Journey to the West Valley Wall

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Epilogue

Copyrights

Prologue

I reach up to touch my forehead after smacking it hard on top of the steering wheel. My eyes remain closed as I move my right hand up to touch my face, but I’m hampered by something preventing me from lifting my arm. The pain in my right leg is intensifying from the agony of a burning sensation. Still, half unconscious, I try raising my left arm up, but it too is snagged by the same type of restriction as my other arm.

Wake up. Wake up. You need to get out of your car! I yell at myself, fearing no one is coming to my aid.

Come on. Come on, I continue to say trying to motivate myself to move or at least gain full consciousness.

Lazily, I’m able to drag my eyes open to peer out of the windshield of my car. After close examination, due to the proximity, my face is right next to cold glass, making my mind drift to think that this must be one of the side windows.

My vision is hazy from the events of the crash; I attempt again to wipe the sweat pouring over my eyes with my hands but to no avail. The smells of burning plastic fill my nasal cavity and plaster my tongue with an unforgiving coating.

The car is on fire; you must try to get out, I continue to press into my head.

I rub my forearm on my waist to feel for the seatbelt, but I can’t touch the surrounding belt. The car’s cabin continues to fill up with dirty grey smoke making me choke; the fire must be close if not already on top of me. The tips of my fingers on my right hand feel warm from the sense of a lapping flame touching them.

I gaze down to look at my leg which brings me to a state of panic; finally bringing my senses back up to full value. My body is trapped on all sides although now it doesn’t look like I’m in my car. I am squeezed tight into a small tube structure with a small glass window to peer out. The walls are hard and smooth, restricting my body’s movement. The fire at the bottom of this tube continues to rage, engulfing my right leg in the process.

Where the hell am I?

Help! I cry out in a panic.

Lifting my eyes up from my horrific trauma, I stare out of the small glass window with increased clarity. However, the grey smoke now turns to black to cross along my view as an impending storm cloud.

Help! I continue to yell out from behind the glass.

There isn’t much I can discern out the small window other than the illumination of some bright white light. My cries for help quickly start to fade under the strain of my lungs trying to breathe. The black smoke moves all around me to mask the light-filled window, casting me into darkness.

Help! I mumble out again as light rushes up against me as my casket tube opens up, collapsing me to the floor.

Sauer! a voice calls out. A tall, pale man approaches me and talks, yet I don’t understand what language he is speaking.

I don’t understand you! I scream out, visibly in pain.

The tall man frowns with a puzzled look on his face, then asks me, Do you understand what I am saying now?

Yes. I understand you; please, get help, I plead with him.

Sauer, we have been attacked; can you stand? the tall man continues to say. I look up to grab my right leg which has been burnt to the bone from the kneecap down.

Ahhh, the pain! I yell as I feel my body entering into shock after looking at the appalling state the fire has made to my right leg.

Sauer! the man continues to call out while grabbing onto my shoulders as he also looks down at the same horrification of my burnt leg.

That was a close one; only a few more seconds and all of you would have been burnt to a crisp, he says with a laugh as he rises from his crouched position beside me.

Why are you laughing? I need help. Call 911, I beg him.

911? Seriously, Sauer. We need to get going, he says as his smile rapidly turns to a straight face.

Who is Sauer? Wait. Why can’t I remember who I am? I say aloud to the tall man in a state of confusion.

***

Ridiculous! I scream out, slamming my notebook shut.

What are you yelling about now, Jack? Shelly asks rummaging loudly in the hallway closet.

This story; it’s just ridiculous. I killed off Sage Sauer in book two, and now I magically have to make him come back to life, I say aloud to Shelly.

It’s what your publisher has asked for and what you agreed to do, Shelly reminds me.

It just can’t be done. I’ll phone the publisher on Monday and tell her the deal is off; the character is dead. Period, I explain to Shelly who is pulling out an enormous big brown suitcase. She struggles to get it out as it has lodged itself from the back of the hallway closet.

Don’t be so dramatic, Jack. You’ve been working on that last book for years now. It’s just writer’s block, she tells me as she proceeds towards my bedroom with that brown suitcase.

Hey. What are you doing with that suitcase? I ask her as I get up from my desk to follow her.

You know what I’m doing. I am preparing for our trip, Shelly says shaking her head at me.

Shelly, no! Put the bag down, I yell out while quickly grabbing onto the suitcase handle.

Let go! Shelly says through clenched lips while staring into my eyes intensely.

It’s my bag, Shelly, I say back, followed by a tug at the suitcase handle.

Fine, Shelly relents as she lets go of the handle while I was in mid-tug, sending me flying back to the ground. The suitcase hits me square in the chest as I pant in a victory over Shelly.

I’m not going anywhere. Nowhere! I yell to Shelly while still sitting on the ground clutching my suitcase with both arms.

Oh, we’re going, and that’s the truth. You need to get that into your thick skull, Shelly says as she towers over me with authority.

I close my eyes and shake my head from side to side while whispering a series of NOs over and over under my panting breath.

You’ve had six months to prepare for this. You have only three months to go, and we haven’t even started at all in preparing, Shelly continues to complain, throwing my clothes out of my dresser and onto the bed.

This is what we need to do, she explains as she now moves towards me to kneel down placing her large hand on my shoulder.

Three months! I stammer back while opening my eyes wide. That’s not enough time. I can’t do it. Call it off, I say as I stand up pressing my back against the bedroom wall dropping the suitcase from my clutch.

Three months is plenty of time. We have been planning and planning for this. We have a game plan from Dr. Demers to make this happen, Shelly says while standing back up, grabbing the suitcase off the ground in the process.

What plan? I ask. Why have I not been told of this plan? I stammer back while beginning to pace back and forth around the room.

You remember, she says softly, putting her large hand back on my shoulder to stop me from moving.

You are going to stay at your sister’s place for a couple of days and watch her daughter this summer, she explains in a calming voice.

I close my eyes again and just breathe in and out as the memory of this event floods back into my mind. Okay, I remember, I tell her as my erratic breathing subsides with a final big exhale of breath. I remember, I say again nodding my head over and over as I try to gain my composure back. I can do this, I say aloud. I can do this.

Chapter 1

B reathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out, I quietly chant as I lay on my back on Dr. Demers’ patients’ couch.

Jack, are you prepared as we have planned? Dr. Demers says suddenly breaking me away from my trance.

No, not really. I’ve tried. I’ve tried but I … just can’t do it. It’s too much too soon, I ramble off to Dr. Demers, relieved to get that problem off my chest.

It has been six months; that’s plenty of time. Plus, it would be good for you, Dr. Demers tells me back with a smile that I don’t find very reassuring.

It’s not that easy – I begin to say before Dr. Demers cuts me off.

I know. I know, but we have been working towards this, and it’s healthy to try new environments. This trip may even help with your writer’s block, she tells me with an affirming nod of her head.

I know. I know, I say right back to her with a big sigh, knowing full well that there is no way to avoid this.

This venture of staying at your sister’s may bring some hope to break you from limited routine. Think of this effort as a way to find some kind solace in a new environment other than your apartment, Dr. Demers says with a strained look of reassurance upon her face.

I’m just not sold on the idea, I nervously tell her.

Plus, won’t you have Shelly there with you to keep you company? Dr. Demers asks me while still nodding her head up and down.

I turn my body in the opposite direction of Dr. Demers so as not to look at her anymore. I then pull my legs up to my chest to drape my arms over my kneecaps which creates a makeshift pillow for my head. Yes. Shelly will be there, I mumble back to Dr. Demers with little to no enthusiasm.

Shelly has been my best friend since we were kids back in junior high. She’s pretty well the only friend I still have today other than my editor, Eddy. Shelly’s been my roommate since we graduated from Penticton High School ten years ago. Neither of us has ever had a romantic attraction to one another nor have we ever tried to pursue an intimate relationship together.

We are just friends and happy that that is all we will ever be. It’s not like Shelly isn’t attractive; she is a bit on the heavy side, but she has always been like that from what I can remember, which has been a sore spot of confidence for her. We just never had that romantic spark to become romantically entwined.

I imagine all our neighbours must think we’re a couple since Shelly and I have been living together for so long. I don’t think Shelly minds that people may confuse our situation as being a couple as the poor girl hasn’t been on a date in six years. She always talks about wanting to go out and meet some nice guy but has done much of nothing to rectify her search for love.

Shelly has tried all the fad diets and exercising crazes but just lacks the willpower to stick to anything. Her weight is her anchor in life and talking to her about it just upsets her, so we just avoid the topic altogether. She does have a healthy appetite, and I wish she would order smaller portions if anything to help her self-esteem, but who am I to argue with? I have my own problems.

Time’s up Jack, Dr. Demers says as she closes her notebook. I stretch out of my fetal ball position and stare up at the clock to see that it is ten o’clock on the dot.

You’ll be fine, and you have my number. Take your medication and have some fun. Oh, and write again, Dr. Demers says with a smile, directing me out of her office by placing a hand on my shoulder.

Have fun. Write again, I mutter to myself under my breath. Thoughts of being sent to hell run through my mind as I put on my sunglasses and exit outside the doctor’s building.

***

It is the beginning of July, and the Riverside Plaza has cars and people bustling about in all different directions. The start of summer in Penticton means the town’s population will swell from a reasonable 25,000 to 50,000 plus. Vacationers arrive from all over the province to bask in our forever summer sun and gorgeous lakes.

Penticton is landlocked between two lakes on each side with Okanagan Lake to the north and Skaha Lake to the south. On the east and west of Penticton, you have our town nestled between two tight valley walls. Penticton does get packed due to this limited land density, but luckily for us locals, we only have to endure this onslaught of tourists for a few months. I just don’t do too well in crowds with my condition and a few months is all I can handle, until the town resorts back to normal, usually around the middle of September.

It’s a double edge sword living in a vacation town; it’s beautiful and warm but these summer months of sun seekers I have to put up with can be unbearable at times. It’s partly the reason I hardly leave the apartment unless I have to. Fortunately, my life has been set up, so my mental illness is not a burden on anyone.

I’m a science fiction writer of two books which has found a bit of success but not a lot. I wrote the first book ten years ago, right out of high school and had mainly lived off those royalties that it has accumulated over the years. Five years after that first book, I published book two which was a sequel to my space saga of the first book. These books are by no means popular, and I haven’t gotten rich from them, but there is a small faithful fan base that has grown over the years which has kept me employed, so to speak.

It’s been five years now since book two of the space saga and the fans have been clamoring for the third and final book of the series. I get loads of fan letters and emails from all over the world from people who love my last two books. Lately, though, that mail has been showing the wear of a fan base that has grown tired of waiting for the next book. It’s not that I don’t want to give them the final book in the series; I would want nothing more than to put a nail in this space saga’s coffin.

My editor and good friend Eddy thinks I’m suffering writer’s block as well, but it’s more than just that. My agoraphobia and depression have been getting worse and worse since book one. Nobody seems to understand that, well, nobody other than Shelly. She knows only too well what struggles I go through on a daily basis. Weeks upon weeks without leaving the apartment and when I do it’s out of necessity to see Dr. Demers or to grocery shop. My apartment is my safe zone, and my agoraphobia ensures to imprison me there.

I do like to go for a coffee at Green Beans Café once in a while with Shelly, but that’s on infrequent occasions. Thanks to the internet, I get most things delivered to me which has been a godsend.

I genuinely do want to get a cure or at least temper down my condition, but Dr. Demers hasn’t had much luck making me better. She has experimented on me with Prozac to Clonazepam to Xanax, trying all different types and combinations to see what works and what doesn’t to no avail. Now, I have this big task ahead of me and still crippled by this infliction.

My sister Michelle asked me six months ago to watch her place as she will be travelling to Las Vegas with her girlfriends for a couple of days. To most people, that’s a reasonable request to ask, but to me, it’s hard to wrap my head around this task. I don’t believe that Michelle truly knows how bad my condition has progressed. Perhaps, if we were closer as siblings, Michelle would have a better understanding.

Michelle’s house is in Penticton, located on the West Valley Wall, with a grand view of Okanagan Lake. It’s only a mere five-minute drive from my apartment, but in my condition, it might as well have been in Antarctica. Plus, I will have to keep an eye on her twelve-year-old daughter Tessa for during those days as well. Talk about piling it on me all at once and with only six months to prepare. Well, those six months are up today; today I must drive up to her house. I have done my best to make myself ready, but I’m nowhere near ready in my mind. Luckily, Shelly is coming with me; having something familiar in that strange environment for those days is my only glimmer of hope that I can do this.

***

My apartment is a few blocks east of Riverside Plaza along Westminster Ave. It’s an easy walk to the west to see the doctor and a short walk to the east to the coffee shop. I pretty well don’t have to leave Westminster Ave which stretches from valley wall to valley wall. My appropriately named Valley View Apartments is only two blocks south of Okanagan Beach, but you will never catch me there, especially this time of year.

Summer, I say aloud with a sneer as tourists continue to clog up Westminster Ave with bumper to bumper of cars and RVs. This town can only fit a certain number of people comfortably, yet condos keep popping up everywhere. As I continue to make my way down the street towards home, I notice another towering condo complex newly built. A lot that once housed a tiny World War II era home destroyed so the land can squeeze in eight housing units.

We are running out of space! I yell out loud shaking my head in disapproval. Fortunately, the people who buy these units only want them for the summer. Licence plates from the province of Alberta can be seen car after car as these are the primary buyers lately of these newly built condos. The rich oil sand fields of Northern Alberta have made many people have more disposable income than in recent decades. Vacation homes are all the rage for Albertans, and by the looks of all these constructions, it’s booming.

Finally, I make it to the steps of my Valley View apartments and immediately dread having to go inside and pack. I’m going to get a coffee. Yes, I need a coffee, I think to myself, but who am I kidding? I’m just prolonging the inevitable. Turning east I stroll down Westminster Ave to the Green Beans Café, and I feel the hot summer sun blasting me from the south unabated.

Five minutes later and I’m walking up to the counter only to notice that one of my fans is the barista working today. Her name is Chloe, and she always has so many questions about my books. It also doesn’t help matters that we hooked up five years ago after a New Years party. The sex was the best I’d ever had, but we were just not compatible to pursue a relationship, so in the end, it was merely labelled as just a fling.

Large black coffee please, I ask Chloe while avoiding making eye contact as I hope she doesn’t have any questions for me today.

How’s that book coming, Jack? she asks me right away while pouring my coffee at the same time.

It’s coming, I unconvincingly say to her in a sheepish tone.

"Been waiting a while to know what happens to Sage Sauer; feels like forever since book two. I heard a rumour that he didn’t die and that book three will be about him