"Knees. I must have fallen on them. Everything. Everywhere," she added on a hitching sound even as I watched the first tear slip down her cheek. But the tears momentarily halted as she made a sharp gasping noise. One of her hands flew down, reaching up the side of her skirt as her whole body tensed.
And I knew what she was thinking.
But not a second later, her shoulders relaxed as she let out a deep breath, likely finding her panties still in place.
"I don't understand why this happened," she added on a whimper, leaning the side of her head into my chest.
"I don't understand either," I said, gently placing a hand on her upper back, trying to be reassuring. I'd never felt less competent as I did right that moment. I wasn't often in the position where I needed to offer anyone comfort. Least of all a woman who'd just gotten the crap kicked out of her for no plausible reason at all. "But we will figure it out. Do you remember anything?"
"I, ah, I don't know. It was a normal night. They're all the same. Different, but the same."
"Did you have money on you?" I asked.
"I, oh, my book," she said, reaching down into her apron, producing the little black faux leather holder that held her dupe pad. "It's all here," she said, opening it with shaking fingers.
Tucking it back away, her hand rose to run her fingers over her swollen eye.
Another sniffle moved through her just a second before a choked sob did.
In the distance, I could hear the sirens as they made their way in our direction.
"It's going to be okay," I told her, holding her a little tighter because it seemed like she was starting to fall apart.
Within a few more minutes, the paramedics were checking out Holly while a cop was pulling me to the side for questioning.
Not being in Navesink Bank, I didn't know the guy, had no idea if he knew who I was, what crew I ran with.
"And the cook heard nothing," he repeated, looking over his notes.
"He thought she 'wandered off'," I repeated, snorting. "It can get loud sometimes in there. With the jukebox and talking. But she had to have been screaming."
"And no one was here when you arrived."
"No."
"They couldn't have been waiting that long. She was beaten pretty good, but it couldn't have lasted that long."
And even though she'd gotten knocked out, she wouldn't have been out for more than ten minutes. The movies and TV always got that wrong. No one was out for hours after a blow to the head. It was usually only a couple seconds to a couple of minutes.
That said, time seemed to slow down when you were waiting on service. Five minutes looking for a server felt like a lifetime. I could see why they tossed money on the table and left. Same for people who were waiting to place an order. And who knew how long she was out there before she was attacked.
"Don't see how she could even get the bags up into the dumpster," the cop said, mostly to himself. "She's so small."
She was.
I'd hauled shit up into dumpsters before. It wasn't bad for someone my height and my size, but someone like her would have struggled. Which could have added to the time she was out back before an attacker happened upon her.
Maybe that was it.
Maybe a frustrated customer came looking for her, found her, and took an opportunity.
But why?
Just to beat her?
He hadn't taken her money.
He hadn't raped her.
Who just walked up to random women, and beat the shit out of them?
None of this made any sense.
"No, wait," Holly cried out as the paramedics started wheeling her away on the stretcher. "Wait," she cried out again.
"What's wrong?" I asked, moving away from the cop and to her side.
"I need my purse," she said, looking up at me with one big, frantic eye.
"It's okay. I'll get it. I'll bring it to the hospital for you," I added. "Okay?"
"You don't have to come to—"
"Is that okay?" I cut her off.
To that, I got a tight nod as the tears started to flow again.
"We have to get going," the paramedic said when I reached out to give her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
"We can finish this at the hospital," the cop said, giving me a nod after I asked if I could bring Holly her purse.
With that, I climbed in my truck, dialing up Fallon.
"Are they killing each other?" he asked, sounding amused.
"What? No. Look, I need you to pick the girls up later. Call them and tell them to call you to pick them up."
"What's wrong?" Fallon asked, hearing the urgency in my tone.
"Nothing. Something came up. Call them."
"Malc, if something is up—"
"Call them," I demanded as I followed several cars behind the ambulance.