Part 3 – The Sandstorm
If you are just now tuning in, you landed smack-dab in the midst of a continuation from the two posts below. Feel free to scroll down and catch up. I’ll wait right here for you.
Like I already said, everything happens for a reason. I believe this with all of my heart. It wasn’t time for me to know why all of these things were happening, but I was given a couple more clues to let me know I was on the right path, and doing what I was meant to do in this situation.
I felt bad, really bad, but I had to find out who she was and where she belonged. I snooped through her bags every chance I got. I wanted to find an ID or anything that might offer a hint to who she was. This is a beautiful and sweet woman, someone’s daughter, sister, aunt or friend. I knew someone somewhere was missing her. My heart ached at the thought, even more so than the aches I felt while snooping.
My detective friend came up empty when he ran her prints through the national database, which is a good thing. Knowing she wasn’t wanted by the law, as everyone else slept, I began my nightly secret search. It took me through hundreds of thousands of missing persons. I was beside myself with sadness and overwhelming depression, as I realized how many people, adults and children, are missing. I looked through page after page of photos as my eyes repeatedly welled with tears. I clicked on many that could have been my 5’8”, blue/green eyed, waist-length brown haired, 35 year old, princess turned pauper.
I posted some information and her description, along with her photo on various missing persons web forums. I also filed a report with the FBI. I asked them not to intervene too much because I knew telling her would break the trust we had built. She felt safe with me. Betraying her was not an option. They agreed to keep it on the down-low.
One day, while she was in the shower, I finally found an old bus ticket with her last name. She wasn’t lying about her first name. (Pseudonym being used) Jane Patrice was written in faded black ink. The first thing I thought when I read that was her last name is the same as my best friend’s first name. They are even spelled the same. (My best friend is the one who lives out of state, the one I call Honey and the one I wrote about a lot in July of ’05, if you want to read the archives.)
I immediately felt a stronger connection than I had already, which I didn’t think was possible. She has the same eye color and hair color as my best friend too. As soon as I had the chance, I turned to the internet. I e-mailed my detective friend the latest information. I began my own secret search. When I got to the Zaba site, one name stood out after I typed in “Patrice” while leaving city and state blank. Lois Patrice (Pseudonym being used but the first name is the same as my real first name.) was the name that caught my eye out of the hundreds listed throughout the entire United States. My heart thundered in my chest. The connection was growing stronger by the moment. I was sure I was being led in the right direction. The powers that be, the fate, that tug of nature, the whatever you want to call it, was beyond anything I’d felt before.
After I gathered my thoughts, and my heart slowed to a normal number of beats, I looked at all of the information about Lois Patrice, I could not believe my eyes when I saw that she lives in the same town as my best friend. And the thundering in my heart began all over again.
“Fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step.” -Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
Jane and I are hand-in-hand walking through this sandstorm together. More to come soon. Thank you for hanging in there, and thank you all for your kind words.