week after the deaths and the reporters were still flocking to Radiator Springs. Lightning could only hope that they would eventually move on to something else. The deaths as well as the presence of the reporters were taking a terrible toll on all the residents of Radiator Springs. Their town had gone overnight from being the racing capital of the world to the site of two of the most high profile deaths in racing, deaths that had taken place under tragic and mysterious circumstances.

Lightning had been hoping for some time with Sally. She seemed to be becoming more and more withdrawn and depressed, and he could never seem to spend any time with her alone. Whenever they were together, they were mobbed with the reporters who followed him wherever he went. He had always tried to ignore them and avoid answering their questions.

Now, as he was mobbed again, he thought that maybe he should give them something. Maybe they would stop pursuing him so doggedly if he did.

He turned to face the group of them who had begun to gather as soon as he had left the safety of his home.

“Mr. Mqueen, do you believe that Chick Hicks killed the King?”

Lightning answered honestly. “No, I don’t. Everyone knows I didn’t get along well with Chick; I don’t think anyone in the racing world did. He was a tough competitor. But I don’t believe he killed anyone. I don’t believe he had it in him. He was somewhat ruthless on the track, but as far as I knew him, I don’t think he would be capable of something like this.”

“What about the rumors that there were tire tracks on the butte, that the King was pushed?”

In fact, Doc and Sheriff had spent quite a bit of time painting over those tire tracks. They knew the terrible damage that the rumors of murder would do to their town. And, after all, Chick was dead. What further punishment could there be? Perhaps it was best to let the dead rest…

“I think that’s just a rumor. You can’t believe everything you hear.”

That night, he finally went to Sally. And it was then that he cried.

So did Sally. “Oh Stickers,” she whispered, cuddling up to him. “it was so awful…”

”I can’t believe it,” said Lighting. “I just can’t believe it. I raced with them just a few months ago for the Piston Cup. Now they’re both gone. How did this happen?” It was a rhetorical question. He didn’t really want to know the answer.

“They’re saying he pushed him….”

“I don’t believe that. Chick was many things, but not a murderer.” They sat in silence. Lightning did not voice his true fears- that an unknown car, some unknown car with a grudge against racers, had murdered them both. Had pushed the King off the cliff and then chased Chick, forcing him off the road and killing him as well. Or what if Chick had merely been the witness to the crime of the King’s death, a witness who needed to be disposed of? Lightning knew no one from the town was responsible, but what about one of the many tourists? Lightning would be afraid, jumping at every sound, for a long time…

During the difficult days and weeks, the residents of Radiator Springs comforted each other. All of them had been touched by the tragedy to a degree. None of them would ever be quite the same. But they had each other, and, as time began to pass, life went on.

End