“Call me when you get home,” Robbie says. “No matter how late it is. And call me from the road, if you see a pay phone. Let me know you’re safe.”
“We’re driving from New Jersey to Ohio. The only danger is dying of boredom.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Charlie knows, because she’s thinking what Robbie’s thinking. The thing neither of them wants to articulate because it will ruin this goodbye.
Maddy was killed.
By a stranger.
One who’s still out there. Somewhere. Likely waiting to do it again.
“I’ll try to call,” Charlie says. “I promise.”
“Pretend it’s one of those movies you were always making me watch,” Robbie says. “The ones with the French-sounding name.”
“Film noir?” Charlie shakes her head. After a year of dating, has she taught him nothing?
“Yeah, one of those. You’re being held captive against your will and the only way to get help is by speaking in code to your worried boyfriend.”
“What’s the code?” Charlie says, playing along, grateful for the way Robbie’s choosing to wrap up this goodbye.
Not sad.
Cinematic.
“ ‘Things took a detour.’ ”
The way Robbie says it makes Charlie assume he’s trying to imitate Bogart, even though it sounds more like Jimmy Stewart to her ears.
“And if everything is fine?”
“ ‘It’s smooth sailing, sweetheart.’ ”
This time he really does sound like Bogart, and hearing it makes Charlie’s heart crack open a bit.
“I love you,” she says.
“I know.”
Charlie can’t tell if Robbie’s response is an intentional Star Wars reference or if it’s just a happy accident. Either way, she doesn’t care, because now he’s kissing her again and hugging her one last time and saying goodbye for real, in a way that’s sadder than any movie. The pain in her chest grows—an acute ache Charlie expects will stay with her the entire ride home.
“You’re still special, Charlie,” Robbie says. “I need you to know that.”
Then he’s gone and it’s only her. Standing alone at the curb with her box and two suitcases, the situation finally feels real.
She’s doing it.
She’s actually leaving.
In a few hours she’ll be home, probably watching a movie with Nana Norma, maybe on her way to returning to the person she used to be.
Charlie opens her backpack and fishes out the orange pill bottle that’s been rattling around at the bottom of it since September. Inside the bottle is more orange—tiny tablets that always reminded her of M&M’s when she took one. Back when she did take them.
She lied to Robbie about that. It’s been three days since she gulped one down, even though the psychiatrist who prescribed them promised they’d keep the movies in her mind at bay. And they did. But they also made her both drowsy and restless, her body constantly veering between those two extremes. The result was weeks of sleepless nights and lost days. A vampire. That’s what the orange pills turned her into.
To counteract that, the psychiatrist also gave Charlie a prescription for little white pills to help her sleep.
Those were worse.
So much worse that she had already gotten rid of them.
Now it’s time to say goodbye to the orange ones. She’s through with pills of any color.
Charlie steps off the curb and walks a few yards to a storm drain carved into the asphalt. She pours the pills into it, enjoying the twinge of satisfaction she gets from watching them bounce off the metal grate before dropping into the darkness below. The bottle goes into a nearby trash can.
Returning to her box and suitcases, Charlie pulls her red coat tighter around her. The November night is pitched precisely between autumn and winter. The sky is clear and the stars are bright, but there’s a sharp chill to the air that makes her shiver. Or maybe the shiver comes from the fact that she’s now alone outside while there’s a killer on the loose.
Even if she didn’t realize that danger on her own, she’d be reminded by the Take Back the Night flyer taped to the streetlamp next to her. The flyers are a direct response to Maddy’s murder. As were the candlelit vigils. And guest speakers. And grief counselors who descended onto campus armed with pamphlets and good intentions.
Charlie avoided all of it, preferring to grieve alone. As a result, she also missed out on the sense of fear that’s gripped campus for the past two months. She spent most of her time locked in her room and thus had no reason to be scared.
Now, however, she feels a frigid tingle on the back of her neck. Not helping is the list of rules printed on the flyer, most of which she’s currently disobeying.
Never go out alone at night.
Always walk in pairs.
Always tell someone where you’re going.
Never trust a stranger.
That last one gives Charlie pause. Because as much as she likes to think otherwise, Josh is a stranger. Or he will be, if he ever shows up. Charlie doesn’t wear a watch and has no clue what time it is. But she suspects it’s close to quarter after nine. If he doesn’t show up soon, she’ll have no choice but to return to the dorm. She probably should have done that already. Hell, according to the Take Back the Night flyer, she shouldn’t even be here at all, alone at the curb with suitcases and a box, clearly looking like someone about to leave and who no one would miss for a few days.
Because her need to get away far outweighs her fear, she stays put, watching the entrance to the parking lot. Soon enough, a double-barreled glow appears on the horizon.
Headlights.
They swoop farther into the lot before curving in a wide arc and aiming right at her. She squints against their brightness and looks to the sidewalk, where her shadow stretches like a ghost into the snow-dusted grass behind her. A second later, a car is waiting at the curb. The driver’s-side door opens, and Josh climbs out.
“Charlie, hi,” he says, speaking the words with a shy smile, as if it were a first date.
“Hey.”
“Sorry about the night drive,” Josh says. “It couldn’t be helped.”
“I don’t mind.”
In the past two months, Charlie’s become well-acquainted with the dark. More nights than not, she was wide awake until dawn, thanks in part to her pills, the dorm room aglow from the light of the TV and whatever movie she happened to be watching.