From Fiona Ambrose’s memoirs: Daughters of All and Nothing
It was impossible to tell how much time passed when locked up in the boiler room. Perhaps it was minutes, perhaps it was hours. With nothing but cement walls under florescent lighting, time was a mystery.
While my confinement was bad enough, being forced to listen to the conversation that the Twins were having became maddening! There wasn’t a hint of panic or worry in their voices as their discussions went from vehicles, to alcohol, to women, to women drinking alcohol in vehicles.
I felt as if I were being pushed to the brink. The situation I was in, the state my sister was in and the company I was trapped with was all making me feel dizzy with worry and depression. I felt like screaming! I felt like crying! But I couldn’t do either because I was simply too emotionally fatigued.
“I wish Mr. Broker was here.” I mumbled, more to myself than anyone.
The Twins glanced at me and West opened his mouth to say something but was suddenly cut off by a scream. I jumped at the sound of the agonized cry and scrambled to my feet as the roar of gunfire could be heard through the door of the boiler room.
Just as suddenly as the ruckus started, it ended.
The door handle slowly turned and the Twins planted themselves between me and the only entrance/exit of the room.
The door opened up and a familiar face peeked through the crack.
“If you three have learned your lesson, your time out is over.” Mr. Broker said with a smile.
I’m embarrassed to admit that I gave a small cry of joy and rushed over, throwing my arms around Mr. Broker. I pulled back instinctively as he groaned in pain. Glancing at my hands I saw they were smeared crimson.
“Blood!” I squeaked in horror.
“Don’t worry, it’s not mine.” Mr. Broker replied, guiding me into the hallway with the Twins following close behind.
The moment I stepped into the hall, I buried my face in my hands but it was too late and the waiting carnage was burned into my mind. The guards littered the corridor, over dying or dead. One was curled up in a ball with what appeared to be a steak knife slipped between his ribs. Another guard had his throat slit and a horrifying amount of blood was soaking into his shirt. The last guard still had his pistol in his hand but his bulging, blank eyes told me he would never use it again.
The belt wrapped around his throat would make sure of that.
“Nice work.” West said as he stepped over one of the corpses.
“Took you long enough.” Kurt grunted, squatting down and prying the gun from the dead guard’s stiff hand.
“I was…in a meeting.” Mr. Broker replied with a grimace, “But hey, the shit is in the process of hitting the fan. Let’s go!”
“What about Faye?” I asked but allowed Mr. Broker to grab my wrist and begin to lead me down the hall.