The Guardian

The

Guardian

J.L McFadden

Copyright © 2013 J.L
McFadden

All rights
reserved.

ISBN-13:
978-1489521187

ISBN-10:
1489521186

DEDICATION

Before I begin my thanks to
everyone else that had a great impact on my life I would like to
thank, mention and dedicate this book to the one who inspired the
book and inspired myself, which would be Galina Kubas, not only did
this story start to formulate its self when I met her, but she
changed me in so many ways. She even pushed me in creating
deadlines and finishing what I start instead of starting and
stopping a project. I truly thank God for bringing her into my
life.

I would also like to thank my dear
Grandma Stalker for always being there and being one of the
influences on me reading so many books as a child and into my
childish adult years.

Reza you have been like a brother even for
the longest times. We share a lot of the same values and hopes that
the people of world will pay more attention and take better care of
its self. No matter if it was about me almost dying surfing or some
other stupid thing in life we have had a lot of laughs. I wish you
the best in your surfing and life.

Elena and Natasha Churikova, Natasha was the
sweetest of my new found friends in L.A and was a huge help in my
beginning to study Russian and start to explore my Slavic roots. I
watched both these girls go from barely being able to speak English
in the land that I was born in and become successful in different
ways; when I decided not to just come, but stay in their home land
through the miracle of internet, they both gave huge amounts of
support and seeing their struggles made me dig my heals in more.
Elena I promise I will write the one about Ukraine like you
suggested. Also there were a gaggle of other Russians, Ukrainians,
etc. that where near and dear to me.

My new found friends in Ukraine rather it be
those from school, Aikido or those I have just ran into along the
way I would also like to thank. For some reason, after moved here I
felt at home for the first time. I have never felt that in my life,
moving from city to city, state to state, I always felt I wasn’t
home. I may not have been born here, but I love the people and
traditions of this beautiful country.

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Cover art by
Olesya
Lesyonovna

Awakening in an all-out panic, completely
saturated in sweat, John’s heart was beating uncontrollably and
erratically, screaming at the top of his lungs with his hands
clasped so strongly onto his sheets that he could feel his hands
burning from over-excursion. Panting deeply trying to catch his
breath, the nightmare was so fresh that he could still smell the
flesh charring in his nostrils; the memories of that fatal night
still haunted even a full year later.

Clasping his face into the palms of his
hands, with the veins still bulging out from the death grip he had
on his sheets and mattress, he tried his damnest to relinquish that
hellish memory out of his mind.

That dark night that he lost his three
closest friends in that crash that twisted, scrap a tin. Blood
dripping and running from the seats of the overturned car that
swerved to miss the stranger that blindly stepped out into their
path; with his hands still trembling he could hear his girlfriend
grasping for breath, sobbing and with the little breath so could
gather begging for her life to spared. He remembered reaching out
for Kathy’s hand trying to offer her some sort of calming
compassion, while he was pinned half in and out of the car until
out of the blue the car exploded and a week later John awoke out of
his comma.

How was it that he was the one that
survived, the only survivor of them all?

The police told him that he was ejected from
the car and that is why he was the only one that lived. Were those
not my memories that I have? Could my mind really have added these
false memories or was it something else going on” he wondered to
himself. How could he remember his dying love in front of him
reaching out for him suffering so, weeping, and begging God for her
next breath and how could it not be real? How could the smell of
blood and his buddies flesh smoldering from the flames that were
engulfing what was once the small, red Lancer that Keith’s father
had bought him. With the memory of the smell of burning flesh and
gasoline and his friends screaming still freshly ringing through
his mind just like it cut through his ears on that too far off
night.

Slowly beginning to step-out of bed and
collapsing onto the floor and slowly heads to the bathroom,
crawling for the first few feet until he finally got up onto his
feet stumbling towards the medicine cabinet where his medications
were stashed. With one hand firmly planted on the wall as a support
as he opened the cabinet with the other shaking as he reached for
his usual fix that the doctor had prescribed for him.

Usually, he takes two at a time and with the
severity of this attack he decided to throw back four. After
closing the mirror, he rests his dead on the mirror hoping to calm
down still having his heart beat rapidly seemingly in his throat.
“Please god, make this stop,” he whispers to himself, “for Christ’s
sake please tell me why this is happening.” With his pulse finally
starting to come back down and his breath slowing, he felt as if
maybe he could make it to his meeting with the support group. That
never made him feel any better.

He looked up to be startled by a beautiful
woman in his mirror falling back into the wall and down to the
floor. He cautiously began to stand up, peaking over the sink half
in fear of what might be in the mirror; there was no one but what
the hell it was so real. She had shoulder length dirty blond hair
and eyes of ice. She was like an angel not a mark on her face.
“Fucking great as if I was not already crazy enough,” he shouted,
“How much more can I handle before I get slapped into a padded
room.”

“Ah shit, half past one already.” Quickly,
he began to get ready with his sloppy wrinkled clothing, his laces
tucked into the shoes and tosses on his ratty red cap with bits
knocked into the lip of it. While trying to lock the door with the
old skeleton key shaking and rattling into the old door; if it was
not for determination he would never get it locked. Jetting down
the old rickety stairs and out onto the street hoping and praying
to make the meeting on time. Luckily, it was only a few blocks away
in this old run down district. As he cuts around the corner he
catches the same woman’s face in the old dirty and cracked window,
and as he turns his head, closing his eyes in disbelief, at second
glance she was gone again. “Damn, what is next?”

Opening the old wooden door you can hear its
hinges creaking and moaning as the floor boards squeak under foot.
He tugs at the bill of his cap in respect as he takes it off
entering into the circle of people sitting in old wooden chairs.
Taking a deep breath John takes a seat preparing for what he knew
what was coming next. “Mr. Kremble do you think that you are any
better than the rest?” said the low mono tone voice from a thin
black male dressed like a college student from the 70’s,“What makes
you feel like you can disrespect the others by trotting in hear
whenever you feel?” John knew Tom was going to rip into him as soon
as he sat down. John just shrugged his shoulders. “Why do you not
want to make any progress?” Tom asked.

John replied back, “I do, but how, how can I
when I still have all this noise in my head?”

“
What do you mean by
noise?”

“
Most days, I wake up screaming,
seeing what happened in the car. I know that they say I was ejected
but I keep seeing this other nightmare in my head as if it was my
real memory.”

Tom set back puzzled not knowing what to say
next. “John, do you have any other delusions or signs?”

“
No sir, just this one and it seems so
real.”

“
Have you spoken to your Doc about
your scripts?”

“
Yes, they say that it is just my mind
trying to deal with all the trauma I suffered.”

Tom sat for a moment clicking his pen on the
side of his seat, disturbed by yet another doctor not really
listening to his patients “Well, are you willing to speak to a
friend of mine and see if he has an alternative?”

“
I am willing to speak to anyone sir,”
John said with his head looking at his feet with his voice
cracking, “Anything that might make this at lease seem less
real.”

“
I will call you after I speak with
him,” Tom said in a calming voice trying to set John at ease, “We
will get through this together; you are not alone in this, do you
understand me John?” John nodded his head.

“
Alright, everyone back here on
Wednesday at 2pm sharp. No stragglers this time.” Everyone headed
towards the door while John remained. Tom laid his hand on his
shoulder and said “Hold in there son; you have been through hell
and back and I am not giving up on you.”

“
Thank you sir, I do not know what to
say.” Say nothing, go home and try to get some rest.” John shook
his head and gathered his wits about himself and head for the
door.

On his way out of the building he noticed
the woman again just for a moment in another window. What is going
on with me? Am I completely bat shit crazy? I have to go home and
get some sleep. That’s it; it has to be me taking too many pills
today. I must be tripping or something.

The only thing that was even slightly
pleasurable to him was Frank’s hot dog stand at the corner of Baker
and Main. This was the only thing he looked forward to everyday,
but today was not his day at all.

“
Hey Johnny!” sounded from an unwanted
voice coming from behind John. Damn it! Officer Marco again,
hunting me down again.

“
What do you need Officer
Marco?”

“
I need to understand why is it a
piece of shit like you is up and walking around while my little
sister is six feet under,” Growled the over aggressive cop, with
spit flying out of his mouth as he spoke,” I need to understand how
God let a blight like yourself be the only survivor out of
four.”