Page 84 of Survive the Night

Once at the diner, when Marge came to take their order, he gave the signal that Charlie, no stranger to code words herself, didn’t notice.

What’s your blue-plate special?

Translation: This is the girl.

The rest depended on Marge’s response. If she had told him, “We don’t do that here. What’s printed on the menu is what we got,” it meant that everything was called off. Instead, she said, “Salisbury steak.” Which meant that everything was still a go and that he should leave Charlie at the diner.

What definitely wasn’t part of the plan was Marge purposefully spilling tea on Charlie so the two of them could have a moment alone. He knows why she did it. She didn’t think he was doing a good enough job and that Charlie might act in unpredictable ways because of it.

Turns out she was right.

He certainly didn’t predict Charlie playing that damn song on the jukebox, revealing she knew if not everything, then at least enough. Nor could he have foreseen that she’d insist on getting back into the car with him. He only agreed to it because he knew he could easily bring her back in a few minutes. Besides, it seemed better than just taking off while she was still in the bathroom and never seeing her again. He thought it might be nice to drive a little and chat a bit more. A proper goodbye before he slapped on the cuffs.

Then Charlie stabbed him and now he’s got five homemade stitches in his side, tape tugging at his skin, and a sweatshirt crunchy with dried blood.

So much for a proper goodbye.

When the diner comes into view a half-mile down the road, he sees that the place is dark and that the parking lot is empty. Yet there’s still an unusual amount of traffic for this road at this hour. About halfway between the Grand Am and the diner is a Volvo sitting on the road’s shoulder, its headlights off and the engine still. Far in the distance, a car with a broken taillight travels in the direction of the on-ramp to the interstate.

He pounds the brakes and cuts the Grand Am’s own lights, curious to see what happens next.

When the car with the broken taillight fades from view, the Volvo comes to life and edges onto the road. As it drives off in the same direction as the other car, he spots an Olyphant University sticker on the rear bumper.

The boyfriend, he assumes.

Here to rescue Charlie.

Another assumption he makes is that this boyfriend of hers didn’t come all this way just to tail some random car. That means the one with the broken taillight is Marge, with Charlie in tow.

He allows himself a pain-tinged smile.

Maybe he’ll get his goodbye after all.

He waits until the Volvo is a good distance away before flicking on the Grand Am’s headlights again. Then he resumes driving. For real this time, even though his rolling-and-steering approach hurt far less. He grits his teeth, grips the steering wheel, and endures the pain.

There’s no other choice. He knows that he needs to keep up with the Volvo and that this night, already a clusterfuck to begin with, just got a lot more complicated.

INT. CADILLAC—NIGHT

Charlie’s world is still blurred at the edges, even though the chloroform has all worn off. The blurriness now is caused by the Cadillac’s speed. Everything out the window—trees mostly, but also occasional clearings and empty lots—passes by in streaks of gray.

She doesn’t know where Marge is taking her. Nor does she know where they are anymore. Charlie thought they were headed for the highway, but Marge blew right through the interchange that would have taken them there, making it just another gray streak.

Now Charlie is left to fearfully wonder not only where they’re going but what will happen to her once they arrive. It’s the same feeling she got during her first time riding away from the diner. Terrified and confused and almost ill with unease. Torn between wanting to keep driving forever and just getting to the ending.

The main difference between the two situations, other than the person behind the wheel, is that then Charlie had a weapon. Now she has nothing.

Charlie looks at her hands, stained pink with blood. Yes, she’saware that Josh might still be alive and that she had acted in self-defense. It doesn’t change the fact that she willingly drove a knife into another living person, and she fears the memory of that action will stay with her for the rest of her life.

Making it worse is knowing that a single flash of violence didn’t change a thing. She’s still being held captive, and Josh is still involved somehow. Marge never said more about that—and hasn’t said anything since getting into the car—leaving Charlie to wonder what that means. The scenarios she’s thought up are as plentiful as they are disturbing. Now she’s not sure which frightens her more: what’s already happened or what’s yet to come.

In the front seat, Marge continues to drive in silence. She seems to be lost in her own world as she grips the wheel and stares out at the dark road ahead. She doesn’t even sneak an occasional glance in the rearview mirror to check on Charlie.

Not that Charlie can go anywhere tied up like this with all the doors locked. All she can do is sit in fear, her arms and legs straining against their binds as she watches Marge drive them to only God knows where.

“Where are you taking me?” she says, angrier than Marge probably likes. She can’t help it. A stinging sense of betrayal streaks her fear. She had liked Marge. She trusted her. Charlie had thought of her as kind and grandmotherly—not too different from Nana Norma. As a result, Charlie had gone out of her way to protect her when she should have been focusing on her own safety.

When Marge doesn’t answer, Charlie tries again. “Tell me why you’re doing this!”

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