From Fiona Ambrose’s memoirs: Daughters of All and Nothing
I don’t think I’d ever been so grateful for the mind numbing routine of work. I was able to completely fall into habit and let my mind become nothing but a blank slate, only focusing on each individual task that I was performing. It was a great escape from the confused mess that my life had become recently.
In fact, the only startling thing that occurred during the day was when I was in the break room and saw a newsflash. Something about a killer being caught, but the picture of the man confessing to the murder and the sketch artist’s portrait looked nothing alike. To be perfectly honest the sketch artist’s portrait looked alarmingly like Mr. Broker.
I would have tried to catch the rest of the story but didn’t have the energy. Despite being thoroughly exhausted, I had a hard time getting to sleep last night and what little I did manage to grab was far from restful. I woke several times during the night dripping with sweat and a fleeting memory of someone calling my name. The voice sounded like Faye’s but…but it was far from the tone my loving sister had always used. This voice sounded angry, sad and spiteful with my name being chanted like an accusation. I had refused mood elevators from the doctors when I checked myself into that…particular hospital but now I was beginning to regret that decision.
My life had become a wreck since the death of my sister and now it seems that she or at least something connected to her is haunting me in every sense of the word. I am clinging to my latest and last hope: a Paranormal Investigator. However I would really have to be crazy to believe that he would turn up anything solid…what could he possibly do that I haven’t already tried?
However he seemed to have been making some progress. Surely he must have done something profound or things with Mr. Broker wouldn’t have become so complicated. His suspicions meant the Daughters of All were involved with some sort of drug smuggling operation but that was so…mundane. Despicable, yes but normal. At least normal compared to the alternative which involved raising the dead.
But I knew better than that. I knew that the Daughters of All were much more sinister than being a front for a drug cartel…or at least, I think I did. After all, Faye had dug a lot deeper into the cult than anyone else. The fruits of her investigation were still in my possession. I had kept most of her personal affects that the police had sent home as mementos, including her old messenger bag that she lugged around everywhere.
I had found plenty of research about the cult inside her carrier bag but no matter how much light those notes shed upon the Daughters of All, the organization was still murky and mysterious. I wanted to give all the notes to Mr. Broker to help with his investigation, I really did! But… I’m afraid of what he might think if I gave him Faye’s research. If even a fifth of what Faye had gathered about the cult was true, then it was more than enough to inspire fear in anyone…or have them doubt my sister’s journalistic integrity, not to mention her sanity.
Doubt and turmoil burned in the forefront of my mind all day long. So intense were the anxiety and fear that I had begun to feel physically sick. I remembered how horrified I had been when reading over Faye’s notes about the cult and the insinuated depths of their depravity.
Not to mention the danger they represented to anyone standing against them.