Demonic Double Cross

by B Branin

  * * * * *

  The Twins were watching the door to the Bin. I trusted my safety to them more than I would the President’s own guard. I made the request for protection and they accepted it without question or comment (if anything, they seemed eager at the prospect of danger heading our way). West immediately went over to the bar and sat on the stool closest to the door while Kurt placed himself in a booth facing the back entrance. You couldn’t have asked for a better duo to watch your back. West was more than able to tear anyone apart with his bare hands though his counterpart preferred a less personal approach, which is why I noticed Kurt drew his Glock 36 from his ankle holster before sitting down at the booth, staring at the backdoor with anticipation.

  The precious few other patrons of the bar seemed oblivious to the tension I felt in the room. Hell, if anyone even noticed the weapon Kurt had drawn, they didn’t bother speaking up. Whether it was out of fear of the biker or the fact they just didn’t care was up to debate.

  That was just the kind of attitude you’d expect at the Bin.

  Despite putting on a brave face, it was apparent that Fiona wasn’t as cool and calm as she’d put on. I could respect that. Trying to appear as you wanted instead of how you truly felt was an admirable trait. Hell, it was the very cornerstone of my entire career as a conman! But it was painfully obvious deception wasn’t Fiona’s forte. Being an experienced deceiver, I automatically noticed the subtle signs of my client’s nervousness. Her jaw muscles were drawn taunt, a sign she was forcing her smile. Her hands were curled tightly together, probably in an effort to contain her nervous energy. This was all in addition to her rigid posture, which was much too straight for anyone who wanted to appear relaxed.

  Like I said, I respected her for trying to be brave in a situation that had even an underhanded bastard like me freaking out. But that respect only went so far. What I really wanted, needed, were answers and fast.

  Sitting across from her, I decided it was time to address the elephant in the room and see how I could begin digging myself out of this shitty situation, “Okay, I want to know everything you know about the Daughters of All. This includes anything and everything that might relate to your sister.”

  The change in Fiona was subtle but I picked up on it. She became even more tense but not in the helpless-victim being cornered kinda way. No, she bristled. It was the manner of someone that had taken offense and was now on the defensive. She opened her mouth but I stopped her before she could leap to protect her sister’s good name.

  “Don’t bother with the bullshit,” I declared before she could speak, “I don’t want you standing up for your sister. You came to me because everyone else thought you were a wacko. I did too until tonight. If you want my help and wanna stay one step ahead of these crazed cultists, you won’t keep any secrets from me.”

  “Is that a threat?” Fiona demanded frostily, her beautiful eyes narrowing into dagger points of jade.

  “I was just attacked less than an hour ago, presumably by someone who overheard me asking questions about this cult.” I growled, not letting her anger gain any momentum, “And that phone call was from the security at my office building. My office has just been trashed. They know who I am! That means that if they’ve been through my files they know who you are.”

  The frosty demeanor on Fiona’s face melted away to shock. That nervous energy of hers intensified thanks to an all too familiar sensation: Fear. Of course I may have skirted the truth a bit. The only “file” I had about Fiona was the note full of scribbles I had taken during our first encounter and that was in my back pocket. But fear would keep her more honest, or at least easier to read.

  “Now,” I continued, leaning forward and never breaking eye contact, “Tell me what the fuck you got me involved in.”

  Apparently Fiona realized that if she didn’t want me to walk out of the bar and leave her on her own to deal with this mess, she needed to start talking. While being nervous and scared (as anyone should be in such a bizarre situation) Fiona still retained some sort of determination, not giving into hopelessness or anxiety.

  She was tough, I’d give her that.

  “Fine. This all began…well, began for me anyway, two and a half years ago. My big sister… Faye… was smart, beautiful and charming…which is why the family was shocked when she wanted to become a journalist. We all thought she was destined for something much grander than a desk job.” Fiona began, her words coming out slowly as her mind plucked through happier memories, “She moved to this city when I was still in high school and joined the press here. Well, like I said, she was beautiful and charming, and was ideal for going and picking up information ‘out in the field.’”

  Great. As if this couldn’t get any worse I was now officially investigating the apparent death and rebirth of some journalist who had probably been too stupid to realize that “the big story” was never meant to see print. I needed a backhoe to dig myself any deeper.

  “Every two weeks she would come to town and we would have a girls’ night out. I told her all about the trials and troubles of high school and then she would try to explain what she was working on without going into too much detail,” Fiona continued, her hand reaching out to play with a salt shaker on the table, “Now she usually kept all the important information from me, claiming it was the professional way to do things. Well, her…her last case was different. She began to dig into this cult, the Daughters of All. Only she called it a ‘fledgling religion.’ The group was taking a lot of heat from concerned mothers convinced it was some sort of gang harboring runaways.”

  I leaned back into my seat, “So your sister was going to find the dirt to bring down a cult and then get fame and fortune for being the brave reporter out on the streets?”

  Fiona shot me another frosty glare, her eyes brimmed with tears.

  “She wasn’t some glory hound!” She cried at me angrily, “She was honestly trying to help! Faye jumped right into the case, going as far as to join the Daughters of All to see what they were doing. It…I…she…I-It got her killed!”

  Over the years I have played many roles in my life, each con required a particular character. A familiar role I’ve played is the confidant, someone who oozed comfort while coaxing secrets out of you. It seemed this persona was needed here. I reached over and touched Fiona’s hand reassuringly. She tensed, almost pulling away but didn’t. After a few moments she found her voice and continued.

  “She called me just before she…died. She told me she had to miss our sisters’ night out because of work. She was excited, saying that by next week the kid-stealing cult would be shut down.” Fiona paused, smiling bitterly, “It was…it was my last conversation with my sister and I was being a spoiled brat. I demanded she came out to see me and not to ruin our tradition…but she insisted on postponing it. I hung up on her, furious.”

  A single tear fell from those emerald eyes, then another and another. Soon Fiona was weeping openly.

  “The next morning we got another call…this time from the police. My sister had been outside a club a-and had been r-raped and beaten…she died on the way to the hospital from internal bleeding.” Fiona gritted her teeth, squeezing her eyes as she replayed the phone call in her mind, “They caught the guy who…was guilty the next day…he was dead in his apartment. A drug overdose. It was an open and closed case. My family bought it…I even bought it. Never once did I think there was any more to my sister’s death then some sicko drug addict who caught my sister in a dark alley.”

  It was despicable and horrible of me but at the moment I had actually wished that was the end of the story. God help me but I actually prayed it was a textbook case of rape and murder, something routine which would have logical answers to it. Of course, it wasn’t.

  “I-I moved here the beginning of the year. It was just a few months after the funeral.” Fiona straightened up, apparently refusing to sink any lower into sorrow or self-pity, “I was scared of the city, especially after Faye’s murder. But I didn’t
want to be a country pumpkin all my life. When I came out here I had my own plans. My parents thought I was trying to find closure with Faye’s death, but that wasn’t it. Not entirely. I wanted to move on with my life and the city seemed like a good place to start.”

  Fiona paused and sucked in a deep breath. Somehow I knew that this is where the story went from the mundane yet tragic, to the realm of impossible and incomprehensibly complex.

  “A few weeks ago I was walking home from work. That’s when…when I saw her, just a face in the crowd. It was her! I knew it! It was Faye! She looked…different, but I knew it was her! There was no mistaking my sister!” Fiona’s voice trembled, on the verge of another sob but she managed to suppress it, “I must have knocked over ten people running down the street, screaming her name at the top of my lungs. S-She actually looked up at me, not surprised but almost…almost as if she were amused. I got so close I could almost reach out and touch her…then she moved into the crowd and disappeared...”

  A silent sob racked my client’s body.

  “After that day…I lost it. I was fired from my job for missing work. I spent every waking hour on that same street, hoping Faye would turn up again…She didn’t. It was only after two weeks of searching that I realized I was a wreck. That’s when I checked myself into the hospital.” Fiona confessed, giving me a tearful yet sheepish smile, “I think it’s stupid but they released me from the mental ward after a few days. Officially my record claims I was suffering from too much stress. The psychiatrist said I was just experiencing culture shock from being in the city. How dumb is that?”

  I gave her hand another squeeze and hoped I looked more reassuring then I felt.

  “Even after all of that, I couldn’t let it go. I asked around and dug up what I could about the Daughters of All from the internet. They had made it into a few newspaper articles but nothing negative was being said. Not anymore. They were called a ‘youth group’ instead of a gang now. This couldn’t have been the same girl-stealing-cult that my sister was investigating, and that’s when I got suspicious.”

  And started us on this crazy path, I wanted to say but managed to refrain from snapping at her.

  “I went to the police, several private investigators and a few others to tell them my story. I was convinced that my sister was brainwashed.” Fiona finally wiped her eyes of her tears and gave me a look that spoke of exhaustion and emotional fatigue, “No one would believe me. How could they? We had an open casket funeral for my sister and I saw her body laid to rest! No one believed me but you…”

  Picking up on the role I was to play now I switched from confidant to fearless leader. The persona was rusty from lack of use but I brandished my bravest smile despite feeling far from courageous.

  “I’m not sure exactly what we’ve gotten into,” I confessed, injecting my words with a bit of false bravado, “But I’ll get to the bottom of it. I’m not this city’s number one Paranormal Investigator for nothing!”

  Sure it was a thin lie considering I hadn’t the foggiest idea to what was going on. But a little lie could go a long ways when it falls on desperate ears. Besides, I figured that things couldn’t get any worse than they already were. Looking back on it now, that was a major laugh. Had I known how bad this situation was going to get, I would have bid Fiona a nice day and gone straight to the police and confessed all my wrong doings and politely ask to be locked away. Being sent to prison was a great alternative to what was waiting for me down this road.