Their choice. No one else’s.

Now it’s Charlie doing the choosing. Robbie can’t be the one in control.

She reaches for her seat belt, pulls it across her chest, snaps it into place.

She takes a deep breath.

Then she slams the gas pedal against the floor.

The Volvo streaks toward the bridge, shuddering, out of control. Tires screaming. Engine screaming. Robbie screaming. All of it blending into a single scream that’s part human, part machine.

The car thumps onto the bridge, roaring over it.

Halfway across, Charlie yanks the wheel to the right and the Volvo careens toward the bridge’s wooden railing.

A second later, the car smashes through it.

Wood scrapes against metal. An earsplitting friction.

The bridge beneath the tires disappears and the car seems to take flight, although Charlie knows that what it’s really doing is falling.

Arcing over off the bridge and crashing toward the water below.

Charlie lurches forward, her chest pinned against the steering wheel a moment before she’s jerked backward by the seat belt.

Robbie, on the other hand, is thrown like a rag doll against the dashboard.

When the car hits the water, Charlie’s head snaps against the back of the seat. The impact sends a shudder through her body. And as a rush of water engulfs the car, a wave of darkness does the same to Charlie until both she and the car sink beneath it.

INT. VOLVO—NIGHT

Water on the windshield.

That’s what Charlie sees as she regains consciousness.

A line of it runs right across the glass. Above it is night sky and streaks of stars. Below is murky water illuminated by the Volvo’s headlights. Charlie guesses it’s about fifteen feet deep and that the Volvo, pitched forward, will be reaching the bottom sooner rather than later. Water gushes into the car from below, already up to her lap.

Charlie looks to the passenger seat.

Robbie’s still there, wide awake and watching. The slam against the dashboard has left him bruised and bleeding. A large red mark covers half of his face. Blood trickles from his right nostril.

“Is this what you wanted?” he says. “To kill us both?”

“No,” Charlie says. “Just you.”

She unhooks her seat belt, not worried about getting out of the car. She knows what to do. Wait until it fills completely with water, which alters the pressure against the side of the car, then open the door and swim out.

She knows because she saw it in a movie.

The water, up to her chest now, keeps rising. As the car fills, it makes a worrisome groaning sound and tilts even farther forward. The Volvo’s headlights sweep across the bottom of the ravine before flickering and going out.

In that newfound darkness, Charlie doesn’t see Robbie’s bent elbow coming right toward her face. She’s only aware of it after the fact, when his elbow slams into the bridge of her nose.

The blow is hard.

A firecracker of pain.

Charlie’s head smacks against the driver’s-side window.

She sees stars as Robbie leaps on top of her.

“Shh,” he says. “It’ll all be over soon.”

Then he grabs Charlie by the hair and shoves her head underwater.

INT. VOLVO—NIGHT

Robbie keeps Charlie’s head submerged, although he doesn’t want to do it. Not this. Not to her. Not while she’s kicking and thrashing and flailing just below the surface.

She’s special. Exactly like him—even though she refuses to admit it. And people like them are rare. They hide their specialness under a bushel, only revealing it to others who are special.

Robbie thought Charlie knew this.

He assumed she knew they were kindred spirits.

But some people don’t realize they’re special—a problem Robbie never had. He knew from an early age who he was. A genius. Athletic. Golden. One look in the mirror and it was clear he was a rarity.

Charlie, though, is different. She doesn’t know how blessed she is. What a gift she has—being able to disappear into fantasy whenever reality gets too painful. People would pay for that kind of ability.

She’s not like Katya, the girl from his neighborhood who strutted up and down the sidewalk like she was hot shit when she was really just trash. Her family was the poorest in the neighborhood, their house a wreck, the parents always screaming at each other in the front yard. But Katya thought that she was better than everyone else. It didn’t matter that she was chubby and showed too much skin and was so loud Robbie could hear her coming from two blocks away.

The police still think she ran away from home because he’d buried her body so deep in the woods it’s never been found.

Charlie’s not like Angela, who threw herself at him while working at that bar. As if Robbie would ever deign to fuck someone so worthless. Special girls don’t need to show off in too-tight shirts and too-high skirts. To get his attention, they don’t need to write their number on a napkin and slip it with a wink into his lap.

He offered her a ride back to campus when her shift was done. After she was dead, he took her tooth because he regretted burying Katya so deep and wanted something to remember Angela by.

Charlie’s not like Taylor, who mocked his purchases at the bookstore she worked at, trying to flirt by pretending she was smarter than him when she clearly wasn’t. “I bet I read more than you,” she said, as if he cared a whit about any aspect of her life. A common mistake among people who aren’t special—that they’re worthy of care.

But he pretended to be interested. He waited around after she casually told him her shift was ending soon. By the end of the night, he had a second tooth in his collection.

And Charlie’s definitely not like Maddy, that attention whore. From the moment he met her, he couldn’t stand her. Dressing like that. Talking like that. Doing any pathetic thing she could just to be noticed.

That Robbie found her like he did was a happy accident. He’d been roaming the streets, looking as he always did for those who were special like him and judging the many who weren’t. He headed down the alley, lured by the awful music coming from inside the bar.

And there she was.

Clutching her gaudy purse and fumbling with her lighter.

She whined to him about her awful night, even though he didn’t care. But then she mentioned Charlie, how they’d fought, how she was worried she’d fucked up their friendship for good.

That was when Robbie knew what he had to do. Get rid of Maddy. Have Charlie all to himself.

He’d spent the past year getting to know Charlie, learning from her, even loving her. He had planned their life together. Marriage, kids, careers. They would grow old and be special together, and everyone would envy them.

With that in mind, he didn’t hesitate to kill Maddy, even as she begged for her life.

But now it’s led to this.

Now he’s making Charlie go away as well. He has no other choice. Keeping her alive is too risky. His specialness outweighs hers.

One small consolation is that he’ll be able to take a tooth. Something to remember Charlie by. The jewelry box that contains the others bobs in the water near his shoulders, as if waiting for a new addition.

His right arm strains to keep Charlie submerged. His spine bends and twists to keep his head above water. His legs press against the seat and the dashboard, giving him leverage.

Under the water, Charlie goes still.

There’s no more kicking, no more thrashing, no more flailing.

All is calm.

But as Robbie starts to pull his hand away, something cold clicks around his right wrist.

Looking down, he sees it’s now encircled by one end of a pair of handcuffs.

Then, with a horror so deep it pierces his soul, he hears another click.

INT. VOLVO—NIGHT

Charlie hadn’t forgotten about Josh’s handcuffs. They were always present in her thoughts, cold and flat in the front pocket of her jeans. She just didn’t know when—or how—to use them.

It wasn’t until Robbie pushed her under the water that she finally knew.

And as she clicks the other end around the steering wheel, Charlie’s glad she waited.

She emerges from the water into a car that’s almost completely filled. There’s about eight inches of air left. Just enough for Charlie to tilt her head back and speak.

The same can’t be said for Robbie.

Thanks to the handcuffs, he can’t keep his mouth above the surface. The waterline is now even with his nose as he uses those big, Bambi eyes to stare up at her. Mere hours ago, that expression would have melted Charlie’s heart. Seeing it now, she feels only anger.

Robbie keeps looking at her, though, beseeching. It’s clear he thinks she has a key to the cuffs.

He’s wrong.

Even if she did know where the keys are, she sure as hell wouldn’t use them to set Robbie free.

“That was for Maddy,” Charlie says, knowing he can still hear her.

She holds up the pair of pliers she’d grabbed off the floor while underwater.

“And this,” she says, “is for Marge.”

MORNING