More Questions Than Answers

It's been an hour since we received the autopsy report paper in one of our father's company's folders. We managed to finally pull ourselves back together. On the table in front of us our handguns are disassembled. The intoxicating smell of gun oil fills my nostrils as we clean our weapons and talk. Why clean our guns down? It distracts us slightly and helps to calm us. Just as the shooting range has become a therapeutic ritual so now has cleaning our handguns.

Fallon: The first thing we have to figure out is if this is real or if it's some kind of sick joke.

My finger traces my trigger spring lightly.

Fiona: How are we supposed to do that? What, should we call up and Dad and be like "Hey have you been lying to us our whole lives about how Mom died"?

After not getting an answer I look up at Fallon. She avoids meeting my gaze.

Fiona: We're not calling. That was his company's logo on the folder.

She nods. We have no clue what we're dealing with now and I hate it. I like things straight forward. I like to know who needs to be hit and make sure I fill that need. I'm out of my depth here. Fallon's the problem solver. So far she has nothing and it's making me crazy.

Fiona: And what's with this security clearance? What is the Facory it mentions?

Still she says nothing. I know she's trying to figure things out in her head, but her silence is maddening.

Fiona: FALLON!

Finally she looks at me with a frown. It's obvious she didn't appreciate my outburst. I don't care. I'm confused and p****d off. I need her talking to me.

Fallon: Well whoever sent this to us wants us to believe that Holbrook has something to do with this Factory and Mom's...autopsy report. They left no note and no return address. We can't just ask Daddy about this obviously. So we only have a couple of options. We can ask him or Felicia if they've ever heard of the Factory or we wait and see if we are contacted again.

She finishes putting her .45 back together and sets it on the table without speaking again. I've stopped cleaning my 9s. I can't focus on that right now.

Fiona: That's it? That's all we can do? There's no way we can wait. That's insane!

I jump up and hastily grab the phone.

Fallon: What are you doing?

I snort.

Fiona: What do you think I'm doing? I'm calling Daddy's Little Clone.

I find her number in Fal's address book and dial it. It's after her working hours. She should be home. She'd better be home. After a few rings she answers in a harsh tone.

Felicia: What?

Well not much has changed there. That's been her warm phone gretting for years. Just another thing about her that's always bugged me.

Fiona: It's Fi.

Her tone softens...some.

Felicia: Oh hi. What do you want to argue about today?

I almost never call her. Gee, wonder why...

Fiona: I didn't call to argue. I have something I need to ask you.

There's a pause on her end before she decides she knows what I'm calling about?

Felicia: Finally came to your senses did you? I'm sure the offer is still open.

Offer? Does she still think we might possibly quit wrestling and go to work with her and our father? I've been on the phone a few seconds and already she's confirmed why I don't like talking to her.

Fiona: Of course not. Shut up and listen. Do you know what the Factory is?

The phone goes silent.

Fiona: Hello?

Her tone becomes very serious. It's so unexpected it almost scares me.

Felicia: What factory? I don't know what you're talking about. Stop wasting my time.

Then I hear a click and dial tone. Okay that was weird. What the hell?

Fiona: The b***h hung up on me.

I don't like this. I slam the phone back on its charger and turn to Fallon. she stares at me inquisitively.

Fiona: She knows something. She's got to.

She nods while slowly shaking her coffee cup and staring at the swirl it creates inside the cup.

Fallon: That was definitely out of character for her. I think it's time we look deeper into exactly what Holbrook is.