"Twenty-seven years at Fire Station 14. Retired for three years." I approached slowly. "What's your name, my dear?"
"Madison." Her voice was barely a whisper. "My name is Madison."
"Nice to meet you, Madison. I'm Rick." I smiled at him. "Now, put that wrench down before you hurt yourself, and let an old gentleman show you his skills."
She slowly lowered the wrench. But she was still trembling. She kept glancing at her trunk. "You can't call anyone," she said. "You mustn't tell anyone you saw me. Please."
"Why not?" I asked, stepping over to examine the flat tire. It wasn't just flat: the sidewall was completely shattered. We'd probably driven on that flat tire for miles. "Madison, what's going on?"
Before she could answer, I heard it. A small noise coming from the trunk. A whimper. The whimper of a child.
I froze. Madison's eyes widened in panic. "Please," she whispered. "Please don't call the police. Please."
"Madison," I said quietly. "Who's in your trunk?"
She began to cry – deep, desperate sobs. “My brothers and my sister. They are eight, six, and four years old. I got them out. I finally managed to get them out. But if you call the police, they will send us back there, and this time, he will kill us. I know it.”
A shiver ran down my spine. "Who's going to kill you?"
"My stepfather." She was trembling so much she could barely stand. "He... he's been hurting us for two years. Me most of all, but he's started hitting the little ones too. Mom doesn't want to leave him. She doesn't believe us. Last night, he pointed a gun at me and told me he was fed up with my life."
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