JUNKIE II. Shawnda Christiansen
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This book is dedicated to the place in the middle.
Absent of darkness in any aspect of life.
Void of all but truth.
A place where spirits meet.
Dreams are dreamed.
Ancestors dance. &
Magic lives on.
It’s also dedicated to you, the reader.
Thank you for traveling the dark streets of Junkie with me again.
Life is for the living.
“Monsters are real. Ghosts are real.
They live inside of us, and sometimes, they win.”
Stephen King
Foreword
It was the same old situation, day in, day out. Being a public servant felt a lot like slavery.
This is the way it all ends. My world.
My life.
Life, in a nutshell.
So many people, so much confusion. Day in, day out. Punching time cards, begging for vacation days, scrambling to build savings, spending thousands of dollars on college to try and gain a life that garners more financial resources than minimum wage.
Lose a little. Gain a little.
Never achieve the goal.
By the time I was sworn in as Sheriff I had completely given up, given up on the idea of cleaning anything up. Until one day it occurred to me that there was a way to control the drug problem and boost the economy at the same time.
My numbers would soar and I would be a hero. I couldn’t see how that would be a bad thing at all. So I did it. I began a partnership with the source, the source of most of the drug distribution in the United States. They had a business model that no one could argue with, running all of the drugs through a pharmacy. Hell, even I couldn’t argue with it; that shit was legit.
It was flawless from start to finish, and I honestly saw an improve- ment in the town. Not just financially, but even in the behavior of a lot of the junkies around town, because the product itself was as clean as the driven snow.
Then June Taylor had to come along.
June, the junkie I had given so many chances to. June, who I had helped over and over and over again. Her?
It really had to be her?
Her and her buddies who banded together to be pains in my ass. They ruined everything.
Lives were lost, lives that could have been spared, but those lives were nothing compared to the carnage bestowed upon this town if the Cartel found out that the whole operation was exposed.
I tried to stop her; I did, but as they say, “You win some, you lose some.” As I lay here, incapacitated, I have to admit, for the first time in my life, I lost.
It’s the little things in life. Those are the ones that get you and you never see it coming until BOOM! You’re dead. Now that it’s too late you realize that when it comes to the little things in life, there’s really nothing bigger.
Preface
SPOILER ALERT this book picks up where the film left off, for Sheriff Corbin. His character in the film JUNKIE was inspired by a real police officer, but the story you are about to read is entirely fictional.
I had a lot of fun writing this second book. The fact that the scenarios are entirely fictional afforded me a lot of luxuries. The sky was pretty much the limit, and I climbed even farther.
I am passionate about this story. It was a lot of fun to take yet another lost soul, and help him find his true north.
Thank you for reading it. I hope you enjoy it.
This book is very near and dear to my heart. During the year preceding the release I got a phone call advising me that my father was in cardiac arrest. CPR was being performed but if I wanted to see him again, I needed to get to the hospital immediately. Sadly, the hospital was a 1-hour drive away.
I blasted out of the house and stopped momentarily for a quick prayer. I said “Please give us more time. Please.” Then I hopped into the car and flew down the highway. My cell phone battery died so I had no way of knowing if he had made it or not during the 1-hour drive. All I could think was, how do I exist in a world without him in it? Miraculously, I got the extra time I prayed for. I immediately made up my mind that I was going to sit down with him and tell him everything I’ve wanted to say but never said, but the coming days
brought with them some very hard news about his health.
He needed a surgery that he wasn’t likely to survive. He chose to have the surgery, quality of life meant more than quantity to him. In the process of all of this I spoke with my dear friend and counselor Patty (aka Beth in Broken Wings). She reminded me that the fences of our past take years to mend. Years. The bigger question was, how did I want to use the time we had left?
Being the superhero that he is, he pulled through the surgery and I finally had my proof. This was something I had always known since I was very young. It was a big family secret. My father was an invincible super hero.
One night I dreamt I was making 100 baloney sandwiches, people were calling me to try and discuss my next film project “Subject Unknown” but I was too busy with a festival to take any calls and ended up shutting off my phone. While cleaning, the sink backed up and a large green snake rose out of the drain. I thought to myself, what a crazy dream. There’s nothing in this world that would make me too busy to take calls about my film.
The following night, as I was drifting off to sleep I saw an image pop into my mind of my father, and my dearly departed step-mother. They were standing together in Hawaii with smiles on their faces. I jolted awake and cried. Something inside of me knew that he would be joining her soon.
The next day, life did what it does. He died.
He wasn’t invincible after all.
In the coming days we planned his celebration of life for 100 people. I moved into his home, the sink backed up. I called a plumber who ended up snaking the drain.
I have learned, through this shocking upheaval of my life, that I’ve spent a lot of years seeking security, and achieving my goals when what I should have been focusing on is health, family, love, happiness, and spiritual connections.
This book had been written for close to a year before my father died, I was waiting to publish it because the film had not been released yet.
My dad was excited to read it once it was back from the editor. I’m sad to say he never got a chance to.
I had let the final draft rest for so long, that when I sat down to proof- read it I was startled by the fact that my character was also dealing with the death of his father.
As you can imagine, proofreading it just one month after my own father died was hard but I am glad that I did. It was a great counseling session for me and has led me to add this final, unedited piece for you, the reader.
When I was a substance abuse counselor, I developed a special process group. It challenged my clients to consider the possibility that they may only have a few moments left to live, then they had to answer these questions:
Who would they call? What would they say? Why are they waiting?
So now I’m asking you….. Who would you call?
What would you say? Why are you waiting?
Acknowledgement
Jack