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Chapter 6 ~ The Van

There was a loud thud as the van was thrown up and down forcefully over another pot hole, rattling Elvis to his senses. Jerking left then right, then back again, the van screeched to a halt, then took off again, the sound of gravel flying.

...Whoever's driving this damn thing is fired that's for sure... Elvis tried moving his arm. His eyes fluttered open in confusion as he realized his wrists were bound. It was dark, but he could make out the figures of two overgrown men sitting above him. As his memory pieced together his last conscious moments, his eyes went wide. This wasn't just a hungover ride to the airport. 

He sat up quickly - too quickly, he thought as a wave of nausea washed over him and he groaned miserably.

"Look who's awake," a voice bellowed above him as the van hit another pothole, this time even harder than the last. The force picked Elvis up off the floor of the van and threw him back down. Aside from a pounding headache and the nausea that he was struggling to keep in check, he could feel the cold metal floor of the van. A utility van most likely, he noted almost subconsciously. Pushing himself back up off the floor, he sat up as best he could and leaned back against the van's frame.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he studied the men sitting in the seats on either side of him. They were both as large as he recalled and neither of them were familiar faces. They both stared at him, but Elvis noted their stares did not feel as menacing as he imagined they should. Rather, their stares felt nearly star struck - a feeling Elvis had grown accustomed to. 

He looked back down at his wrists. They were bound together with appeared to be two zip ties and secured to the floor of the van in front of him. Up until this point, he had felt no need to speak. In a moving vehicle, it was no use yelling for help. And the stabbing pain in his head made the thought of saying anything unbearable.

"Boss?" One of the lumberjacks called out towards the front of the van.

"What is it?" A man from the front snapped.

"How much longer? He's conscious now."

"Neil, what's our location?" The one called boss asked another in what sounded like a hushed tone over the sound of the van's tires on the road. "About 10 miles west, Sir." 

"We're about 30 minutes out, Nick. Give him some water if he wants." The one called boss yelled back. 

One of the lumberjacks above Elvis reached into a bag by his feet and pulled out a bottled water. Unscrewing the cap, he offered it to Elvis. "Here." 

Elvis took the water bringing it up to his lips with both hands still bound.

"Mr. Presley." The man, boss, called from the front. "I'm sure you're in quite the daze back there. My apologies for the barbaric introductions, but these precautions were necessary given your stature. Rest assured we aren't an unreasonable gang." He trailed off for a moment as Elvis felt the van take a sharp right turn. "I'll make proper introductions once we reach our destination. For now, just sit tight. It won't be much longer."