“Wait,” I said, when we reached the living room couch. I ran and retrieved my big old yellow blanket from the linen closet and threw it over the couch.

“Can we take your coat off?” I asked.

She twitched, then shook her head and wrapped her arms around her waist in a protective gesture.

“Okay, coat stays on. Sit down, sweetie.”

Derek helped Robin sit on the blanket, and we both tucked the soft fabric around her. I grabbed some socks for her to wear, because she wasn’t wearing any shoes.

Why was she barefoot? I didn’t ask. She was incapable of putting the socks on, so I knelt to slip them on her feet for her. But when I lifted her heel, I gasped. The bottom of her foot was caked in blood. Robin didn’t notice my reaction. She was still shuddering and crying and seemed unable to speak.

I ignored my own dizziness as I stretched out the socks and managed to pull them onto her feet without touching the blood.

There were also dried streaks of blood on her hands and across her face and forehead. The trench coat was relatively free of blood, so I figured she must’ve thrown it on at the last minute to drive over to my place. Was she wearing anything underneath the coat? I was just too plain scared to ask any questions yet.

I sat down next to her and angled myself so I could stroke her arms to get some warmth back into her. She was so cold.

Derek sat on the coffee table directly in front of Robin and pulled the blanket tighter over her legs, then patted her knees to keep them from knocking together. Her teeth began to chatter and I thought she might be sliding deeper into shock.

“I’m guessing the blood isn’t yours,” he began.

She blinked and tried to swallow, then licked her lips.

“Let me get her some water,” I said, pushing myself off the couch and running to the kitchen to fill a glass. I grabbed some tissues while I was there and returned to the living room.