Near sunrise, July 21, 2005:
Pain coursed throughout his entire body, radiating from the side of his head and his right flank. Greg couldn't hold back a groan or the nausea that wracked his cramped, tortured body. He blinked open his eyes but saw nothing, not even light. Only a moment more passed before the young investigator realized he moved . . . or rather the container he was in moved. Unexpectedly, the small, unidentified container lurched, throwing him against a hard surface and sending a ripping pain through his already injured side. Unable to control the nausea any longer, Greg heaved all over himself and the container that imprisoned him.
The stink was almost enough to make him pass out once more, but the pain wouldn't allow blessed oblivion. Instead, he lay in the mess groaning, not yet able to control his body or mind. Suddenly, blindingly, the container opened with a loud click, proving an unfortunate missed opportunity.
A dark shape stood over the injured man, but the blinding sunrise masked any features. Greg vaguely registered the upsweep of a longish, oddly shaped object before it came crashing down, missing the young man by mere inches and shattering part of the container. The action spoke louder than any words the figure might have uttered: 'Obey me or you'll get crushed!' The investigator didn't doubt the implied message or the obvious power displayed by his captor. He nodded, tried to suppress a groan, and waited, too weak, too cramped, and too scared to do anything else.
After a moment, the figure reached into the container and started yanking on Greg's T-shirt. Confused, but trying to cooperate, the investigator rolled as much as he could to allow the man . . . 'it's a man, right?' . . . as great an amount of access as possible. It wasn't easy with the pain and nausea. Finally the T-shirt came free and the man stepped back while he shoved it into a stinking plastic garbage bag. Greg took that opportunity to surreptitiously look at the container he had been jammed into. Shock coursed through him as he came to the realization that his captor had managed to wedge the investigator's six foot frame into the trunk of his own Volkswagen Passat!
Barely glancing at the prisoner, the man slammed the trunk lid; however, the damage he'd done to the lip of the trunk prevented it from latching correctly. He had only succeeded in slamming the trunk down on Greg's already aching, bloody head. With a stifled yelp, the investigator scrunched down as far as possible, still not fighting the situation, as the man tried again and again to close the trunk. Greg began to wonder if he had a chance of escaping when, finally, the trunk latch caught and held. A small amount of light and air spilled in from the damaged lip, the seal not quite meeting: Greg's saving grace.
The young man waited long agonizing moments for the vehicle to start once more, wondering where the hell he was being taken . . . and why. He eventually fell into an uncomfortable sleep.
Sometime later:
Greg felt unsure just how much time had passed while he'd slept in his car trunk. He could feel heat and the light from the broken seal shone bright, so it was obviously day time . . . unless, of course, the guy had set his car on fire. The thought nearly made the thirty-year-old investigator panic, but he gathered himself, pushing the horror aside. He couldn't afford to let his very active imagination run away with him.
Instead he paused, assessing his situation. Only a few minutes passed before Greg realized that the car didn't move anymore. He listened carefully and heard nothing. Naturally the pain and dizziness and nausea still wracked him, but he ruthlessly pushed the disabilities to the back of his mind, working on trying to scrunch himself around in the trunk. If he could just get turned around, he could reach the inside safety release catch . . . and get out of the trunk.
A very long time passed as the tall, lean man got into a position he could work from. The trunk felt overly cramped, never made to store a six foot tall man. With his injuries and sickness, it became all the more difficult to maneuver. On top of everything else, Greg had to be quiet and careful in case his captor came around to check on his victim.
Finally, Greg faced that damaged portion of his trunk. Awkwardly he tried to grab the safety tab but missed a couple of times. He had double vision, just to add to his growing list of disabilities. Greg started to get angry. Catching the tab, he worked it but got no results. After several attempts, he had no better luck; he concluded that the heavy object used to break the lip of the trunk and damage the seal also had damaged the emergency release. He was stuck.
He closed his eyes, fighting disappointment stronger than even his pounding headache. After several long moments, Greg opened his eyes and tried to see out the slight gap in the trunk seal; it didn't help. Mostly he could see bright light and a bit of green, but he couldn't identify if that green was a house or a stand of trees or a car or . . . it could be anything.
Listening quietly once more the man couldn't hear any movement from inside or directly around the Volkswagen. He did, however, hear the faint sound of children laughing and screeching. 'So, there's other people around.' Most likely, the perp had parked in a public parking area or near a school or playground. That was a good sign; the kidnapper could hardly risk opening the trunk to hurt him without exposing his own crimes in the process. As long as other people were around, Greg felt safe. Now how to get the attention of those people so he could get rescued?
Suddenly, Greg became aware of the fact that he had to relieve himself. He could try to hold it, but how long would that be for? In misery, the young man fought an inner battle over the degrading position he'd been forced into before finally coming to a conclusion: he was already covered in blood and vomit, what more harm could urine cause at this juncture? However, he held it, hoping it wouldn't come to having to wet himself, too. He'd wait a little bit before that humiliation, listening to the encouraging, yet oh so frustrating sounds of distant children playing.
Overcome with exhaustion, despite his discomfort, Greg Sanders finally drifted back to sleep.