The grief hit Naomi when they handed her the bag of Faye’s belongings. Her ID, phone, and silver “N” bracelet were mostly melted and all that was left of her favorite shirt was a sooty scrap.
After an investigation, police concluded that she overdosed on a fentanyl-heroin combo and passed out on a pleather sofa with a lit cigarette in her hand. The highly flammable sofa caught fire, sending the rest of the abandoned house she was in up in flames.
Naomi closes her eyes, placing a hand over her mouth, nauseous at the memory. She tries to focus on the sound of the rain outside.Drip. Drip. Drip.
She can’t stop replaying the conversation with Emily in her head. Noting the similarities between their sisters and their deaths. Two beautiful aspiring musicians apparently overdose from “laced heroin” within six months of each other. Bodies found within a hundred-mile radius. And as far as both Naomi and Emily know, neither of their sisters had ever even done heroin before. But unlike Emily, who is adamant Jade never did any kind of drugs, Naomi can’t say the same about Faye.
Faye had fallen in with the wrong crowd before. Nothing as serious as heroin, that Naomi is aware of, but she did have a habit for turning to drugs and alcohol when things got tough. It first started to get bad after Naomi moved away for college. Even though she visited home whenever she got the chance, almost every weekend, Faye struggled. Her grades dropped and she started experimenting with drugs other than weed. At her junior prom, Faye had to get taken away in an ambulance with alcohol poisoning. Apparently, she hadn’t eaten anything all day except for her antidepressant and then downed a bottle of tequila before the dance. They also found traces of MDMA in her system.
Like their mother, Faye had high highs and low lows, with her ups and downs continuing into her twenties. When she was up, she was constantly on the go, constantly trying to better herself and make things happen. Always singing, writing, gigging, exercising, studying, working harder than anyone Naomi had ever met. But then, she’d burn out or rejection would strike. Sometimes she’d stay in bed for days, not wanting to be bothered. Or she’d disappear, not letting Naomi know where she was or what she was doing, like in the months leading up to her death. There was even an instance, about a year before that, when Faye’s boyfriend at the time called Naomi in a panic, telling her Faye was at the hospital because she “mixed” and “took too much” and “wouldn’t wake up.” Thankfully, she was okay. That time, at least.
“Why the fuck would you do that?” a distraught Naomi asked Faye in her hospital bed. “You think doing shit like that is going to get you anywhere aside from six feet in the ground? Like Mom?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Faye replied. “It was just so… loud. I just wanted it to be quiet.”
It’s why when the police called Naomi, passing on the world-shattering news that her sister was dead, it wasn’t unimaginable to think she overindulged or slipped up. Naomi knew better than anyone that Faye didn’t know her limits. Or was prone to ignore them when she was in a bad place.
She thinks back to the days after Faye’s death. How she was so overcome with despair and anger—but anger at her sister over anyone else. Wondering how she could be so reckless. Naomi had been so shattered, she tried to force herself through the stages of grief to the acceptance stage. Her sister was dead. She saw her corpse. And the police said they “didn’t think” there was anything suspicious, so she left it. No sort of investigation would have brought her back. But now, Naomi is starting to think it was cowardice and fear that made her accept her sister’s cause of death so easily. Because the more she thinks about it in light of what she knows now, the more something feels off.
Tears sting her eyes and a wave of guilt washes over her as she thinks of Faye dying all alone in that wretched place. Where did she get the drugs? Who was she with? Did she inject herself, knowing it would kill her? Or was it an accident? The police said that it was a known hotspot for drug users to convene, saying that she probably showed up, paid to get high, and then passed out. If she overdosed before the house set on fire, they probably left her, not wanting to get themselves into trouble. Naomi feels angry, wanting to know who was responsible. Why had she not pushed harder before? She can’t remember why she didn’t ask more questions, didn’t put more pressure on the police to find out.
She pulls out of the diner, her mind warring with itself as she thinks about the multitude of kids from her high school that overdosed, a few of them from Faye’s friendship group. She even saw a Facebook post a couple weeks ago about another guy they went to school with who died. It wasn’t abnormal, especially not for their hometown. But no matter how hard she tries, she can’t shake the terrible feeling that it’s all a lie.
Maybe Faye did fall in with the wrong crowd, but not the one Naomi originally thought.
From: Emily Dutton
Subject: Follow-up
Date: Sept 28, 2024 09:24:44 PM EDT
To: Naomi J. Barnes
Hi Naomi,
It was really nice to meet you earlier. As promised, see Jade’s autopsy report attached. Please don’t share/publish this, but I hope it helps in some way. I’ve also attached a photo of her – one I know she loved – so if you could try to use that in your article instead of the one most outlets are using, that would be much appreciated.
Also, after meeting you, I looked up your sister and was surprised to see that we share a mutual Facebook friend — Jade. I checked Instagram too and they both followed each other. Not sure if this is important or why I’m even bothering to tell you, but thought it was interesting that they knew each other and thought you’d want to know.
Anyway, thanks again for dinner (and for caring) and good luck with everything.
Best wishes,
Emily
Chapter 19
Halfway through the arduous three-hour drive to her hotel in Maine, fighting off one painful memory after another, Naomi stops for gas and more coffee. And to read the email from Emily. She removes the lid from the Starbucks cup to let some of the steam escape and breathes in the soothing earthy scent. Her heart flutters as she takes a long sip—protesting at the intake of more caffeine. She can’t remember if it’s her fifth or sixth cup of the day. Maybe seventh. The liquid burns her throat on the way down, but it’s a welcome feeling.
She exhales as she opens her email, trying to ignore her racing heart.Think like a journalist, she tells herself.Be professional, not emotional.
But Emily’s email doesn’t help calm her. Her hand trembles as she reads the second paragraph, and she winces in pain as coffee scorches her hand.
“Fuck!” She drops the cup into the holder, cursing again as it spills over the plastic console. She’ll have to clean the car before dropping it back off at Aunt Mary’s. She forces herself to breathe.
Jade and Faye knew each other?
How had she not made the connection before? She supposes it’s because she was logged into C*Leb’s social accounts at the time. Usually, that was more beneficial when researching a case, more likely to show her connections between celebrities. Her personal accounts are almost dormant and useless. She lets out a frustrated laugh, knowing she might have seen this sooner if she had been logged into her accounts instead. But would she have even thought anything of it? They were Facebook friends, which didn’t mean anything. Of course they probably ran in the same circles…
