The first thing the teenage girl saw was a woman dragging a terrified dog backward by its collar.
The large dog fought desperately, nails scraping across the parking lot as it lunged again and again toward a parked sedan.
“Stop hurting him!”
The girl ran in and knocked the woman’s hand away.
She dropped beside the dog, wrapping both arms around him.
The woman stepped back, breathless.
“Get him away from that car!”
The girl glared at her.
“What is wrong with you?”
Before the woman could answer, the dog tore free.
He ran straight back to the sedan.
Not to the door.
To the trunk.
He scratched wildly at the metal, barking until his whole body shook.
The girl turned on the woman.
“What did you do to him?”
“Nothing,” the woman whispered.
Then her face changed.
“Listen.”
The dog suddenly stopped barking.
Silence.
From inside the closed trunk came one faint knock.
Then another.
The girl slowly looked down at the license plate.
All the color left her face.
“That’s my dad’s car.”
The girl couldn’t move.
She stared at the trunk while the dog stood rigid beside her, ears forward, breathing hard.
Then a muffled voice came from inside.
Too weak to understand.
The girl rushed toward the car.
“Dad?”
No answer.
She pressed both hands against the trunk.
“Dad, it’s me!”
The woman grabbed her arm.
“Wait.”
The girl spun around.
“What?”
The woman’s lips trembled.
“I saw your father leave this car an hour ago.”
The girl froze.
“That’s impossible.”
“I watched him walk away.”
Another sound came from inside the trunk.
Not a knock this time.
A strained whisper.
The girl leaned closer.
“Dad?”
The dog suddenly backed away.
His body lowered.
A deep growl replaced the barking.
The woman stared at him.
“Why is he doing that?”
Then came a small metallic click.
The trunk latch moved from the inside.
The lid lifted less than an inch.
The girl reached toward it.
But the dog lunged between her and the car, growling harder than before.
And from the darkness beneath the barely opened trunk came her father’s voice.
“Don’t let it out.”