Although it happened many years ago, I remember it like it was yesterday; in fact, I can vividly recall the entire incident. The following is my own interpretation and clarification of Mr. Byron Carter’s fatal, freak automobile accident! Behold:
It was during a hot summer day in the year of 1985 when my car had unexpectedly died, as a result, I began hitchhiking home. It wasn’t long before a couple, who appeared to be in their mid sixties, stopped to pick me up. The driver had quickly introduced himself as Mr. Byron Carter, and his wife as Mrs. Heidi Carter. Within five or so minutes, while comfortably cruising along at a speed of over sixty miles per hour, Mr. Carter, to my surprise, had begun to sing a silly, ad-libbed song. Shortly within yet another minute or two, while in the mist of singing his silly song, boom, suddenly the left front tire blows out. The car, now totally out of control, begins fishtailing, slipping and sliding all over the road. In desperation, Mr. Carter, struggling for even the slightest illusion of control, white-knuckles the steering wheel. His stiff, long, vainly clutching, bony fingers become petrified, glued to their deathbed. His heartbeat begins racing and grossly palpitating. His brain grows numb, freezing in terror. He screams, yet no sound is emitted. The T-bird’s unmanageable fishtailing now escalates into an unrelenting vortex on wheels. Around and around it goes, rapidly spinning. This unstoppable whirlwind tosses and jerks its passengers every which way imaginable. Hypothetically speaking, deep within the heart of this maelstrom, time appears to have stopped. Yet, ironically, when viewing this sight from the exterior perspective of the eye-witness, because of its continuously increasing velocity, time appears to have accelerated; thus, chaotically spinning, climaxing into over two tons of whirling lethal metal, pulverizing everything in its path, right up until the moment when, wham, after countless revolutions, the deadly, spinning vortex on wheels inevitably comes to an instant halt!
Hence, after having spun around in multiple circles, the red, 1959 classic T-Bird convertible, when three quarters into one of its many 360 degree rotations, while initially traveling east, yet following its moment of impact after crashing flush into the back of the two-tone beige/brown, 1975 Chrysler, Town and Country, station wagon, driven by a Mr. Norfleet Henderson, was now facing due south. Henderson, who was also headed east on County Line Road, had stopped at the traffic light at the intersection of County Line Road and Bartley Road, in Jackson, New Jersey. Specifically, the driver’s side-door of the two-door red Thunderbird convertible rammed smack into the rear of the Chrysler station wagon, whereupon the two merged vehicles remained locked together. When viewed from the overhead perspective of a westbound police helicopter, the conjoined cars gave the visual appearance of the letter “T.” Nonetheless, the fatality of the accident was not caused by the crash, but was due exclusively to the two protruding sheets of plexiglass which were sticking out approximately three feet from the back of the station wagon’s rear opened window.
Consistent with the epitome of what could only be called a “Freak Accident,” the driver of the 1959 T-Bird convertible, the Raisin-Heir, Mr. Byron Carter, just so happened to be seated in the wrong seat at the wrong time, positioned in such a way whereas the protruding plexiglass, which was sticking out from the back of the station wagon, had lined up perfectly between Mr. Carter’s head and shoulders, thereupon acting as a guillotine. Thus, with one clean incision, the plexiglass had pierced its way directly across and through the driver’s neck, causing the driver to immediately undergo a total decapitation. During the split second moment of impact, Mr. Carter’s blood had explosively splattered everywhere. Yet, in spite of the beheading’s intensity, the atrocity of this fatality peaked when the severed head had, horribly enough, landed upon Mr. Byron Carter’s wife’s lap (Mrs. Heidi Carter), who was seated in the front passenger seat, causing her to scream:
With the car subjected to an uncompromising immediate halt, Mrs. Heidi Carter, in an expression of panicky rage, opened her car door, yelled, and bolted herself completely out of the vehicle. Strangely enough, she slammed the convertible car door closed behind her. She then fled down the road impulsively waving her arms, shrieking, screeching and crying in a horrifying stuporous fit of raging hysteria. Yet, to make matters worse, the hair upon Mr. Byron Carter’s severed head, after landing upon his wife Heidi’s lap, had somehow become gravely entangled in a knotted mess, tightly entwined around Mrs. Heidi Carter’s lengthy, gold, link chain. The severed head, now dangling hideously from the chain, continuously bounced up and down as Mrs. Carter aimlessly ran about screaming:
“Aaayyyyyyyyyyyhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!! Oh, My Dear God! My Dear God! No! No! Please! Please! My Dear God! Please! No! Please, My Dear God! Please God, Please, Please Help Me!!!”
While Mrs. Heidi Carter was screaming and aimlessly running around in circles, I was struggling to free myself from inside the mangled slant of the car’s pushed-in driver’s side rear seat. At first, I just slid over to my right, but then, in a nonsensical act of panic, I began clawing and climbing my way up and over into the front seat, eventually then also climbing my way completely over the passenger’s side front door. Following this, after totally freeing myself from the confines of the convertible, while holding up my injured left arm with his uninjured right arm, I made my way across the street onto the sidewalk, where I queried the first pedestrian I happened to see:
“Excuse me, sir, could you give me a ride? I need to get to the nearest convenience store so that I can buy myself a lottery ticket. Two of the people in the car crash had picked me up hitchhiking; however, I know what tonight’s winning Pick Six Lottery numbers are!”
Obviously I was temporarily in a state of shock, causing me to behave just a bit out of my mind.
“I think you better just take it easy, sonny,” replied the eyewitness, Mr. Norfleet Henderson, “the paramedics are on their way.”
Mrs. Heidi Carter again ran by frantically screaming. A moment later she fainted, her body gently collapsing onto the grass. There she remained, lying flat on her back with her husband, Mr. Byron Carter’s bloody head resting gruesomely upon her stomach.
To this very day, Mrs. Heidi Carter remains institutionalized.
Oh, and by the way, one month following this fatal car accident I went to visit her. I brought her a thermos filled with hot cocoa, and in return, she gave me a doughnut.