7. Nicolette
Nicolette
I must have read and re-read the welcome sign for the Center for Support and Recovery at least a dozen times.
Come to me, all who are weary and burdened and I will grant you rest.
I had never studied the Bible. My parents initially sent me to Sunday school to try to make some friends when we first moved here, but after I’d been kicked out for dancing on the altar, my parents enrolled me in sports instead.
Still, that reassuring passage from Matthew wrapped itself around my chest and made my heart long for... something. God, I wanted to rest.
And now without my car, I had nowhere to go. I couldn’t let Riot or that fat manager drive me back to Jacob’s house.
I still had a job to do and finding out that gigantic furry man-beast was the guy I was supposed to beprofilingmade me realize how close I’d come to botching this entire assignment before it even began. I had to make a contingency plan in case I’ve blown my chances with Riot altogether.
Then you’ll need to come back with a bigger story to tell.
I didn’t know if the highest rates of drug use or lung cancer in a mining town in West Virginia counted as a bigger story. But I needed a cover story and my instincts had told me to keep digging. Which is what brought me to the Center.
As I entered, I was still distracted by the fact that Riot Asher, convicted mother killer, was also the biggest up-and-coming kinetic artist in the northeast. It would be an interesting angle to take for the documentary for sure. But I pushed the thought away to appraise the task at hand.
Green cots littered the open space like it was a FEMA shelter.
Strung out residents of all ages scattered across the cots.
I scanned the giant corkboard hanging on the wall next to the entrance.
It was covered in flyers for recovery programs and meeting schedules.
I moved down the row to a large section advertising compensated donations.
We Buy Blood - Blood Bank of Virginia
Get Paid for Extra Plasma - Plasmatose
Get Compensated for Participation in our Cancer Study - Echidna Pharmaceuticals
Drug Trial Seeking New Volunteers - Compensation Available - Echidna Pharmaceuticals
The little tags were nearly gone from the drug trials.
“Hello, miss, can I help you?”An elderly woman with soft, weary, eyes greeted me.
“Do a lot of people qualify for these things?”I pointed toward the flyers.
She tilted her head back and forth.“The blood and plasma shops don’t get much out of us, unfortunately. The drug trials are quite popular. We have a shuttle that takes people to the teaching hospital twice a week, if you’re interested?”
I smiled and shook my head.“No, I was here wondering if I could speak with someone regarding the increased drug problem?”
The woman cocked her head at me, suspiciously.
“I’m writing an article, trying to draw attention to the opioid crisis and the different measures communities have taken to help improve the problem. Who would I need to speak with?” I cringed internally. It sounded rehearsed but it was the best I could conjure up.
“Well, I guess that would be me. I’m Miriam, I’m the executive director. I—”But she stopped short, excusing herself to jog over to an older man who began to unbuckle his belt, about to piss right in the middle of the room. Miriam put a hand on his back and gestured to the restrooms.
Tiredly, she made her way back to me .
“Somehow, I have a feeling‘executive director’doesn’t exactly cover it.”I gave her a warm smile, and her hesitancy melted away.
Miriam had been working at the Center since it opened over ten years ago.
The building had been an old elementary school that sat empty for several years after it had been used for temporary housing following the Valley fires.
“They decimated the Valley. Wiped out an entire block of houses. Dozens of families lost their homes.”
“That’s right. Everyone got brand new houses?”
“Yes and no. The church commissioned the Valley Housing Project. They hired some up-and-coming building company that was supposed to revolutionize affordable housing. The deal was that they could live rent-free if they paid the county and state taxes and took a job in the coal mines.”
I furrowed my brow.“The church paid for the entire Valley to be rebuilt? And then forced people to take jobs at the mine?”
Miriam shook her head. “I know how it sounds, but it was quite the opposite. Many of the folks who lost their homes needed work anyway. Pastor Blackwell piloted an apprenticeship program and before you knew it, people had a home and a job. It was one of the best times to live in Godot.” She looked wistful.
“But didn’t Pastor Blackwell shut down the mine years later?”
“Oh, he had to. Half the valley was developing some form of lung cancer, asthma, or some other health problems. He offered those who were still willing to work a job through the church but by that time, most of the valley had already fallen sick. Then, of course, came the Chimera.”She shook her head with a rueful expression.
“Chimera?”I asked, but she seemed lost in thought.
“Hm? Oh, yes, the Chimera. It’s the street name for a hybrid drug that popped up several years back. Horribly addictive. Some kind of cross between methamphetamine and heroin.”She looked around, and I followed her gaze.
As I surveyed the Center, the weary bodies passed out on the cots, I realized they didn’t look like the meth addicts that I stumbled across on the streets of Easton. They were more haunted, gaunt, lifeless.
That instinctual tick landed in my gut like a rock.
“Any idea where it came from?”
She frowned at me.“No, but these things tend to spiral like this. A few health problems in the more underprivileged communities lead to a rise in opioid use and when the money runs out, they switch to cheaper alternatives or whatever they can get.”She swirled her finger in circles.
“Eventually they have kids that are already predisposed to addiction and before you know it, an entire community is pitched into a hole too deep to dig out of.”
I nodded.
“Do you guys have Wi-Fi?” I was already itching to do some research on this drug.
Miriam almost laughed.“Sorry, sweetheart. We operate on razor-thin budgets here. I’m the only paid employee we have outside the maintenance crew.”
“You run on volunteers?”I asked.
“Oh, yes. We need all the volunteers we can get. Breakfast is always a struggle. It’s one of our busiest meals and it’s hard to get volunteers up that early.”
There was my opening.“Do you need an extra hand tomorrow?”
Miriam smiled with appreciation.“Always, my dear.”
I shrugged.“I don’t have a lot of culinary experience, but I know how to wash dishes… I was going to find a hotel tonight,”I lied,“but I’d be happy to stay here if you’ve got an extra bed so that I can help out in the morning.”
Miriam gave me a tight-lipped smile and I could tell she saw right through me. My face burned and I looked away, acting casual.
She patted my hand.“Of course, dear. Come, I’ll show you where you can put your things down.”
The next morning, I whimpered to myself before I even opened my eyes. I had tossed and turned all night. I sat up, eyes still closed, twisting the soreness out of my neck.
When I opened my eyes, the Center was bustling already. I looked at my watch. Not even six a.m. I groaned again, digging my phone out, hoping I had an email from my bank. I don’t know if I could do another night of this.
I tapped my phone, but it remained black. I tapped again as if pressing the screen harder would make a difference. I dug through my bag before remembering I left my charger in my car, which was still at the auto shop. A whiny sob escaped my lips. Pressing my palms into my eyes, I hung my head.
God, this was a mistake. A huge fucking mistake. Maybe I can call Melody and beg for a different assignment. I can cut my teeth on something else to earn back a shred of dignity because this shit wasn’t doing anything for my dignity.
But I knew that was a nonstarter. I had exhausted all my connections and favors before Melody reached out to me with the docuseries opportunity.
If I couldn’t come to the table with something, I’d have to resign my life and career to something ordinary.
And that was out of the question. I didn’t work my ass off my entire life, sacrificing any semblance of a social or romantic life so that I could work a floundering news desk at some call-letter affiliate in podunk market ninety-four.
“What are you doing here?”the low tenor of a male voice asked. I felt it in my core. Muddy boots stood in front of me before I looked up, already wincing as the last of my dignity disintegrated. I lifted my head to see Riot, arms crossed over his defined chest, scowling in that signature way.
I leaped to my feet.
“What are you doing here?” I shot back.
“Community service,”he replied without hesitation. A crinkled hair net dangled from one of his fists.
I rolled my shoulders back. Of course. “Oh, well. Me too.”I stuck my chin higher in the air praying my mascara from last night wasn’t running down my face.“I mean, not mandated or anything.”
Riot’s eyes darted to the green cot I had slept on, my belongings strewn about, making it obvious I wasn’t here to volunteer. When his glare floated back to my face, I could feel my cheeks burning red. I averted my gaze, looking around as if trying to decide where I should help.
“Good thing then,”he said, bringing my attention back to him.“One of the volunteers called in sick this morning.”He took a step forward and pushed the hair net into my chest. Our fingers tangled momentarily when I took the hair net.“Wash up. Meet me in the kitchen.”