Ron and Marsha were driving home from dinner along a wooded highway outside of town. Rain suddenly came pouring down; becoming nearly impossible to see. Ron relied solely on the flashes of lightning for guidance. "We should probably stop, Ron," Marsha exclaimed. Ron agreed and applied the brakes. The car rapidly began to hydroplane, causing the vehicle to run off the road. "Are you okay honey," Ron asked.
"I'm fine," she replied taking a deep breath. Ron then decided to get out and observe the damage. A couple minutes passed and still no sign of Ron. Marsha began to worry; the area was notorious for crime. A noise came from outside. Thump, thump, thump. She fearfully shrank down in her seat. Crash! A fist suddenly came bursting through the window.
"Step out of the car with your hands above your head," a man yelled. Marsha quickly removed herself from the car. To her surprise, she saw Ron, drenched in blood lying in the mud. "We need to get out of here; you're in deep trouble ma'am." Marsha, streaming with tears, entered the patrol car.
As the officer closed the door behind her, a man came on the walky-talky: "Stolen patrol car 118... Suspect armed and dangerous." Marsha looked at the dash, it read: 118. Her stomach dropped. She frantically reached for the door. Just as she pulled the lever, the door immediately locked shut.
The man said, "Where do you think you're going young lady? You're in good hands now."