Using the very knife she tried to kill him with.

“I’m getting you out of here,” he says as the rope binding Charlie’s wrists finally falls away.

Josh moves behind her, trying to undo the rope wound around her torso and the chair.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie says, relieved to find that the pain in her mouth lessens when she speaks. “I’m sorry for what I did to you.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry. I never should have let you get into my car. She told me she just wanted to talk to you. I didn’t know she was going to do something like this.”

“And I didn’t know you were a—”

“Bounty hunter?” Josh says. “I figured that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I couldn’t. You’re not a fugitive. And this wasn’t a law enforcement gig. You’re just a college student some old lady hired me to bring to a diner in the middle of fucking nowhere. A private job I took because I needed the money. I could lose my license if anyone found out.”

“So everything you said in the car—”

“Was all just a way to get you here as easily as possible,” Josh says. “I was never planning to hurt you, Charlie. Using force would have been a last resort. So I had to get creative. But messing with your head like that was a shitty thing to do, and I’m sorry.”

Charlie would have been less forgiving under normal circumstances. But it’s hard to stay mad when the rope around her arms drops away from the chair and into her lap. Because her hands are free, Josh lets her try to unloop it from around her as he comes around front again and starts sawing at the ties around her ankles.

He’s almost through one strand when Charlie notices the glow of a lantern over his shoulder.

Marge.

She stands on the other side of the canvas drop cloth, kerosene lantern in one hand, pistol in the other.

Seeing Josh there, about to set Charlie loose and ruin her plan, breaks something inside the woman’s grief-rattled psyche. Charlie sees it happening. An internal snapping that jerks her whole body.

And before it passes, Marge raises the gun, aims, and fires.

EXT. LODGE—NIGHT

Robbie almost used the front doors. After quietly steering his Volvo to a stop behind the dented Cadillac, he intended to just storm into the building, tackle that old waitress if necessary, and retrieve Charlie.

But then he thought about the gun.

He knows the waitress has one. He saw it poking against Charlie’s back outside the diner.

And he’s watched enough movies with Charlie to know things usually don’t end well for characters who simply burst through the front door. Especially if the bad guy has a gun. And since the only weapon Robbie has is the same tire iron he’d used to knock out the Caddy’s taillight, he opted for an alternative route.

Now he clambers through the woods to the right of the lodge. His plan is to find a back way into the building that will let him sneak up on the waitress. But this side of the building isn’t landscaped. It’s just a strip of rocky, tree-choked terrain sitting between the lodge itself and the rushing creek that leads to the nearby waterfall, which is deafening in its roar. Robbie can’t hear anything else, which is good in that it masks the sound of his approach but bad in that it does the same to anyone who might be trying to sneak up on him.

The darkness doesn’t help. The trees here are mostly evergreens with full branches that blot out the moonlight and crowd the ground with shadow. Wearing only sneakers, Robbie’s feet slip often on the snow that had fallen earlier. Never a good thing when you’re mere yards from water. One false step could send him tumbling into the creek, at which point it would be over. Sure, Robbie was the star of the swim team and now a coach, but not even an Olympic gold medalist would be able to overpower the pull of that waterfall.

As he trudges through the snow and the dark, always keeping an eye on the rapids to his right, Robbie knows it would have been easier to use the pay phone he saw outside the diner to call the police.

It also would have been foolish.

He’d already tried calling the police once, and that didn’t help. Then there’s the fact that, had he waited in the diner parking lot for the cops to arrive, he’d have no idea where the waitress had taken Charlie. He certainly wouldn’t have known this place existed if he hadn’t followed the Cadillac here.

Making his way to the rear of the lodge, Robbie knows deep down that he made the right decision. It’s better for him to be here, where he can actually do something, than back at the diner, waiting for cops who may or may not believe him.

But he also knows he needs to be cautious. Not just in his movements, but in his thinking. He’s a smart guy. He’s studying to be a math professor, for God’s sake. He can deduce his way out of this. Slow and steady. That always wins the race.

But then a noise erupts from deep inside the lodge.

A gunshot.

Robbie’s sure of it.

Not even the angry roar of the falls can disguise that sound.

Hearing it, he knows instantly that slow and steady are no longer going to cut it.

He needs to be fast.

And even then it might already be too late.

INT. LODGE LOBBY—NIGHT

In the echo chamber of the lobby, the gunshot is as loud as a firecracker.

It’s followed by a splat of blood hot on Charlie’s face and a grunt from Josh.

Soft. Surprised.

He lists to the right and hits the floor with a thud that sounds nothing like the way a body lands in the movies. It’s a pitiful noise. Both soft and loud at the same time. Like a sack of laundry landing on a bed.

Charlie looks down and sees Josh facedown on the floor, a bullet hole and widening splotch of blood in the shoulder of his sweatshirt. More blood oozes out from under him, soaking into the canvas drop cloth.

Frantic, Charlie bends forward and tugs at the rope around her ankles. She needs to help Josh. If he’s not already beyond help. He doesn’t move when she looks his way, nor does he make a sound.

On the other side of the canvas, Marge stands with the pistol still raised. Her face is a mask of surprise, as if she, too, can’t believe what she’s just done. Like Josh before her, she leans precariously to the side.

Although she manages to remain upright, the lantern in her hand falls from her grip and smashes onto the floor.

Kerosene spills from the toppled lantern. A quicksilver stream that twists across the canvas.

It makes it all the way to the drapes at the windows before the fire arrives. At first, it’s a streak of blue flames rushing over the path laid out by the kerosene. The fire starts to glow orange as it digs into the canvas, forging its own path over the drop cloth and, soon, the drapes.

They ignite in an instant, the flames climbing the fabric toward the ceiling. Within seconds, all the drapes are engulfed. One set falls away, dropping to the floor in a flutter of fire, smoke, and ash.

A new fire springs up where it lands, spreading across the drop cloth. Once it’s chewed its way to the edge of the canvas, it gets to work on the parquet floor.

When another section of drapes falls, a third patch of fire forms, with the same result.

Charlie knows it’ll just keep happening until that whole area and beyond are engulfed in flame. And when the fire reaches the other kerosene lantern, the situation will go from bad to worse.

Looking to Josh, Charlie sees a growing wall of fire rolling his way.

“Help us!” she yells to Marge, who’s backed away from the flames, stunned.

Lost in a daze, Marge either doesn’t hear her or refuses to listen.

Charlie pulls the final bit of rope from her legs and goes to Josh, who remains silent and motionless. Without thinking, she grabs him by the ankles and begins to drag him away from the fire. Their progress is marked by a streak of blood on the canvas that’s quickly devoured by the flames trailing them.

Soon they’re off the drop cloth and sliding across the lobby’s parquet floor. Not safe from the flames. Far from it. But away, which is all that matters right now.

Marge has also made her way toward the front of the lobby, staring at the growing fire with an agonized look. The pistol’s still in her hand, still extended, and for a surreal moment Charlie thinks she’s going to try to shoot at the flames. But then Marge swivels, aiming the gun right at her.

Charlie raises her hands.

“Please,” she says. “Please don’t do this. He needs help.”

Off to the side, the fire gets larger. Both the chair and the stool now burn, flames leaping from the spot where Charlie had been sitting minutes earlier. All but one set of drapes has fallen away from the windows, revealing more flames reflected in the glass and making the blaze seem even bigger. Smoke spirals toward the ceiling, accumulating at the peaked roof and exposed beams.

Charlie sees all that wood above and thinks one thing: this fire is only going to continue to grow.