Two College Students Vanished From Their Dorm, 6 Years Later Google Street View Reveals… | HO

On a cool April night in 2010, two Bright College students left their dorm for what should have been just another Friday out. Sarah Thompson and May Chen, both 20, both vibrant and full of promise, vanished without a trace. For six years, their families, friends, and an entire college town were left with nothing but questions and aching hope.

But in the summer of 2016, a random citizen scrolling through Google Street View would trigger a chain of revelations so shocking that it would rewrite everything the world thought it knew about that night—and about the darkness lurking just beneath the surface of ordinary life.

A Night Like Any Other

April 9th, 2010. Sarah texted her father, Mark Thompson, at 10:47 p.m.: “Out with May. Don’t wait up, Dad. Love you.” It was the last message he would ever receive from her.

They were seen at Chrome, the campus nightclub, laughing and dancing. At some point after 1:00 a.m., they left together. By morning, their beds were empty. Their textbooks and coffee mugs were left as if they’d only stepped out for a moment. No clothes missing. No money withdrawn. No cell phone activity. No witnesses. No bodies.

The police searched, the campus rallied, and the media speculated. But as the days bled into weeks, and then into years, hope faded. The only thing left was the void.

A Digital Ghost

Six years later, in June 2016, a local resident was browsing Google Street View images of Aurora Alley, a nondescript lane near the college. One image caught their eye: a man, hunched over the trunk of a car, struggling with something wrapped in white plastic. The photo, timestamped June 15, 2010—just two months after the girls disappeared—was eerie in its mundanity, yet something about the man’s posture seemed off.

The citizen reported the image to police. Investigators returned to the spot and, beneath a sewer grate, found the remains of May Chen, preserved in plastic. The case, cold for years, was suddenly burning again.

A Father’s Nightmare Reopened

Mark Thompson was jolted awake by a call from Detective Rodriguez of the Aurora County Police. Six years of waiting for news, of jumping every time the phone rang, ended with a single sentence: “We found something regarding your daughter’s case.”

But it wasn’t Sarah. It was May. Mark’s relief was immediately swallowed by guilt. May was someone’s daughter, too. The agony of not knowing was over for the Chen family, but for Mark, it was only deepening.

Detective Rodriguez explained: “A citizen reported suspicious Google Street View footage. We investigated the location and found the remains in the sewer system, preserved in plastic wrapping.”

The man in the photo—his identity still unclear—was now the key to the entire mystery.

The Smallest Details, the Biggest Clues

At the police station, Mark saw May’s student ID, muddy but unmistakable. The preservation in plastic had helped maintain evidence. As Detective Rodriguez explained the new urgency, Mark’s mind flashed back to the girls’ dorm room after they vanished: Sarah’s economics textbook still open to Chapter 12, May’s lipstick on her coffee mug. Two lives interrupted mid-sentence.

Rodriguez showed him the grainy printout from Google Street View. The man’s face was obscured, but the timestamp and the white plastic in the trunk told a story of panic and cover-up. Police began checking traffic cameras and old employment records, hoping for a breakthrough.

Old Haunts, New Suspicions

Unable to return home, Mark retraced his daughter’s last steps: the dorm, the club, the streets she’d walked. He visited Crossroads Bar, a mainstay of the student nightlife, where a new message on his Facebook page would draw him deeper into the mystery.

Pete Garrison, the current owner, claimed a former bartender had suddenly recalled serving two Asian girls matching Sarah and May’s description that night. Would Mark be willing to meet before the police got involved?

Desperate for answers, Mark agreed.

A Web of Lies

Crossroads Bar was nearly empty when Mark arrived. Pete, a stocky man with a practiced smile, poured him a beer and pressed for information about the police investigation. He seemed oddly fixated on the evidence, especially the details of May’s discovery and the Google Street View image.

Pete produced a handwritten note from the bartender, full of suspiciously specific details—what the girls wore, what they drank, the exact time they left. When Mark pressed for the bartender’s contact, Pete’s story unraveled. First Colorado, then Arizona, then “I’ll check at home.”

Mark’s unease grew as he noticed a reinforced steel door with an electronic keypad near the restrooms—overkill for a bar’s storage. Pete’s eagerness to delay police involvement set off every alarm.

Mark left, but not before texting Detective Rodriguez: “Something is very wrong with Pete Garrison.”

A Race Against Time

As Mark watched from his car, Pete emerged from the bar, dragging industrial cleaning supplies—bleach, garbage bags, a carpet cleaner—toward a basement door. Mark’s instincts screamed at him: Pete was destroying evidence.

Returning home, Mark found his front door ajar. Muddy footprints led to Sarah’s room. Her missing poster, up for six years, was gone. His phone buzzed: a photo of Sarah’s college ID, held by a black-gloved hand against a concrete wall, and a chilling message: “Come to Crossroads Bar Basement alone in 20 minutes if you want answers about your daughter. No police or she disappears forever.”

Mark’s hands shook. After six years, someone was taunting him with proof that Sarah might still be alive.

Into the Dark

Mark drove back to the bar, heart pounding. The alley was empty except for a single bulb over a basement entrance. Pete’s voice called him down.

In the basement, Pete’s mask dropped. He held Mark at gunpoint, ranting about the Google car, about Mark’s meddling, about the years he’d operated undetected. He shoved Mark into a small concrete room—Sarah’s prison for years, judging by the calendar scratches on the wall.

“She was here a long time,” Pete sneered. “But you’ve made things complicated.”

Mark begged for news of Sarah. Pete only smiled coldly. “You’re going to disappear just like your daughter. Only this time, there won’t be any Google car to accidentally catch me.”

Upstairs, police knocked. Pete, panicked, threatened Mark’s life if he made a sound. As officers swept the bar, Mark screamed and banged on the walls, but the thick concrete muffled every sound. The police left, and Pete dragged Mark deeper into the basement—a maze of horror: stained mattresses, chains, video equipment, and the industrial freezer where May’s body had been kept for two years.

The Monster Unmasked

Suddenly, shouts erupted from above. Police, led by Detective Rodriguez, stormed the basement. Pete, desperate, grabbed Mark as a human shield. Rodriguez negotiated: “It’s over, Garrison. We’ve got the building surrounded. There’s no way out.”

Pete’s grip loosened. An officer fired a taser, and Pete collapsed. As he was cuffed, he screamed: “She’ll die without me. She needs her medicine!”

Rodriguez and Mark searched the basement. A locked steel door. Scratches on the inside. The ram burst it open.

Inside, on a filthy mattress, was a skeletal woman—hair matted, eyes wild, arms bruised. Sarah. Mark rushed to her, calling her childhood nickname, “Sunny.” For a moment, there was no recognition. Then, a flicker: “Daddy?”

He gathered her in his arms as paramedics arrived. “Is this real?” she wept. “Is this real?”

Aftermath and Reckoning

Sarah was alive, but broken. Six years in darkness, kept in a chemical fog, told her family had abandoned her, told the world had ended. Pete had filmed her abuse, distributed it online, and moved her between hidden rooms in multiple properties.

Detective Rodriguez explained: “He admitted to targeting intoxicated college girls at his bar. On April 9th, 2010, he lured Sarah outside by telling her May was sick. When May tried to intervene, he shot her. He kept May’s body in the freezer for two years, then dumped her when construction threatened his secret.”

The Google Street View car had captured Pete at the exact moment he was moving May’s body. One random photograph had unraveled six years of horror.

Sarah’s recovery would take years. She flinched at every sound, apologized for speaking, and struggled to believe she was free. But she was alive. Mark promised her: “Whatever it takes, however long it takes. You’re not alone anymore.”

A Community Changed Forever

The revelations rocked the community. The Chens, devastated by May’s murder, found some closure in knowing her killer was caught. Police began searching Pete’s other properties, looking for more victims. The bar was shut down, its basement sealed as a crime scene.

For Mark, the nightmare was over, but the healing had only begun. He sat by Sarah’s hospital bed, watching her sleep, her hand in his. She was free, but changed forever. The world outside moved on, but for those who loved Sarah and May, nothing would ever be the same.

The Power—and Peril—of Seeing

In the end, it was a random Google Street View image that broke the case. A digital ghost, unnoticed for years, had captured the moment a monster made a fatal mistake. The smallest detail—a man struggling with a trunk—became the thread that unraveled a web of horror.

Sarah’s story is a testament to the agony of not knowing, the persistence of hope, and the darkness that can hide in plain sight. But it is also a reminder: sometimes, the truth is out there, waiting to be seen.

And sometimes, seeing is enough to change everything.