by Jonas Saul
“Problems in Kelowna.”
“Kelowna? Again?”
She nodded and drank the rest of her coffee.
“Aaron, find a spot for a dojo. Start renovations. Stay busy. Get your men teaching classes again. Do it soon. When I’m done in Kelowna, I’ll come right back here. I have business here in Toronto.”
“What business?”
“No idea yet. Shit, Vivian isn’t even telling me why I’m going to Kelowna yet.”
“What?” He leaned back. “Then what? I mean why?”
“It’s this new communication thing. Hard to get used to at first.”
“Then how do you know you’re even going?”
“What time is it?”
Aaron pulled out his phone and checked. “Just before five.”
“I need the exact minute.”
“It’s 4:57 p.m.”
“In two minutes we’ll both know why Kelowna.”
Aaron slipped his phone away. “Okay. Then where do we have dinner tonight?”
“I need meat. How about a steak at The Keg?”
“You’re on. There’s a great Keg on Jarvis. We’ll drop down Mount Pleasant. It’ll be faster than taking Yonge Street south at this hour.”
“When we leave, you lead the way.”
Aaron finished his coffee, got up from the table and tossed their cups in the trash. When he came back, he sat beside her and checked the time.
“4:59 p.m.”
The door opened and Parkman stepped inside the Starbucks. He scanned the café until he spotted them, then headed their way.
“Hey guys.” He pulled out a chair and plopped down, a toothpick dangling from his mouth.
“Hey,” Aaron said.
“Hey,” Sarah added.
They waited. They stared at him.
“What?” Parkman said.
“You just show up and sit down?” Sarah asked. “Nothing to tell me?”
“I called Bryant. He said he was meeting you guys here for four o’clock.”
“That meeting just ended. Go on,” Sarah prodded.
“I got a call from an RCMP officer in Kelowna.”
“Yes.”
Aaron touched her hand. She flipped it over and they clasped hands.
“They need your help.”
“With what?”
“Wouldn’t tell me over the phone. But did say that when you were there last, you antagonized one of their cops—”
“As I should have.”
Parkman nodded. “I know. I was there. But he was killed horribly.”
“Wasn’t my fault.”
“No, Sarah. It wasn’t.” Parkman looked from her to Aaron, then back to her. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just need a break. Been through a lot lately.”
“Of course. If anyone understands that, it’s me.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He waved her off. “No need to apologize. Look, the cop just said it would be a good chance for you to come back to Kelowna and help them. Do something good for them as they are still trying to make a better name for themselves in that city. Their image was damaged.” He held up a hand. “Not your fault. Just, this would go a long way to fixing things.”
“You up to coming?” she asked.
“Already bought us two tickets out of Toronto’s airport tomorrow afternoon.”
“Will I ever get used to that?” Aaron asked.
Sarah turned to him. “Used to what?”
“You just knowing shit. I mean, that’s basically what you just told me. To a tee.”
She raised his hand and kissed it. “I only know what Vivian shares with me.”
“It’s changed though, hasn’t it?”
“Oh yeah,” Parkman blurted out.
They looked at him. He smiled, then rolled his toothpick.
Sarah twisted farther in her seat to face Aaron. “Over dinner, I’ll tell you everything that happened when I died. And I’ll try to explain the pact Vivian and I made.”
“It’s a doozy,” Parkman added.
When Sarah looked at him, he offered her a blank look, then flipped the toothpick to the other side of his mouth.
“What?” Parkman exclaimed. “Just saying.”
“You know.” Sarah lowered her head and shook it back and forth. “I really love you guys. I’m happy I’m alive and not dead.”
“That’s good,” Aaron said.
“So I can kick your asses.”
Sarah smacked him. Aaron grabbed her wrists, dragged her closer and planted a kiss on her forehead.
“Take it easy, little Sarah,” Aaron said. “Or I’ll have to take you to your room and spank you.”
She wiggled out of his grasp and put a finger in her face, waving it back and forth.
“Don’t threaten me with pleasure.”
They laughed until Parkman’s cell phone rang. He answered it his usual way.
“Parkman.” A pause. “What? Again?” Another pause. His jaw tightened. “I’ll tell her.” He hung up.
“That was the cop I’ve been telling you about. There’s been another bombing. Two people dead. Downtown Kelowna on Harvey Street. Their hands are tied. They have no idea what the hell is going on. My contact has resorted to begging you now.”
“We’ll go. We’ll be there tomorrow.”
“I told him earlier.”
Aaron’s hand gripped Sarah’s tighter.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered.
“You won’t, baby. You won’t.”
Afterword
Dear Reader,
I have nothing against vegan cafés. That should go on record right away. It was simply a plot point. Nothing more. I don’t frequent them. I eat meat, but I’m a firm believer in live and let live.
As some of you may know, I lived in Skanderborg for three months back in 2011 and have often returned to visit this wonderful city. I attended the Burning of the Witch ceremony during the Midsummer event in June 2011. I’d never seen anything like it before and added it to this story for several reasons. I’ve walked Anton Olafson’s street, passed by the Skanderborg Rowing Club and had coffee at the library just like Parkman did. I’ve been to Silkeborg (not the hospital though) and taken the fifteen-minute train ride to Aarhus several times where I’ve walked the shopping streets. Just as Anton did that day he was hunting a random girl to kill, I’ve tasted whiskey for free in the store called Salling and had cappuccino by the canal in Aarhus. That’s one of the many wonderful advantages of having spent years touring Europe. As I write these scenes, they’re specific to actual places and events. Hey, they’re always saying, “Write what you know,” so I do. Watch for pictures of these locations on Facebook.
Denmark is a wonderful country. I’ll be heading there again this Christmas (2016), and will be spending considerable time there in the future.
Back in the 1990s, I spent a lot of time researching spirituality, the Other Side, and Near Death Experiences (NDE), which led to philosophy and the study of several religions. I spent time in a Pentecostal Church and listened as they spoke in tongues. I attended a Mormon church with a lovely Mormon family. I even spent a weekend at their home and benefitted from headaches as they didn’t serve coffee, which has caffeine, an addictive substance.
In my personal search for meaning in the 1990s, I stumbled upon spirituality and chose that as what I would assign my beliefs to. Nothing man-made, no organized religion, just a belief in a higher power and the ability to be nice to people, do good things, make someone smile, because in the end, they’re all struggling like the rest of us.
Spirituality led me to investigate NDEs. What is on the Other Side? Where do we go when we leave our muscle and bone encasement?
In 1998 I read an earth-shattering book called Life After Life by Raymond Moody. Originally written in 1975, this book was a study of the NDE phenomenon. Moody interviewed and studied one hundred people who had been declared clinically dead but were revived at a later time. These people were f
rom all walks of life (no pun intended), from different parts of the country, and had no way to collaborate their stories. Yet they all spoke of a similar experience. One of a tunnel, a light and a life review. Some saw dead relatives who had passed before them.
What amazed me was that no one saw Hell or anything resembling Hell. Even suicides were saved.
I read Raymond’s other book, Reflections on Life After Life, and continued my thirst for knowledge with Betty Eadie’s book, Embraced by the Light. In Betty’s book, she had gone for a routine surgery, began hemorrhaging and died on the table—she was dead for over four hours before waking up without brain damage or any other side effects. In fact, she’s still alive today.
The longest recorded NDE is just over three days when a man was hit by a car and died. Three days later, on the autopsy table, as the blade made the first incision, his eyes popped open and he asked why he was being cut in such a fashion. Medical texts confirm this case.
Having said all that, I didn’t feel it was much of a stretch to have Sarah dead for just over an hour—not to mention the bits of oxygen Vivian helped Sarah’s body take on while she was dead.
In some North American hospitals, such as British Columbia, Canada, people who die are often left in their beds for up to an hour to allow the spirit time to leave the corpse. Once transferred to the funeral home, the body is left to rest for three more days to confirm that the person is in fact, deceased.
I’ll close on this topic with these parting thoughts. I don’t write this Afterword to change your beliefs. I’m merely expressing mine. I accept and have no issue whether people believe in a higher power or not. It doesn’t really matter in the end, because we all go home. There has been too much study in this field to be wholly debunked. I’ve spent years researching this material, as evidenced in my novels like The Redeemed, Sarah Roberts Book Eleven.
Remember, a belief is simply an opinion—one you’re not willing to negotiate. An atheist can become a believer. A believer can lose faith. But in that moment, the one where they are fervently devout, try—just try—to change their minds. My point is, don’t try to change anyone’s mind. Believe what you want. Embrace it for yourself, and then live and let live. And don’t hurt anybody because of your beliefs. Or blow people up. That’s not a religious belief. That’s an ideology. Or a sickness.
Moving on …
Sarah’s debacle at the airport in Billund was close to home for me. Going through security checkpoints, being pulled aside to have documents checked, have been something I’ve gone through several times in the past as I travel a lot.
In Amsterdam, I was pulled by customs and held for a half an hour once. During that trip, while I was in Greece, my passport had expired. In March of that year, I’d renewed it at the Canadian embassy in Athens. My passport was up to date and I was ready to travel again. But I didn’t keep my old passport. The one that had the entry stamps and visas in it. So when I got to the Amsterdam Schiphol Airport almost seven months later on my way to North America—which means I was leaving the Schengen Area—I was detained as my new passport had no entry stamps.
You’re only allowed ninety days without a visa in the Schengen Area as a Canadian. Since my passport had no entry stamps, they couldn’t tell when I entered the Schengen Area. The issue date on my passport was March when it was renewed, meaning I had to have been in Europe in February as I would have had to submit my documents to have my passport renewed in the first place. That put me in the area for over six months, well past the ninety days.
I had nothing on me to back up my claim that I was allowed to stay. No visas. No entry stamps. Nothing. They were highly suspicious of me and told me I would be written up, fined, and have a possible entry ban that could be as long as one year.
Sure, it was completely my fault and that would suck as my family were in our house in Greece waiting for my return in the coming weeks.
So what did I do?
I talked to them. Attempted to smooth things out. Explained that I was allowed to stay. Showed them old plane tickets that I had stored in my phone for when I had entered the Schengen Area and when I’d left. Yes, I had overstayed, but I’d only stayed three months (90 days) in Greece, then flew to Denmark during the summer. This was all true and I had the plane tickets to prove it.
I had once talked to a Danish immigration officer in Aarhus and he told me that ninety days was the rule for the entire Schengen Area, but if you spent ninety days in one country and want to spend ninety more days in Denmark, they wouldn’t mind. It’s not official, but they wouldn’t mind. When I was in Italy and overstayed my ninety days by three months back in 2013, I talked to immigration in a city called Citta De Castello, and they also said a few months wouldn’t be a problem.
In the end, for whatever reason, the two customs officers I was dealing with in Amsterdam called their supervisor and a decision was made.
I would receive a stern verbal warning and would not be written up. There would be no fine and no entry ban as I moved around and stayed in several different countries. This isn’t an official law, but it has been allowed from time to time. So don’t think I was getting preferential treatment. Others who were pulled with me were also given warnings. Although one unfortunate soul had overstayed a year and was getting in a lot more trouble.
So when Sarah’s standing at the security area and having to deal with customs, my stomach churns for her because it’s happened to me.
That’s just one story of many that I’ve got after having to deal with authorities in various situations. I’ll add more in upcoming Afterwords as they apply to situations in the books I write.
Ben Wilson’s love of acronyms is actually my love. I often live by them. S.I.S.T., Students Invested Stocks Traded, was the one I came up with in high school when a few of my friends joined me on the Toronto Stock Exchange. We bought shares in Sun Ice, a company that was the official sponsor of the 1988 Winter Olympics in Calgary, Alberta. Being new at the game, we lost money, but dealing with brokers and buying and selling shares in grade eleven was a fantastic experience.
Several readers’ names were used with permission. Below I’ve added the names and want to thank each and every one of them for their involvement. I have so much fun adding names and can’t wait to add more in the next batch of books coming.
A special thanks goes out to Lisa Brown, Glenn Miller, Karen Miller (no relation to Glenn), Pam Prall, Paul Shelp, Liane Carmen, and Crystal Lewis.
I think that about sums up The Pact. Hope you enjoyed this adventure in Sarah’s life. I look forward to hearing your thoughts when you leave comments on my Facebook wall and on Amazon when you leave reviews.
By October, The Terror, Book 18, should be available. Sarah heads to Kelowna to root out a homegrown terrorist who seems to kill at random. Then in late fall, The Chase, Book 19, will come out. What a crazy ride that one will be as the Toronto Mafia hunt Sarah. They’ve got a bone to pick with a friend of hers named Darwin Kostas.
If you haven’t already, check out The Snake, the Jake Wood Series Book One. (Insert shameless plug here). Book Two, The Target, will be out in the fall as well. I’d recommend reading The Snake first, though.
Lastly, I’ve been given written permission by Nicole Arbour Management to add this link to her video, Dear Vegans. I thought it was funny (she is a comedian after all), and I hope you do, too. In the end, her message is simple and is in line with mine: don’t make it a religion. Do what’s best for you. Live and let live. A special thank you goes out to Nicole Arbour and team. Keep up the great comedy coming out of Toronto!
And finally, don’t blame the editor or the beta readers. All mistakes are mine.
Signing off for now. Warmest regards to you and your family and stay safe out there. Take care of yourself and each other.
And keep reading.
Sending my love …
Jonas Saul
About Jonas Saul
Jonas Saul is the author of over twenty-five novels and fift
y short stories.
Contact Jonas Saul
Website: http://www.jonassaul.com
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