Survive the Night

by Riley Sager

  As Josh pulls into a parking spot, Charlie sizes up the situation. It leaves her stumped. For reasons Charlie can’t begin to understand, Josh brought her to a place where help is within reach.

  “Ready to eat?” he says. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

  They get out of the car, Josh a few feet ahead of her. As they cross the parking lot, Charlie cradles her backpack and ponders what to do next. It would make sense to end things immediately. Just burst into the diner and scream that Josh is trying to kill her, that he’s killed before, that he’ll keep doing it until someone stops him.

  There are three other cars in the parking lot. A black Ford pickup, a boxy compact car, and a powder-blue Cadillac deVille with a dent in the driver’s-side door. She wonders if the driver of at least one of them is capable of restraining Josh. He’s a big guy. Strong. It’ll take someone equally as big and strong to subdue him, and Charlie doubts the drivers of the compact car and the Cadillac are up to the task. That leaves the pickup driver.

  If he believes her.

  Charlie knows full well that bursting into the diner shouting about serial killers will likely make people think she’s the troublesome one. They’ll assume she’s drunk or crazy or a combination of the two, just like the woman in the rest stop bathroom. Charlie remembers the way that woman looked at her. So skeptical, so unwilling to help. There’s nothing to suggest the staff and patrons of the Skyline Grille won’t be the same way. She’s sure she has the same desperate, deranged look she had at the rest stop. That might make it hard to convince someone to help. People don’t want to believe that a fellow human being is capable of such vicious cruelty. They want to think everyone they meet is just like them.

  Nice.

  That’s what Charlie thought about Josh when they met at the ride board. Hell, it’s what she thought at the rest stop, when he caught a snowflake on his tongue and she decided getting into the car with him—again—was the wisest course of action.

  She was wrong.

  Just like she could be wrong that someone in the diner won’t believe her.

  But if no one does—if they look at her the same way the woman in the rest stop bathroom did—then all Charlie will have accomplished is tipping off Josh that she knows what kind of person he is.

  Not nice. Even though he’s doing something nice right now by holding the diner’s front door open for her.

  As she walks toward the door, she sees that a better option—a smarter, braver, more careful one—sits outside the diner, by the side of the building, a few feet from the front right corner.

  A pay phone. Hopefully in working order.

  Charlie can excuse herself, come outside, and call the police, who’ll have to believe her. That’s their job. Some cop will be dispatched to the diner, and Charlie will be outside waiting, ready to tell them everything she knows about Josh. If they still think she’s lying and Josh fools them just like he fooled her, she’ll make a scene. Let them think she’s drunk or crazy. A jail cell and a drunk and disorderly charge are far better than what Josh has planned.

  She’s made up her mind.

  Pay phone it is.

  All she needs to do now is get away from Josh long enough to use it.

  INT. DINER—NIGHT

  The diner is mostly empty. Just a waitress, an unseen cook in the back, and a couple in a booth by the window. The couple—a man and woman in their late twenties—have a boozy weariness to them, which won’t be much help to her.

  Neither will the waitress, who looks to be well past sixty. She’s got high hair, coral lipstick, and age-spotted arms that poke like sticks from the sleeves of her mint-green uniform.

  “Sit anywhere you want,” she says as she rearranges the pies inside a glass dessert case near the door. “I’ll be there in a jiff.”

  Charlie makes a move to the left side of the diner, where the couple sits, hoping to snag the booth next to theirs. Safety in numbers. But the woman chooses that moment to let out a drunken cackle, sending Josh to a corner booth on the opposite end of the diner, next to a jukebox pushed against the wall. Charlie has no choice but to join him.

  She leaves her coat on after sliding into the booth across from Josh. Since she’ll be going right back outside to make a phone call, she sees no point in removing it. There’s the added bonus that, like a bullfighter’s cape, its bright red has attracted the attention of others in the diner. Normally, Charlie hates feeling conspicuous, but now she appreciates the attention. If all eyes are on her, then Josh will have to be on his best behavior.

  That moment of something working in her favor lasts only a few seconds. Because as soon as she’s situated, Charlie looks out the window and her heart sinks into her stomach, which sinks to the diner floor.

  The pay phone is right outside.

  Just on the other side of the glass.

  In full view of Josh.

  Inches from him.

  Charlie takes a breath, trying to stay calm. Maybe she should change her mind and make a scene anyway. She does another quick sizing up of the rest of the diner. The couple in the opposite corner is shrugging on coats and slipping on gloves, clearly preparing to leave. The woman—the drunker of the two—gets her hair caught in her scarf and barks out another laugh.

  “You okay to drive, hon?” the waitress says as they pass her on their way out.

  “We’re fine,” the man says.

  “Suit yourself,” the waitress says. Under her breath, she adds, “But if you wrap your damn car around a tree, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Charlie watches the waitress watch the couple climb into the compact car parked outside and pull away. She respects the way the woman is looking out for others. That flinty concern might be needed if Charlie decides to abandon the phone call idea and straight-up ask for help.

  The waitress closes the dessert case and flips a switch. It lights up like a window display at Christmas, the three levels of pies inside slowly rotating. Grabbing two menus, the waitress then makes her way to their table.

  She looks familiar, but in a way Charlie can’t place. Like a character actress she sees on a TV show and then spends the rest of the night trying to think of what else she’s been in. Charlie assumes it’s because she’s a walking, talking stereotype of a movie waitress, right down to the pencil tucked behind her ear.

  Still, she makes note of her name tag.

  Marge.

  “What can I get you kids to drink?” she says with a noticeable smoker’s rasp.

  Josh orders a Coke and a coffee. Charlie orders a cup of hot tea.

  “Scalding-hot, please,” she says, thinking ahead, picturing a scenario in which she has to throw it in Josh’s face in order to make a quick escape.

  Marge, clearly a pro, doesn’t need to jot it down. “Hot as Hades,” she says. “Coming right up.”

  She leaves them to peruse the menu, which is encased in a plastic sleeve that reminds Charlie of the license in Josh’s wallet. Although she suspects it’s really Jake’s wallet. Like their game of Twenty Questions, she no longer thinks it was a movie-in-her-mind situation. It’s more likely that Josh switched licenses at some point, probably at the toll plaza while talking to the toll collector. He’s smart. She’ll give him that.

  She needs to be smarter.

  “What are you going to have?” Josh says.

  Charlie scans the menu, her stomach roiling at the thought of eating anything. But she needs to order something to keep Josh from getting suspicious. She settles on a plate of fries, thinking that maybe she can manage to force one down if she needs to.

  Marge returns with their drinks, setting a cup in front of Charlie, the water inside it still unsettled, as if it’s just stopped boiling. It’s followed by a Lipton tea bag, a lemon slice in a tiny bowl, and two plastic containers of creamer.

  “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.

  “Hey, it’s me.” Charlie knows her voice sounds off. Tremulous. A tad too quiet. “Just checking in from the road.”

  “How’s the drive? Smooth sailing, sweetheart?”

  Charlie shoots a glance at Josh. Even though he doesn’t appear to be listening, she knows he is. The whistling has stopped.

  “Actually, things took a detour.”

  “Very funny,” Robbie says.

  “I’m serious,” Charlie says, sounding the opposite of serious. Because she has to. Because she knows that Josh is paying attention to every word. “We’re no longer on the highway.”

  “I don’t understand,” Robbie says. “Where are you? What’s going on?”

  “I can’t talk long. Just wanted to say hi.”

  “Charlie, I need you to tell me what’s happening.” Robbie sounds panicked now. It streaks through every word. “Just give me a hint.”

  “Oh, you know, we were driving along, got hungry, and decided to get off the highway,” Charlie says, faking a smile and hoping that, like Robbie, it comes through in her voice. Not for his sake. And certainly not for hers.

  It’s for Josh, who’s back to staring up at the sky, his hands still in his pockets.

  “Where?” Robbie says. “Can you tell me?”

  “The Poconos. We’re at the cutest diner. It’s called the Skyline Grille.”

  She hopes Robbie’s writing this
all down. Or at least committing it to memory. And as soon as she hangs up, she hopes he calls the police.

  “Can you get away?” he says.

  “Not at the moment. Our food’s almost ready.”

  “Shit.” Robbie pauses, helpless. “How can I help? Tell me what to do.”

  Charlie doesn’t know how to respond. She’s all out of code words. They hadn’t taken it further than this because, honestly, it was all a joke. Just something Robbie came up with to ease the pain of her departure. But now her life might literally depend on what she says next.

  “You should watch a movie,” she says. “Shadow of a Doubt.”

  She hopes Robbie gets the hint. He’s seen the movie, of course. She made him watch it their first month of dating so he’d understand how she got her name. Now she hopes he understands that the film’s plot is coming true. Life imitating art in the worst kind of way.

  “I should be home in about four hours,” she says, this time completely for Josh’s benefit. A not-so-subtle reminder that her boyfriend expects her to be home by a certain hour and will be worried if she isn’t. “I’ll call you when I get there.”

  “Charlie, wait—”

  She hangs up before Robbie can say anything else, unable to bear hearing him sound so frantic and helpless. She also wanted to avoid a maudlin goodbye. There’ll be no last words from her tonight. Not if she can help it.

  “You all done?” Josh says.

  Charlie nods.

  “Good. It’s cold out here.” Josh flashes her that perfect smile. “Don’t want you to catch your death.”

  INT. ROBBIE’S APARTMENT—NIGHT

  Robbie still grips the phone, even though a full minute has passed since Charlie hung up on him. A recent birthday gift from his parents, it’s one of those new, expensive cordless phones he thought were pointless. But now Robbie sees its purpose. It lets him pace the bedroom unhindered by a tangled cord.

  And pace he does.

  Back and forth.

  Back and forth.

  Hard enough to wear down the carpet if he paced long enough, if he did nothing. But he knows that’s not an option. He has to do something.