“Sugar’s by the condiments,” she says. “And be careful, hon. Don’t burn yourself.”
Charlie rips open the tea bag and drops it into the water. The cup’s so scorching that even the handle is hot. She curls her fingers around it anyway, the heat on her skin the only thing preventing her from lifting the cup and tossing the contents at Josh.
She pictures it. More fantasy than a movie in her mind. The tea flying. Josh screaming, then recoiling, then falling out of the booth as Charlie runs. The fantasy ends when Marge comes back with Josh’s drinks and says, “What’ll it be?”
“Just an order of fries, please,” Charlie says.
Marge grabs the pencil tucked behind her ear and pulls a small order pad from her deep apron pocket. “Gravy on the side?”
“Just plain.”
Marge looks to Josh. “Your turn, handsome.”
“What’s your blue-plate special?” he asks, still studying the menu.
“Salisbury steak,” Marge says.
Josh hands her the menu. “Sounds good.”
“Sure thing, sugar,” Marge says before departing with a wink.
She disappears through a swinging door with a circular window located at the rear of the diner. Through the window, Charlie can see Marge’s high hair bobbing as she gives their order to the invisible cook.
It’s just her and Josh now, alone again.
“This place needs some music,” Josh says as he slides from the booth and walks to the jukebox. It’s old and bulky, like the one in Happy Days. Josh drops in a couple of quarters and makes his selections.
First up is Don McLean.
“American Pie.”
When he returns to the booth, Charlie knows it’s time to move. She had a plan. She needs to make it happen. Grabbing her backpack, she gestures to the pay phone outside the window.
“I’m going to call my boyfriend real quick,” she says. “He asked me to check in from the road. Be right back.”
She slides out of the booth and heads to the door, forcing herself to go slow and not appear too eager. Josh is watching her. She knows that. He’s been doing it all night. Watching her even when it looks like he’s not. It’s how he’s been able to predict her every move.
But that’ll be ending very soon.
Now, she’s about to get away.
EXT. DINER—NIGHT
Charlie corrects herself as soon as she gets outside.
She’s not about to get away. She’s already gone. Out the door and walking to the pay phone. All that’s left to do is call the police, tell them to hurry, and then wait outside the few minutes it takes for them to arrive.
Charlie rounds the corner of the diner and stops in front of the pay phone. Josh sits just on the other side of the window, sipping his coffee, not even looking her way.
Good.
She lifts the receiver from its cradle, bringing the steady hum of a dial tone to her ears. Then she pauses, unsure what to do next. She’s never called 911 on a pay phone before. Does she need to insert coins? Does she press 0 for the operator? Or does she just dial 911 and hope someone will answer?
With the dial tone still buzzing insistently, she opts for the latter.
She presses 9.
She presses 1.
She presses 1 a second time, shooting a nervous glance at the window.
The booth is empty.
Josh is no longer there.
Charlie’s heart stops at the same time the receiver lets out a light click. A 911 dispatcher answering her call. But to Charlie, it’s the sound of fear taking her in its grip.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?” the dispatcher says.
Charlie stays silent. Partly because she’s terrified and partly because she senses someone nearby, hovering by the corner of the diner, startlingly close.
Josh.
Charlie slams the phone back in its cradle as Josh emerges fully around the side of the building.
“Something wrong?” he says.
Charlie wills herself to speak. She has no choice. Trying with all her might to keep her tone even, she says, “I dialed the wrong number.”
“You don’t know your boyfriend’s number?”
“My finger slipped,” she says with a silly-me shrug.
“You’re not going to try again?”
Charlie lifts her backpack. “I’m all out of change.”
“Allow me.” Josh reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of coins, which he holds out to her. Charlie takes them, even though the feel of Josh’s skin on hers prompts an internal cringe she hopes doesn’t make its presence known on the outside.
Stay smart.
Stay brave.
Stay careful.
“Thanks,” she says, the coins hot in her palm. So hot they feel like coal, glowing orange. She resists the urge to drop them to the ground.
“Go on and call him.” Josh jerks his head toward the phone. “Don’t mind me. Just here for some fresh air.”
Charlie has to call Robbie now. There’s no other choice. If she dials 911, Josh will hear every word she says and could easily make sure she’s no longer here when the police arrive. She knows how small she is, how weak. It would take Josh no effort at all to grab her and drag her back into the Grand Am. Or, worse, he could just stab her right here in the parking lot. End it all with a few quick jabs of a knife, yank a tooth out of her mouth, and be gone.
Charlie dials quickly, pressing the numbers through muscle memory. Because of course she knows Robbie’s number by heart. Josh is right about that. She couldn’t misdial if she tried.
Through the receiver, she hears a recorded voice instruct her to insert seventy-five cents into the phone. Charlie does, her fingers trembling so hard it’s a struggle to get one quarter into the pay slot, let alone three. With the coins deposited, each one landing deep inside the phone with a metallic clang, the phone begins to ring.
One ring.
Charlie looks to Josh, who’s backed away a few feet. Standing at the corner of the diner, he has his hands thrust deep in his pockets.
Two rings.
Josh glances her way, smiles, looks to the sky.
Three rings.
Josh begins to whistle. A light, impatient trill. Hearing it reminds her of Uncle Charlie in Shadow of a Doubt. He whistled, too. A tune different from Josh’s, but just as unnerving.
Robbie answers on the fourth ring, croaking out a groggy hello.