“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.

So he dials *69 to call back the last number that called him.

He keeps pacing as the phone rings.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Five minutes ago, he’d been sound asleep, lost in a dream he can no longer remember.

Then the phone on his nightstand rang, yanking him like a fishhook back to the present. He took his sweet time answering, resentful of the phone for waking him, even though he knew it was likely Charlie checking in like he asked her to do. He was tempted to ignore it and just let the phone keep ringing. Because Charlie was right. They were going from New Jersey to Ohio. As boring a drive as exists in this country.

But that’s not the only reason Robbie was slow to answer. Charlie had left him, after all. Not officially. But Robbie knows that’s what’s happening. A long, slow, painful uncoupling as opposed to a clean break. And he spent the rest of the night feeling sad and self-pitying about that.

So when the phone rang and he assumed it was Charlie, a petty, wounded part of him didn’t want to pick up. He thought that maybe if he let the call go unanswered, Charlie might think he wasn’t home. That he was out at one of Olyphant’s many off-campus bars, chatting up one of the many drunk co-eds all too willing to go home with him. And that if she thought that, it would make her jealous. And that if she was jealous, then she might also start to miss him. And that if she missed him enough, then maybe she’d decide to come back to him.

Robbie ended up answering—as he knew he would.

Charlie was too special to ignore.

So he grabbed the phone and said hello and prepared himself for a quick checkin and maybe some awkward small talk. He certainly didn’t expect what came next. That dire code he had devised as a joke.

Things took a detour.

At first, he thought Charlie was kidding. A bit of movie-based humor to signify she still loved him and was still thinking about him. But then Charlie said, “I’m serious,” and everything changed.

So now he’s here, pacing.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Meanwhile the phone keeps ringing and he keeps hoping that Charlie will pick up and tell him it was all just a joke, that everything is fine, that it’s smooth sailing, sweetheart.

When the fifth ring goes unanswered, Robbie ends the call, stops pacing, decides on another course of action.

He dials 411. Trusty, reliable information. This time, someone answers. Robbie gives them the name of the diner Charlie told him she was at, says it’s somewhere in Pennsylvania, and asks where, exactly, it might be located. The operator, God bless her, comes through in a jiff.

Monroe County. Peak Township. Dead River Road.

“Do you also have the phone number for the Peak Township police department handy?” Robbie says.

The operator does. She connects them. Two rings later he’s on the phone with a local dispatcher.

“I’m worried about my girlfriend,” he says. “I think she’s in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble, sir?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is she there with you?”

“No,” Robbie says. “She’s in the Poconos. In your town. At a diner called the Skyline Grille.”

“She contacted you from there?”

“Yes.”

“Did she say she was in danger?”

“Not explicitly,” Robbie says. “She had to be vague. There’s a man with her. I think he was listening in. They were supposed to be driving to Ohio together and they got off the interstate and now they’re at a diner.”

The dispatcher’s voice, so calm and efficient seconds earlier, sours into skepticism. “Sir, that’s hardly an emergency.”

“It is,” Robbie says.

Charlie told him to watch Shadow of a Doubt, which he assumed was another code. The main character’s name was Charlie, for God’s sake. And since that Charlie had figured out her uncle was a killer, Robbie took it to mean that his Charlie learned the same thing about the man she was riding with.

“Please believe me,” he says. “This guy she’s with, she doesn’t know him. And I think she’s afraid of him. I think she could be in real danger. Could you please just send a cop over there to see if she’s okay?”

“What’s your girlfriend’s name?” the dispatcher says, her voice softening again.

“Charlie.”

“Charlie?”

“Yes,” Robbie says. “It’s a long story.”

“Sir, this whole call has been a long story.” The dispatcher sighs. “I’ll try to send an officer there to check things out.”

Robbie hangs up without thanking her, a bit of rudeness that he assumes can be excused, considering the circumstances. Besides, she merely said she’d try to send a cop to the diner, which means it might not happen soon. Or at all. And Charlie could be in danger right now.

He gets dressed, throwing on a T-shirt, socks, and shoes, opting not to switch out his sweatpants for jeans. On his way out the door, he grabs his coat, his wallet, and his cars keys.

He needs to do more than stay here, pacing back and forth, back and forth, hoping Charlie will call him again.

He needs to act.

And with a lot of miles between the two of them, there’s no time to waste.

INT. DINER—NIGHT

The jukebox is still playing when they return indoors, although Don McLean’s no longer saying bye, bye to Miss American Pie and the Beatles are instead saying hey to Jude. At Josh’s overly polite insistence, Charlie enters first, marching inside feeling both defeated and frightened.

That didn’t go at all like she planned. Now she has no idea what to do next. The only other option, short of running out of the diner and hoping Josh doesn’t catch up to her, is to tell Marge.

Which isn’t much of an option at all.

Marge, despite a formidable combo of tip-garnering sass and grandmotherly concern, is no match for Josh. He’d hurt her, if he needed to. And then he’d hurt Charlie. And then it would be over.

As for the cook, Charlie hasn’t even seen him. Unless he’s a former professional wrestler, she doubts he’s going to be much help.

She returns to the table because, for now, it’s all she can do. She’ll tuck herself into the booth, pretend to not be terrified out of her mind, and try to come up with a new plan. Meanwhile, she’ll continue to hope that Robbie got the hint and called the police and that in five minutes this place will be swarming with cops.

Outside, the pay phone begins to ring. Charlie hears it, sounding tinny through the window’s glass. Josh hears it, too, and gives her a questioning look.

“You expecting a call?”

The phone rings a second time.

“No,” Charlie says.

Third ring.

“You sure?” Josh says. “Maybe you should go answer it.”

Fourth ring.

Charlie stares at it, knowing it’s Robbie using *69 to call her back. She’s certain because it’s exactly what she would do if their roles were reversed.

Fifth ring.

Josh starts to slide out of the booth. “Fine. I guess I’ll do it.”

“No,” Charlie says, reaching across the table to grab Josh’s forearm. It’s thick, the muscles taut. She assumes the rest of him is the same way. Strong. Stronger than her. She lets go, her hand slithering back across the table and into her lap.

Outside, the phone has gone silent.

“Too late,” Josh says. “We missed him.”

“It wasn’t my boyfriend,” Charlie says.

“Sure,” Josh says, unconvinced. “Whatever you say.”

They sit in silence, Charlie eyeing her scalding hot cup of tea while Josh alternates sips of Coke and coffee. Eventually, Marge emerges from the back of the diner with their food.

“Soup’s on,” she says cheerily, placing their plates in front of them. “Eat up before it gets cold.”