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“Welcome back,” she says.
Through the doorway behind her, Charlie can see a walk-in refrigerator on the other side of a narrow hallway. Its door is shut tight, a steady hum muffled behind it. To the right of the fridge is a stack of wooden crates, beyond which Charlie can see a sliver of kitchen.
She’s still in the diner.
She has no idea why.
Charlie struggles beneath her restraints, the chair bucking. “What’s going on?” she says.
“It’s best if you stay quiet,” Marge says.
That’s not going to happen. Not while Charlie’s tied to a chair in what looks to be a storeroom.
“I don’t know why you’re doing this, but it’s not too late to stop. You can just let me go and I’ll leave and never tell anyone.”
That idea doesn’t go over well with Marge. The waitress scowls and thrusts a hand into her apron pocket.
“Are you going to hurt me?” Charlie says.
“I don’t know yet,” Marge replies. “Maybe. That depends on you.”
Charlie doesn’t know what to do with that information. It sits in her brain like a rock in a stream—heavy and immobile, even though the current swirls all around it.
“What do you want from me?”
A circle of light forms on the refrigerator behind Marge, growing larger. Charlie assumes it’s from a car pulling into the parking lot, its high beams shining through the round window in the door leading to the main dining room. That would put the door and dining room to their left. Good to know for when Charlie tries to escape. If she gets the chance. The ropes around her remain tight no matter how much she strains against them.
The light on the fridge vanishes.
Charlie hears—or thinks she hears—a car door slowly opening. She’s only certain when she hears a telltale slam two seconds later.
Definitely a car door.
Someone’s out there.
And from the look of concern that crosses Marge’s face, she’s not expecting whoever it is.
Charlie’s heart pounds in her ears. This could be help. It could mean rescue. She opens her mouth to scream, but Marge is upon her before she can let it out, stuffing a dish towel into her mouth. It tastes faintly like dish soap. Enough to make Charlie gag as Marge connects the ends of the towel in a tight knot at the back of her head.
Out front, someone tries the diner’s front door, finding it locked. Undeterred, whoever it is raps on the glass.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
Charlie gasps beneath the dish towel, sending more soap taste against the back of her throat.
She’d recognize that voice from a mile away.
Robbie.
“Hello?” he calls again, punctuating it with another knock on the door.
Charlie goes completely silent and still, wondering if she’s mistaken. There’s no way it could be Robbie. It must be someone else. The police. A hungry motorist. Anyone but her boyfriend, who would have needed to drive more than an hour to get here. She’sproven wrong when the person outside calls, “Charlie? Are you in there?”
ItisRobbie.
Charlie thinks: He’s here to rescue her.
She thinks: He can easily overpower Marge.