“Sara, can you take this stuff upstairs, then come back and take us somewhere else?” Reaper asked.
“Sure.” Sara took the book, guitar, and clothes from us and disappeared. She was back in a matter of seconds. “Ready?” she asked us.
We nodded and she took my hand again, searching for a destination. When she was certain of the place we were headed to, we took a walk in the dark again.
Santa Monica hadn’t changed much since my last visit. People shopped in the stores, bums were in the parks, using their bags as pillows, and people hung out at the water, half dressed and way too tan. Sara had dropped us off in a bathroom, to keep anyone from noticing our arrival; it was different than my original destination, but I understood why she did it. Appearing in thin air was never a good way to go unnoticed. The stall she landed us in, however, was not big enough for the three of us. I pushed Reaper’s elbow out of my face as Sara disappeared with a mischievous smile.
“Where we are going now?” Reaper asked as he opened the stall, choosing to ignore the indignity of our arrival. The other men in the bathroom smiled when they saw us, their thoughts in very gross places.
“This way,” I told Reaper as we stepped out on to the relative openness of the boardwalk. “It’s not far.”
The sun was starting to sink below the horizon, touching the water with its light. The crowd on the peer had started to shift as the dinner crowd mingled with the beach crowd. Focused on my destination, I ignored the familiar sights and sounds, though seeing them again made me feel more relaxed. Santa Monica would always be my first home; it would always be the place I associated with peace.
Naomi’s house was on the beach. It was a smaller house, but cute; perfect in the way Naomi made things perfect – through happy chaos. She had bought in the 90s with money her grandmother had left her in her will. It had been under constant construction ever since. The outside was perfect, an illusion of normalcy, but I knew the interior was always undergoing change. The last time we had visited, it had been the kitchen. I knew something would be under construction now.
I tried the entrance on the beach side of her house first. It was locked, but I was able to look through the glass doors to the inside. The interior had changed since our last visit; the sofa and large comfortable chair had shifted places, the TV was angled in a new direction. New curtains and an overall nautical theme decorated the place, instead of the Goth theme I had come to know and love. It was the same kind of messy I had witnessed at my house, from Ellen’s doing, only Naomi was the queen of messes. Her messes had order, meaning, steaming from a creative mind that organized best in chaos.
I tapped on the glass and waited, expectant and nervous. Through the glass I had felt a presence. It was dimmed by the walls separating and by something else…sleep? But there was definitely someone there. I tapped again, my impatience starting to make me irritable. When my gentle tap didn’t work, I hammered on the glass with my fist. I hoped the sound would wake whoever was inside and make them come to me.
My pounding worked. The first voice I heard was low and terrified, “Wake up! Listen! Someone is trying to get in!”
“Do you think it’s…them?” another voice asked.
I hammered on the door again, my excitement barreling out of control. I knew those voices. I knew them like I knew my heart.
“Mom! It’s me, Clare! Open up! I got your message!”
She heard my call; her terror disappeared in an instant. I heard her climb out of the bed and throw clothes on. “Clare! Oh my God, it’s Clare. Sam, it’s Clare.”
“Yes, I got that much,” Sam said dryly to her, excited despite his appearance of calm.
Pulling on a robe, Ellen ran out from her room and to the sliding glass door. She fumbled with the lock in her haste to get to me. Sam followed after her, pulling a shirt on over his bare chest. Ellen had to stop herself mid-fumble, take a deep breath, and carefully undo the lock, before she could manage to open the door. When she did, she threw it back and pulled me into her arms. She kissed my cheek and neck as she hugged me.
“I’ve been so worried, sweetie! Oh, God…” Ellen said.
She pulled away from me to stare at my face. She wiped at the tears leaking down my face, and her fingers lingered on the bruises and cuts that were a reminder of my time in hell. Then, she noticed the bandage on my shoulder.
“You tell me right this minute what’s happened,” she demanded.
“Condensed or…” I started to ask.
“Everything,” she said.
“May we come inside?” Reaper asked politely.
Ellen eyed him, blushing slightly when they connected eyes. She obviously noticed his good looks and strangely appealing wildness. She looked at me in confusion, but she held her questions back.
“Yes, of course, come in,” Ellen said, gesturing us in.
Reaper slid the glass door behind him and carefully locked it. When Sam saw we were alone, he had a question.
“Clare…where is my daughter? Where’s Alex?” Sam asked. His eyes were full of worry.
“She hasn’t been here?” I asked, some of the excitement draining out of me.
“No,” Sam said, sitting on the arm of the chair, his thoughts terrified at what I meant. He asked his question anyway. “What happened? Why isn’t she with you?”
I took a deep breath and told them as much as I could. The only part I downplayed was my time in the prison and the truths Reaper shouldn’t know yet. Ellen’s eyes were wise, and she let me keep some truths to myself. She knew I wasn’t telling her everything, but she knew I was telling her what I could. Her warm eyes kept me talking around the pain of rehashing the past.
“…and then I found the guitar with the movie, and knew you were here,” I finished.
Sam had grown increasingly angry throughout the story. His thoughts turned into a battering ram, saying things I had thought a million times since I had gotten separated from Alex, things I didn’t blame him for thinking. I knew he wasn’t really mad at me, but I was the closest person he had to blame. His words finally spilled over as I stopped talking.
“I should have driven down there and dragged her back home. This is your fault!” he yelled. “You let her stay! You should have sent her back! You had no right to risk her life, because you wanted to risk yours! What kind of friend are you?!”
“A bad one!” I yelled back. “And you don’t have to tell me it’s my fault! You think I’m happy about any of this?! You think I want it to be this way?! You think I haven’t been kicking myself for the risk I put her in?! It’s not fair to anybody! Especially Alex! She’s my best friend and now…” I choked up at the words. “I’m sorry! I’m freaking sorry!”
I fought the tears, afraid they would have me out of control again.
Sam’s anger faded at the look on my face. He pulled me into his arms and hugged me close. He put his chin on the top of my head and sighed.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell,” he said.
“Me either,” I said.
He gently pushed me away then went to the bathroom to deal with overwhelming emotions in private. He was upset with himself that he had yelled when I was obviously traumatized, but he was also angry he had nowhere to direct his emotions. It was a tough place to be in. Ellen bit her lip as he shut the bathroom door. She locked eyes with me and hurried to explain.
“He’s just worried. We’ve had nothing but ‘worried’ for a while now,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Oh, sweetie, I don’t blame you,” she said.
I avoided her eyes. “How’d you guys get here anyways? Why are you here? Do you know what happened to the Adamses?”
Ellen rushed to explain. “Han and Beatrice were watching out for us, protecting us like they promised they would, but I got a bad feeling, you know? It was wicked bad. As bad as that time in Denver.”
“I remember,” I said.
That was right before a man with the shotgun walked into th
e bank we had been in. He had killed everyone in the bank then had killed himself.
“Right…so, with that kind of feeling, you have only one choice. Get out. I convinced Sam we should go. Han and Beatrice were going to come…but the morning we were supposed to leave, they didn’t show up. I couldn’t wait. The feeling was so bad…”
“You left the guitar for me?” I asked.
“Yeah. In…in my father’s study. I knew you would know it didn’t belong in there.”
“Do you know anything about a book he kept in there?” I asked.
“His family history?” she asked.
I nodded.
“He was obsessed with it. He would spend hours locked in his study writing in that stupid book…” She sighed at the memory.
“How’d you get here?” I asked, figuring the memory was hard to face.
She took my hand and continued the story. “We got picked up at the house by a cab, caught the first flight out of the airport and eventually found our way here. I made poor Sam spend about three days on different airplanes to make sure we weren’t followed. We’ve been here ever since.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay. How’s Naomi?” I asked, breaking away from the serious things.
“Crazy, wild, weird, and totally cracked in the head,” Ellen said with a smile.
“About the same, then.”
“Yep,” she agreed.
“So, you haven’t had any word on the others? None at all?” I asked quietly.
“Sorry, sweetie, we have been off the grid. It’s driving Sam nuts. He misses work. He’s been watching C-Span, it’s so bad.”
“Oh, no!” I mocked.
Ellen laughed and touched my face. “You are so beautiful,” she told me. “And so brave. I don’t think I could have dealt with all the things you’ve dealt with in the past three months.”
I smiled. Her words were the first compliment I had gotten in a long time. The smile fell.
“What if they’re dead?” I asked in a whisper.
She knew I meant Alex and Daniel. “I don’t think they are,” she said.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“I can feel it,” she said, squeezing my hand tight.
I smiled. “Well, that’s good enough for me.”
Reaper cleared his throat. Ellen and I turned around to look at him. We had both forgotten about him during our talk. He had cocked his head to the side, a confused expression crossing his face.
“Someone is here,” he told us.
I focused, and tried to hear what he heard. The reason for the confused look on Reaper’s face was made immediately obvious. The person outside the house was trying to figure out how someone could think about two things at once, without losing details of one or the other. She was trying to manage it by thinking about how to think of two things at once, while also thinking about her grocery list. I smiled at the strange thoughts. Naomi was home.
I went to the front door and opened it just as she was trying to put the lock in the door. She looked at me without recognizing who I was, her thoughts still lost in the problem she was trying to solve.
Naomi had changed since I had seen her last. She wore a brown leather jacket and professional slacks that her work required her to wear. Her hair was black, with thick bangs obscuring her forehead. The random streaks of odd color she normally kept in hair were gone. I knew it was because she had gotten a promotion at the radio station she worked at, and they had insisted on a dress code. She hated the change, but loved her work. Her green eyes were circled with black liner, and her lips were ruby red. Her shirt had a dancing zombie on it, the only ‘unprofessional thing’ she refused to give up. She loved zombies.
She stepped past me, put her things on the counter, and started to make her way to the bathroom to pee. She realized who I was all at once. She turned around and jumped up and down in her excitement. Still jumping, she pulled me into her arms and hugged me tight.
Naomi’s voice was full of happiness when she spoke. “Yay! You’re back!”
“Just for a little while,” I admitted.
She released me from her hug and put her arm around my waist, so she could keep a hold on me. She put her head on my shoulder.
“I missed you, kiddo. You’ve gotten taller,” Naomi said.
“You’ve gotten more eccentric, I think,” I said.
“We try! Oh, yeah, that reminds me! I need milk!” she said.
“How does that remind you of milk?” I asked.
“Your bones…they need milk…you’ve gotten taller…it makes sense,” she said as if I was missing the obvious.
“Of course it does…”
“Ellen, you’re up! I thought you would be asleep for another hour.” Naomi hugged me tighter. “Would you know that your mom has been going out every night with Sam to try and look for you? She was certain you were in town…for like the past two weeks or so.”
“Really?” I asked.
How odd was it that she had thought I was in town the same amount of time I had been free from the prison?
Ellen shrugged. “It was just a feeling. Naomi…cook me dinner. I’m starved.”
“Cook yourself dinner. Oh wait, you can’t, because you are ridiculous and quite possibly a robot, who hasn’t acclimated to the fact that humans cook,” Naomi said.
“Cook some for Clare, too,” Ellen said, ignoring Naomi’s words. She stood and started toward the bathroom. “I’m going to check on Sam. Afterwards, you and I are going on a walk, Clare. You will hold my hand, and you will not complain when I show you affection in public,” she commanded me.
“I would never complain about that,” I told her.
Her smile was a miracle after such a long time lost in pain. I was glad to see it, but sad in the same instant. It was a reminder that I couldn’t stay here; I would have to look somewhere else for Daniel. Besides, I couldn’t bring my world of danger on to her shoulders again. It was too dangerous. Leaving was unavoidable.
Forgetting about Reaper, I let myself out through the back door to wait for Ellen to finish consoling Sam, wishing I was normal and that I could stay forever.
As I sat down on Naomi’s deck chair, I heard her ask Reaper from the kitchen, “So…who are you?”
Reaper answered politely, obviously intrigued by Naomi and her oddness. They struck up a conversation, and became old friends in a matter of minutes, as was Naomi’s way.
After my long walk with Ellen, which was therapeutic and more wonderful then words, Naomi demanded I hang out with her. While the talk with Ellen had been healing, the talk with Naomi was different, in a good way.
We walked out to the water’s edge together, her arm hooked through mine. When we were close enough to the water to appreciate its beauty in the dark, but far way enough to not get wet, we sat. Naomi’s feet made odd shapes in the sand as her mind kept up constant thought. She had given up trying to think of two things at once, but Naomi was always thinking. Her hyper brain never rested, not even when she was asleep.
We were silent for a long moment, the ocean and her feet moving in the sand dominating the present. I heard other sounds; sounds like avalanches. A crab walking the shore, a couple making out in the lifeguard house, some others down the beach drinking quietly and watching the waves, the sounds of the pier as people walked it’s length, Ellen inside as she sat with Sam in their room and tried to make him feel better about the fact that Alex might possibly be dead, the cars on the street…they all blended into the same moment.
“How you been, kiddo?” Naomi finally asked.
“About as good as a person kicked in the head…and I have been…kicked in the head, I mean,” I said.
“Yeah, you look it. What’s with the shoulder?”
“Got shot,” I said.
“Had to hurt,” she said.
“It did,” I admitted.
“You’re acting strange,” Naomi pointed out. “All reserved. Where’s my Clare at?”
“She got lost in a
hole.”
Naomi sighed. She didn’t need my story to know I was in pain. She could see it. “Alice fell down a rabbit hole once, but she managed to find her way home again,” she pointed out.
“I’m not Alice,” I said.
“Shutting out the pain won’t make it any easier. Stop pretending you aren’t a person. Feel. Breathe. Enjoy the good. Endure the bad,” Naomi said.
“That’s Ellen’s saying.”
“I know. I steal things. My head doctor told me it’s compulsive. Then, he told me he couldn’t date me anymore, that he was married. I, then, proceeded to steal his car and crash it into a pole. That taught him some things about compulsive…and about dating his patients,” Naomi said.
By the end of her story I was laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“You were dating your shrink?” I asked around my laughter.
“He always listened to me…” she said primly.
I laughed harder at her explanation. She started laughing as well, accepting my giggles as healthy. Between our laughs, she stood and started digging in the sand, where her feet had been making patterns.
“Help me dig!” she commanded.
I followed her command, still laughing at her. “Why are we digging?”
“I don’t know. Why aren’t we digging?” she asked.
“Good point,” I said.
“Let’s make a tourist trap,” she decided.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“We’ll dig a hole big enough to trap a tourist then even out the edges, so they don’t see the trap. They’ll never know what hit ‘em!” she said excitedly.
“Okay.”
Giggling, telling each other stories, and laughing more at our shared stories, we dug until our tourist trap was finished.
Reaper was on the sofa watching a football game with Sam when we got back. Sam was calm, worried, but trying to act normal as he watched the game. At least he wasn’t yelling.
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