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Charlie’s gaze darts to the date when the license was issued.
May 1991.
As current as you can get.
Then she sees the name printed at the bottom of the license and all the air leaves her lungs.
It says Jake.
Not Josh or Joshua or any other variation of the name.
Jake Collins.
Charlie snaps the wallet shut and tosses it back on the dashboard. A sinking feeling overwhelms her, as if the car is coming apart and at any second her heels will start scraping asphalt. Her gaze flicks to the road ahead, just in case such a scenario is actually happening and she needs to know what to expect. Ahead of them is a dark ribbon of highway stretching toward the horizon.
They’ve reached Interstate 80.
The road that will take them out of New Jersey, all the way across Pennsylvania, and into Ohio.
And Charlie has no idea who the man driving her there really is.
TEN P.M.
INT. GRAND AM—NIGHT
Charlie keeps her gaze fixed on the highway ahead. There are other cars on it, but not many. Certainly not as many as she thought there’d be. Taillights glow red in the distance—too far away to provide any comfort. The same goes for headlights behind them. A quick glance in the side mirror reveals only one car on their tail. Charlie estimates it’s a quarter mile away. Maybe more.
It only reinforces the feeling that she’s alone.
In a car.
With a stranger.
“It’s quiet in here.”
Charlie’s so distracted by the highway and the license and the wallet sitting on the dashboard that at first she doesn’t hear Josh.
Or Jake.
Or whoever he is.
It’s only when he says her name—a curt, curious “Charlie?”—that she snaps out of it and turns his way.
“What did you say?” she says, studying Josh, double-checking tomake sure it really is his picture on that driver’s license, even though there’s no reason he’d be carrying another man’s license. Nogoodreason, that is. No legal one.
“I said it’s quiet in here.” Josh flashes his killer smile, inadvertently confirming for Charlie that, yes, he is the man pictured on that license. Few people have a smile like that. “Were you watching a movie?”
Charlie doesn’t know what to do. Once again, her film knowledge—a guidepost for most of her mundane actions—has failed her when she needs it most. She thinks aboutShadow of a Doubtand that other Charlie, her namesake. What would she do in this situation?
She wouldn’t be stupid, that’s for sure.
She’d be smart. She’d be plucky.
That was good old Movie Charlie.
And being plucky means being brave and facing the situation head on. It doesn’t mean throwing open the passenger-side door and flinging herself out of the car, injuries be damned, which is Real Charlie’s first instinct. Her fingers have wrapped around the door handle, even though she doesn’t remember moving them there. She forces her hand into her lap.
Another thing Movie Charlie wouldn’t do is let Josh knowsheknows he might be lying to her, which goes against common sense. Most people, if stuck in this scenario, would just flat-out ask if his name is really Jake Collins.