by Riley Sager
Charlie eyes the closed door of the glove compartment, mere inches from her knees. She can’t open it. Not right now. Not without making Josh wonder why she felt compelled to start rifling through it. The same goes for his wallet, which now sits stubbornly on the dashboard, not moving a millimeter.
Right now, she has no other option but to sit quietly as Josh taps the steering wheel in time to the music. Watching him makes Charlie think back to the driving lessons with her father and how he’d toss out questions as she tried to parallel park or enact a three-point turn. What’s the speed limit in a school zone when students are arriving? When driving in fog, should your headlights be at high beam or low beam? Always come to a complete stop at a yield sign: true or false?
Charlie knew the answers. She’d all but memorized her driver’s ed manual. But with most of her brain concentrating on driving, the correct responses eluded her. She messed up. Or got flustered. Or tossed out an answer she knew was wrong just because she felt compelled to say something.
She knows Josh is lying to her. At least, she assumes he is. All she needs is proof. And while she might not be able to root around in his wallet and glove compartment, she can ask questions while he’s distracted and hope the truth emerges.
That sounds like something else Movie Charlie would do. Toss out a few innocent-sounding questions. Ones that won’t make Josh suspect her motives. They might lead to nothing. But they can’t hurt. It’s certainly better than just sitting here.
“I just realized something,” she says, talking over the music. “I don’t know your last name.”
“Really? I never told you?”
“Nope.”
Josh takes a sip of coffee, his eyes never leaving the road. Charlie wonders if not glancing her way is a sign of disinterest or a sign he knows what she’s thinking and doesn’t want to add fuel to her suspicion.
“I don’t think you ever told me yours,” he says.
“It’s Jordan,” Charlie says.
“Mine’s Baxter.”
Josh Baxter.
Charlie takes in the name, stoic, even as a small bubble of disappointment pops in her chest. She truly hoped he’d say Collins, which would then make her think that Josh was some sort of nickname. Maybe a middle name he preferred over his first one, like the girl in her dorm whose unfortunate first name was Bunny but demanded everyone use her middle name, Megan. It wouldn’t have explained everything, but at least it would have calmed her some. Now she’s the opposite of calm, simmering with dread that she’s really on to something.
“Did you always live in Akron?”
“I grew up in Toledo, remember?”
Damn. She’d hoped he would be easy to trip up. If Josh can be tripped up. Charlie remains aware that he might not be lying. That there might be a silly, simple explanation for why the license in his wallet says the complete opposite of what he’s telling her now.
“That’s right,” she says. “Toledo. Your uncle lives in Akron.”
“My aunt,” Josh says. “My uncle died five years ago.”
“Since you grew up in Ohio, what brought you to Olyphant?”
“I just ended up there. You know how it is. You get a job. Stay a while. Move on to something else. A couple years go by and you do it again.”
Charlie notes the vagueness of his answer, assumes it was that way on purpose, moves on.
“Did you like it there, though? Being a groundskeeper?”
“Janitor,” Josh says.
Charlie nods, disappointed that she again failed to trip him up. She needs to do better.
“Are you sad to be leaving?”
“I guess so,” Josh says. “I haven’t really thought about it. When your dad needs you, you go, right?”
“How long do you think you’ll be home?”
“I don’t know. It depends on how quickly he recovers. If that’s even possible.” Josh’s voice breaks. Just a little. A tiny crack in his otherwise smooth tone. “I was told he’s in pretty rough shape.”
Another vague answer, although this time Charlie’s not as quick to assume it’s intentional. Josh sounds sincere. Enough to give her a twinge of guilt for doubting everything he’s told her. She considers the possibility he’s telling the truth. If so, what does that make her? Paranoid? Heartless?
No, it makes her cautious. After what happened to Maddy, she has every right to be that way. Which is why she resumes her line of questioning.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says. “What happened to him again? Heart attack?”
“Stroke,” Josh says. “I just told you that, like, fifteen minutes ago. Boy, you have a terrible memory.”
He looks at Charlie for the first time since the conversation began, and she notices a shimmer of suspicion cross his face. He’s on to her.
Maybe.
He could also be wondering why she’s suddenly asking so many questions. Or why she can’t seem to remember any of his answers. It makes Charlie add another item to her list of things to do, joining “be smart” and “be brave.”
Be careful.
“Smells Like Teen Spirit” ends, replaced with another song Charlie’s heard only through the dorm room wall. She waits a few beats before saying, “Sorry about all the questions. I’ll stop, if you want me to.”
“I don’t mind,” Josh says, a hollow ring in his voice telling Charlie that might not be the truth. He might mind quite a bit.
“I’m just curious,” she adds. “I’ve only seen Olyphant as a student. I think it’s interesting to get a picture of the place from the side of someone who worked there.”
“Even though you’re not going back?”
“I might be,” Charlie says. “At some point.”
“Well, I can’t say it’s all that interesting from the other side.”
“I don’t remember seeing a lot of janitors around,” she says. “What kind of hours did you work? Nights? Weekends?”
“Sometimes. Also days. My hours were all over the map.”
“And you worked in classrooms?”
“And offices. Everywhere, really.”
Josh turns away from the road again to give her another maybe-suspicious-maybe-not look. It’s more than just his answers that are vague, Charlie realizes. It’s his whole persona. Everything about Josh is hard to read.
Now she needs to use it to her advantage.
“What was your favorite building to work in?” she says.
“My favorite?”
“Yeah,” Charlie says. “Everyone has a favorite building on campus. Mine is Madison Hall.”
Josh squints, uncertain. “Is that the one—”
“With the thing on top?” Charlie says. “Yeah.”
“That’s right,” Josh says, nodding along. “I like that one, too.”
Charlie waits a beat. Considering her options. Weighing which is smarter, braver, more careful. Finally, she says, “There is no Madison Hall on campus. I was just messing with you.”
Josh rolls with it, as she hoped he would. Slapping a hand to his cheek, he smiles and says, “No wonder I was confused! You were so convincing, yet I kept thinking, Is she making this up? I’ve never heard of Madison Hall.”
And there it is. She tricked him at last, a fact that provides Charlie with no sense of happiness. The opposite happens. She feels worse knowing that her fears are if not proven, at least justified. Josh is lying to her. At least about working at Olyphant University. And probably about everything else as well.
Because there is a Madison Hall on campus. Right in the center of it. A massive, multicolumn structure that hosts graduations, concerts, and performances. Every student knows of its existence. Which means every employee would, too. Even a janitor.
This leads Charlie to an unnerving conclusion. One that creates the same lump of worry in her gut she got as soon
as she saw his license.
Josh doesn’t work at Olyphant.
He never has.
And if he’s not a student and he’s not an employee, then who is he?
And why was he hanging around the ride board in the campus commons?
And—the biggest, scariest question—what, if anything, does he want with Charlie?
INT. GRAND AM—NIGHT
Josh shifts the car into a lower gear as they reach an incline. The beginning of a hilly area that will take them over a ridge and then down through the Delaware Water Gap and into Pennsylvania. With the change in elevation comes fog, wisps of which begin to envelope the Grand Am the higher it climbs. Soon the car is surrounded. Charlie looks out the windshield and sees only thick, gray swirls ahead of them. A glance in the side mirror shows the same thing behind them. Any cars that might be in the vicinity are lost in the mist. A sense of isolation settles over Charlie, drifting around her like the fog.
It’s just her and Josh.
All alone.
The song ends and another begins, startling Charlie, who’d stopped noticing the music. She had been too busy thinking. Wondering about Josh. Who he is. What he wants. Lost in her own mental fog, during which her right hand had once again found its way to the door handle at her side. This time, Charlie lets it stay there.
The new song has a slinky bass riff that slightly reminds Charlie of the surf guitar rock her parents listened to constantly. She knows the title of the song, though she’s not sure how.
“Come as You Are.”
Josh shuts off the stereo, and the car is plunged into silence.
“Let’s play,” Josh says.
“Play what?” Charlie replies, trying hard to keep from sounding as nervous as she feels.
“Twenty Questions. If we’re going to play the game, we should do it right.”
Charlie continues to study the side mirror, hoping a car will speed into view behind them. She’d feel better with another set of headlights in sight and not just a muted glow in the distance. It would mean there’s someone else nearby if things go bad. She’s seen enough movies to know how situations can change for the worse in a split second. And she’s had enough life experience to back that up.
Not that she’s certain Josh wants to do her harm. When it comes to the man sitting a mere foot away, nothing is certain. But it’s a possibility. Enough of one that she slides a little closer to the passenger door, trying to put an additional inch between them. Enough to keep her checking the side mirror, looking in vain for those headlights. Enough for the same six words to keep repeating through her head like a good-luck chant.
Be smart. Be brave. Be careful.
“I wasn’t really playing a game,” she says.
“Seemed like it to me.” Josh gives a little shrug, the lift of his shoulder cut short by his grip on the steering wheel. “Seeing how you were messing with me just now. I mean, I assume that’s why you did it. Because we’re playing a game.”
Charlie makes another minuscule edge toward the door. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Oh, I know,” Josh says. “I’m not mad. I get it. We’re stuck in this car together. Running out of things to say. Why not ask some questions and kid around a bit. So now it’s my turn. Twenty Questions. You ready?”
“I’m really not in the mood right now.”
“Humor me,” Josh says, cajoling. “Pretty please?”
Charlie relents. It’s the right thing to do. Play along, keep him occupied, hope the fog clears and more cars start to surround them.
“Fine,” she says, forcing a polite smile. “Let’s play.”
“Great. I’m thinking of an object. You’ve got twenty questions to figure out what it is. Go.”
Charlie knows the game. She played it on road trips with her parents, back when she was a little girl and they used to drive everywhere. Kings Island and Cedar Point, which were every-summer destinations. But also places outside of Ohio. Niagara Falls. Mount Rushmore. Disney World. Charlie spent every drive slumped in the back seat, sweltering because her father claimed that using the air conditioner wasted gas. When she inevitably got too bored and whiny, her mother would say, “Twenty questions, Charlie. Go.”
There was a standard question she’d always ask first. One designed to narrow things down immediately. Only now, at the start of a very different game, she can’t remember it to save her life. That lump of worry she still feels in her gut tells her Josh isn’t playing this just to amuse himself.
There are stakes involved.
Ones much higher than when she was a kid.
“You going to ask a question?” Josh says.
“Yeah. Just give me another second.”
Charlie closes her eyes and pictures those road trips like grainy home movies. Her father behind the wheel in ridiculous oversize sunglasses that clipped over his regular glasses. Her mother in the front seat with the window down, her hair trailing behind her. Her in the back seat, her sweaty legs sticking to Naugahyde, opening her mouth to speak.
The memory works. The mandatory first question pops into her head, fully formed.
“Is it bigger than a bread box?” she says.
Josh shakes his head. “Negative. One question down. Nineteen to go.”
Charlie’s memory hums like a film projector, quickly giving her the second question she’d always ask.
“Is it alive?”
“Interesting,” Josh says. “I’m going to say no, but someone smarter than me might say yes.”
Charlie considers his response, thinking hard, knowing that if she does, it might push aside all the other thoughts slithering through her brain. Scary thoughts. Ones she doesn’t want to think about. So she focuses on the game, pretending it really is just a game even though she knows it’s not.
Not for her.
“Is it associated with something alive?”
“Yes.”
“So it’s part of something.”
“Yes,” Josh says. “And I consider that a question even though it wasn’t phrased as one. That wouldn’t pass muster on Jeopardy!”
“Animal or vegetable?”
It’s another one of the standard questions she’d ask her parents on those long-ago road trips. Even though it was technically two questions, her mother always let it slide. Josh, on the other hand, calls her out on it.
“You know I can only give you yes or no answers. Care to rephrase?”
Charlie no longer tries to think about the games she played with her parents in that hot, sticky car with its perpetual McDonald’s smell. She worries the current game will ruin those memories. She doubts she’ll ever willingly play Twenty Questions again. Even if Josh turns out to be harmless. A very big if.
“Is it vegetable?” Charlie says, ridding her brain of images of her father’s clip-on sunglasses and her mother’s wind-blown hair. Instead, she pictures plants and all the things attached to them. Leaves and branches. Thorns and berries.
“No.”
“It’s animal, then.”
“Yes,” Josh says, the answer narrowing things down but not a whole lot.
“Is this animal common?”
“Very.”
“Is it wild or tame?”
“That’s two questions again, Charlie.”
“Sorry.”
Charlie’s voice goes small, and she winces upon hearing it. How weak she sounds. How scared. And she can’t sound weak or scared. She can’t, under any circumstance, let Josh know she suspects he’s up to no good. If she remains calm—if she continues to be smart, brave, careful—there’s a chance nothing bad will happen.
“I’ll rephrase,” she says, forcing some steel into her voice. “Is this animal wild?”
“It can be. The wildest.”
Josh smirks as he says it. A knowing, winking
, bordering-on-smarmy upturn of his lips that tells Charlie more than any spoken answer could.
“You’re talking about humans, right?” she says.
“I am.”
“And is this object you’re thinking of part of the body?”
“You’re good at this game, you know that? You’ve only asked—” Josh pauses to count the fingers on his right hand, the digits flexing. “Ten questions and you’re so close already.”
Charlie’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. It’s hard to tell without knowing the stakes. But since Josh seems to be in no hurry to do anything but continue to play the game, Charlie decides it’s best to do just that.
Keep him occupied.
Keep him happy and calm and driving until they reach a place where they can stop and Charlie can get out of the car and never get back in again.
That’s another thing she’s decided. To do what she’s starting to fear she should have done back at the 7-Eleven just before the highway—tell Josh she’s changed her mind, leave the car, get her things from the trunk, and let him drive away without her. She doesn’t care if she’s overreacting and Josh is just some harmless weirdo who only wants to drive her to Youngstown. It’s better to be safe than sorry. And right now, safe is a place outside of this car.
“Is this body part useful?”
“Oh, it’s very useful,” Josh says, again with the knowing smirk. This time, though, its accompanied by a lift of the eyebrows that suggests something both sexual and sinister. Seeing it makes Charlie shift in her seat.
It occurs to her—just now, when it’s far too late, and not back when she was still safely at Olyphant—that Josh could be a sexual predator. Someone who lures college girls into his car, rapes them, dumps them on the side of the road. Then he drives off to a different university and the process begins anew. Josh is certainly physically capable of it. His size was one of the first things Charlie noticed about him.
The worried lump in her stomach expands, rising upward into her chest, pushing against her lungs. Her rib cage tightens. So much so that she takes a deep breath, just to prove to herself that she still can.