Deja Vu- A Novella

by Jennifer Perry

  “How do you always know exactly what to say?” Naomi asked, astounded by Al’s instinctive ability to address her unsaid fears. Often, it seemed like Al read more from her silence than her words.

  “I’m just smooth and suave like that,” Al jested. He flashed an exaggerated wink in her direction.

  She blinked flirtatiously at him in return, and then burst into laughter.

  Eventually, Naomi calmed her mirth and began to fill in Al on everything that happened the day before. Once Naomi finished, Al sat in silence for several long minutes.

  “Wow, I’m impressed,” he said at last. “You should be hired as a professional detective!” When Naomi laughed, he pressed on. “Seriously Naomi, you are a complete genius.”

  Naomi blushed, and lowered her face in sudden embarrassment.

  “So, what’s your opinion?” she asked him, “Whodunit?”

  Al thought for a moment.

  “I guess Brynn is the most likely candidate. The two businessmen sound pretty fishy though. You should probably keep an eye on all three of them?”

  “Where should I get the extra eye?” Naomi quipped pathetically. Although it was the lamest joke in the universe, Al threw back his head and laughed. Naomi loved how Al laughed at her every joke.

  Naomi’s eyes skimmed over her watch, and then settled there again.

  “Shoot, my gym class starts in ten minutes! I have to go. I love you!”

  “I love you too. Be safe, Naomi.”

  Be safe. His words echoed Martha’s exactly. They seemed like an ominous premonition.

  *****

  After leaving police headquarters, Naomi hurried to the gym for her morning gymnastics class. Martha greeted her warmly at the door.

  “Naomi! How are you?” Martha asked, enveloping her in a giant hug.

  “I’ve been better,” Naomi replied honestly. “But my mood has increased exponentially since the last time I saw you.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Martha said, smiling, “Any new leads on the case?”

  “Not really,” Naomi admitted. Then quickly changing the subject from her current investigative failures, Naomi asked, “How are you today, Martha?”

  Martha suddenly seemed to swell with excitement.

  “Well, I met this guy…”

  *****

  The gymnastics classes were a welcome distraction from the cloud of worries that had plagued Naomi’s head ever since Saturday. Naomi adored each and every child enrolled in her gymnastics classes. They were so sweet and eager; they always did everything she told them without launching a single complaint. Naomi was convinced that she had the best gymnastics students in the world.

  The parents, on the other hand, were another matter entirely. Naomi experienced a wide range of evil glares and cutting remarks. A few parents didn’t bring their children at all. Apparently, they didn’t want the girlfriend of a murderer teaching their kids about gymnastics.

  Naomi didn’t really blame them. None of the parents knew Al well enough to realize that he was innocent. Naomi had been surprised enough when Martha guessed the truth. Clearly, Martha was a better friend than Naomi had given her credit for.

  After the day’s classes drew to a class, Naomi went home and once again experienced a strange sense of deja vu. Something tugged at the edge of her memory. Some part of her knew that this information was of vital importance. But try as she might, the elusive memory slid from her hands every time she began to draw near. At last, she was forced to give up in frustration.

  Chapter 7

  How can breaking into the mansion of a murdered man feel repetitive? Naomi wondered as she sat crouched in the shadows of the Avery Manor estate.

  Mrs. Avery had left hours before. Martha had heard from Mrs. Abigail that Mrs. Ursula Avery was taking a trip to the Caribbean to “calm her nerves.”

  Now, Naomi only had Brynn left to deal with. She knew just the trick.

  Picking up the crappy new ten-dollar cell phone, Naomi carefully punched in Brynn’s cell phone number.

  Brynn pounced on the phone after the first ring.

  “Hello?” she asked. Her voice was cloying and flirtatious.

  Perfect.

  “My dearest Brynn,” Naomi announced in a deep gravelly voice, “It is such a pleasure to hear the bell-like harmonies of your voice.”

  “May I ask who is calling?”

  “This is Mr. Diputs. I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance yesterday, after the funeral.”

  Naomi paused, holding her breath. She’d been counting on Brynn to forget the names of at least half the people she’d met the night before. Sure enough, Brynn rose magnificently to the occasion.

  “Mr. Diputs,” she purred, “to what do I owe the privilege of your phone call?”

  “I hoped that you would accept my invitation for dinner tonight, at my estate.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Brynn simpered, voice dripping with smugness. “If you’ll just tell me your address, I’ll go put on a little something special,” she accented the word, “and be right over.”

  “I’m the luckiest man in the world,” Naomi announced, quickly relaying the address to Brynn’s waiting ears. “I anxiously await your arrival.”

  “Indeed,” Brynn purred, “I’m sure it will be an evening you’ll never forget.”

  I’m sure it will be an evening that you’ll never forget. Naomi thought in satisfaction as she snapped the phone shut.

  Brynn was finally getting payback for endlessly tormenting Broc.

  Tonight, the joke was on Brynn. The address Naomi had given her belonged to Mrs. Mink, the old gossiper from the night before. The two of them were about to experience a very nasty surprise.

  *****

  Fifteen minutes later, Brynn emerged from the manor dressed in a stupendously slutty outfit. The situation just kept getting better and better.

  Naomi forced herself to wait five minutes after Brynn’s departure to assure that Brynn hadn’t forgotten anything. Earlier, Naomi had changed into her cat-burglar costume from the day before. On her back was the trusty old hiking backpack, filed with supplies for today’s break-in.

  After five minutes, Naomi sprinted across the wide front lawn to the ancient maple tree. With the efficiency of a very scared cat, she rapidly scaled the maple tree. With the wire from the day before, Broc’s window soon popped open and Naomi swung herself gracefully inside, landing smoothly on the balls of her feet. The window clicked loudly shut behind her, the sound echoing ominously through the walls of the empty house.

  Reaching backwards, Naomi worked to replace the wire in her backpack. As she fumbled with the zipper, the wire tumbled from her hand onto the immaculate wood floor. She bent down to grab it… but the wire had disappeared!

  Naomi scanned the floor in confusion, sure that her eyes were playing tricks on her. But still, the wire was nowhere to be found.

  Seized by a sudden remembrance, Naomi pictured every cheesy mystery novel that she’d read. For some strange reason, they always included hidden trap doors within deserted old castles. Moving with sudden suspicion, Naomi began to pry at the cracks between floorboards.

  The search seemed fruitless.

  What if Naomi wasted all her time here fingering this clearly solid wooden floor? Would she have to break-in a third time? Surely Brynn would begin to grow suspicious…

  Just then, Naomi’s fingernails passed over a ridge on the otherwise flawless wood floor. As her fingers pressed down on the abnormality, an entire section of the floorboards suddenly sprang to life.

  Naomi jumped back in alarm. Though she’d been searching for a trap door, she hadn’t actually expected to find one. Trap doors seemed to only exist in fictional mystery stories, and certainly not in real-life.

  But here she was, standing before a gaping hole yawning out into the darkness.

  Slowly inching forward, Naomi peered into the space behind the trap door. Unlike cheesy detective novels, the trap door revealed no secret
passageways or hidden rooms. Instead, she found a hidden compartment, piled high with a huge number of female possessions. Were these the results of a secret love affair?

  Naomi picked up the first item: a purple rubber hairbrush. She’d had one like this once, but had long since misplaced it. Next came a cute pair of jean shorts, and an electric blue sweatband. As she burrowed deeper into the pile, the possessions grew more personal: a black bra, lacey red underwear, and a purple sports bra with white polka dots. The next time she reached her hand into the pile of items, Naomi’s fingers hit something hard. She withdrew a finely-wrought silver picture frame. Naomi turned it over and gasped.

  It was a picture of her and Broc, from when they’d been together.

  Realization hit Naomi like a bulldozer to the chest. This was her stuff. Now she recognized it.

  A cold claw burrowed its way into Naomi’s chest. She sat back, gasping uncontrollably.

  Numbly, she reached into the hole and fished out a camera. She began to flip through the contents. It was filled with pictures of her, all taken within the last two years: sitting with Al and laughing, tending the garden, running through town, in the grocery store with horrid Mrs. Mink.

  Naomi flipped through the pictures faster and faster. There was one of her teaching a gymnastics class, one of her eating dinner in the condo’s tiny kitchen.

  And then there were hundreds of Naomi getting dressed. They’d been taken through the bedroom window, but that didn’t prevent them from revealing parts Naomi would have never shown in public.

  Frigid, deadening shock settled deeply into Naomi’s head. She couldn’t think any more. This was too much, too much. Her entire world was crumbling to pieces.

  Chapter 8

  The sound of a car door slamming jerked Naomi roughly out of her oblivion. Naomi looked around frantically, knowing she had mere minutes to get out of the house undiscovered. With quick movements, she scooped everything from the stalker’s hoard into her hiking backpack and clicked the trapdoor shut.

  Walking to the window, she yanked it open and stepped onto the tree limb. She closed the window behind her and slid down the thick tree trunk.

  A few minutes later, she was in her car, driving numbly away.

  *****

  It took Naomi a long time to acquire the willpower necessary to re-open the backpack. The shock of discovering that her high school sweetheart was a psycho-stalker had slammed into Naomi with astounding force.

  Naomi thought she’d known Broc; understood him perfectly. But clearly, everything she’d known about him was a lie.

  Maybe Naomi had always suspected something darker in Broc. In these days since his death, she’d mourned for the man she’d once fallen in love with. Naomi had chosen to forget how he changed. She’d selectively erased the memories of his extreme possessiveness, his jealousy, his anger at every man that so much as glanced her way.

  She did remember, now. Her mourning had been for a man that died at the end of high school.

  Naomi began meticulously sorting through Broc’s stalker hoard. She couldn’t believe that she’d overlooked missing so many things from her closet. Broc must have been very careful, taking only a few items per raid. She shivered, wondering exactly how many times he’d been in the condo without her knowledge.

  The fat manila envelope was what caught her attention. She opened the flap and pulled out a thick stack of papers.

  Naomi glanced at the date on the top sheet. It was from two years ago, just a day or two after they broke up.

  Dear Naomi, it read.

  I need you. Without the light of your smiles and laughter, I can no longer escape the darkness that threatens to engulf me. It draws closer every day. Soon, the waves of evil will crash over me, and I will drown in their terrifying embrace…

  Hands shaking, Naomi began flipping wildly through the stack, picking out passages at random.

  I hear them calling to me. Their slimy voices whisper evil secrets in my ears. Their acid breath burns away at the insides of my body. Soon, I will die from this slow disintegration…

  I’m beginning to understand the voices. They bid me to join them behind the eternal doors of death. Soon I will obey them, but I can’t quite bid myself to leave. I’m held back by the addictive powers of your face, hypnotized by the need to hear your voice, one last time…

  Eventually, Naomi reached the final letter in the stack. It was undated, and scratched in a nearly unreadable scrawl. Tears streaming down her face, Naomi read the last lines.

  I finally understand that I have lost you forever. And without you, there is nothing here for me on this earth. Farewell, my love. I pray that someday we will meet again.

  Seized by full body paralysis, Naomi sat amidst the manic letters and cried for a long, long time.

  Chapter 9

  Naomi glared at the police chief in utter disbelief.

  “What do you mean, this isn’t enough evidence? Broc suffered from clinical depression and was most likely schizophrenic. The last letter clearly states that he was planning to commit suicide.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Zhu. Regardless of whether or not Broc considered suicide, pure forensic science shows us that he was murdered. Alan Richman will be convicted for murder. There is nothing you and I can do about it.”

  *****

  The office was very nearly silent.

  The only noise came from two rhythmic sets of breathing, and the occasional rustle of paper.

  At last, Martha looked up.

  “The police chief said this wasn’t sufficient evidence,” Naomi said miserably. “I found the truth. The letters clearly show that Broc planned to commit suicide and that he framed Al out of jealousy. But the police say this means nothing. They want forensic proof that Al is innocent.

  The forensic evidence they require is completely impossible, since the murderer and the victim are the same person. Broc’s DNA is all over the evidence, but that could also be because he’s the victim.” Naomi shook her head in defeat. “The entire situation is absolutely hopeless.”

  “Not hopeless,” Martha reminded her. “You’ll still see Al, no matter what happens.”

  “Yes, but in jail,” Naomi accented.

  “Naomi,” Martha suddenly said, “Will you promise me something?”

  “What?”

  “Promise me you won’t blame yourself for all this.”

  “All what?” Naomi asked stupidly.

  “Broc’s death. Al’s imprisonment.” Martha explained.

  “But it is my fault!” Naomi burst out, voice strangled. “If I hadn’t broken up with Broc, none of this would have happened! If I hadn’t gone out with Al, he wouldn’t be receiving a life-sentence in jail. If I had a quick wit and smart tongue, maybe I could have explained my findings to the police in a way to make them believe me. I’m a complete failure. Everyone I love has either died or-”

  “Naomi,” Martha sternly interrupted, “none of this was your fault.”

  “But-”

  “No! Stop talking. Just listen to me for a minute, OK? Broc obviously had some serious mental issues. They were caused by a chemical imbalance in his brain, not by you. In fact, it sounds like you held him back from his depression for quite a long time. Without you, I’m sure he would have committed suicide years ago. And about Al...you can’t help who you fall in love with. Broc was the one that framed him, not you. I think the police chief is a complete ass for not hearing the truth in your story. Nothing, (do you hear me?), nothing in this situation is your fault.”

  A great weight suddenly fell off Naomi’s shoulders. Her forehead loosened and no longer felt tight. Her mind seemed to let out a great sigh of relief.

  “Thank you, Martha.” Naomi whispered. “You’re the best.”

  *****

  Returning to the condo after a long visit with Al, Naomi opened the refrigerator door, ready to eat for the first time in three days.

  As the refrigerator’s yellow light spilled across her lightweight gym
clothes, Naomi was slammed with a tremendous sensation of deja vu. Suddenly, everything clicked. She slammed her refrigerator door shut and sprinted towards her car.

  Chapter 10

  “I have forensic evidence of Alan Richman’s innocence,” Naomi shouted joyfully as she entered the police station.

  “What?” Mr. G asked incredulously, a tremendous smile spreading across his face.

  “Everyone gather around,” Naomi said, “then I’ll explain.”

  *****

  In the end, everything boiled down to a single unused milk carton.

  During the first day in jail, Al mentioned his activities from the time of Broc’s death. Al explained that he’d watched football, brought in the milk, and folded some laundry.

  Naomi and Al had a weekly milk delivery, scheduled for Saturday at 1:45 PM. The milkman could attest that on that particular Saturday, he’d been at the condo at 1:45 PM on the dot. Al had brought in the milk, and then driven straight to the 2:00 gymnastics show.

  It was a half hour drive from the Avery Manor to Naomi and Al’s tiny condo. Broc had been murdered at 1:46 PM. It was physically impossible for Al to have murdered Broc, brought in the milk, and still arrived at the gymnastics show on time.

  Naomi had discovered forensic evidence after all… on an unused carton of milk.

  Epilogue

  At lunch, Naomi sat with Martha and watched as her friend flipped through pictures from the gymnastics show. Martha was phenomenally skilled at visual design. She was in charge of updating Maple Fall’s Gymnastics’ website with the latest photos.

  As Martha reached the end of her slide show, a strangely familiar image caught Naomi’s eye.

  deja vu.

  “Stop!” she yelled, causing Martha to jump at least a foot into the air. Martha paused the slideshow, and the two of them looked on in wonder.

  The picture portrayed the gymnasts, showing off at the end of the performance. Naomi remembered noticing a strange sort of pattern in the athlete’s casual arrangement. Now, Naomi realized that her instincts had been correct. Through various acrobatic poses, the gymnasts spelled out “MARRY ME?”