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I’d like to add that it is at this point which mine and Fiona’s fate, destiny or bad luck became tightly woven together thanks to the unfortunate and nearly incomprehensible circumstances we found ourselves in. It is because we were thus bound that I’ve decided to add a few passages about her actions while we were apart.
Though she didn’t fancy being interrogated about the unusual events that brought us together, Fiona was kind enough to provide some of her insight during this affair. To say she was brutally honest would be somewhat of an understatement. I would’ve loved to have edited this material since her opinion of me fluctuates (and rightfully so) but that would have taken away some of the raw emotion that could only be captured by her particular brand of honesty. While it’s rough and somewhat brief, I present to you Fiona Ambrose’s feelings, opinions and general take on the mysterious misadventure we were apart of.
From Fiona Ambrose’s memoirs: Daughters of All and Nothing
After being dropped off by one of the dubious friends of my personal Paranormal Investigator, I rushed into the house and locked the doors behind me. My roommates were already fast asleep, so no one was around to question why I went around locking all the windows as well. I peeked out from the curtains just in time to see the biker take off into the night like some strange parody of a cowboy riding off into the sunset.
Despite several attempts, I hadn’t been able to coax any information out of the “Twin” named Kurt. While looking like someone who would rather bellow and beat you than shake your hand, he was surprisingly quiet and reserved. On the few occasions I did manage to scream over the roar of his motorcycle, he replied with a noncommittal grunt or shrug.
While nervous in his presence, I had felt somewhat safe with Kurt thanks to all the trust Mr. Broker had placed in him. Now that I was alone in a dark house, that feeling of security was fading. I hurried to my bedroom and promptly locked my door, as if the thin wood would be able to provide a sufficient barrier between me and my troubles.
I then sat on my bed and tried to sort through the bubbling emotions inside me.
For the first time I had actually explained the unique and frankly impossible situation I was in. I hadn’t even been this straight forward with the councilor during my stay at the…hospital. My own doubts and insecurities about my sanity opened old wounds. Explaining how I know I saw my dead sister wasn’t as therapeutic as I had hoped. If anything, it made my doubts seem all that more probable.
Yet Mr. Broker had listened without any judgment or criticism. I know he claims to be a “professional” at this kind of thing but I can tell how rattled he is with this...situation. Trust is somewhat hard to earn even during normal circumstances so how can I expect him to trust my judgment during this whole affair?!
But trust is a two way street. I have my own doubts about anyone claiming to be a Paranormal Investigator. How am I supposed to trust someone whose specialty includes ghosts and vampires? Then again, how is he supposed to trust someone who is chasing a dead sibling?
It was all too much for this small town girl!
Before throwing myself on my bed and spend the night sobbing into my pillow, I checked my nightstand where my dad’s “housewarming present” rested. A polished .357 Magnum laid in the drawer, loaded and ready to use. I was familiar with guns, horses and all of the other cliché cowgirl stereotypes…however this was the first night I was actually grateful for the gun. There was no doubt in my mind that Mr. Broker had been attacked. After all, the cult had something to do with my sister’s death and Mr. Broker had even less information on them than Faye had!
He even had less information than I did…
I didn’t quite lie to Mr. Broker but I still felt bad for withholding some secrets from him. I didn’t tell him that the only reason I had been down that street when I saw Faye was because I had wanted to…I don’t know, try to connect with what my sister had been involved in.
It was silly and even dangerous but I had felt that if I walked in Faye’s footsteps during her… final days, I would’ve received some sort of closure. The suddenness of my sister’s death had definitely taken a toll on me. Even after we got the call from the police saying they had identified the man who had…attacked my sister, I hadn’t felt anything to let me move on in the grieving process.
I didn’t feel the cold satisfaction that the bastard was dead like my father did. Nor did I feel the religious fervor that swept through my mother to help her cope with the loss. No…I felt nothing. A numbness that dampened my world. The void left by Faye’s passing couldn’t be healed that easily.
Even now, I wonder…if I had argued more, thrown a bigger fit and demanded my sister come back to town for our usual outing, would Faye still be alive? In some twisted sense was I responsible for her death? Such thoughts haunted me constantly and affected my entire life. I was a shoe-in for valedictorian but after that horrid day my grades fell so fast that I was lucky I got a diploma.
Relationships were ended. Goals swept under the rug. Faye’s death had caused my life to crumble and strained the already brittle relationship between myself and my parents. It was as if my parents had lost both their daughters that horrible night.
Bitter memories, icy fear and gnawing doubt bubbled and churned in my heart. I was fatigued but somehow too tired to sleep. That night I lay atop of my covers, staring at my ceiling as if it would provide the answers that I so desperately needed. It wasn’t until pale sunlight pushed through my curtains that I was finally able to shut my eyes.
That night, I dreamt of Faye.