Page 110 of Survive the Night

But now it’s led to this.

Now he’s making Charlie go away as well. He has no other choice. Keeping her alive is too risky. His specialness outweighs hers.

One small consolation is that he’ll be able to take a tooth. Something to remember Charlie by. The jewelry box that contains the others bobs in the water near his shoulders, as if waiting for a new addition.

His right arm strains to keep Charlie submerged. His spine bends and twists to keep his head above water. His legs press against the seat and the dashboard, giving him leverage.

Under the water, Charlie goes still.

There’s no more kicking, no more thrashing, no more flailing.

All is calm.

But as Robbie starts to pull his hand away, something cold clicks around his right wrist.

Looking down, he sees it’s now encircled by one end of a pair of handcuffs.

Then, with a horror so deep it pierces his soul, he hears another click.

INT. VOLVO—NIGHT

Charlie hadn’t forgotten about Josh’s handcuffs. They were always present in her thoughts, cold and flat in the front pocket of her jeans. She just didn’t know when—or how—to use them.

It wasn’t until Robbie pushed her under the water that she finally knew.

And as she clicks the other end around the steering wheel, Charlie’s glad she waited.

She emerges from the water into a car that’s almost completely filled. There’s about eight inches of air left. Just enough for Charlie to tilt her head back and speak.

The same can’t be said for Robbie.

Thanks to the handcuffs, he can’t keep his mouth above the surface. The waterline is now even with his nose as he uses those big, Bambi eyes to stare up at her. Mere hours ago, that expression would have melted Charlie’s heart. Seeing it now, she feels only anger.

Robbie keeps looking at her, though, beseeching. It’s clear he thinks she has a key to the cuffs.

He’s wrong.

Even if she did know where the keys are, she sure as hell wouldn’t use them to set Robbie free.

“That was for Maddy,” Charlie says, knowing he can still hear her.

She holds up the pair of pliers she’d grabbed off the floor while underwater.

“And this,” she says, “is for Marge.”

MORNING

INT. HOSPITAL—DAY

It’s quiet inside the hospital. Everyone from the nurses to the clerks to the volunteers in their candy cane pinafores works in a subdued hush, even though it’s not very busy. There’s only one other nonemployee at the help desk—a middle-aged man slumped in a chair by the door with a vacant look in his eyes. Charlie hopes he’s just tired, but she doubts it. He has the appearance of someone backhanded with bad news. Charlie suspects she looks the same.

She had been here earlier, before being taken to the police station. A frantic ambulance ride straight from the Mountain Oasis Lodge—the speed necessitated by the other person in the ambulance with her.

Charlie’s injuries were minor. Some scrapes, bruises, and a broken nose from when Robbie elbowed her in the face. Now a fat strip of medical tape sits across the bridge of it. When Charlie first saw it in the mirror, she couldn’t help but say, to no one in particular, “Chinatown. Roman Polanski. Nineteen seventy-four. Starring Jack Nicholson and Faye Dunaway.”

The nurse who’d done the taping didn’t get the reference.

“You need to see it,” Charlie told her. “It’s a classic.”

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