Page 89 of Survive the Night

One slip. One pissy mood. One mistake.

And everything changed.

Now she’s being held hostage by a woman who wants to do God knows what, and all Charlie can think is that she deserves all of it.

“I’m so sorry,” she says.

It’s not a plea. She doesn’t expect three words to give Marge a change of heart. It’s just a simple statement, made with all the sincerity she possesses.

“My granddaughter’s dead,” Marge replies. “Sorry doesn’t mean shit.”

“I loved her, too,” Charlie says.

Marge shakes her head. “Not enough.”

“And Josh—I mean, Jake. Is he related to Maddy, too?”

“Him?” Marge says as she absently scratches her tufted scalp. “He was just someone I hired to get you here. Never laid eyes on him until tonight. He’s not my responsibility.”

She glances at the stain on Charlie’s coat where she had wiped Josh’s blood from her hands. When fresh, it had blended in with the red of the fabric. Now dry, it stands out, dark and incriminating. Seeing it causes Charlie’s stomach to churn.

She stabbed an innocent man.

She likely killed him.

Knowing that she thought it was in self-defense no longer matters.

She is a murderer.

“That coat of yours used to be mine, by the way,” Marge says. “I gave it to Maddy when she turned sixteen. It’s how I knew who you were the moment you walked into the diner.”

Charlie remembers being in the bathroom, watching as Marge checked the coat’s label. At the time, she thought the waitress was looking to see if it could be replaced. Now she knows that Marge was really just confirming her identity.

“You can have it back,” Charlie says, even though it’s the only thing she has to remember Maddy by. “Iwantyou to have it.”

“I’d rather have my granddaughter back,” Marge says. “Do you know what it’s like to bury someone you love, Charlie?”

“Yes.”

Charlie knows it all too well. Those twin caskets. Those side-by-side graves. That double funeral that she was so unequipped to handle that it rewired her brain. Every movie in her mind can be traced back to that horrible moment in time, and no amount of little orange pills will change that.

“I thought I did,” Marge says. “I buried my husband, and it hurt like hell. But nothing prepared me for losing Maddy. Other than a doctor and a nurse, I was the first person to hold her. Did she ever tell you that? Her father—that deadbeat—was already out of the picture, so I was there when she was born. She came out a screaming, wriggling mess, but when the nurse put her in my arms, all I saw was her beauty. In a dark world, she was light. Bright and blazing. And then she was snuffed out. Just likethat.”

Marge snaps her fingers, and the sound echoes like a gunshot through the cavernous lobby.

“My daughter went through a bad spell. There’s no denying that. She was messed up after Maddy was born, so I took on the burden of raising her. For the first four years of Maddy’s life, I was her mother. And that kind of bond? It never goes away. Ever.”

She grabs the knife and holds it up, bringing it so close that Charlie can see her reflection in the blade.

“When I found out Maddy was dead, it felt like someone had jammed this knife right into my heart and plucked it out. The pain. It was too much.”

Charlie thinks about four days ago. Filling her cupped palm with little white pills. Swallowing them all. Watching Gene Kelly twirl in the rain as her eyelids grew heavy. All the while hoping that it would bring an end to every rotten thing she was feeling.

“I felt that way, too,” she says. “I wanted to die.”

“Well, Iamdying,” Marge says. “Whoever first said life’s a bitch, hoo boy, they really nailed it. Lifeisa bitch. A nasty one. Becausethat feeling I had? Of wanting to be put out of my misery? That went away the day we buried Maddy. As I watched them lower her into the ground, something in me just snapped. In its place was rage. Like whoever had yanked out my heart had plugged the hole left behind with a hot coal. Itburned. And I welcomed the feeling. After we put Maddy in the ground, I looked at my daughter—my only child, who had just buriedheronly child. I looked at her and vowed that I would make the person responsible pay for what they’d done. I swore that I was going to find who killed my Maddy. I was going to find them and rip a tooth out of their mouth, just like what they did to her. And that tooth would become my most cherished possession because it was proof. Proof that the person who slaughtered my granddaughter got the justice they deserved.”

Marge pauses to stare at Charlie. She stares back, knowing they’re alike. Two women made mad by grief.

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