From Fiona Ambrose’s memoirs: Daughters of All and Nothing
The call to my folks was more than a little awkward. We hadn’t exactly been on speaking terms since I left home. There hadn't been any passionate or emotional arguments about me moving to the city, just an uncomfortable disagreement between us that had slowly nursed itself into a void of alienation.
My father thought I had an unhealthy obsession with my sister’s death. My mother was worried I might meet the same fate as Faye. They were both probably right but I went anyway. I was compelled to. Of course, since my mental breakdown (another fact they were ignorant of), our already starved communications had died out all together.
After apologizing for calling so late, I had to bring them up to speed about my life. It was more of a courtesy question from my mother then actual curiosity or concern. After a watered down version of “everything is the same, I am fine” I made up some story about being contacted by a loan office concerning Faye’s pawned possessions.
My lie was weak and I am sure my folks saw right through it. I could already imagine my father telling my mother how he was right, my obsession with Faye was bordering on the unhealthy. As for my mother, she was probably just logging this conversation away for gossip material next time she was out at a bridge game.
The questions my parents began to ask were tearing moon-sized holes in my web of lies concerning the loan officer. I was about to fess up and tell them about the need to find Faye’s old belongings for reasons I didn’t entirely understand when Mr. Broker gave me an annoyed sigh, reached over and took my phone.
In a voice and manner that would win over even the most hardened prosecutors, Mr. Broker introduced himself as a loan officer and apologized for inconveniencing them so late at night. He lied, claiming that he needed to discuss Faye’s loan from the pawnshop. If I didn’t know he was a Paranormal Investigator, I’d have sworn he was a lawyer. He answered every question from my folks with such a confident authority that there were no loose ends for my parents to grab hold of and try to unravel our lies.
After a few minutes of conversation, Mr. Broker had either impressed my parents or at least exhausted their questions, so they put him on hold as they went to find what they could about Faye’s loans. Turns out they still had Faye’s Pawnshop ticket, which they undoubtedly kept in her old room with the rest of her untouched “personal effects.”
B. Bruce’s Pawnshop was the place my sister had gone.
Mr. Broker thanked my folks and I took another moment telling them goodnight and promising I'd call back soon. After hanging up, we hailed a cab and we were soon on our way to the pawnshop...and hopefully to more answers concerning the fiendish cult.