"Step out of the car son," the grey-haired man says with some anger. The walkie-talkie sounds again. "Pop the trun' son."
"It's my son's stupid toy why?"
"What are you talkin' 'bout boy?" Oh no, he did not hear the walkie-talkie. I know what, lets make this a really fun night.
I pop the trunk and quickly pull the gun out of the hollister and shoot him low. Thank you God for the cop tying his shoes. I throw him in the trunk to not be detected.
I'm lying in this trunk thinking of how to get out. The murderer left the other cops gun in here but I don't know where it is. I'll wait for him to stop. That's what I'll do. The brake lights flash. No sight of it. A few minutes later their on for a while I look but am blinded by the blood of the cheif.
I feel the car violently turn. There are wrenches, drills, and hammers falling on my and bumping into me. The drill stabs my leg and its hard to breathe, it hurts so much as I try to bend to get it out, and worsens as the car turns again. Its stabbing further in, I yelp even harder.
Reaching. Reaching. Reaching. O feel the rubber grip, give.it.a quick tug. I yell even more. I hear the shift click. I feel alone. Where's the murderer? Click. The ceiling rises.
"Hi, how are you?" Why is he afraid I do not understand. He scrambles but I shoot his other leg. Somebody has some issues. "Do you need help? I think you do. Let me fix you up sweetums. I know just what you want!"
I feel the dirt filter through my hair as the my legs are pulled toward the dark log cabin. I am pulled to his shining silver table. "I know just what you want," he says. The drill in his hand starts to turn.
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