Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I will say this. It was the first time I ever drove with music on. And I went ahead and cranked it, so Billie couldn't start in on the girls while I was there to hear it.
"Call me," I demanded as they all scrambled out.
"It might be sooner than usual if we can't get her to loosen up about it," Hope said, grimacing before closing the door.
It was just like any other girls night.
Everything was mostly going like it typically went.
Except when I got to the diner, it was strangely empty.
Meaning no cars in the lot save for the ones that belonged to Holly and the cook.
Sure, the lot was empty some nights, but almost never on a Saturday night.
Stomach tensing for reasons I didn't yet understand, I parked and made my way up the front steps. The chime overhead didn't sound cheerful like it typically did. It sounded more like something out of a horror movie.
"Hello?" I called to the strange silence inside. "Anybody here?"
"What do you want?" the cook called, moving into the window.
"A table," I said, waving a hand out.
"Yeah, well, then take one. Don't know where the waitress ran off to. Just pick something and yell out your order."
I took the menu.
I even brought it over to my usual table.
But I couldn't bring myself to sit down.
Something felt off.
Why would Holly just wander off?
And how long had she been gone that it meant that customers had left, judging by the menus sitting on a couple other tables, along with plates and cash from people who got tired of waiting to have their places cleaned and their bill handed to them?
Walking across the restaurant, I went toward the restrooms, checking the men's first, then knocking on the women's. Hearing nothing, I went inside to check there as well.
Nothing.
No one.
But Holly's purse was still wedged in the cabinet under the register.
Heartbeat tripping into overdrive, I went back toward the door, moving outside.
"Holly?" I called, walking over to check her car.
No luck.
"Holly?" I called louder, moving around the side of the building as the dread started to compound.
Nothing about this felt right.
Why would she ever leave the safety of the restaurant?
Especially when the diner itself was surrounded by dense woods. Predators of both the human or animal sort could be hiding there.
"Holly!" I called again, making my way toward the back of the building.
I almost missed her at first, what with being half-hidden behind one of the dumpsters.
"Holly?" I called as my stomach dropped.
I charged forward across the space, noticing her one bare foot, the shoe likely lost under the dumpster itself.
"Holly," I called as I rounded the dumpster.
And there she was.
Her hideous pink uniform and white apron were covered in dirt but even more so than that, blood.
God, there was a lot of blood.
"Holly," I said, dropping down on my knees as my gaze slid to her chest, making sure it was rising and falling as I reached for my phone, calling 911, rattling off the diner name, then hanging up, so I had a hand free to reach out, brushing her bloodstained hair out of her face.
Someone had beaten the shit out of her. One eye was huge and red. The other had a black eye. She had a split lip, scratches on her cheek from the pavement, a swollen jaw, and a nasty egg on the side of her head.
The second my fingers brushed over it, she let out a pained whimper as consciousness came back to her.
"No," she shrieked, trying to push up and away on scraped hands.
"Hey, Holly. It's okay. You're going to be alright," I said, trying to make my big voice sound a little lower, a bit more soothing. "I called the police. They're on their way."
"M...Malcolm?" she asked, blinking the one eye at me that wasn't almost completely swollen shut.
"Yeah, honey," I agreed, reaching out to help her sit up when she winced. "I just got here. What happened?"
"I... I don't know," she said, brows drawing low. "I was taking out the trash." Right. Because her boss was too fucking cheap to hire a busboy, I guess. "And I don't know. I didn't see anyone around, but then, ugh," she whimpered pressing her fingers to her forehead.
"The ambulance will be here any minute," I told her, moving to sit down at her side. "They will give you something for that. Are you nauseated?"
"Am I... what?"
"Nauseated. Usually a sign of a concussion. You have an egg on your head."
"Egg?" she repeated in a small, pained little voice. "There's egg on my head?"
"No, honey, no. It's a phrase. You got a knot. You know, from being hit."
"Oh, right," she said as she started to sniffle.
"Where else do you hurt?" I asked.
"My side. I think I hurt my ribs."
"You didn't hurt anything," I reminded her softly. "Someone hurt your side. Anywhere else?" I asked.