TheFactsOfLife (The Ringly's ch.3)

The light of her computer screen illuminated Briar’s face as her bloodshot eyes scanned over the words once more.

As is pointed out in the image above, the wounds discovered on the body of Peter Wenton are more consistent with multiple attackers than the singular killer the police theorize is the culprit. Additionally, if one were to examine Wenton’s schedule prior to his murder, it would be apparent that a better time to attack him would have been in the hours between 11:00 AM and 1:00 PM, during which he was at lunch in his home. To further support the idea that these times would have been better, his home is under much less surveillance and contains a much less complex security system than his 80th-floor office…

Briar’s fingers had begun unconsciously picking at her nails. She forced them to stop and skipped ahead to the conclusion.

With all of this evidence in place, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to consider the possibility of the killer, or killers, being (a) student(s). I will continue looking into this case as it develops and keeps you informed of the possibilities as they become clear to me.

Briar scrolled to the bottom of the page in search of the author's name. Nothing. With a stretch and a sigh of frustration, Briar closed the laptop a little more forcefully than necessary. In the dark, she stumbled to her bed, not bothering to change out of her day clothes as she climbed under the blankets. She didn’t fall asleep for a long, long while.

Morning came with a pounding on her door and the sound of an irate Queenie shouting at her from the other side.

“Come on! Do you have a boy in there or something? Open up!”

As Queenie continued her furious pounding and jiggling of the doorknob, Briar stumbled over to her closet where she had temporarily stored the pair of hair bands from the day before. Once her hair was up and her bangs were arranged around her eyes in a way that she hoped wouldn’t give away her lack of care, she opened the door.

Queenie stumbled inside a few steps. She made an indignant sound and straightened her unwrinkled shirt. The little reflective crown over the ‘Q’ in ‘Queen’ flashed in the hallways light. “Really?!” She huffed.

Briar blinked slowly and shook her head before pushing past. Queenie followed after her down the hall, “Wait! Father wants to talk to us!”

She stopped, “Where?”

“His office, but not right now. He’s got some old guys in there right now talking about business stuff. Something about testing the new systems or something,” she waved a hand, “Whatever, we’ve got to wait until they get out of there. Until then, we don’t exist. That shouldn’t be too hard for you.” She skipped off before Briar even had the chance to respond.

The journal tucked away inside her backpack felt like it had eyes to glare at her with. You shouldn’t have taken me, it seemed to gloat, now he’ll find out and it’ll be just like- Briar took off down the hall. She ran into no one on her way down to the basement, presumed location of the servant's accommodations, actual location of a private gun range. Any further imaginary taunts were blocked out by the sound of gunfire.

Minutes flew by and suddenly Briar was in her father’s office.

"Eleanor, Queenie," He greeted them stiffly.

"Father," said both of them at once.

"We need to talk about the future of this company. Of, Ringly Security."

"Yes?" Queenie asked a second before Briar. She cast Briar a smug look as that same word died in her throat.

Carlson cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable as he tested his next words in his head, "I...have decided that...one of you should....take over for me when I'm...gone."

There was a pause.

"That's morbid," Queenie commented finally, without any particular emotion.

Carlson cleared his throat again, "Yes I...suppose it is."

Meanwhile, Briar sat with her brow furrowed as her mind worked over the implications. "One of us?"

Carlson, if possible, looked even more uncomfortable. If he had been of a light complexion, Briar guessed she'd have seen his ears growing red. "Yes, one of you."

"So, there'll be like, a competition or something?" Queenie piped up.

"Of sorts." They waited for him to elaborate.

The pause lasted just a little too long.

“What will be required of us?” Briar asked finally.

Carlson considered this for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “That depends on you,” he explained, “I expect you both to continue working together on your missions and in school without any problems.”

“So...you want us to just pretend this conversation never happened?” Queenie asked, balancing her elbows on her knees.

“Well, no. I want you to keep this in mind during your next assignments so you will be ‘at the top of your game’ as your peers say.”

“Dad,” Queenie whined, cringing, “Don’t ever say that again!”

Carlson only had a moment to look amused before Briar interjected.

“What is our next assignment?”

“Ah, yes,” Carlson stood from his seat, revealing his enormous hight as he cast the girls into his shadow, “There is a small appliance shop that I believe may be a front for the Devil’s Claws. I need you both to case the area and take everything you find back to me. It would be best for you to move in separate groups so you can cover both the front and back of the sop in under ten minutes, which is how long I estimate it will take for you to become suspect.”

“What if I got a bunch of friends together and I hid in the pack?” Queenie suggested, blowing a curl out of her face.

“That would work.”

“But,” Queenie amended, shooting Briar a smug look, “They won’t want to come if she’s with.”

Briar glared back, “I will go alone.”

Carlson shook his head, “No, I don’t want you out there by yourself, don’t you have a friend to take with you? What about that boy you went to dinner with?”

“Briar went to dinner with a boy and I am only now hearing about this!” Queenie exclaimed.

Briar ignored her, “I can ask him.”

“Is it that weird kid? The one with the afro and the sweater vests who sits with you at lunch?”

“If he says no you’ll stay here, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Answer me, Briar! Is it him?”

~

Briar sat atop her bed that night with her laptop open to TheFactsOfLife blog page. She tried tracing it back to its source to no avail. The signal was encrypted beyond Briar’s abilities and therefore, to her, untraceable. It was a private site with no required username for the blogger.

That left Briar only with the text itself.

...It is my standing theory that this crime was committed by multiple, moderately trained individuals of twisted mind and morality…

She blinked at the sentence. She read it again. Of course, she knew that murder was wrong, of course, she had been taught that. Of course, someone on the internet who hid behind a mask of anonymity would proclaim the Wenton murder to be a ‘twisted’ act.

But the writer of TheFactsOfLife didn’t know the facts. Briar and Queenie had done it because their father had asked them. He had to die because…

Why?

She didn’t sleep that night.

(Authors note: If you want me to tag you as these come out or anything let me know)