Page 59 of Survive the Night

Back and forth.

Five minutes ago, he’d been sound asleep, lost in a dream he can no longer remember.

Then the phone on his nightstand rang, yanking him like afishhook back to the present. He took his sweet time answering, resentful of the phone for waking him, even though he knew it was likely Charlie checking in like he asked her to do. He was tempted to ignore it and just let the phone keep ringing. Because Charlie was right. They were going from New Jersey to Ohio. As boring a drive as exists in this country.

But that’s not the only reason Robbie was slow to answer. Charlie had left him, after all. Not officially. But Robbie knows that’s what’s happening. A long, slow, painful uncoupling as opposed to a clean break. And he spent the rest of the night feeling sad and self-pitying about that.

So when the phone rang and he assumed it was Charlie, a petty, wounded part of him didn’t want to pick up. He thought that maybe if he let the call go unanswered, Charlie might think he wasn’t home. That he was out at one of Olyphant’s many off-campus bars, chatting up one of the many drunk co-eds all too willing to go home with him. And that if she thought that, it would make her jealous. And that if she was jealous, then she might also start to miss him. And that if she missed him enough, then maybe she’d decide to come back to him.

Robbie ended up answering—as he knew he would.

Charlie was too special to ignore.

So he grabbed the phone and said hello and prepared himself for a quick check-in and maybe some awkward small talk. He certainly didn’t expect what came next. That dire code he had devised as a joke.

Things took a detour.

At first, he thought Charlie was kidding. A bit of movie-based humor to signify she still loved him and was still thinking about him. But then Charlie said, “I’m serious,” and everything changed.

So now he’s here, pacing.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Meanwhile the phone keeps ringing and he keeps hoping that Charlie will pick up and tell him it was all just a joke, that everything is fine, that it’s smooth sailing, sweetheart.

When the fifth ring goes unanswered, Robbie ends the call, stops pacing, decides on another course of action.

He dials 411. Trusty, reliable information. This time, someone answers. Robbie gives them the name of the diner Charlie told him she was at, says it’s somewhere in Pennsylvania, and asks where, exactly, it might be located. The operator, God bless her, comes through in a jiff.

Monroe County. Peak Township. Dead River Road.

“Do you also have the phone number for the Peak Township police department handy?” Robbie says.

The operator does. She connects them. Two rings later he’s on the phone with a local dispatcher.

“I’m worried about my girlfriend,” he says. “I think she’s in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble, sir?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is she there with you?”

“No,” Robbie says. “She’s in the Poconos. In your town. At a diner called the Skyline Grille.”

“She contacted you from there?”

“Yes.”

“Did she say she was in danger?”

“Not explicitly,” Robbie says. “She had to be vague. There’s a man with her. I think he was listening in. They were supposed to be driving to Ohio together and they got off the interstate and now they’re at a diner.”

The dispatcher’s voice, so calm and efficient seconds earlier, sours into skepticism. “Sir, that’s hardly an emergency.”

“Itis,” Robbie says.

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