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It doesn’t matter if Josh poses no real threat. The alternative—that he does—is too risky to consider. It’s best to err on the side of caution. To be smart, to be brave, to be careful.
Staying in this car with Josh isn’t any of those things.
They’ve descended into the Delaware Valley, a few miles from the Pennsylvania border. The fog is completely gone now, revealinga night sky pulsing with starlight, a river to their left, and three lanes of blacktop stretching toward the horizon in front of them.
Charlie remains focused on the highway ahead, unable to bring herself to look at Josh for even a second. Yet she remains hyper-aware of his presence, mere inches away. The sheer bulk of him. The way his presence fills the car. The steady rhythm of his breath. There’s no way to ignore him.
There’s no way to escape him, either, short of throwing herself out of the car, an idea Charlie keeps returning to again and again. Her right hand continues to grip the door handle, her fingers tight around it, ready to spring into action.
Charlie would do it, too, if she was certain such a leap wouldn’t kill her. But it definitely could. She guesses she has a fifty percent chance of survival. Maybe less, considering there are now more cars on the road. Charlie counts four behind them. Four vehicles that might not be able to veer out of the way if she does jump, their tires rumbling over her body like it was a speed bump.
It would be different if they were in the right lane, where Charlie could attempt to fling herself onto the road’s shoulder, where grass would slightly soften her landing. But Josh has steered the Grand Am into the center lane, his driving as even as his breathing. Keeping the car tightly inside the lane lines. Going an acceptable three miles over the speed limit. Doing nothing to draw the attention of other motorists.
One of the cars behind them changes lanes, moving into the right one. Its shift in position leaves a speck of brightness in the side mirror outside Charlie’s window.
Headlights.
Getting larger.
Charlie twists in her seat to get a better look at the car coming up on the right. The driver clearly intends to pass them eventually, even though it’s technically only legal to pass on the left. As the carkeeps coming, Charlie spots something on top of its roof—a light bar stretching from one side of the car to the other. She then sees the words that have been applied to the vehicle’s body, right over the front tire.
STATE TROOPER
Charlie’s heart gallops. A state trooper is pulling up beside them. Almost as if she willed him into existence. Now all she needs to do is get the trooper’s attention without Josh seeing.
Charlie presses her forehead against the window, the glass cool against her skin.
“You okay, Charlie?” Josh says.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Just a little carsick.”
A warm breath rides the sibilant second half of the word. It hits the window, creating a tiny circle of fog on the glass. Charlie stares at it, not blinking until it fades.
She speaks again.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to puke or anything. It always passes.”
The window fogs again, this time in a slightly larger patch. Charlie counts off the seconds until it disappears.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.