Chapter 10
From Fiona Ambrose’s memoirs: Daughters of All and Nothing
Less than an hour after Mr. Broker’s departure from the bar, I was once again being driven home by Kurt with his “Twin” tailing us in that smelly truck. After the insanity that had taken place in the basement of Hell Scratch, you would have thought that nothing would surprise me. I was wrong. The Twins’ utter lack of interest of what had occurred earlier today was nothing short of alarming.
I had tried to start a few conversations to speculate what had happened at the club, particularly what had came over that poor man we had…fought. Was it magic? Was it demonic? Was it all a hallucination? I had to ponder this alone because the Twins were only interested in running up the tab Mr. Broker had provided.
In a poor attempt to cheer me up, the Twins began to talk about past exploits that had been much more dangerous. Apparently they believed that it had been the danger not the abnormality of the situation that had disturbed me. In that short conversation, Kurt and West boasted of blowing up a drug lord’s yacht, breaking into a “one-percenter” motorcycle gang’s Chaplin house and other harrowing experiences.
Despite assuring them I believed their tales, the Twins still found it appropriate to show off their hard earned scars while adding unnecessarily vivid and gruesome details about the injuries resulting in the scars.
After thanking them for the ride, Kurt called after me with some words of wisdom.
“What we saw today,” He said simply, “Can’t be explained but it still makes a lot more sense then some things in this world.”
With that, the Twins left. At first I thought the biker’s words were poorly chosen but there was a blunt truth to them. So much in this world had logical explanations, such as war or bigotry but that didn’t make them any more sensible then what I had witnessed at the club.
Craving the blissful oblivion of sleep, I hurried to my room. I struggled to keep a rein on my emotions but after today’s events, I soon realized I was fighting a losing battle. A single glance at the picture on my night stand, the one of Faye and I horseback riding, I lost control. The picture reminded me of a happier time in my life. Of a time where I wasn’t so afraid. Of a time I wasn’t so alone...
Of a time I hadn’t witnessed a man murdered right before my very eyes!
Despite all of the…unique factors of the situation, what had happened at the club was still murder. That was something you can’t prepare yourself for…and it was traumatizing.
I have no idea how long I went on, sobbing into my hands but once I managed to stop my tears, a new sense of conviction swelled inside me.
I reached for my dresser with a trembling hand.
Though I had vowed several times to never look again, this situation was getting too out of hand. If there could be any light shed on the hell that had become my life, it would be found in the pages of Faye’s research. Perhaps within the twisted and crazed notes my sister had kept was a strand of hope I could cling to. So I dug out Faye’s final investigation, feeling sickened to the core just touching it.
Once again the only comfort I could find was in the form of Mr. Broker and his experience with the paranormal.