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For her.
Two stalls away, Charlie pulls her legs onto the toilet seat so Josh won’t be able to see them under the door. If she stays like this, completely silent and still, then maybe Josh will think she’s not in here, that she’s left without him noticing, that she simply disappeared.
Then he’ll go away.
Josh is at the third stall now. Right next to Charlie’s. The flickering lights splatter his shadow across the floor in uneven bursts thatmake it hard to track his precise location. It’s there for a slice of a second, then gone, then back again, only slightly closer this time.
Charlie stares at the floor, watching the stutter-start progress of the shadow as the door to the stall next door is thrown open. She clamps a hand over her mouth, trying to mute the sound of her breathing. A useless act. She fears her heartbeat alone will give her away, pounding like a drum in her chest.
Josh is now in front of her stall, his strobing shadow stretching under the door and into the stall itself, as if it’s trying to grab Charlie.
There’s a rap on the door.
Then another.
So hard it rattles the door and makes Charlie realize, with nerve-scalding horror, that she never turned the latch.
She makes a desperate grab for the lock, but it’s too late. The door swings inward, revealing Charlie crouched on top of the toilet, caught in the disco glow of the faulty lights. Standing on the other side of the now-open door is a woman. Mid-twenties. Too-tight stone-washed jeans. Bleached-blond hair with a strip of brown at the roots. She lets out a startled yelp as she jumps away from the stall.
“Shit,” the woman says. “I thought it was empty.”
Charlie remains crouched on the toilet like something feral. No wonder the woman scuttles to the sinks on the other side of the bathroom. The wide mirror above them reflects the strobing flash of the overhead fixture, making it look like she’s moving in slow motion.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” Charlie says.
The woman locks eyes with her. “Looks like I scared you more.”
“I thought you were someone else.” Charlie steps down from the toilet, still uncertain. “Why were you checking all the stalls?”
“Because this is a rest stop late at night and I’m alone and I’m not an idiot.”
The woman pauses, leaving the harsh remainder of the sentence unspoken.
Like you.
The bathroom light continues to strobe. No wonder Charlie was frightened. It’s very slasher flick. Very Wes Craven. The result is that the woman is now scared of her, as if she’s the danger here. When Charlie steps out of the stall, the woman flinches.
“Did you see a guy out in the parking lot?” Charlie says. “Next to the Grand Am?”
“Yeah.” The woman, still backed against the sink, eyes the stall behind her. Charlie can tell she has to use it but is now wondering if she can wait until the next rest stop. “You with him?”
Charlie risks another step toward her. “I’m not sure I want to be. Is it possible— I mean, could you, please, give me a ride?”
“I’m only going to Bloomsburg,” the woman says.
Charlie doesn’t know where that is. She doesn’t care, as long as it’s not here.
“I don’t mind,” she says, trying to sound accommodating but edging closer to desperation. “You can drop me off somewhere and I’ll find a ride the rest of the way home.”
“Why can’t your boyfriend take you?”
“He’s not—”
My boyfriend.
That’s what Charlie wants to say.
But before she can get the words out, the bathroom door opens again and in saunters Maddy.