Chapter 41
Naomi tries to scream, digging her nails into the stranger’s hand as she’s dragged away.
“Stop resisting!” a deep, gruff voice demands as she flails beneath him. Her terror shifts to understanding as she realizes what’s happened.
She’s frustrated for being so close and annoyed at being manhandled, but she’s also embarrassed.
Of course Harlow would have security watching the property.
She imagines how crazy she must look from their point of view.
Naomi stops fighting, breathing in a sweaty metallic scent as the guard releases his hand from her mouth.
He tightens his grip on her arm as she regains her balance.
“This is private property, ma’am,” he says. “You’re going to have to come with me while we wait for the authorities.”
She imagines the headlines. Crazed Woman Claiming Harlow Hayes is Her Sister Arrested for Trespassing at Singer’s Holiday Home.
Panicking, she tries to explain herself. “I’m… I’m a friend of Harlow’s. She’s expecting me, just please ask her to come down.”
Jesus Christ, do you hear yourself? she thinks. But she’s here now, has to try. Do whatever it takes to get in front of “Harlow.” See if she really is her sister.
The guard raises a mocking eyebrow, shaking his head as he continues to pull her toward the front gate. Returning from this angle, she can now see the small outhouse tucked into the treeline, a black Range Rover parked outside.
As they cross the driveway, the gates open. Naomi freezes, heart racing with excitement before pounding in alarm. The suited figure storming toward her isn’t her sister.
It’s Sam Brixton.
And she is completely fucked.
*
Sam stares at Naomi with pure disdain as their eyes meet. “Take her over here,” he orders the guard, pointing to the wooden building nestled into a fortress of evergreens.
Once inside, he gestures for her to take a seat on a plastic chair in the middle of the small, brightly lit room. The air is musty and she coughs.
“You can leave us, Jack,” he says to the guard.
“Arite, let me know if you need me.” Jack closes the door behind him.
Sam sighs as he takes a seat across from Naomi. He clasps his hands in front of him as he assesses her with his beady black eyes, shaking his head.
“Wow.” He leans back, letting out a hearty laugh. “Didn’t I already talk to you about this? We thought you were some rabid fan or psycho stalker… I mean, maybe you are, you clearly aren’t all there, are you?”
She rolls her eyes at the insult but a part of her worries it’s true.
“Wanna explain what the fuck you’re doing here?” He cocks his head to the side, his usual cheesy on-camera smile pulled into a thin line as he waits for an answer.
She chews on the inside of her cheek as she considers her reply, studying him carefully.
She doesn’t trust him, nor does she know how involved he was with the murders.
But as one of the only people still working with Harlow after all these years, she has to surmise he knows the truth.
About Harlow and Faye, at the very least.
If Harlow is Faye, a voice corrects her.
Her eyes are heavy from lack of sleep. She’s tired.
So tired of it all. She doesn’t care if she’s crazy.
She just wants the truth. So she decides to risk it and tell him her theory.
She didn’t come all this way to back down now.
She came here for answers and she’s sure as hell not going to get them by hiding what she knows.
“I came to see my sister.” Her voice breaks on the last word.
“Your… sister?” His cold expression turns confused and she wonders if he’s a good actor or if he genuinely doesn’t know. She notices him shift in his seat.
“Cut the bullshit,” Naomi spits, hoping she sounds more confident than she feels. She knows what she’s saying seems delusional. Insane. But she needs to come across as unwavering if she’s going to make him crack. “I know she’s not Harlow. I know she’s Faye.”
He laughs, shaking his head, which only angers her.
“Wait, wait… a couple days ago, you were slandering Harlow, my client, in your ‘article’—if you can even call it that—claiming she should never have been released and she was some serial killer…” His expression turns angry again. “Now you think she’s your… sister?”
Her face flushes red, embarrassed, heart pounding as the thought crosses her mind once again that maybe she’s wrong.
But then she thinks of everything she’s discovered since writing that article.
All the clues, first pointing to Harlow being an imposter—the reinvention of her persona, the drastic change in her appearance and style, her haunting new sound and lyrics, photos placing her in Maine and LA at the same time, the Beatles references, all the hints…
Addia S. Howler… Harlow is dead. Then she thinks of her sister’s grave and the hidden inscription: Here lies Harlow Hayes.
All the signs that were right in front of Naomi’s face this entire time.
The hidden messages for Naomi in the lyrics, like her sister was screaming “It’s me! ” from her gilded cage.
“I originally thought Faye was a victim, yes, but now I know the truth,” she says, standing her ground. “I know the real Harlow is dead.”
She holds his icy gaze as she says it. He laughs again, a deep chuckle. But forced. “Oh that’s good. That’s really good. And uh, what else do you think you know?”
“I know everything,” she says. She swallows hard, throat stinging as if there’s a rope around it. As if she’s not about to hang herself on what anyone else would think is a wild conspiracy.
“Please humor me.” He smiles, but it doesn’t match his intensity.
Naomi takes a breath, ignoring the voice in her head telling her to shut her mouth.
But she can’t control herself, her impulses taking over.
She says everything she’s been thinking, piecing together over the last couple weeks, slotting the final pieces of her deranged theory into place on the drive to Maine.
“I think Jade died while she was with Colton and Harlow the night of the VMAs party at your house. I think Colton is a sick fuck and he strangled her to death during sex, potentially in front of Harlow.” As she says it, the realization finally hits her.
If her theory is true, then Sam must have been involved.
“And I think you helped them cover it all up…”
His face doesn’t give anything away, but he looks like he’s holding his breath.
“Couldn’t have your superstars in jail,” Naomi continues.
“But Harlow couldn’t handle the guilt, which is when you started to worry about her and the future.
Your future. Because when the guilt eventually got too much for her, she became unreliable.
Unpredictable. And you couldn’t have that.
Especially after the mishap at the VMAs, then the failure of ‘Endless Summers.’ So smart, one-step-ahead Sam started looking for body doubles to fill in for her here or there.
At first, just for promos and small appearances so Harlow could rest and reset.
But then you hit the jackpot. You met Faye. ”
Naomi’s throat stings as she says her name. “Not only did Faye look and sound like Harlow, she had the potential to be even better than her. Plus, you thought she’d be easier to control…”
She pauses to study Sam’s face, watching his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. And then it dawns on her.
Maybe Faye wasn’t the killer. Maybe it was Sam. She thinks then of the matching fentanyl levels on the two autopsy reports. Sam was the only one who could have helped cover up both murders…
She shudders as his black eyes stare back at her. There’s no point in holding back anymore. She needs to see this through.
“You killed her, didn’t you? You killed Harlow.”
“You have no fucking idea what you’re taking about, Jesus Christ,” Sam spits out, face flushed.
“You need to see someone about these delusions, you really do. First, you sneak into Colton’s funeral and upset his family.
Next, you slander and defame both him and Harlow in your article, even after the justice system declared she was innocent—luckily for you, I’ve known Joel for a long time, so I refrained from pressing charges.
And now? Now you show up to her home after a psychotic break, thinking she’s your sister.
And then you accuse me, the person who has been nice enough to not press charges twice, of these insane conspiracies?
I mean…” He throws his hands in the air, shaking his head as he laughs angrily.
Naomi crosses her arms in a huff, realizing if she’s right, he’ll never confess.
It was foolish of her to think he would tell her anything.
Panic starts to set in as she realizes what she’s done.
That she’s admitted to everything she knows.
He’d probably do anything to stop her from seeing Faye, if it is her.
From maybe seeing anyone ever again. Her breath quickens, chest tightens.
She tries to calm herself, but the thought of possibly being so close to seeing her sister again and not being able to get to her is unbearable.
Her throat is on fire, voice unsteady as she makes one last desperate attempt. “I just want to see Harlow, okay?” She doesn’t want to beg, but she doesn’t know what else to do. “Please, let me talk to her. I won’t say anything to anyone, I swear. I just want to talk with her.”
Sam’s smile has been completely wiped away. And he isn’t laughing anymore. He takes his phone out and sends a text before looking back at her. She senses a flicker of doubt. But it only lasts for a second. His face hardens.
“Naomi.” He rubs his hand over his face. “I’m so sorry to hear about your sister. I know you want to believe she’s alive. But she’s dead. And this isn’t healthy. You need to move on. You need to get help. Do you understand?”
Naomi fully understands that she needs help. Whether she’s right about her sister being Harlow or not, she’s going to need therapy after all this. But she’ll never be able to move on unless she sees for herself. Not until she talks to “Harlow Hayes.”
Sam won’t let that happen, though, she’s sure of it now. She needs to convince him to release her so she can go home and come up with a new plan of attack.
“I’m sorry,” she says, changing tack. “I guess I just don’t want it to be true. Was desperate for her to still be alive.” Tears fill her eyes as she speaks.
Sam sighs, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair and studies her.
“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I’ve just gotten so carried away.
What I said before is ridiculous, you’re right.
I have no proof of anything.” She throws her hands in the air in a false display of surrender.
“I promise I’ll never write another word about Harlow or Colton. And I’m so sorry for accusing you. I…”
“Just wanted someone to blame?” Sam cuts in. “At least you see that now. I’m really not the bad guy here. I told you, I’m trying to help you. But you can only help yourself. Truly.”
She swallows, trying to steady her breath as her plan starts to work. He hands her a tissue and she dabs her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she says again, standing up. “I’ll get out of your hair and you’ll never hear from or see me again, I promise.”
He stands up quickly and blocks the door, and she wonders if he won’t let her leave. Ever. Her pulse thrashes in her ears, the seconds feeling like hours.
Maybe I am right. And maybe I just made the biggest mistake of my life by telling him.
She takes a step forward toward the small gap in the doorway where only his arm is in the way.
Her torso brushes against his forearm, and she presses forward, trying to get him to budge.
But his grip remains steady. She looks up at him, blinking her lashes in quick succession.
Like prey begging to be released from its captor.
His eyes narrow, and she imagines his heartbeat quickening. A hunter ready to pounce.
“Sam. Please, just let me go home. I promise I won’t say anything,” Naomi says again, as she moves her hand to the doorknob.
She wonders what else she has to do. Drop to her knees and beg?
No, she won’t give him the satisfaction.
So she presses forward with all her weight, turning the knob and pushing at the same time.
She expects to meet more resistance but instead she barrels forward, surprised as he just lets her walk out the door.