She must have dozed off…
In Naomi’s dream, she was wildly liberated like a bird, soaring through the sky with the chaotic freedom of a wild animal. Hanging suspended just below the clouds, Naomi spotted the Avery Manor below her. Then suddenly she was falling down…down…down. The ground rushed at her dying eyes. The trees, previously so beautiful, were suddenly a dozen spears upon which to impale herself. The lake, a perfect mirror of white-silver sunlight, became the place in which she would soon assuredly drown.
In an instant, she wasn’t falling at all, but rather hanging ghost-like in the air of a familiar-looking parlor. She looked down, and the sight below sent spears into her eyes. Broc’s body lay tangled across the floor, clothes washed in a pool of his own blood. Suddenly, the body wasn’t Broc at all. Now it was Al, limbs twisted unnaturally, eyes open and glassy, a waterfall of blood pouring from his mouth….
A pounding filled Naomi’s ears, and she jerked awake with a start.
“Open up! Open up!”
Naomi jumped like a startled animal and scampered behind the nearest available hiding place: the couch.
A moment later, Naomi recognized the voice and chided herself for the display of foolishness.
She rushed to the door. With extreme caution, she checked the peephole, unlocked the deadbolt, cracked the door open, pulled off the chain, and finally opened the door completely.
Flickering porch light revealed the silhouette of an enormous woman.
“Naomi, Naomi,” the figure said over and over again. She enveloped Naomi in a gigantic hug that reeked of cinnamon. Naomi sneezed, and then sneezed again. Her eyes watered from the sharp tang of cinnamon (at least, that’s what Naomi led herself to believe). At last, Naomi turned to face the woman.
“Martha, thank you so much for coming over,” Naomi said, surprising herself with the depth of gratitude echoing in her tone.
“Don’t worry about thanking me, you poor girl,” Martha declared, enveloping her in another hug. This time, Naomi held her breath. “You’ve always taken care of me, even when I’m a complete and utter disaster.”
Martha was the drama queen who ruled from the front desk at Maple Falls Gymnastics. With Martha, every day was a new soap opera.
“I have a little something to cheer you up!” Martha trilled. She hummed a trumpet fanfare, and then whisked an enormous cookie tin out from behind her back.
“Snicker doodles,” she announced, “your favorite.”
“I can’t believe you remembered,” Naomi exclaimed, amazed by the enveloping rush of optimism provided by the glorious smell of homemade cookies.
Naomi and Martha sat down for a sugary feast, during which Naomi more than made up for having missed both lunch and dinner. Afterwards, Naomi embarrassed herself by bursting into tears.
Normally, Naomi prided herself in showing a stoic lack of facial distress. Before tonight, she could count on one hand the number of tears she’d shed in public.
“Oh, you poor dear!” Martha exclaimed, hugging Naomi to her ample bosom. Naomi cried as if the world had ended, great racking sobs shaking her entire body.
After an immeasurable period of time, Naomi finally managed to dam back the colossal faucet of tears. She drew away from Martha.
“Do you mind if I take a moment to freshen up?” Naomi asked, gesturing towards the bathroom.
“Not at all,” Martha replied immediately. “Meanwhile, I’m going to help myself to another delectable snicker doodle. Whoever baked the snicker doodles was a master chef. Don’t you agree?”
Naomi forced out a laugh as she hurried away from the kitchen.
In the stable yellow walls of the bathroom, Naomi labored in putting herself back together. She could barely recognize her own reflection. Her olive skin was blotchy from tears, her almond eyes brilliantly puffy and red. Naomi’s thick black eyeliner had run down her face, leaving behind gruesome charcoal scars.
After sacrificing at least half a bar of soap to removing the sticky mess, Naomi began to feel better. As she calmed down, her sense of embarrassment increased exponentially.
Naomi had been a tough girl all her life. Gymnastics wasn’t a sport for the weak of heart. She’d vaulted and tumbled through countless injuries, smothering every grimace or admittance of pain. Living with an alcoholic father hadn’t helped matters either. Naomi learned at an early age that crying showed nothing but weakness.
But after a lifetime of being endlessly stoic, here was Naomi, a twenty-seven year old adult who’d just bawled her eyes out in front of someone she’d known for little less than a year.
You can’t change the past Naomi told herself severely. There was nothing to do but get on with it. Naomi forced on her best brave face and returned to the living room.
When Naomi returned to the room, she found that Martha had worked her way through more than half the remaining snicker doodles. Naomi was impressed.
In order to optimize success in gymnastics, Naomi had starved herself for years. Martha, on the other hand, didn’t give a damn about what other people thought. She ate what she wanted, and when she wanted it. Naomi loved the way Martha radiated self-confidence about her ample body weight.
“I’m sorry about that,” Naomi seated herself on the couch and picked up another cookie. Her best friend was dead and her boyfriend was in jail. She needed as much comfort food as she could get.
“Don’t you apologize, honey,” Martha soothed, placing a gentle hand on Naomi’s knee. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Naomi began to shake her head no. Then for some adverse reason, Naomi realized she actually did want to talk about it.
“OK,” Naomi agreed. She paused, uncertain of how to dive into such a tangled web of emotion.
“So Al was framed-” Martha prompted.
“How did you know Al was framed? I didn’t say-”
“Honey, I didn’t need you to tell me. I know Al. He would never murder anyone, especially not his best friend and business associate.”
Naomi’s gut clenched with guilt because she, Al’s long-term girlfriend, had needed convincing of his innocence. But Martha, who was merely Al’s acquaintance, had been convinced of his innocence from the start.
“Broc was your friend, wasn’t he?” Martha confirmed.
“He was my best friend,” Naomi replied, sighing at the melancholy wave that broke behind her eyes at the mention of his name.
“How did you know each other?”
“It’s a long story,” Naomi said told her, eyes far away with the bittersweet memory. “Broc and I were best friends in childhood. During high school, we fell madly in love. I thought it was fate; he was my true love and we were destined to be together,” Naomi laughed, harshly and without humor. “I was so stupid and naïve. We spoke of marrying someday, and I never once doubted it.
After high school Broc got into Gringham business school. I toured the world with gymnastics. We wrote constantly. But as time went by, some part of Broc began to alter. He was once fun and carefree. In his mind, college was just another big adventure. But then, things began to change. Broc grew obsessed with money. He became ambitious, very ambitious. He would write me entire letters filled with nothing but plans for his new business. He had huge aspirations. Broc didn’t say so in his letters, but I knew how much he yearned to live up to the legacy of his dad. His dad was Broc Avery Senior, the architect. I don’t know if you’ve heard of him.”
Martha shook her head. “I don’t know who you think I am, girl. I can’t tell one successful businessman from another. They’re just a bunch of zombies in monkey-suits so far as I’m concerned.” Suddenly looking at Naomi, Martha covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean-”
“Don’t worry about it,” Naomi stopped her. “No offense was taken.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Martha waved a hand. “Please, continue.”
“Basically, Broc grew increasingly single-minded. I finished my gymnastics tour and came back to live wit
h him. He started a business with another very talented young man. The business grew and quickly began to prosper. Broc spent less and less time at home. Soon, he became a complete workaholic.”
Naomi shook her head mournfully.
“I had to end it then. I didn’t recognize Broc anymore. I couldn’t find any part of the man I’d once fallen in love with. Also, I had another reason,” here Naomi paused, unable to meet Martha’s eyes. “I fell in love with Broc’s partner, the other young entrepreneur. His name was Alan Richman.”
Martha gasped.
Naomi shook her head quickly at Martha’s expression.
“No, it wasn’t like that. We were very decent about the whole business. Al and I deeply valued our friendship with Broc. We waited an entire year after the break-up before planning our first date. Al is everything Broc wasn’t: funny, lighthearted, and loving. Al has his priorities straight. He knows that people far outrank the importance of monetary business achievement. He’s always there for me when I need it most. And despite our romance, Broc has remained a dear and unwavering friend for both of us.”
Naomi was amazed by the cascade of words that had just tumbled from her mouth. Somehow, they’d been molded by gravity into the comprehensive story of her life.
This was the first time she’d talked about her personal life with anyone besides Al and Broc.
Martha sat back.
“That was quite a story. It sounds like you cared about Broc a lot. You have my deepest sympathies about his death.”
Naomi nodded. The dam in her eyes threatened to be crushed by the tremendous waterpower contained behind her lids. Thankfully, her eyes remained clear and dry.
“Thank you. He meant so much to me.”
“What are you going to do about Al?”
“Everything I can,” Naomi replied fiercely. “I’m going to prove his innocence.”
“I admire your bravery, girl. But murderers are the freakiest folk you’ll ever lay eyes on. They scare the bejesus out of me. Maybe you’d better leave the danger to the police’s capable hands.”
“I already talked to the police,” Naomi said miserably. “They said that they already have enough evidence to get Al convicted. They won’t investigate any further.”
Martha’s eyes shone bright, and she shook her head in sudden anger.
“I can’t believe it. I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all.” She was silent for a long moment. “I suppose I can’t stop you from investigating?” she asked in resignation. Naomi shook her head. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. You’ve always been a right stubborn girl. But please, agree with me on one thing. Promise that you’ll stay safe.”
The joking tone was gone from Martha’s voice. Naomi looked up and was touched to see that her friend was truly worried for her.
“I promise.”
Chapter 3
In the morning, Martha was gone. On the kitchen table, a piece of brilliant pink stationary sat beside the remaining snicker doodles. In loopy purple gel pen, the note read “Be safe.”
Naomi threw open the refrigerator door to hunt down some breakfast. She’d need something healthy, to make up for the cookie binge from the night before. Naomi’s eyes skimmed the refrigerator contents: chicken, sandwich meat, mayonnaise, ketchup, mustard, hot dogs, egg salad, and milk. Naomi was vegan. She had been for ten years
Looking at the animal products made Naomi feel sick, but not in a food-related way. The refrigerator’s contents screamed Al's name. Her gut clenched with worry and reeled at the helplessness of the situation. Naomi slammed the fridge shut.
A small piece of paper swayed lightly through the air as it meandered to the floor.
Suddenly, Naomi experienced a strange sense of deja vu. But before she could identify the strange image that lurked on the edge of her vision, it flitted away and disappeared deep into a far-off crevice of her brain.
Picking up the paper, Naomi recognized it as a photograph that she’d taken it a few years ago. It had been one of the first times she met Al. The photo depicted Al and Broc, their arms flung around each other, smiling like idiots. They looked exactly like brothers, though their features were nothing alike. There was something about the easy carelessness between them, the casual way that they leaned into each other and shook with the same silent laughter.
Naomi couldn’t believe that Broc was dead.
Darn it. This place reeked of their ghosts. Everywhere she looked sang of their presence. Naomi had to get out of there.
*****
The Avery Manor was a sprawling masterpiece of intricate stonework. Broc Avery Sr. called it a “modernized castle.” It had been the crowning achievement in his career; rock-hard evidence of his life’s impressive achievements.
The Manor caused a great wave of nostalgia to wash over Naomi. It made her think of what she’d once had, and what could have been.
Out front were the rose trellises, a never-ending florist’s supply for Broc when he’d been a young romantic. The ancient maple tree that dominated an entire side of the house had been a perfect midnight entrance into Broc’s second-story bedroom.
Though the time had long passed, Naomi could never forget the breathtaking exhilaration of first love. Unfortunately, Broc had changed to the core of his being, and she’d been unable to love him for the ambitious ego-maniac he’d become. Al, on the other hand, turned out to be the man of her dreams. It was crazy how dramatically a person’s dreams could change over such a short period of time.
Naomi had visited Al in the police station before coming here. Her body had screamed in protest at seeing his beloved face behind bars.
“I’ll get you out of here as soon as I can,” she’d hastily promised him.
“I know,” he’d simply replied. His utter confidence in her made the investigation suddenly become a million times more desperate. Al was counting on her. Naomi couldn’t let him down.
Now, Naomi sat in her car, safely hidden from view by the thick forest surrounding the mansion. The police station had informed her that Broc’s funeral would be this morning at eleven. Although she desperately wanted to attend, Naomi realized that this might be the only time she could count on the Manor’s emptiness. She had to take advantage of this rare opportunity to investigate.
Naomi examined the two bags perched against the back seat of her car. She slid her arms through the rough straps of the hiking backpack, and left the duffel bag for later.
Casting a quick glance around to make sure she wasn’t being followed, Naomi stepped out of the car and locked up. Aware that her time here was limited, Naomi broke into a rapid jog in the direction of the mansion.
For today’s outing, Naomi had donned lightweight athletic clothes. Also, in case of security cameras, she’d worn a thick black ski mask. The thick summer sunlight blazed down. Naomi could already feel a thin layer of sweat coating her body.
Reaching the stone manor without incident, Naomi scaled up the ancient maple tree. She easily located Broc’s window: second floor, third window from the left. She pulled a wire from her backpack and twiddled at the window latch, just as Broc had once taught her. A moment later, it sprang open.
Naomi couldn’t believe her luck. The break-in had gone so smoothly that it scared her. Everything was so easy that it made her suspicious.
Shaking off the fear that roiled like maggots in the pit of her stomach, Naomi hurried through Broc’s bedroom. Every step was like a slice in the gut. Here, in Broc’s inner sanctuary, Naomi felt his loss more acutely than ever before.
Naomi breathed a sigh of relief as she exited Broc’s master suite and stepped into the tapestry-filled hallway. In keeping with the “modernized castle” theme, Broc Avery Sr. had commissioned specialized tapestries. Each one depicted family members implementing various types of technology. The modern images looked misplaced when included in such an ancient art form. Broc and Naomi had laughed at them once. Now, the images seemed to come straight from a surreal nightmare.
&n
bsp; Naomi rushed down one of the four spiral staircases, choosing the one located at the northeast corner of the mansion. She could walk this place in her sleep. She’d practically lived here in high school, endlessly eager to escape the world of her drunken dad and hopeless home situation.
Downstairs, Naomi found the enormous parlor. It was completely plastered in crime scene tape. She’d expected this.
Though she didn’t exactly have a picture perfect memory, Naomi knew she could never forget the defining feature of the modern castle’s living room. The ceiling of the Avery Manor sitting room had been featured in countless home design magazines across the world. It was an architectural masterpiece. The ceiling played off a common neo-classical palace ceiling design. It featured a brilliant domed sky scene, complete with cupids sailing gracefully through the air and chasing each other joyfully amongst the perfect white clouds. The ceiling was beautiful; but also the stereotype of all neo-classical architecture. The real magnificence hung suspended from the center of the domed masterpiece: a glowing crystal sun. The chandelier was filled with brilliant golden light, casting rainbow shadows across every surface of the glorious room.
The outside of the parlor had been completely plastered in crime scene tape, exactly as she had predicted.
Soon, Naomi would begin the trickiest part of the investigation. While examining the murder scene, she couldn’t leave any fingerprints or proof of her passage. If the police found evidence of Naomi coming here, she might be re-united with Al after all…in jail.
Naomi reached forward and sprightly scaled up one of the enormous stone pillars that flanked the entrance to the room. Perched precariously on top of the pillar, Naomi ran her hands along the wood wall. At last, she found what she was looking for: a tiny crack in the otherwise seamless wood. She pressed in just the right spot, and suddenly a door sprang out of the wall. This was the entrance to the crawl space.
Between the domed ceiling and the next floor of the house, a small space existed for mechanics. When they’d been little, Naomi and Broc had practically worshipped this crawl space. They’d squirm through the narrow area until they reached the center of the dome. Then, they could peek through the hole made for the elegant chandelier. Broc and Naomi had spent hour upon hour in the crawl space, spying on the mysterious clockwork happenings of the adults in the room below.
Deja Vu- A Novella Page 2