Secrets on the other side (closed)

"Oh yes, I can see great love in your future.." Dakota said, her voice calm and serene. In the background, meditation music played faintly as the smoke of sandalwood incense rose from its burner near the front of the shop. In the window hung a sign, 'Psychic Readings' in bright neon, along with several wind chimes and Native American dream catchers. The decor was there to lure in patrons, not scare them away as some of the other 'readers' liked to do.

Dakota Stone knew she was one of a few handful of 'real' psychics in these parts, but she also didn't consider herself just a psychic, but rather, a medium. Since the age of 3, she could talk to the dead. She saw them as clearly as she saw those who really were living. Of course, at first, it was scary. Not just seeing apparitions but also, the evil. In time though, she had learned to control most what she saw and especially when she could see them.

Her bloodline dated back as far as the new settlers of the Louisiana territory. It seemed to all run on the women's side of the bloodline. Her grandmother had and was the only one who understood what Dakota saw in her visions and, if you will, dreams. Her mother, unfortunately, passed when giving birth to Dakota...something her father never forgave her for up to this day... and the frequent beatings as a child was what sent Dakota to keep quiet about her 'gift'. At least until recently.

The locals knew the story, as did some that hung onto the old traditions and ways. It was all a matter of perspective. Either you believed or you didn't. Simple as that.

In fact, she even worked with the local police department to aid in the finding of a some missing children.

Finding someone required she not necessarily get into the mind of the person missing, although that was needed, but more into the mind of the person who was committing the crime.

And that in itself was scary.

"What about money?" The woman on the other side of the table asked, "I play the lottery every chance I get and I want to win a lot of money!"

Keeping her face stoic, Dakota hated the greed she could feel from this woman when she had first entered her domain. Quirking an eyebrow, Dakota pretended to ponder the woman's question as she ran another finger over the longest line on her hand, "This tells me that, although it will take a long for your riches to increase, you should not waste your finances on something that will come to you but to rather, focus on the riches you already have."

The woman, Barbara, seemed satisfied with that. When the reading was done, she paid Dakota, giving her an extra big tip, "Thank you so much! I hope I find that love tonight!" She exclaimed as she exited the shop.

I hope the fates intervene and help you also... Dakota thought as she locked up shop for the evening.

Jb Sauveterre

It was one of those twilights where where you knew you weren’t careful for what you wished for. The wretched wet heat of the day would grind into your perseverance until your prayers for cooler air are rewarded with the growing gulf storms. You know the threat from the skies demands you move quicker and be better prepared, but what energy you have evaporated in the insistent sun. The Louisiana bugs and frogs were starting the symphony with earnest, knowing soon enough they need to find a hiding place or a be washed away with the downpour. Somewhere up the river, a dull rumble of the first bits of thunder could be heard even if the storm that invented it was nowhere to be seen.

The four uniforms, wearing fluorescent yellow vests, stopped to look up in the direction where the storm was calling them. They stood a few feet apart directly behind the industrial mower lowering tall grasses to mulch. For JB, they stood there a bit too long. “Come on Boys,” he called to them, “Eyes to the ground. We’re losing daylight, and if it pisses on us it will wash away evidence.”

The uniforms turned their heads back to the ground and began the slow, dusty search of ground. Well most did. A tall, thin, black officer with a grey beard shook his head. He spat then yelled back, “Mind me asking a question, Detective Savetree?”

“That’s Sauveterre, sergeant,” JB replied. He stood up on a road just off the half mowed grass field, leaning against the quad issued Audi. He was down to his dress slacks and blue dress shirt, the sport coat and tie wrapped up and sitting in the back seat.

The worker on the mower hearing the conversation shut down, and the other officers stopped to look, one even lifting a water bottle to his lips to take a quick break.

“Sauven …” the sergeant tried again to respond with but clearly knew he was failing.

“Sauveterre,” JB corrected.

Interrupting, almost saying it with JB, “Sauveterre. Mind me asking what we are lookin’ for Detective Sauveterre.”


“So let me go over it again, Sargent, and I will start with reminding you that there is a woman missing in this parish,” JB called back. “She is 23 years old, mother of two, 5’2”, blonde hair, small frame, and has been missing for at least two weeks. We have a lead that suggests someone took her, but not so much we can say by whom or to where.” JB’s speech was slow, deliberate, and practiced. “Yesterday we got a tip that someone saw a suspicious van come down this road. Meaning potential clues could have found itself into this field. Only way to see is to mow it down and see what is underneath the grass.”

It was controlled, because JB led the nightly press conferences since the woman first went missing. For the parish, JB was the face of the Fletcher case. JB gripped the toothpick tighter between his teeth. The piece of wood a way to keep a cigarette from his lips since he quit a few years back. He dark hair grew longer than he liked it just like the scruffy new beard on his face; the result of working 16 hour days and nothing to show for it but the procrastination to groo,. He he still remained hansom like the whispers of local morning shows hinted, the early day ladies wanting to chat about the detective leading all the press conferences.

“Did this tip say the girl’s body was here?” the Sergeant asked.

“No,” JB replied.

“Did this tip say someone threw out something from that damn van?”

JB sighed, crossed his arms, then tilted his head to the side losing his patience, “Mind telling me what the point is?”

“Point is,” the sergeant replied. “If they said they didn’t see nobody, and they didn’t see no stuff thrown here, and there ain't no van tracks in the grass, no sign anyone was out here, or any reason to think there be anything under these weeds ‘cept snakes and chiggers and dirt … Mind telling me Detective Sauveterre what the hell we are looking for?”

JB steamed, hotter than the Louisiana sun. Yet he knew better, let it stew.

“Alright, let’s call it, we’re all hot and pissed off so lets go home boys,” came the yell from the passenger seat of the Audi.

All of them, even the guy running the mower, just turned and headed back to their cars to head out. The man on the passenger seat opened the door and got out to move to the hood where JB was leaning.

JB didn’t move. Arms crossed, frustrated still.

The older, balder, and far more sweaty man in a soaked white t-shirt and dicky work pants grunted as he came to rest next to JB. They sat like that in silence as the uniforms began rolling down the old gravel road back to town.

Finally JB took the lead, “Don’t call me kid.”

“I wasn’t gonna call you …”

JB interrupted, his voice moving higher. “I said don’t call me Kid, I’m not a kid.”

“I’m just saying, I’ve done more of these.”

“Chief,” JB protested, “it was a good lead, it was a solid lead.”

“It was an old woman who probably got the van confused for a FedEx driver,” the chief responded.

“That didn’t make it any less …”

“You’re grasping at straws,” the chief took his turn to interrupt. “Literally, all we did today was grasp at straws and got jack shit for the overtime.”

“Well, I ain’t going to walk away from this one,” JB replied. “We follow every lead, follow every possibility ..”

“I didn’t say you needed to give up, I just said you had to eliminate that what is a waste of time.”

“Seriously, Chief?” JB scoffed. “Yesterday you were telling me to go hire a psychic, and you feel you need to lecture me on wasting time?”

“The family’s believers,” Chief replied. “I don’t care if you don’t believe, I care that they believe.”

“There ain’t nothin’ to believe in Chief,” came JB’s rejection.

Somewhere nearby the rumble of thunder grew louder. The daylight had started it’s orange-ish brilliance but now the color of the world was starting to show signs of green, signs of nastiness afoot.

“You got to see this thing through other peoples eyes, JB,” the chief replied, starting to sound like he maybe pleading. “Everyone wants to get that Fletcher girl back to her husband and kids. But people will start to question why you are stomping around in the weeds all day, when something can be done about it.”

“It’s fucking card tricks and wind chimes, Chief.”

“You may not believe in it, but you met her family, they sure do.” The chief gave a shrug. “Sometimes you just need to make people think you did everything. No matter how crazy.”

JB gripped his arms, tightening the way they remained crossed over his chest. He kicked at the gravel below him. Spit out the toothpick. “Don’t call me kid,” he replied. It was his way of agreeing to the psychic.

The chief patted the young detective on the back. “Fair enough, Detective, Jean-Baptist Sauveterre, fair enough.”

Dakota had just beaten the storm when she finally made it home. Even though the rains just started, she was soaked to the skin as she entered her small house on the edge of the city. Her grandmother's house. A house in which she was in the middle of restoring so there were some parts that were leaking but luckily, she had already placed some buckets in those spots so she was ready. The only dry spots was the kitchen, the living room and of course, her bedroom with the connecting bathroom.

Yeah, there was still a lot of work she had to do on it. But of course, money was an issue and so far, she had poured every last cent she earned into the house but it seemed to be a futile project.

But of course, she wasn't one to give up hope. It would get done...soon.

Although if these storms kept up with the way they did, she wasn't going to have a house left to refurbish.

Quickly, still in her wet clothes, she put on a pot of hot coffee. Then, as it was brewing, she went to take a quick hot shower before the power was lost... no, she didn't need the ability to see in to the future for that. It was something that happened every time a storm hit.

After her shower, she tossed on a pair of jeans and a faded t-shirt. Tonight, she was planning to get some of the house work done even with the storm raging outside, she knew she wasn't going to get any sleep.

Dakota hardly slept as it was.

Before she started, she made a sandwich and grabbed a beer.

Beer. Or just alcohol in general, helped with the voices.

Helped quiet things a little.

As she was making her late dinner. Dakota paused. She just stopped in midst of placing a slice of bread on her plate.

Someone was coming.

The dress shirt could have looked two toned. The rain soaked through his shoulders and chest so evenly that it was dark blue to just above his stomach, and a light blue below. Sure he could have changed shirts, He had a couple spares in the bag in the Audi, but this was pulling the band-aid off in one swoop & getting it and this day done. His patience was worn so thin that he doubted that this meeting would be positive if he was heading to talk to someone reasonable. He would have done it by phone, but everytime he dialed the number the service would cut out. He was all wet because his GPS was giving shit directions, and every time he stopped someplace for directions the sky would open up and they would send him back in the wrong direction again.

He was here now, wet shirt and everything. He carried a book bag with some of the case files & his laptop. The backpack doesn’t help with the grief he gets back at the office, but it hella lot better than a briefcase. His black slacks, black work boots, muddied by the day and by the evening.

The old house on the edge of town wasn’t much to look at, but probably had it’s day once. In his mind, he expected the witch he was coming to meet would be no different. He expected her to be cigarette stained leather draped across bones. Or some voodoo queen with racetracks down her inner arms. Probably something special back in the day. Now just mixed in with the rest of this city’s blues.

He tried the doorbell first, but heard nothing. Knocked instead, firmly and determinedly. The door open faster than he expected, as if they were waiting for him.

She was younger than he expected. Cleaner too. Immediately he was struck by her eyes, big and brown. She didn’t seem of voodoo stock either, maybe without a drop of African ancestry, and she seemed not even like the hippies or gypsies he was expecting either. She was just like any woman he might meet … well, when he went out to meet women.

Still, this wasn’t who he was supposed to see, not in his mind. So it was just another waste of time.

After too long of a breath, and too long analyzing this person of interest, he spoke trying to hide his frustration. “Good evening, Ma’am, I apologize for the late hour” JB said as he presented his badge.. “I am Detective JB Sauventree, I am here to see Dakota Stone. Is she available to speak?”

One didn't have to be psychic to realize the man...the detective, was frustrated. She caught a quick glance at his badge and nodded if Dakota was able to speak. Giving him a deep, intense look, she nodded at him and waved him in from the covered porch. He was soaked through, not as bad as she had been but still, pretty much wet.

Grabbing a towel from the chair by the door, Dakota handed it to the detective. It was pretty late but that wasn't an issue. It was the fact that the police were wanting to talk with her. Usually she had only dealt with one primary officer, the liaison of the force so to get a detective to visit her was out of the ordinary.

“This way.” Dakota said, heading to the kitchen and waving at the bar stools by the tall island counter. She then quickly put away the food to the sandwich she as making and the same with the beer, putting it back in the fridge before turning to face the man in her kitchen. “I'm Dakota Stone, Detective...Sauveterre,” she got a cup and started to pour some coffee in it, the placing the warm mug in front of him, “What can I do for you Detective. And as for the lateness of the night, don't worry. I don't think I'll be getting any rest with the storm like this all night.”

The skepticism present in his body language, even though he hid it so well, was obvious to Dakota. She looked briefly at the items he carried and immediately she could sense something amiss. Worry, hope, death and grief all washed over her in one quick shot. “You're looking for someone, I presume.” She said, leaning against the counter and before being able to tear he eyes off his bag.

He followed the woman at enough of a distance that he could observe her as she moved, allowing his detective’s intuition to start to process her. She was aware of the towel, grabbing it as if she placed it there herself. She knew the house by the way she stepped, no hint of a chance of hesitation. He surmised the daughter, or the granddaughter of the psychic. She may have been younger than him, maybe his age if she just looked young, but undoubtedly of his generation. In a different place, in a different situation, he may even had tried to chat her up. But not tonight.

He was brushing his shirt down with the towel, no longer caring if his hair was where it should. Then she introduced himself, and the coffee she poured for him came with a bit of crow. He looked down in the mug, not immediately wanting to admit his mistake. The last few days, all he’s done was avoided admitting his mistakes. He swallowed it down, and steadied himself now that he needed to deal with this here and now.

As she asked his business here, he looked back up and became acutely aware of the attention she was giving his backpack. It was a subconscious reaction, but he pulled the bag tighter against his shoulder. “I appreciate your time, Ma’am,” he started. “I expect this will not take too long and you can return to … whatever I interrupted you from.”

He took a deep breath and started in. “I am looking to hire you for a case. I understand this is the thing you do, whatever it is you do to help in these things. The case has taken some time, we are looking for new leads, and the family of the victim believe in this …” he started waving his hand dismissively then stopped himself. “That is to say, the family are hoping you can be of help.”

He took a sip of the coffee, which was more welcoming than he expected it to be. It made him relax some, setting the cup down and taking a deep breath. “Full disclosure, Miss Stone, but I have no idea what you need for a case, but I’ve been directed to offer whatever you need. If that is something you are interested in, we’ll pay your standard hourly rate plus expenses, with the expectation that you meet with the family to let them know you we are using you.”

He slid the backpack off his shoulder finally and placed it on the floor at his feet. “Oh, and this only goes to the press if I say so, Anything leaks, an at best you're off the case, at worst I run you in for interfering with an ongoing case. This is a criminal investigation, not free advertisement. Understood?”

“I see.” She wasn't used to such..directness. Then again, it was common with someone of the Detective’s nature. He didn't come across as someone who was used to seeing anything but black and white. Nothing gray. She watched him take sips of his coffee. Her mind was running a mile a minute. Not because of whether or not she should agree to this but with everything in front of her. The detective’s offer was somewhat generous. But to use this opportunity for free advertisement? That was a little harsh...although, looking back up at him, she could sense the frustration within him. The stress of the case and unable to come up with the reason of why this was happening.

But he had mentioned the family of the victim. That's what she could sense. Their grief. It resonated through the Detective's body language and he carried like he carried his bag. She needed to hear him tell her more. Acceptance wasn't something that was going to come instantly. She had to be sure. “This case...the woman missing...” Dakota started but stopped herself. She had no radio..no television...nothing really of modern convenience only because it was another way for those on the other side to talk to her. The only thing she did have was a land line phone which was currently cut off from the raging storm happening outside.

Turning from him, Dakota helped herself some coffee also and then grabbed some cream out of the fridge and pouring some into the mug. Mixing it and taking a small sip, she finally continued, “The family is in a lot of grief because she's missing...at least 2 weeks.” She said, not looking at him but looked off into the distance as she held her hot cup with both hands, ignoring the heat, “You don't believe but yet, you've come to enough crossroads that you're lost. The family wants her back..” Dakota nodded, more to herself, “She needs to come back home to her babies.” She said, her voice quiet at the thought of a child, or children, being without their mother, or even father. Just like she had.

But they knew their mother and they loved their mother. The husband loved his wife. Now, she was gone.

“Although I know you're frustration Detective, I don't appreciate the implication that you would think this is something I would use to garnish free advertisement for,” she set down her cup and took a deep breath, “I want to help Mr. Sauveterre.” She stated simply and looked at JB.

From the moment she mentioned the missing woman, JB confirmed his doubts. Sure, the Chief was serious about this case, but JB wasn’t going to put past him that he set him up like this. As soon as she mentioned the missing woman - then the cat was out of the bag. Give the girl enough detail that she looks like she knows things even though he didn’t give a single word of information. In a way, JB just wished she didn’t spring it on him so soon.

Trying to maintain his interview skills, he did his best to try to hide his frustration. Hide the fact that not only was he tired, soaked to the bone, and frustrated by the biggest case of his career - now he was getting played by his boss. So he listened and he nodded, and underneath it all he fumed.

Then she said the word … the one that dug at him.

As she changed the conversation back to his expectations, his resolved steadied. She was offended, yes, but that didn’t change his intent. Still, he needed to change. If he was going to keep her engaged, he needed to change from the bad cop to good cop. “Well,” he started, “I didn’t mean to be as direct. It has been a long day. Though you probably could agree that are are many in your profession that have suspicious intent. But in all fairness, so is mine.” He gave a soft smile with that comment, hoping that was enough that this was smoothed over.

What nagged at him still stuck around. Why did he need to change? As if this was more than just a trick by the chief. It was that word … that one word … but in his head he tried to shake that off and focus on the here and now.

“Now, if you are willing to help then,” the comment trailed off as he pulled the backpack off his shoulder onto the table next to him and began to open the zipper and pulling a small notepad out. The inside was stuffed with paperwork and files of different types but they were left inside for now.

“You seem to know the case I came to talk to you about. What do you need to know from me? What do you need from me to do … whatever it is you do?”

Dakota watched him thoughtfully before placing both hands on the edge of the little kitchen island that separated them from each other. She pushed back and sighed, her eyes locking with his...the only sound for a while was that of the storm raging outside. He studied him, not only looking at him but looking into him.

She took a sip from her coffee mug and carefully set it down before speaking, “What I need from you, Jean-Baptist, is to take a breath. Your mixture of frustration and anger is not conductive for what you're looking for,” she reached over and took the notepad and pen from him, setting it down between them, “I know this is important but it's also important to Kellie's family. You're letting the negative block the positive. And in turn this blocks the path that you need to follow.” As she was talking, she had been writing something on the notepad.

“We still have time Jean-Baptist.” She said as she pushed the notepad back to him, on which she had written down the cross roads a few miles out of town.

“But first, I need to talk with the family,” she regard him, her tone still serious, “Tonight.”

“Can we get a meeting with the family tonight,” JB asked over the phone. He had excused himself and stepped to another room.

His chief was on the other end. “I think so, it’s a little late, but they ain’t been sleeping much. Why, what’s going on?”

“Miss Stone wants to meet with them, pretty adamant about it being tonight.”

”Who’s Miss Stone?”

“The psychic, you know the one you gave me the card to visit.”

“What?” Cheif could be heard shuffling around in the background. “Oh shit, gave you the wrong card. I was gonna send you to the Vandalia Ruth. She’s who I always use. I must have gave you that new girl’s. Don’t know if I know her.”

“Jesus,” JB ran his hand through his hair. “Well. she knows the case. I didn’t even have to say anything and she named the victim. And she knew my full name, she just used it and I only told her my last name”

“Yeah, but it ain’t like you haven’t been on TV enough for her to see you and put two and two together.”

“I’m standing in her house, though, chief, and it ain’t like she’s got a electronic man cave here. Besides, there’s something else.” He took a breath and said it outloud what was bugging him. “You know when we first interviewed the sister? And she was getting a little much to much upset, and you stepped out to get her a cup of tea, you remember that?”

“Yeah,” Chief asked questions.

“Well, after you left, she says to me that Kellie would be worried about her babies. And I asked her about it because, well, you met the kids, they’re practically teenagers. But this sister, she says Kellie calls them her ‘babies’ still but doesn’t to anyone else because she knows it ticks off the kids to be treated like babies.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“That’s what I am saying, chief, no one else was in the room when she said it. I didn’t repeat it. Check the tape from the interview if you don’t believe me. I’m telling you no one else knew that. Except this sister & me and the victim.”

“So what.”

“So … This psychic. This Dakota Stone that you gave me a random card by mistake that had no TV that I can see and got no lead from me when walking in the door. She said to me Kellie missed her babies.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

JB didn’t wait. “So … either she knows way more about this case than she should and now needs to be watched to see if she is somehow connected or .. “

The chief finished the statement. “Or this is real, and getting her near the family will prove one or the other.”

“Right.”

“Wait, I remember this girl,” Chief alerted. “Are you sure this has nothing to do with the fact that she is hot?”

JB couldn’t hide a smile and looked back towards he left the woman. “First thing’s first, Chief.”

“I’ll let family know you’re on the way.” With that, the Chief hung up.

JB walked where he thought Dakota would be. “I’ll take you to the family myself, Miss Stone. Would you mind if I drove?”

As JB was in the other room talking on the phone, Dakota grabbed her coat and an umbrella. Then she tied her long loose hair into a messy bun. When the detective reappeared, he asked her if she didn't mind him driving.

"No, not at all.." it beat having to tell him that she didn't have her own car anyway and had been ready to walk to across town if she had to, even in the horrid weather and late hour. She had to talk with the family tonight.

As they made their way outside, Dakota looked up at the sky and noticed the weather had calm down a quite a bit. Thankfully, her house would survive another storm. It went to show how well built it was.

Sure, she didn't have anything fancy. She lived day to day and was thankful for what she had. When she did get visitors, she cooked for them, fed them and made sure they were taken care of, always being hospitable toward them, just as her grandmother had taught her. She was one of those people that would give her last dollar away if it meant someone else would benefit from it.

As they reached the detective's car, she didn't notice how fancy it was. Or the leather seats when she sat down. No. Right now, she was concentrating on what she 'saw' earlier while talking to him.

JB was a conservative driver. You get that being a cop. Every stop sign, every speed limit, every chance to yield, and JB followed it to the law. Still, that didn’t keep him from keeping his cell handy as it chatted him towards the family’s home or squawked out a text. When he was alone in the car, he would be banging away on note here or a text there - and he was just about to do just that - but tonight his curiosity about this woman began to eat at him.

“So,” he started while his eyes darted from the road to the phone in his hand. “You don’t work outta your house do you?”

The troubles getting him to this place seemed to open up like the night sky passing off the storm clouds. Shortly, they were on the highway and moving quick to their destination.

“I like an old house like anyone, they always seem to have character. But that one seems to have had seen far better days, if you don’t mind me saying. I expect that you don’t serve your customers there. You have a storefront where the tourists come?”

Dakota was quiet for most of the drive, letting the detective concentrate on his driving. She didn't really know what to say to him. He was already like most out there, he had doubts about what she told him.

And that was fine. She was used to it.

"No, I don't see any customers there. My shop is in town, near Washington and Gold, near the tourist district."

Then he asked about her home and she flushed with embarassment. Yeah, her home looked like it was a total waste of her time but it was her grandmother's home and she wanted to hold onto it as long as she could. Sure, repairing the home was taking longer than expected and all her money she earned but it was what it was.

"Yeah, I know... but it was my grandmother's home. And seeing as how she was the only one who was kind to me when growing up, I wanted to do what I could to preserve it." She was silent a few moments more before continuing, "It's still a lot of work but it seems lately that as soon as I take a step forward in repairing what I can---"

Dakota stopped and sat up straighter, adjusting her hair and looked forward, "We're near..." Just then, JB's gps sounded, telling him he was near also.

"Stop the car." Dakota said. "Now!"

Even though they were still at least a quarter of a mile away from the house that had been their destination, Dakota had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. The feeling that she got when she was near death.

It was the way she said it. That’s what JB tried to convince himself after the fact, after he literally slammed on the breaks and haulted the car. He tried to convince himself that he wasn’t believing all this crap, or maybe not enough of it that made him react so suddenly. But it was the way she said it, the way she demanded the car stopped. That’s what made him zip to the curve, stop the car, and leave it running in park.

“What is it?” he asked and quickly looked around the area.

It was a residential area, though the houses were spaced enough and off the street enough that it had enough green space to mistake it for a wooded area. The family lived just over the hill, just a couple cross streets away. Yet in the near darkness of looming night, he still couldn’t see their driveway.

“What is it, Miss Stone?”