The first weird thing about the day was how gently her father woke her up. It was a Sunday, and Naomi usually slept in as late as she could before her dad burst through the door and started yelling at her to get up and get started on her chores. The second thing she noticed, as she tried to blink the drowsiness out of her eyes, was the late afternoon sun filtering in from her bedroom window. Apparently she'd slept in much later than usual.
Finally she noticed the hurt in her father's eyes, the hesitancy. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized the look on his face. It was the same look he'd had when he'd explained to her that her mother had passed away. 'Who is it this time?' she wondered. She waited, each second bringing worse imaginings than the last.
"I'm sorry Naomi," he began with his gruff voice. When Naomi was little she'd tell him he sounded like a bear. Her dad would laugh and growl at her and demand honey. That was before, though. He hadn't acted so goofy in a long time, and the look on his face told her she shouldn't be expecting that to change now. "I'm so sorry."
"Who?" she croaked out, still a little tired and a lot afraid. 'Who am I going to lose now?'
"I…" His voice trailed off. Her father cleared his throat and tried again. "The police aren't too sure what happened. The man they arrested, they say he was off his meds. They're saying he was in some kind of psychosis. They aren't sure why he… Anyway, they arrested him. That's the important thing. They found him and they've got him locked up. He won't hurt anyone again."
Naomi shook her head, utterly bewildered at the information her dad was giving her. A man was arrested? For what? And why did that pertain to her? "Wh-what are you talking about?" she managed to ask.
Her dad sighed, and for the first time since her mom's funeral she saw a tear fall down his face. It scared her. Her dad never cried. "Naomi," he sobbed. "I'm so sorry, but the Murphys are dead."
All the air left her body, and with it all her strength. A faint buzzing sound let her know that her father was still talking, still trying to explain, but she couldn't focus. All she could hear were those words over and over: the Murphys are dead. That was wrong. It had to be. She'd seen the Murphys last night. Gotten ice cream with them. They weren't dead. They couldn't be.
Could they?
"What happened?" she demanded, her voice coming out harsher than she expected.
Her dad flinched, probably at the loud tone his usually soft spoken daughter had taken. He let out a sigh, and Naomi wondered if that's the question he'd just been answering for her while she was lost in her thoughts. "The man that got arrested broke into their home. He, uh, brought a gun."
"A gun," Naomi repeated, feeling hollow. She wasn't sure how to handle that revelation. No one close to her had died since her mother. That death had happened long ago, before she'd ever met Lyla. Besides, it was different. Her mother had been sick. Lyla and her mother's deaths had not been unintentional or through tragic happenstance. They'd been murdered.
"...and Heather's mother was saying they're expecting some cousins in a little later, which pushes back the funeral date to Friday, probably," Naomi's father was saying. It was strange. Naomi hadn't even realized he was still talking. He cleared his throat, looking a little awkward. "I promised her we'd be there. Is that okay?"
Hot, unexpected rage boiled inside Naomi's chest at the question. "Why wouldn't I be there?" she snarled, her fists clenching in her fury. Her mother had died when she was seven years old, and her father had been doing his best to ignore her ever since. It wasn't until she'd turned ten and entered middle school and met Lyla that she'd felt like she'd had a family. It had been Lyla who'd taught her how to ride a bike. Mrs. Murphy had shown her how to bake, and helped her with her homework whenever she was clueless about it. The two of them together bought her makeup for the first time, took her bra shopping, and brought her to Inside Scoop for ice cream. That was the Murphys. Not her deadbeat dad.
Her father looked taken aback. "I didn't know if it'd be too hard for you," he told her truthfully.
"That's the problem," Naomi scoffed. "You don't know me. The Murphys do. They're my family; of course I'm going to the funeral."
"Naomi," her dad tried.
"Don't," she snapped, pushing herself out of her bed. She didn't want to hear any of his excuses.
He looked like he desperately wanted to say more. For a second, Naomi actually wanted him to. If he spoke now, it would be the first time in nine years that he actually fought for her and proved just a little that he still cared about her with the depth that a father should. It would be the first time in nine years that Naomi would feel like she hadn't lost her first family, and on the day that she'd lost the Murphys that was a feeling she desperately needed. Her dad looked at her, and she waited, but he only shook his head and got to his feet.
"I'm sorry," he said again as he made his way to the door. He paused, his fingers resting on the handle. "I'll pass along any new information as it comes in." He didn't turn around, didn't stop to look back at her, as he slipped out of the room and shut the door behind him.
Naomi sank back into her pillows. She felt tired. She wanted to close her eyes and sleep for a hundred years. She wanted to wake up and realize this was all just some traumatizing nightmare. 'Thanks to whatever maniac and his gun,' she suddenly thought, 'the Murphys won't ever wake up again.' A tear leaked from her closed lids, and Naomi sucked in a shaky breath as her new reality hit her. No more slumber parties or late night car rides with Lyla. No more dancing around in her bedroom while they both shared a hairbrush that they pretended was a microphone, singing awful pop songs at the top of their lungs as Mrs. Murphy laughed and faked filming them. No more staying up until the first rays of the sun crept in, talking in whispers about their hopes and dreams for the future.
There was no more future. Not for Lyla, and not for her mother. Mrs. Murphy had just saved up enough to go back to school. She'd wanted to buy and run her own shop, and she'd been getting tips from Henry about what classes to take and her ideal first steps. Then there was Lyla. Since the day they'd met, Lyla had been saying she wanted to work at the CDC. She'd planned to devote her life to studying viruses and creating vaccines. She was selfless like that.
Naomi slammed a fist down onto her pillows. She pulled back her arm and punched again and again. The more she thought about them, the more she punched. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. This whole horrible ordeal never should have happened. Lyla and her mother should still be alive. It felt like a mistake, them being gone. Some royal screw-up on behalf of the universe.
With an awkward lurch, Naomi forced herself out of the bed. She traded her pajama shorts for some jeans and shoved her arms into her yellow sweater before throwing open her bedroom door. She stomped down the hall, unsure what her plan was exactly, knowing only that she needed to get out of this damn house. As she passed by the kitchen she caught sight of her father with his laptop open on some news sight. The article had a picture of Lyla and her mother, smiling and looking so carefree. It stopped Naomi in her tracks, and she studied every detail of their faces, memorizing them as best she could. Below that was a second picture, one that made her blood boil. It was of a man Naomi had never seen before. His hazel eyes were as wild as the matted beard that crawled down his chin, and a large mole claimed a spot over his left cheekbone. The beginnings of a neck tattoo were cut off by the bottom of the photo, but there was enough visible that Naomi was sure it was a snake.
"Is that the guy?"
Her father jumped at the sound of her voice. "Jesus, Naomi," he gasped, slapping the laptop shut. He regarded her, noting the anger hidden beneath her inquisitorial stare. He let out another sigh. "Yeah. That's him."
She shook her head. So it was a stranger that had murdered them. Was there even a reason? Was it really just some crazy man off his meds? Some psycho with a gun just got to decide who lived and who died? That wasn't right. This wasn't right.
"Naomi," her father said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder to steady her. She hadn't realized she was shaking until he did that. "They caught him already. He's in custody."
"It still isn't right," Naomi told him, her voice a shuddering sigh.
"I know," her dad agreed. The pained look in his eyes was enough for Naomi to believe him. Nothing about this was right and they both knew it. He moved his arm across her back, wrapping her in an awkward sort of half hug. Naomi closed her eyes against an onslaught of tears as she leaned against her father's touch.