Day 49/366

Gen began pacing, moving from the kitchen to the living room, then back.  She had to be missing something, some way to end this nightmare and still learn what her dad had saved in that storage unit.

Because something had been in there.

And now it was missing.

Something important, so much so that some anonymous person was able to use the information as leverage. Leverage used to force her to do unspeakable things.

Her legs folded and she went down hard on the carpet. Regardless of the outcome, her life would never be the same.

Why had she picked up that phone?  Finding the key hadn't cost her anything.  Searching for the storage site was no threat to anyone.  But once inside, she could have just walked away.

She should have walked away.

Her life was good.  It had meaning, had purpose and was fulfilling.  Gen loved her work at the non-profit her parents had started, a ministry designed to free women and children from slavery and trafficking.

More and More had been in operation for just over seven years, and had many success stories in its history.  Working with missionaries in some of the poorest countries, MOM had been instrumental in providing housing, counselling and employment to over a thousand women and children.

After her mother passed away, Gen had moved into the role of liaison, connecting churches and businesses with needs on foreign soil.  Recently she'd been working on a few fundraising ideas.

The loss of her father had impacted her life in more than one way.  She'd lost her dad, her pastor, her ministry leader, and the only man in her life.

Maybe that's the reason she'd picked up the phone that day.  Discovering the reason he'd wanted to talk to her that night would help fill that empty space she carried with her every day.

In order to find the answers, she had to connect with the person on the other end of the call.

If only Genevieve had known what kind of person she would be dealing with...too late now.

All words are the property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 48 /366

The phone vibrated in her hand, bringing her back to the present.  As much as she didn't want to, Gen knew she had to answer.  She had no choice.  Flipping it open, she relaxed a bit.  It was another text message.  She scrolled down to the first one, thought a moment, then decided to focus on the latest message.

"I saw you.  No talking.  To anyone.  Or you'll pay a hefty price."

How did he know?  She was away from her home, phone in the drawer, and out in the open.  No one nearby.  Was he watching her?  And if so, how much did he know?

She flipped the phone shut and threw it down on the counter.  This was getting to be too much.  Much more than she could handle.  There had to be someone she could trust, but if he was watching her...

"God, tell me what to do here.  I'm so scared, and so out of control.  I can't do this anymore.  But I don't know how to turn back the clock."  A single tear rolled down her cheek, quickly followed by another and another.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 47/366

"Sheriff, any idea why someone would do this to your little girl?"

Shelly peered through bloodshot eyes at the deputy standing over her.  She had no memory of leaving her kitchen and going outside.  The concrete ledge that ran the length of the driveway was cold and gritty.
"Please stop calling me that," she whispered.

"Pardon, ma'am?"  The deputy used the end of his pen to move the brim of his hat a little higher.  "I didn't quite catch what you said."

"So you moved your stupid hat to hear me better?" she snapped, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand.  "Oh, Deputy Fisher, I'm so sorry...I"

He smiled slightly, bending down to one knee.  "Shel, I get it.  No apology, okay?"  He waited for her to calm down, then asked again, "Any idea why, or who?"

Shelly shook her head.  "I know everyone says it, but everyone really did love Carly."

The deputy made a notation in his book, then continued.  "Any sign of drug abuse?"  He watched the flush build in Shelly's cheeks and put his hand on her arm.  "Shel, I have to ask."

"No, you didn't!" She pulled away and tried to stand up, but her legs wouldn't hold her.  Back on the ground, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

"You've seen the reports coming in, Sher--Shelly.  Huffing is on the rise here, and there's evidence in the plastic over--" Fisher had to pause.  Carly was family.  "Coroner talked about a chemical smell when he removed it."

Shelly didn't want to be here, like this, doing this, by herself.  "Where's my husband, Fish?"

All words are the property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 46/366

Gen took in a deep breath and whispered a quick prayer, "Father, no matter what, help me deal."  She pushed up and the heavy metal door rolled up and out of the way.

The unit had no inner illumination, and the darkness of the interior combined with the brightness of the late morning sun blinded her.  She blinked a few times, then entered the unit.

Gen didn't know what to expect when she found her dad's storage unit.  But there was no way she could have anticipated the actual discovery.  The metal container was empty...

...except for the wooden stool resting in the center of the cement floor.  Hesitant steps brought her close enough to see something perched on the seat.

A black cellphone.  And a handwritten note that read "call me."

The same phone she now held in her trembling hand.

All words are the property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 45/366

Gen was blessed with no traffic, and she was on the outskirts of Marysville in less than twenty minutes.  Her head was pounding, so she made a stop at a gas station/mini mart with a drive through coffee bar.  She ordered a mocha latte with an extra shot, and threw in a muffin since she'd missed breakfast as well.

The cashier was chatty and friendly, obviously trying to be helpful.  Gen asked her if a mini-storage was still located down the road, and received an affirmative answer.  She took her change and stuck a five dollar bill in the tip jar, then drove off with a wave and a thank you.

Sure enough, the first mini-storage she checked out was in the address listed and the office was open.  Unfortunately this one used combination locks and not keys.  Back in her car, she marked off the listing and checked her gps for the location of the next place.  Again, disappointment: this one used numeric pads.

Frustrated and tired, Gen took a chance and asked the attendant if he knew of any that used keys for their storage units.  He thought for a moment, then replied, "Sure!  It's a bit of a drive, but there's one like that over on Garden Highway in Yuba City.  Just over the bridge, and a few miles past that."

"Thank you so much," she smiled, and headed back to her car.  She programmed the address into her phone and followed the directions to the business.  Sure enough, when she showed the key to the attendant, he nodded that it went to one of their storage units.  Turns out, the writing on the paper was the locker number and the original name of the place.

Her father had rented a storage unit not long after she was born, and he'd kept up with yearly payments ever since.  Home Storage Service was the original name of the business.  She followed the man down two aisles of units, turned toward the right and five more down.  "The unit you're looking for is midway down this row.  Can I help you with anything else?'

"No, but thanks.  You were a big help."  Gen waited until the man started moving toward the front office before she made her way to 347-B.  Several steps, and she found herself standing in front of the unit, key in hand.  Finally, some answers awaited her.  "Help me out here, Lord," she whispered, then inserted the key and turned.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 44/366

Gen wilted with relief--she finally had a direction to follow!  First things first, though.  She went back inside and dumped her now cold coffee down the drain and placed the mug in the sink.  Grabbing her cell phone from the kitchen charger, she dialed the number for the non-profit she currently worked for to notify them that she was taking one of her last few personal days.

That task complete, she pulled a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt from her dressed and made her way into the bathroom.  Pajamas replaced with clothing, she ran a quick brush through her curls, cool water on her face to chase away any sleepiness that remained, and an even quicker brushing of her teeth.

Then she made her way back to the kitchen counter and found a phone book in the junk drawer.  At first she'd thought of looking up storage facilities on her phone, but needed the momentary slow down to get her racing heartbeat more manageable.  Gen flipped through the yellow pages of the directory, stopping on the listings for storage facilities.

She found only two located in the area, but had five more down the hill she might have to check out.  Gen ripped the page from the phone book, grabbed her keys and her wallet and rushed out the door.  The first location was easy to find, a mere mile from her house.  Fortunately the office was open--she hadn't bothered to look at the time when she started driving.

Gen showed the key to the attendant, only to find out that this facility was high tech and used a key pad to secure your belongings.  No, he didn't know who would have a key similar to the one she showed him, but he advised her to try the storage units down the hill.  Seemed that the people living nearby preferred to secure their belongings rather...securely.

She found the second storage site, but again found no such locker.  Frustrated and running low on stable energy, Gen turned her car toward the nearby town and prayed for Got to guide her to the right facility.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 43/366

#mylifeinpages Day 43/366

Sitting and staring at the key and the note attached accomplished a pounding headache, but nothing productive.  Genevieve went to bed early and, knowing sleep would be all but impossible, she took one of the sleep aids her doctor had prescribed for her after her father's funeral.

Her dreams were fragments of her worries and of real events.  Her dad was still trapped, but she couldn't get to him.  The dream would shift, and she was back digging through the bookshelves, desperate to find the key.  She slept, but she didn't rest.

Up with the sun painted sky, Gen took her coffee out on the terrace, curling up on the patio chair and covered with her favorite robe.  Cotton fabric that was whisper soft in a pale lavender shade, the robe had been around for decades.

It belonged to her mom, making it more precious than cashmere.  The sleeves had begun to fray, and three of the fabric covered buttons were missing, but she loved the softness of the fabric.  At times she thought she smelled her mom's perfume, but it was just a memory.

She stared into the distance, clearing her mind as she listened to the sound of her town waking up.  The neighborhood roosters had their usual cockadoodle-off, and a dog howled in the distance.  A light ground fog created a soothing ocean of white, with patches of green bursting through as the sun rose higher.

If she could just shut her brain down and reboot her memories, she was certain she could find the lock that fit that key.  Head tilted back and eyes toward the sky, she sighed--a deep soul sigh, one that dredged up the bits and baubles that clutter us up inside.

"Father God," she began, "I know You know this, but I've been ignoring You.  Even when I have prayed, it's been with my fingers in my ears.  I think I'm a little bit angry with You.  No, I'm a lot angry."

A tear traced a shimmering path down her cheek and splashed onto her hand.  "You've got my mom, and now You've got my dad.  And I have nothing," she sobbed.  "What do You have to say about that?"

Her hand cramped, and she realized she had wrapped her cup tightly, with enough pressure to snap the handle.  A deep breath in, and back out.  Again.  And again.  "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do now.  I don't feel anything, like my heart is numb.  But I'm afraid to feel, so afraid and tired of hurting.

"Are You still there, Father?  Have You left me, too?"  She paused, another tear rolling down her flushed cheek.  Gen sat so still, offering no more words; she'd said enough.  A soft breeze whispered by, lightly moving her long, blonde curls.

A touch on her cheek, as if God Himself dried her tears.  Another feather-light touch, this time on her brow, as if Someone placed a tender kiss on her face. She gasped in surprise, then the tears flowed freely.  Yes, God was with her.  And He understood her fear and her anger.

He responded to her prayer with a sense of His presence, and reminded her that she hadn't lost her parents, but instead they were now where her treasure was stored.  Stored.  Gen sat up, her now lukewarm coffee spilling into the floor.  "That's it!" she cried.  She knew exactly what the key was for.

Her dad had a storage container somewhere, and now she had to find it.  "Thank You, Father.  Thank You."

All words are the property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.