Bitter Root

by Laydin Michaels

  “And that’s a bad thing? You don’t trust her enough yet?”

  “How can I? There’s so much at risk, and her job is to tell stories. If she prints my story before I’ve figured out what to do, we’ll be in all kinds of danger. I can run again. I know I can keep him from finding me, but the Pot and you and T, y’all can’t disappear so easily. I can’t let her write about my past at all.”

  “I understand your fear, baby, but I also know you got to make a stand at some point. You can’t just live your life ready to disappear. What you going to have when I’m gone? How’re you going to build a life when you so scared you can’t connect to anyone? You seem a bit partial to that reporter. Seems like maybe she’s somebody you might want to build something with. You going to deny yourself that? With her or with anyone? To keep a secret for an evil man?”

  “I’m not keeping it for him, Bertie. I’m trying to keep all of us safe. If he comes after us, he won’t stop till we have nothing left. And I don’t want to go to jail, either.”

  “But don’t you get it? In keeping us safe, you’re freeing him to do more harm. Plus, you’re keeping yourself trapped. You’re closing yourself off from life because of that secret. That means every day you let him walk free is a day less you have for living? How many days are you willing to give up for that man? You’re already in a kind of jail, child.”

  “I don’t know. I’m scared and I hate him. I don’t want him to ever touch my life. Not mine or yours or anyone’s, but I can’t keep him out once he knows where I am. He’s like a hurricane, Bertie. He’s relentless. I can’t do it. I can’t unleash that hate on all of us. I just can’t.”

  “Thing is, all of that hate is already loose. You won’t be unleashing a thing, just giving it a different direction. Maybe we can direct it right into prison, if we can get some help. I want you to see if Griffith can help us put that man away. Then your life can truly begin.”

  “Could that work? Do you really think so?” Can I trust her enough to find out?

  “You’ll never know unless you ask. It’s going to take trust. I don’t know if you’re ready for that or not. I get a sense that you are either going to take that step and let it out, or you’re going to leave me. I fear you running off. You mean the world to me, Adi. You’re my own child as far as I’m concerned, and I can’t take losing you.”

  Adi shook as the truth of Bertie’s words sunk in. She’d made herself believe that running would be the only way to keep Bertie safe, but it would hurt. Not only her, but Bertie and T as well. They mattered to her; their pain mattered.

  She grasped her head in her hands, trying to quell the pounding that erupted behind her eyes. Why did this have to happen? Why couldn’t I just stay hidden and safe?

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Bertie. All I’m sure of is that I have to keep everyone safe.”

  “There’s no telling what’s ahead, Dink. Truth be told, even if you keep quiet, we aren’t none of us safer than if you don’t. He’s out there, and if he wants to find you bad enough, he will.”

  “If I go away, at least you and T will be safe.”

  “No, child, there’s no guarantee of that. Plus we’ll be worried about you. Running ain’t a solution. It’s just stretching the problem out more and more. You know what happens when you stretch something too far. It snaps back and bites you. Don’t be stretching this secret more than you have. It’s past time for you to deal with it. The best place to do that is right here where you have family that loves you and can support you.”

  “You don’t know what he’d do if he found me, Bertie. There’s nothing that could keep me safe.”

  “I don’t believe that. There has to be a way to keep us all safe, if we work together. I won’t be losing you, Dink. I won’t let that happen, hear?”

  “I hear ya. Let me think on it some. I promise I won’t do anything without talking it out with you,” Adi said.

  “Well, that’s gotta be good enough, huh? All right then, I’m going to put my tired bones to bed. Be sure you lock up when you come in,” Bertie said.

  “I will.”

  Adi sat back in the swing and willed her mind to stop racing. The rapid-fire sequence of things that could happen just wouldn’t stop. What if J.B. came after her? How would she possibly be able to stand up to him? Would he even show himself? He could send someone to take her out without even getting his hands dirty. Maybe he was dead? What if one of his international partners took him out of the delivery chain? She didn’t even know at this point. She needed information so she could think of a way out of this.

  Griffith was her best possible resource when it came to finding out about J.B. If she talked to her openly and asked for her help she had to believe Griffith would help. Why do I believe that?

  She called the number she had for Griffith and paced while she waited for an answer.

  “Hello?” Griffith sounded like she’d been sleeping.

  “Hi, it’s me. I need to ask you something,” Adi said.

  “Okay, I’m all ears.”

  “If…I mean what would you do if I told you something that could hurt me, could hurt all of us?”

  “I guess that depends on what it is and what kind of hurt we’re talking about,” she said.

  “Serious hurt, the kind you don’t walk away from.”

  “I’m not sure. I mean, I won’t know how I’ll react without the facts. I can say I would do my best to keep anyone from getting hurt. Is this about your past?”

  Adi swallowed. Once I say it, I can’t take it back. It will be out there and whatever happens will happen.

  “Yes.” It wasn’t more than a whisper, and its passage through her lips left her feeling gutted. Raw and vulnerable.

  “And you’re afraid whatever it is can hurt you or those you love?” Griffith said. Her tone was very gentle.

  I hope that’s a good sign. “Yes.”

  “How can I help?”

  The flood of relief that rushed through her made Adi feel weaker than a newborn foal. She leaned back against the wall and let the cool wood hold her up.

  “I’m not exactly sure; it’s all so complicated. There’s things I’ve done. Things I’ll always have to live with, but I want to tell you. I just have to know I can trust you to handle this carefully.”

  “You can trust me, Adi. I promise. Tell me.”

  “Not tonight, not on the phone,” Adi said.

  “When, then? Do you want me to come back to Bertie’s?”

  “No, not tonight. Can we sit down and talk it out on Monday? I’m going to be slammed at the restaurant through the weekend. That always happens when we’ve been closed,” Adi said.

  The silence on Griffith’s end of the line was deafening. Did I blow this? Is she still with me?

  “Okay, sure. Monday it is. I’m going to write the article for Dawn tonight. Your past doesn’t really play a part in your cooking. Is there anything in what you’re going to tell me that I need to know before I send that to her?”

  Was there? Did her childhood have anything to do with now? Would it reflect badly on the Pot?

  “I don’t think so. It’s all from so long ago,” she said.

  “Fine then. I’ll write my piece, and on Monday we can sort out your past. I’ll do everything in my power to help, Adi. I promise.”

  “Okay,” Adi said.

  “And, Adi? Thank you,” she said.

  Adi disconnected the call. It’s done now. There’s no going back. I hope to hell I haven’t made a mistake. Don’t you let me down, Griffith.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Griffith tossed her phone onto the side table. She was finally going to hear Adi’s story. From what she’d said it could be a doozy. She didn’t seem like the type to exaggerate, and if she was this frightened, it must be big. I have to know as much as possible before I write Dawn’s piece. If whatever she’s hiding is so terrible, Epicuriosity could be caught in the backlash. She needed facts; that was how she operated. If she didn’t hav
e all the facts, the ones she wrote lost their credibility. I need Adi to understand that. She flashed back to all the bitter encounters after the Moore affair, and the fair accusations that she’d failed to check her facts. That she hadn’t done her job.

  Adi’s going to tell me on Monday. If I spend the weekend doing a bit of research, I’ll feel better about the whole thing. Why do I feel like I lied to her? When has it ever bothered me to hash out a story? Her gut was screaming at her to dig, to get to the bottom of things. Why am I even hesitating? Tomorrow, I start looking for young Adi.

  She rose early the next morning, knowing she had a bit of a drive to get to Dulac. She had checked her maps app and figured it would take about two hours to make the trip. She also checked where to find the Parish records office and the local policing agency, located in Houma.

  She still felt uneasy about it, but she couldn’t set it aside. She had to give due diligence to the story. It’s just groundwork. Adi will flesh out the story personally on Monday. I’m doing the right thing.

  No matter what she told herself, it felt like a rotten thing to do, invasive and underhanded. Why hadn’t she just told Adi her intentions? Something had held her back last night, knowing that Adi wouldn’t like her plans. My mother always said if you can’t tell someone you’re doing something, you shouldn’t be doing it. I should have told her. She sighed and kept getting ready. Sometimes real journalism meant taking a road less desirable to get the story. If she did her own research, she’d know for certain Adi hadn’t held anything back.

  She loaded up her tablet and a couple of bottles of water for the drive. She would be in Houma before lunch and could grab a bite to eat there. She’d go to the Parish office and scan some records before the final drive down to the coast.

  The drive was uneventful, mostly farmland broken by the occasional patch of swamp. When she reached Houma, she had little trouble finding the courthouse. It was a massive limestone building in Greek revival style, with a distinctly 1950s feel. I hope this beast is air-conditioned. She climbed the narrow steps to the massive doors and walked in to start her explorations. The man at the information desk sported a checked vest and a bowtie.

  “Hey, there. How can I help you?” he said.

  “Hello. I’m doing research for an article I’m writing. Where would I find population and demographic records for Dulac, Louisiana?” she said.

  “Dulac?” He frowned. “I don’t know that place, but hold on.”

  He scrolled through pages on his computer screen, his frown deepening. Finally, he stopped and smiled.

  “Got it. That’s one of the tiny communities on the estuary. Not much of record in the database, but there are some basic things listed. Want me to print out what I’ve got?”

  “Thank you, that’d be great.”

  The printout he handed her was thin, records for Dulac sparse. The population had always been small, and after the hurricanes of the last decade, it had dropped by over forty percent. The median income was well below the state median, and it seemed to have a high percentage of Native American residents.

  After an hour of searching records, she gave in. This isn’t telling me anything. I need more. Something that would point her in the right direction. She would eat and then give the police department a try. The Houma Police Department covered the area of Dulac as well as other small cities near the coast. Hopefully, they would have some information that would help.

  She found a small café near the courthouse for brunch. The food was good, but not close to Adi’s. She missed the company and banter she’d been enjoying with her New Iberia friends. That’s what they’d become, her friends. If you’d asked her a week ago if she made friends easily, she’d have said no, but Adi and the others made it effortless. It’s like everyone is their friend until they aren’t. I hope this trip doesn’t change how they feel about me. Especially Adi. She knew she had to pursue the root of the story, but she needed to do so in a way that kept everyone at the Pot safe. She couldn’t draw attention to what she was doing. If anything she did led to her friends being harmed, she’d never forgive herself. I won’t let that happen.

  After settling her bill, she headed to the police department, still conflicted about what she was doing. When she arrived, the place was bustling with activity. She went to the information officer and asked where she should go to read old missing persons reports. He was none too happy when she pulled out her press credentials and he had to take her to the records room. Freedom of the press had its benefits.

  “Look, lady. I don’t really care who you are. These records aren’t to leave this room. You ask for a specific date and John will bring you the records. That’s how it works. Oh. You need to check your phone in at the desk. No photographs are allowed. When you finish with one set of records, you can request another. We close this office at four, so you are done at three forty-five. Understand?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  She had been around her share of grumpy, uncooperative officials, and she knew the best way to handle them was to be small and efficient. Operate within their guidelines and perhaps, if she needed something extra, they would oblige because she hadn’t been difficult. She could throw her power around if she needed to, but found it better to work within the system.

  She requested reports from June of 2007. John, the records clerk, who was decidedly more cheerful than Mr. Information, was happy to bring her the entire month’s reports. He was curious about her search and asked lots of questions.

  “So you’re looking for a runaway from Dulac? Heck, I’d guess about half the kids born there run away. You ever been to Dulac? It’s not a place people generally want to stay, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I’m looking for someone who ran away from there. A young girl, maybe fourteen?”

  “You got your work cut out for you, that’s for sure. I’ll bring you the next month’s report. Don’t worry about Phil. He’s just a pain. If you want, I’ll even run some parameters through my computer. You know? Narrow things down a bit? It might help.”

  “Oh, would you? That would be great. Thank you.”

  “Sure. Write down the particulars and I’ll see what I come up with.”

  Griffith jotted down Adi’s age, ethnicity, and estimated disappearance date. John took the slip and went back to his office while she pored over the reports. So many young people had been reported missing it was staggering. There were twice as many boys as girls, though, which helped. Her eyes were beginning to blur with the effort when she finally closed the last file. This wasn’t going to get easier. She needed a break. She took the files back to the window and handed them to John.

  “I’m going to stretch my legs. Can I bring you anything?”

  “Well, that’s awfully nice, ma’am. I would love a Coke if you go by the vending machines.”

  “Which way would I find those?”

  “Just go left out the door to the elevator and go to the basement. The cafeteria and vending area is down there.”

  “Will it be a problem for me to go down there?”

  “Oh no. That’s all in the public area.”

  “Great. I’ll be back shortly.”

  She walked slowly down the corridor, enjoying the stretch in her stiff legs. She hoped the computer search would turn up something useful. She wondered how Adi’s day was going. Would she have trouble cooking with her knife wound? She managed just fine yesterday.

  She mentally ran through the list of possibles for Adi she had written in her tablet. There were really only five likely candidates so far. Two of them were strong possibilities, disappearing without a known companion. One of the others was suspected to have gone to meet an Internet acquaintance. That could be Adi, although the fact that she didn’t have any Internet presence now made Griffith doubt it.

  She reached the vending area and began feeding dollar bills into the drink machine. She got a cola for John and a lemonade for herself. Drinks in hand, she headed back to the records room. She walk
ed to the window to hand John his soda and he in turn handed her two files.

  “These two are the most likely records to match your mystery girl according to my computer. You were off on the date for one of them though. She disappeared in March. Good luck, and thanks for the drink.”

  “Thanks, John. I appreciate your help.”

  She took the files to her table and opened the first one. The picture of the girl was blurry, but she could be Adi. Same facial structure, right age. Tall.

  She read through the file. This girl, Kendrick Baptiste, had left her home on the night of June twelfth. She had been in and out of trouble, apparently, and didn’t care for her parents’ brand of punishment. The report stated that police had been called to the home on two prior occasions. Once for truancy and once after a teacher reported suspected abuse. The father had been arrested in the second instance but released when no charges were filed.

  Griffith recorded the pertinent information on her tablet. She would check out the Baptiste family. Maybe discover something to solidify whether this might be Adi.

  The next file was from March of 2007. A fourteen-year-old girl named Merley Nerbass had disappeared without explanation. Her parents had reported her missing and were reported as being distraught over her disappearance. Foul play was suspected, and the parents had been interviewed extensively, but there had been no leads on her disappearance.

  Griffith flipped to the last page of the report and there was a picture. It could also be Adi. She was younger, softer. If it was her, she had changed a good deal in eight years. She wondered why Merley had run. Nothing in the file led her to believe there was abuse at home. No records of police visits. No arrests. Yet, the police had suspected something anyway. The last known address of the parents was listed, and Griffith noted it.

  She closed the files and returned them to the window. “Thanks again. You made this a lot easier.”

  “No problem.”

  Griffith pushed through the door and out into the corridor. She contemplated which family she should check out first. The Baptiste family held more promise, the daughter having trouble at home and not wanting to be there. The other family, the Nerbasses, sounded more like a child abduction or something of that nature. Showing up on these people’s doorsteps to ask about their missing kids was problematic, though. She had to come up with some way of getting the information without directly asking about the girls. That way, if she found Adi’s family and the perceived danger originated there, she wouldn’t lead them back to Adi. She’d promised Adi she’d be careful, and although Adi didn’t know about this part of what she was doing, it didn’t make that promise any less relevant.