“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.

“Well, your chariot awaits,” Josh says as he pats the roof of the car. “Not quite a limousine, but it’ll get us where we need to go.”

Charlie takes a moment to examine the car. The slate-gray Pontiac Grand Am—to her eye, at least—looks far from junky. Exterior freshly washed. No obvious scratches or dents. Definitely no tinted windows. Charlie can see right into the front seat, which is blessedly empty. It’s the kind of car her father might drive, if he was still around. Sensible. Hopefully dependable. A car built to blend in with the crowd.

Josh eyes the box and suitcases at her feet. “I didn’t think you’d be bringing that much. You plan on being gone awhile?”

“Hopefully not too long,” Charlie says, not meaning it but also wondering if she secretly does. And why shouldn’t she want that? Doesn’t she owe it to Robbie to at least try to come back for the spring semester? Doesn’t she owe it to herself?

Even though Maddy’s the reason she’s doing all this, Charlie knows she’d disapprove.

You’re being an idiot, darling. That’s what Maddy would have said about her plan to leave campus.

“Is there enough room for it all?” Charlie says.

“Plenty,” Josh says as he quickly moves to the back of the car and unlocks the trunk.

Charlie grabs the cardboard box and starts to carry it toward the open trunk. Josh swoops in before she can get near it, taking the box from her arms and leaving Charlie only with her backpack.

“Let me get that for you,” he says.

Her arms suddenly unburdened, Charlie spends the next few seconds watching Josh load her things into the trunk. In that short span of time, she notices something strange about the way he’s standing. Rather than pack everything from directly behind the car, Josh remains at an angle, his broad back blocking whatever view Charlie might get of the open trunk. Almost as if there’s something else inside. Something he doesn’t want her to see.

Charlie suspects it’s nothing.

She knows it’s nothing.

People sometimes do weird things. She’s the girl who sees movies in her mind, and Josh is the guy who fills his trunk in a weird way. End of story.

But then Josh turns around after slamming the trunk shut and she notices something else about him. Something that, to her mind, is stranger than how he loaded the trunk.

Josh is dressed the same as he was at the ride board.

Exactly the same.

Same jeans. Same sweatshirt. Same nice hair. Yes, they’re at a college and everyone dresses like this; it’s the unofficial uniform of Olyphant. But Josh wears it uncomfortably, almost like these are not his normal clothes. There is, Charlie realizes, a bit of Central Casting to his look, as if he’s been hired as an extra. Generic College Hunk #2.

Josh smiles again, and Charlie notices that it’s absolutely perfect. The smile of a matinee idol, intimidating in its full glory. It might be sexy. It might be sinister. Charlie can’t decide which.

“We’re all set,” he says. “Ready to ditch this pop stand?”