The Journal (eBook)

by G Sauvé

  The Journal

  G. Sauvé

  The Journal

  Copyright © 2019 G. Sauvé - All rights reserved.

  Contact@GSauve.ca - G.Sauve.ca

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and events are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Art: Vanesa Garkova

  Cover Design: Mircea Adamoiu

  Contents

  Dedication

  Foreword

  Storytellers Unite!

  The Journal

  Entry 1

  Entry 2

  Entry 3

  Entry 4

  Entry 5

  Gone

  The Journey Continues

  Storytellers Unite!

  About the Author

  Dedication

  To Will, Jonn, and Kara. I would be nothing without you.

  Foreword

  The story contained within these pages intersects with the events of The Nibiru Effect and The Virtuality Theory. For full enjoyment—and to avoid minor spoilers—I suggest reading them first.

  Enjoy,

  G. Sauvé

  Storytellers Unite!

  Have you always dreamed of being an author? Help me write my next book by voting on what happens next.

  What are you waiting for? Become a Storyteller today!

  Click here or visit GSauve.ca

  The Journal

  Grace paced around her office, worry lines creasing her forehead.

  “How could this happen?” she wondered, repeating the words for the hundredth time.

  It had been a week, and there was no news regarding the missing orphans. The first, a teenager by the name of Will Save, left the orphanage a week ago. The police thought he ran away, but the truth was Grace snuck him out in the dead of night. Why? Because she loved him as though he were her own son. But this story is not about Will. It’s about another orphan, a young woman by the name of Angela.

  Angela went missing the day after Will’s midnight departure. She had run away before, so the employees saw no harm in waiting a few days before contacting the authorities. By the time the police were made aware of the missing orphans, three days had passed. They did what they could, but locating runaway teens was no easy task. Day after day, they came up empty-handed. Now that it had been a week, the odds of finding them were so slim the authorities had all but given up.

  Grace continued pacing, well aware of the futility of the endeavour. But what else could she do? Will had promised to return once he was reunited with his mother. His absence meant he was still looking. At least, that was what Grace chose to believe. If only she knew how much trouble he was in.

  Angela’s absence was far more worrisome. Never before had she gone missing for such an extended period of time. The odds of her being alive and well were slim, and they decreased with each passing day.

  “Dammit!” swore Grace. All this pacing was accomplishing nothing. Putting an end to it, she decided to search the runaway teen’s belongings. She had done it twice already, but there was no harm in being thorough.

  It was mid-day, so the orphanage was deserted. The students were at school, and the employees were on their lunch break. Grace usually enjoyed the stillness that accompanied this time of day, but the quiet now felt oppressive. It was with a sense of unease that she entered the dormitory.

  The room was massive. Each of the hundred beds that filled it was accompanied by a nightstand containing the orphans’ belongings. Angela’s dresser was empty but for a few random items. An old battery. A broken hairbrush. A single sock. Nothing of use. Desperate to find a clue, Grace removed the drawers and overturned them. Their meagre contents fell onto the mattress but remained as useless as before. Grunting in annoyance, she placed the drawer against the mattress’s edge and slid the objects into it. All but one reached its intended destination.

  The battery missed the drawer, clattered to the floor, and rolled beneath the bed. Sighing, Grace put down the drawer and dropped to her knees. Locating the escaped object should have been easy, but her fingers refused to find it. Readjusting, she tried again, only to come up empty-handed once more. Groaning, she stretched her frame across the floor and focused on the tiled flooring that stood beneath the bed.

  The battery was there, but it wasn’t alone. Next to it was a leather-bound journal. It seemed to be waiting for her.

  “That’s odd,” she muttered as she retrieved it. “I didn’t know Angela kept a diary.”

  She stood up and studied the journal. It looked new, but the first few pages had been torn out. The next fifty or so were black with words. The rest was bare.

  Grace hesitated. Should she read the diary and hope to find a clue, or should she respect Angela’s privacy? She was debating this very thing when she saw it.

  Her name. It was scribbled on the first page, along with two dozen other words. That in itself was enough to convince her to investigate further. Taking a seat, she placed the journal on her lap and started reading.

  Dear Grace,

  I know you’re worried, but please don’t be. I’m alive and well.

  What you are about to read will sound insane, but I swear every word of it is true.

  Love,

  —Angela

  Entry 1

  I awake to a sense of unease. My stomach is filled with butterflies, and my heart gallops within my chest. I can’t tell what’s wrong, but I sense something unusual is about to happen.

  I push the covers off my sweat-drenched body and sit. The dormitory is dark, but the moon provides enough light for me to notice the bed next to me. Within it, Will twists and turns in his sleep, no doubt suffering the effects of some nightmare. I consider waking him, but that seems extreme. Will and I aren’t friends. It’s not that I don’t enjoy his peculiar sense of humour or his love of books, but his obsession with his parents annoys me. Why can’t he accept the fact that they abandoned him? Why must he spend his days waiting for them to return? But what really irks me is his ability to manipulate Grace. She treats him as though he’s some sort of hero, destined to save the entire world. But Will isn’t special. He’s just another orphan, doomed to spend his entire life feeling as though he isn’t good enough. But I shouldn’t be so hard on him. After all, today is his fifteenth birthday.

  I look away and continue the study of my surroundings. Everything looks as it normally does, yet I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. It’s not until I focus on my nightstand that I understand why.

  A box. It lies atop my bedside dresser, bare but for the name that has been scribbled on it using a permanent marker.

  ANGELA

  My heart skips a beat at the sight of my name. I reach out with trembling hands and grab the box. It’s heavy, but I lift it with ease and place it in my lap. The dim lighting makes studying the contents difficult, yet I see well enough to make out a backpack and an envelope. The pack is lumpy, filled with god only knows what. The letter bears my name. Heart racing, I tear it open, revealing a letter and a ring. Ignoring the piece of jewelry, I take the single sheet of paper and study it, but the dimness of my surroundings keep me from deciphering the words written on it.

  “Crap,” I mutter. Desperate to get to the bottom of this mystery, I slide out of bed and carry the box to the bathroom. The light momentarily blinds me, but my eyes quickly adjust. Heart racing, I hurry toward the toilet, lower the lid, and take a seat. Retrieving the letter, I hold it up to my face and read.

  Dear Angela,

  Your parents are alive. Do what I ask, and you shall be reunited. Ignore my requests and spend t
he rest of your life wondering what could have been. The choice is yours.

  The ring that accompanies this letter is very powerful. Twist the triangles that adorn it to begin your journey.

  The backpack contains a detailed set of instructions, as well as all the supplies you will require to accomplish your tasks.

  Good luck,

  —A friend

  My heart is racing by the time I’m done reading. Who is this mysterious friend, and why does he—or she—think my parents are alive? They were killed in a car crash when I was still a baby. I have the police report to prove it. Unless…

  What if the cops lied? What if the crash was a cover-up, designed to keep me from asking questions? But why? And who orchestrated it?

  The odds that my parents are alive are slim, but can I afford to ignore such a bold claim? For the first time in my life, I understand how Will feels. The mere prospect of meeting my parents fills me with a sense of longing.

  I re-read the letter a total of four times before deciding to search the backpack. Within it are three Ziploc bags, each marked with a number. The first contains a leather-bound journal, a flashlight, and an assortment of painting supplies. The second holds a single item: a plain metallic marble. The third is empty.

  Hands trembling, I open the first bag and retrieve the journal. It contains three detailed sets of instructions. The first match the items contained within the first Ziploc, but they’re so illogical I’m unable to take them seriously. How the hell am I supposed to find a field filled with holes when I’m in an orphanage? It makes no sense, so I discard the journal and focus on the ring.

  It’s uninteresting but for the strange symbol that adorns it. It shows two inverted triangles. The top one is full. The other is empty.

  I study it for a while before deciding to put it on. It looked too big, but now that it’s in place, it fits like a glove. I stare at it for a while before remembering what the letter said about the triangles. I press my thumb to the top one and twist. When I pull away, the triangle is pointing down. Heart racing, I twist the other. It clicks into place, forming an hourglass symbol.

  I stare at it for a while before a crackling sound lures my gaze away. What I find is so shocking I refuse to accept it.

  The air before me shimmers. Sparks of white light erupt from thin air and form an oval. Small at first, the shape expands until it’s taller than my upright body. Within it stands a wall of black and violet. Dark as charcoal at its centre, it pales to an electric shade of purple at its perimeter.

  I stare at the oval, refusing to believe it’s real, but the intensity of the electricity that buzzes at its perimeter makes my hair stand on end. Pushing off the toilet with my hands, I get to my feet and approach the strange occurrence. The closer I get, the more intense the snapping and popping become. The air is buzzing with energy.

  The oval is real.

  The revelation hits me hard. It shatters all I once believed and leads me to wonder if perhaps, there’s more to the world than I was told. If magic is possible, who’s to say my parents are dead? All I know for sure is I can’t pass up such an opportunity.

  I gather my new belongings, stuff them into the backpack, sling it over my shoulder, and approach the oval of rippling energy. Taking a deep breath for courage, I close my eyes and step into it.

  Entry 2

  Strange sounds reach my ears. I hear the rustling of leaves and the creaking of tree trunks bending in the wind. I make out the distant roar of a wild creature and the snorting of a nearby animal. The caw of parrots and the trill of crickets also fill the air.

  Where am I?

  I open my eyes and look around. It’s night, but the moonlight shines through the foliage and illuminates my surroundings. I see trees and plants of all shapes and sizes. A small feathered animal emerges from a nearby shrub and dashes across the clearing within which I stand. My gaze travels up, and I notice the dozens of glowing insects that float lazily through the warm night air. They look like fireflies, only they’re as big as my fist. All of these details seem to indicate I’m in a jungle.

  “How did I get here?” I wonder. My voice is strained, unsteady.

  I scan my surroundings, but there’s no sign of the strange portal that led me here. Wherever I am, I’m no longer in the orphanage bathroom. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m no longer in Montréal. From the looks of things, I would guess I’m somewhere in South America. Perhaps Brazil. Or Venezuela.

  The first thing I do is unshoulder the backpack and retrieve the flashlight I noticed earlier. I click it on. The beam momentarily blinds me, and I stagger back. I bump into something, and a low growl fills the air.

  I freeze.

  The growl intensifies. I slowly move away and search the darkness with my flashlight. It takes a few seconds, but I finally spot it, standing mere metres from me.

  A dinosaur.

  I’m no expert when it comes to prehistoric reptiles, but I’ve heard Will talk about them enough to know this particular specimen is an Ankylosaurus.

  The beast is massive. It’s as tall as me and easily three times as long. Jagged spikes protrude from its bulky frame. An imposing club stands at the tip of its swaying tail. Though unimpressive compared to the rest of it, the animal’s maw is beak-like and serrated. There’s no doubt in my mind it could tear me to shreds with a single bite. But the most terrifying part is not the beast itself, but rather the implications of its presence.

  Dinosaurs are extinct, which means one of two things. Option one: This Ankylosaurus was somehow catapulted millions of years into the future. Option two: I was back to a time when dinosaurs still roamed the Earth. Option one seems unlikely, which leaves only one possible explanation.

  I’m in the past.

  I don’t know how it happened, but I don’t plan on sticking around to find out. I’m just about to run off when my flashlight beam hits the dinosaur in the face. Rearing in dismay, it roars and stomps off into the jungle.

  I don’t dare breathe until the sounds of cracking branches cease, and the chirping of crickets resumes. Closing my eyes, I take a few deep breaths. It slows my racing heart, but my terror remains unaffected.

  I take a moment to gather my thoughts. I stepped through a strange portal and was transported to the past. Given the manner in which the temporal doorway appeared, it’s safe to assume the ring is some sort of time travel device. If I can figure out how it works, I should be able to return to my time. I’m about to study it when I remember something.

  My parents. The letter promised to guide me to them if I completed a series of tasks. At the time, I thought whoever wrote it was messing with me. Now, I’m not so sure. If time travel is possible, why can’t my parents be alive? But am I willing to risk my life in order to be reunited with them?

  Yes. The answer comes quickly and with little doubt. Still, I’m not the type to make rash decisions.

  I aim the flashlight at my hand and study the ring. The triangles that adorn it have returned to their original position. It thus stands to reason twisting them into an hourglass formation will open another portal. Determined to test my theory, I turn the triangles and watch with a mixture of relief and excitement as a portal appears before me. The urge to enter it is strong, but I resist it. Now that I know escaping this time is easy, I decide to attack the list of instructions that accompanied the flashlight. I retrieve the journal and study it.

  The first page shows a list of detailed instructions. The second bears a map. It’s crude, but its legend is detailed and the path to travel is well indicated. The third displays a drawing of a man standing on a mountaintop.

  I read through the list of instructions.

  Step 1: Don’t freak out.

  That sounds simple enough. I take a few deep breaths and slow my racing heart.

  Step 2: Get your bearings.

  A thorough scan of my surroundings reveals I’m not actually in a clearing. I stand at the centre of a path that links two
unknown locations. Curious, I skip ahead to the map. From what I can gather, one direction will take me to what looks suspiciously like a sacrificial altar, while the other should, in theory, guide me to a large clearing. According to the map, it’s riddled with holes. Curious as to my destination, I return to the previous page.

  Step 3: Follow the path to the clearing.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. Visiting a prehistoric sacrificial altar is not high on my list of priorities. It is, however, among the first items on my “never, ever, ever will I” list, along with “stick my hand in a blender,” “cry while watching a romantic comedy,” and “try to find my parents.” I should seriously consider crossing that last one off my list.

  I glance at the fourth item to make sure it’s irrelevant to my current task, then grab the backpack and head off.

  The trek through the jungle is uneventful. I hear the occasional cracking of branches and distant dinosaur roars, but my immediate surroundings are calm. I count my blessings and follow the meandering path until I emerge from the jungle.

  Standing before me is a clearing. Hundreds upon hundreds of metre-wide holes riddle the vast expanse. A river flows through it, sectioning it in half. The crude bridge that leads across the flowing water appears to be man-made, but such a thing seems unlikely given the fact that I’m millions of years in the past. Ignoring the wooden structure, I open the journal.

  Step 4: Cross the clearing and enter the cave.