PART SEVEN: A FIRST ENDING

I was delivering a newspaper, called the Vancouver Sun, in eastern Maple Ridge, which is the district bordering on the west side of Mission, my hometown. At that time, the Vancouver Sun was considered an evening newspaper, but my papers were dropped off at my paper shack between ten and eleven o'clock in the morning, so that I could have them delivered by early evening. This meant that I delivered the newspapers from late morning through to the end of the afternoon or the beginning of the evening.

On the morning of July 11, 1989, I caught sight of a Royal Canadian Air Force (RCAF) helicopter flying behind in my direction as I was driving down the highway on my way to Maple Ridge. I saw the helicopter in my mirror at first and then, I was able to see it out my car window directly. When I arrived at the newspaper shack, I saw the RCAF helicopter hovering far up over me. I knew that the hunt against me had begun. From July 11, 1989 to July 17, 1989, I was shot at. Every morning from July 12, 1989 to July 17, 1989, I looked out the living room window of my parents' house and saw the RCAF helicopter hovering about 3.5 kilometres or about 2.25 miles to the south of my position over the Fraser River. The helicopter followed me as I drove over my newspaper route.

The Royal Canadian Army and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police have recently confirmed for me that fifty bullets were fired at me, that twenty-eight bullets missed me, and that twenty-two bullets hit me through the open window of my car. My car window was open because it was a very hot July and I was delivering the newspapers out through the window of the car and placing them in the rural mailboxes. I was shot at in an area of eastern Maple Ridge that is sparsely populated: there are small hobby farms there. The final two bullets were fired nearly simultaneously by two army sharpshooters. Each of the first twenty times that I was hit, I was hit in the neck or head and my body simply jerked as I blinked. I was left wondering whether or not I had been hit. Of course, I had been hit, but God was protecting me. If a person does not believe in God, this account seems fantastical. If a person does believe in God this account still seems amazing.

Right before I was shot the twenty-first time, when two bullets hit me, I sensed a very strong presence beside me in my car. I looked beside me several times, but I was not able to see anyone. Once or twice, I thought that I had seen something vapourlike, similar to the visual effect produced by the shimmering in the air from heat coming off an object in the hot sun. Once again, my car window open for two reasons. It was a very hot July and my car was not equipped with an air conditioner and I was delivering newspapers from my car window. At one point, I felt as though someone was pushing me on my right shoulder towards the driver's door and the open car window. My head was gently but firmly being pushed, as well.

At first, I resisted, but I relaxed because I sensed that I was being told to allow myself to be pushed. My left shoulder hit the driver's door with a bit of a thud. I was in place for something. I knew that an Angel of God had been asked to push me.

I felt the final two bullets, that were fired at me during that week in July 1989, penetrate the middle of the front of my skull. My whole body was jerked down. I heard the two rifle shots about a second and a half later. I was stunned. It felt as though two white-hot rods of steel had been thrust through my head. My head felt as if it were on fire. There were two searing-hot spikes of pain in my right leg on the inside of the thigh. There was only enough time for me to be able to say to myself: "I am dead." Then, I blanked. I died.