Chris and the Ottsel: Chapter 1

My novel is a slightly fantasy, slightly real story about a young journalist beginning to live his dream as a writer for the Pittsburgh Picayune, and how first he must save it, then save himself from the tribulations of having a character from another world thrust into his life. He's been at the paper for 3 years and is trying to make his way up, but it's hard since he lost the love of his life in a car crash. Then one day, he discovers that the paper is on its last legs and may go under. Feeling that he is the only hope, he convinces his boss to let him be the savior. His adventure takes him to a remote, bustling city on an island he's never heard of. What will happen there? Will the young journalist save the paper? And just who is this character from another world? You'll have to read to find out...

Chapter 1: The Morning

“GOOD…MORNING, PITTSBURGH!!!”
“Ow!”
Chris Saunders banged his head on the empty bed above him as his bedside alarm went off, to the not-so-soothing talk radio station he had put on every morning since…well, the unfortunate accident.
“Gosh dang alarm. Oh well, it gets me up every morning,” he said with a sigh as he stretched and pulled the sheets off, not making his bed.
He had never made his bed again after what had happened. It was too hard for him to have a normal routine, a normal sense of feeling, and even somewhat of a normal life since what happened three years ago.
Three years ago, Chris and his girlfriend, Loretta, had somewhat of a wild and crazy night when Chris finally graduated from high school.
Chris had received his degree in journalism, something he had always strived for. He loved writing and the passion he felt when he wrote. He had actually met Loretta during his sophomore year, as he moved up on the newspaper staff’s totem pole. He was now the sports editor; Loretta was the paper’s manager.
Loretta always welcomed Chris every day with, “There he is, Mr. Writer Extraordinare.” Chris loved Loretta’s sense of humor; it was just as good as his own, if not better.
Eventually, the two would become co-managers during Chris’s senior year. They always would bounce ideas off of each other and a great story would develop and follow, then the whole student body would see it the next day. The two would get their share of amazing compliments, and they always took them in stride.
But the night that Chris Saunders just could never forget was that night. Loretta decided to pop open some champagne to celebrate and have a “night on the town”. Chris didn’t know what that meant, so he went.
And Loretta drove.
And they had a terrible crash where the car flipped multiple times.
And somehow, Chris’s life was spared with only minor cuts and bruises, while Loretta was instantly dead.
“Loretta…God, how I miss you,” Chris said as he ended his flashback. He hated doing it every morning, but that was the way it was as the talk radio blared the morning news.
Like he needed to know anyway – he was a reporter!
Somehow, Chris had managed to pick up the pieces of his shattered heart and earn a job at the Pittsburgh Picayune, the most popular paper in the city. They had seen Chris’s work on the school paper before and were very impressed by his abilities. But Chris had remained in the same house, slept in the same bed, and had the same clock go off since Loretta had died. He felt he couldn’t get rid of them, because if he did, he would feel like he was throwing her away altogether. He couldn’t do that.
Chris got dressed, brushed his teeth, and got himself ready for work when a phrase on the radio caught his attention.
“…the newspaper media industry may take a huge hit. There is talk that the Picayune may be shut down due to lack of interest and stories.”
Chris accidentally swallowed his toothpaste and saliva mix, looked into the mirror and screamed, “WHAT???”
This job was all Chris had now. He had dealt for three years with losing the love of his life; he could not bear the stress of having to lose his pride and joy passion – writing.
Chris flew out the door, realized he had forgotten his briefcase, went back in, grabbed it, and then left in a rush, running past people with looks on their faces as if to say, “You’re through, Saunders.”
He couldn’t let that happen. Not this time.