Love Story: In The Web of Life by Ken Renshaw (snow like ashes TXT) 📕

law enforcement agencies. I require aconfidentiality agreement with my customers that have very strictnondisclosure provisions. I am never to disclose either thecustomers or their interests; they are never to disclose the sourceof information I give them, or that I have been in their employ.The agreement avoids potentially embarrassing situations andprotects my privacy. I have produced some spectacular results forsome people, but I can't disclose those either."

I asked, "Do you need a disclosure agreementfrom me?"

"Definitely, no! I consider this a publicservice, giving the Sheriff his comeuppance. I have to warn youthat I will have to hide behind my disclosure agreements if anyquestions are asked about my confidential or classifiedactivities."

"Thanks, I'll respect that, and object ifopposing council makes any questions of that sort." I replied. "Ihave to decide what to give to a jury of lay people. I can't givethem stuff that is too spooky or stuff that is too technical. I'llhave to sort that out in the next few days. Tell me about the nightLucy was lost."

Steve's mood grew very somber. I could tellthis was a painful subject for him. He began:

"I was driving back from Sacramento, it wasdark, probably 8:30 or so, when I came to the Rawhide Cafe, downthe road from here. There was a light snow falling."

"I saw the cafe on the way up here," Iinterjected.

Steve continued, "It was all lit up byheadlights of patrol cars. Red lights flashing everywhere. I parkedand went to the Cafe to see what was going on. There was thesheriff's command center van in the parking lot with a generatorrunning. I could hear several sheriffs’ radio channels. Paramedicsstood outside an ambulance. Many other people were standing around:one person with tracking dogs, bloodhounds, I believe, was there;people in orange vests and hard hats, people with backpacks, rope,and rescue equipment, deputy sheriffs in uniform, and a local aNative American who lives near here. The sheriff and several otherpeople were inside the brightly lit cafe, standing in front of amap hung on the wall, arguing. It was a very busy place.

"I walked up to the deputy guarding the doorand said I needed to speak with the sheriff about helping. I toldhim I was a psychic and might be of use. He blew me off, sayingthat the sheriff was too busy to talk to the public."

"I went back to my car and got a copy of mybook–the one that you read–and what I call my credentials folderthat has the picture of the President and me, letters ofcommendation from high level military and government people, onletterheads with government seals, several news clippings about mehelping find lost people, and letters of commendation for workingwith the police in solving missing persons cases. I showed the bookand folder to the deputy who examined it for a while and then ledme in to see Sheriff Bogend, a fat bastard with a scowl on hispuffy face. His khaki uniform seemed to be straining at the buttonsto hold his bulk, and his tie was pulled down in disorder. He wassweating despite the cold and seemed really stressed out. I showedhim my book and credentials folder. He thumbed through them withoutreally looking and handed them back to me. He did not speak withme, he looked only at the deputy and scolded, 'Damn it, why are youwasting my time with some fortuneteller. We have a lost child tofind. Get him out of here!'

"The deputy, visibly smarting from beingchastised, showed me to the door and said mechanically, 'Thank you,we do not need your services.'

"As I started to walk away, I saw a group ofmen wearing orange search and rescue jackets passing a photoaround. I asked whether I could see it, and they passed it to me.It was the school 'picture day' photo of Lucy, a large copy thather parents had bought along with the small shots Lucy traded withother students. As I looked at the photo, I immediately felt apsychic connection with Lucy. I walked to my car and got in. As Isat, it came to me exactly where Lucy was. I could tell she hadfound shelter under some logs, or in a cave or something and wascrying and very cold. It was vivid.

"I was mad. I got out of the car and walkedback to the cafe. I pushed the deputy aside and went over to themap and drew an X on the map where Lucy was. When I turned around,the Sheriff and deputy had guns drawn, pointing at me. I said, 'Iknow where she is, here where the X is, about a hundred yards upBear Creek from that old logging trestle. She is in some kind ofshelter but is very cold. She may not have much moretime.

"The Sheriff shouted in a tirade, 'we have hertracks in the snow going in another direction. Get Houdini out ofhere! If you come around here again I'll have you arrested. Don'tgo hunting for her yourself, you will be destroying her trail forthe trackers.' Two deputies grabbed me by the arms and walked meout of the cafe, past the parked emergency vehicles, to the edge ofthe parking lot. One shouted at me, 'If we see you around hereagain or conducting your own search you will go to jail forobstructing officers in an investigation.' They pushed me into thestreet.

"I barely made it home because I was sooccupied feeling Lucy's distress."

Steve was almost in tears and having troublefinishing the story.

"I couldn't sleep because of my concern. Aboutmidnight, she died and I could go asleep, feeling herpeace."

I was quiet while Steve sat deep inthought.

Georgia came out onto the decks, using her rearto push the screen door open, carrying a large tray loaded withsandwiches and fruit.

She looked at Steve and said, "You told him thestory." She went over and kissed him on the forehead. He grabbedher and pulled her onto his lap as she screamed, and kissedher.

Georgia, appearing a little embarrassed, as shegot off his lap and smoothed out her dress and said, "It is reallyhard for him to tell that story."

I replied, "I think the Colson Foundation wantsto make sure nobody else has to