Playin’ it mean, my heart’s on fire.
Livin’ my life, ain’t no pretender.
Ready to fight with no surrender.”
~ “No Surrender” Judas Priest
“How could you do this to me?” I asked, desperately holding in my anger. “How could you do this to us?”
“You did this to us!” Shot Anya. “You destroyed us!”
“You let him destroy us!” I countered ferociously. “You let him steal away our hopes, wishes and dreams without reining him in! You knew what we stood for!”
“What is a mother to do?” She cried. “My family!”
“You did what a mother should do? What was that? Destroy me so you can think you’re pulling the wool over the eyes of your kids? They’ve always known something was wrong.” I confidently repied. “That’s why Andrew was afraid you’d leave. That’s why Katie blamed herself. They’ve felt it and it had nothing to do with us! You let Jackson let you believe it did!”
“You’re always the victim, Landyn!”
“So if you’re with me, you don’t love your kids?” I jabbed. “Help me understand that logic. How am I a danger to your children? After sharing their daily lives with me? After proving to you they weren’t baggage to me unlike they were to Lance? From all people, how could you protect them from someone you’re in love with? Help me to understand that—cause I never will.”
After Anya’s eyes darted back and forth, in anxiety from my emotional onslaught, she then bowed her head. At that very moment I knew what was coming; she was about to use her greatest weapon against me.
“I’d understand this a lot better if you just told people the truth about me, about us.” I told her. “For you to accept everything I ever did and gave then not vouching for who I am to everyone around you just wasn’t right. When do you start holding Jackson accountable for our relationship? I mean really hold him accountable and not allowing him to think this makes it even between you two? It doesn’t! He wasn’t in love with someone, but you were! It's not even close to being even!”
“My kids…” She trailed off, tears flooding her eyes just like the time she confessed to still sleeping with her husband.
“I deserved to know the truth why you were still there the night we reconnected.” I explained, hoping she’d understand my position. “I’m certain you always had the same concern for your kids even on the night we met—why Lance left you. I deserved to know you thought of yourself as being above the general public who divorced so I could protect my heart. Even so I could better understand your position. You never gave me the chance to understand because you hid the real reasons you were still there from me! Loving someone by letting them go is something you do before they fall—not letting them go after letting them feel all the love in the world for you.”
Anya turned her head to look behind her and wiped at her eyes before issuing a stern warning. “You need to leave. He’s going to be home any minute.”
“Who?” I asked, placing my right hand softly on her left shoulder before looking behind her.
“My husband.” She told me. “I’m married!”
“Fuck. Him.” I told her, pulling away. “Married? Now you care about your marriage after stealing my life from me? After telling me it was only a "situation"? After telling me there is no marriage? Who are you?"
“Please go, Landyn.” She pleaded. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
I shook my head then replied. “It already did.”
“I know people! You need to leave!” She yelled. “They are out for blood. I’m shaking.”
“Who? Donald Holbert? The City Prosecutor of Long Beach?” I told her. “You don’t think I know your husband sold him on a false narrative to get his office to come after me for nothing? After all that man has put you through emotionally, how could you let him get away with that?”
“You have to let me go.” She pushed back, shaking her head in disbelief. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t find someone else.”
Upon hearing those words, I reached into my pocket to reveal the turquoise Tiffany pouch.
“I’m not letting go...until I’m ready to.” I told her, exposing the shining necklace from its pouch then extending it out to her. “I had no right asking you to send this back. This has always been yours.”
Before laying it upon her open palms, a vulgar slamming of a door shattered the moment.
“Does he want to join us for dinner?” barked Jackson suddenly appearing from behind Anya. “Have him join us.”
Anya bowed her head before raising it, her face now belonging to another, but to the woman clad in black who appeared the night I nearly lost my life before remarking.
"Turn the page."
Thrusted back to reality with open eyes and a racing heartbeat, my encounter had all unbelievably been just a dream. After revisiting the most horrific moment of my life, it wrecked me emotionally; unable to shake her haunting words--my day undoubtedly ruined because it felt so real. Since my near death experience from hypoxia, the woman gracing the edge of the coffee table remained an unsolved enigma—there’s no way my mind could’ve dreamt her up. I used to tell Anya she was better than the woman of my dreams and will always be, but this woman stuck out in a different way—she had to be real. Who was she? Why did she suddenly appear? A woman I can't recall ever knowing but feeling so connected to? Is it because I’ve learned to trust God?
Since my near demise, kicking my addiction to opiates became an urgent matter, but being able to stomach a single minute in a domestic violence class I didn’t belong in was an impossibility without them. Taking a forty milligram pill, after taking no more than a fifteen milligram pill dose at a time, brought on the hypoxia. Now fully aware, taking a marked increase in a higher dosage pill never plagued me again. My higher tolerance making a forty milligram Oxy dosage a one time issue. Unfortunately, accepting the diversion program before learning about the City Prosecutor's involvement never allowed me to consider not taking on the additional risk--needing a pill again to get through the heavy negative emotions.
The Neighborhood Family Center where the domestic violence class took place was in a sketchy area, replete with homeless meth heads carelessly roaming the streets. Describing them as such didn’t mean precluding myself from judgment—I was just as dependent on a drug to tolerate life as they were. The difference came with their indifference to theft and its consequences. Fearful of my Mercedes being broken into, I parked in a nicer neighborhood a few blocks down then walked to the Center. The men in my class were typical—young and poorly educated minorities with learning difficulties who never had a shot in life. Yet, there I was among them, a two time college graduate and CPA—exactly what Jackson hoped for if he couldn’t get me thrown into prison. The first two weeks were spent stewing in class, high on Oxycontin, showing intense interest in their stories to avoid engaging with the group. There was no surprise learning they mostly came from broken homes. The teacher, an older white haired balding gentleman appearing to be in his late fifties named Mike, was a recovered alcoholic. He did an artful job navigating through the subject matter while relating to the group—especially when dealing with a few who were definite loose cannons with short attention spans “catching” additional cases even while going through the program. It led me to wonder if I’ve experienced the same neglect in life, would I have turned out any different? I’d like to think so, but without anything to believe in, like God, the path easily could’ve been the same for me. Passing judgment on them wasn’t what I did—I just clearly did not belong here. When it came time to introduce myself to the group on my first of fifty-two three hour nights, the only one dressed in slacks and a long-sleeved work shirt was also the only one who had no story of physical violence to share. After telling them a short version of how I ended up among them, nearly everyone had something to say.
“You didn’t yell or hit yo bitch, man?” asked one of the class members, Carlos, who sported dark rimmed glasses, full neck and arm tattoos.
“Not at all.” I replied shaking my head.
“Oh, come on, Dawg! You lyin'!” Yelled out another, Danny, having long dark braided hair in a pony tail to match his lengthy pale face.
“No lie. I only communicated with her through text messaging and email.” I told them feeling like no one believed me.
“Did you type in all caps or somethin'? What da fuck?” Laughed another, Marshawn, a thick older black man with a receeding hairline.
“I didn’t even do that.” I smiled before folding my arms across my chest and shaking my head at such a great point. “The husband even tried to put me in prison for this. If I was broke, I could easily be sittin’ in a prison cell and not sittin' here with you guys right now.”
Marshawn shook his head then howled again before speaking. “This is too damn crazy! This can’t be true.”
“I could’ve never imagined just trusting in someone's pain could lead to this.” I stated before refusing to talk anymore--the destruction of my life wasn't comedy relief to me.
“Yo! You’re "Captain Save-a-Ho"!” Danny yelled out, the entire class now roaring in laughter and jeering.
“Okay, calm down.” Directed Mike. “There are classes goin’ on next door.”
“Do you believe this, Mike? Dude never struck a bitch, never cursed her out and he’s in this fucking class?” Carlos laughed. “Shit, man this dude is full of IT!”
“We’ll get him to fess up in the next fifty weeks.” Mike prodded. “They always do.”
I looked around the room and decided to save my breath--they didn't believe me anyway.
“Captain Save-a-Ho.” Snickered another bringing forth more laughter from the group, someone not even worth turning my head around to see.
As they all laughed, including the instructor, only the drug stopped me from name dropping Donald Holbert for his role in my attendance. What irritated me more than anything, even more than being subjected to this ridicule by just being here, was they referred to the love of my absolute life as a “Ho”. As if my relationship with Anya was just like any of theirs, lacking any semblance of beauty and ending up in physical assault. They referred to me as “Captain Save-A-Ho” for weeks and it was extremely difficult to not take it personally after all the sacrifices I made and all I've lost. Was this the perception others had of my relationship? That it was a big nothing? Something to be mocked and laughed at? It burned me deeply to know the details so intimately, nearly losing my life from just falling in love, for my relationship to be viewed so negatively. Over time, as we gradually began interacting and learning more about our situations, I realized they were only trying to connect with me, a guy who seemingly had it together yet struggled too, allowing them feel a little more normal. For the first twenty weeks of the course, I rarely talked, choosing instead to listen to their weekly struggles for three hours a night, offering insight or advice when appropriate. As wrong as the State of California got it with me, my tax dollars were very well spent here—this government program really helped people who needed it.
Each night, Mike would ask someone in the group how life was treating them. Talking to someone about their problems, uninterrupted for a half hour to get heavy things off their chest, had to be therapeutic—like writing my novel was for me. Whenever Mike asked how I was doing, exhausted from the drive in just to make it on time to a class I didn't belong in, I kept it short--fearful my disgust with everything would shine through. After poking fun at my professional attire in a room full of backward baseball caps and shorts wearing students, he got me to open up about my business. When informing the group I was a CPA and about my work for the public start-up company, it sparked a conversation.
"What's the goal here? " Mike asked. "Why are you still working for them if they're not paying you?"
"Being a public start-up, I'm looking at the big picture here." I told him. "If I can help this company get off the ground, I believe my business is gonna take off."
"I don't know why you'd start your own business when you're not getting paid." Carlos stated, shaking his head.
"They're paying me, just not all that they owe me." I explained. "Having my own business was the best choice for me. Being a CPA in private practice is unrewarding--they work you to death. If I'm going to work that hard then I'm going to do it for myself. And let me tell you this, it's hard to get ahead in life these days working an eight to five job. The best way to get ahead, I'm learning, is by working for yourself and investing in the stock market."
"Or buying real estate." Mike added.
I nodded. "Agreed, builidng equity is the cheat code to wealth. I was in the process of buying a home five years ago before everything blew up in my face."
After the group asked me about my stock investments and telling them about a few of them, we engaged in a conversation about the stock market that took up the entirety of the remaining class time that evening. At the six month point of my program, Mike even got me to open up about my anger with God and how my mother’s death brought me to believe in His existence.
“He’s the game changer.” I told the group.
Mike nodded. “He is.”
“I’m a monster work in process.” I exclaimed. “But the worst things in life happened to me when I didn’t believe in Him. Life’s been pretty fair ever since.”
“Even after all the shit you’ve gone through, Captain?” joked Danny.
I smiled before speaking. “God has blessed me more than I deserved to be—that’s the way I see things now. It doesn’t mean I’m not upset about how things turned out; it just means I know God loves me. And I’m not special; God loves all of us.”
No one in class knew of my struggle with opiate addiction. They also never knew how the Long Beach City Prosecutor being spoonfed misinformation by Jackson was the real reason why I sat among them. You could see the absence of God in their lives, like my own life before my mother’s passing. But even my belief in God couldn’t extinguish the fire that scorched within after Jackson pushed this to an entirely different level by whining to the City Prosecutor’s office—the local police department likely laughing him out of the room when he tried to file police reports for emails to a friend and especially a notice of appeal being sent to his home. Then when the opportunity arose at a fundraising event, Jackson took his complaints to a higher source on the political spectrum; misleading and crying to someone who knew of him, but didn’t know him. By going to Donald Holbert, the City Prosecutor of Long Beach, on top of sending a letter to my father’s home and to my clients after cyberstalking them to obtain their contact information, his ego took things too far. While in the diversion program, I plotted the resuscitation of my character he tried to assassinate. He fired several shots, misfiring on each one, and now the score would be settled when the restraining order expired. And he knew it—why he tried to provoke me into breaking it. If my desire for the truth to be known was great before accepting the diversion program I didn’t belong in, it was a burning lava lake of fire now.
Then there were the Saturday mornings, fighting to maintain my balance on a grassy sloped rattlesnake infested hill, a reach grabber tool in one hand and a trash bag in the other. Purposely starting my community service shift at seven in the morning to avoid running into anyone I may know at the park. My father suggested I perform my hours at the park he worked at, Peckham Park, but instead opted for a larger park on a hill overlooking the entire harbor area, Kinship Park. The park's recreational grounds had a gymnasium, four baseball fields, two large picnic areas and many trails. Cleaning up the picnic areas was the worst part of the service. Undoubtedly the ones who threw these birthday bashes were struggling financially and doing the best they could to give their children a fun day to remember, but they also proved why their lives were messy—leaving behind streamers, busted balloons, ripped candy wrappers, paper plates and large plastic cups the wind carried up and down the reedy hillsides. The people that did clean up after themselves, let leftover cake and ice cream dripping down the sides of the steel trash cans. The park Director, who signed off on my community service, assigned me certain areas needing attention each Saturday. When my four hour shift was over, I’d just let him know. He was always very appreciative of my efforts—apparently no one in my position usually put forth any. If anyone had a reason not to put in an effort, it was me, but not working hard would only make the time go slower--the total disregard by some to keeping the park clean ticking me off to the point it wasn’t right for me not to care. Didn't they realize their trash could get into the sewer system then travel to the nearby ocean threatening its sea life? I never did any type of charitable work and always wanted to so I decided to make the best of it. For once, giving myself a sense of purpose. The morning Oxycontin also didn’t hurt to make it more tolerable.
Upon my arrival one early Saturday morning, a colossal birthday party mess its throwers refused to clean, awaited me. Dismayed, I sat down on top of the nearest picnic table and shook my head before gazing out over the hill top and across the pink sky dawn. After shifting my eyes to the quiet cities beneath me, I thought to myself somewhere Anya and Jackson were down there enjoying the morning. It was one of the most sobering moments of my life--truly seeing where their lies have taken me and may have also taken others. How it seemed they were perfectly fine uprooting lives other than their own then just going about their day facing zero consequences for their behavior like spoiled children--no better than the park's inconsiderate birthday party bashers. Remembering how on one of these same beautiful peaceful Saturday mornings, that same woman initiated a meeting at my apartment so we could steal a moment of happiness together. It made me angry to think that maybe, an irreconcilable piece of Anya, just wanted some privacy with a man, any man. Revisiting this price I paid just to feel loved and for trusting in someone’s need for it, then brought the steel marine green bridge connecting the cities below into the sharpest focus. At this very moment, my mind was made up—nothing will stop me from reclaiming my honor. I will be redeemed and reconcile Anya after all the shenanigans Jackson pulled. How that would ultimately be achieved? I had no idea, but my resolve was never greater.
On the fortieth week of my fifty-two week domestic violence sentence, Mike gave a presentation to the group on healthy habits--a subject matter there was no alienating myself from. Although no longer abusing opiates, taking them the same way anyone in chronic physical pain was prescribed to, the need still existed. Taking these pills for mental pain was not ideal, but dealing with the stress and pressure of getting through the diversion program made not taking them an impossibility. When the Program Director, Mike, explained certain signs of an unhealthy person, most memorably that a heavy stool resting at the bottom of the bowl could possibly be a serious health issue, I finally gleaned some benefit from the class. Honestly, who ever pays attention to that?
“So, if my shit don't float..." remarked Danny before pausing. "No bueno?"
Mike nodded and reiterated the point. “That’s right.”
"Shit.” He replied, shaking his head then laying back in his chair before folding his arms across his chest. "I'm a dead man walkin' then."
"Yo, you look at your turds, Dawg?" Inquired Marshawn.
"Shitz yeah!" Danny exclaimed, propping himself back up. "Some of doz' shits I'm more proud of than my damn kid!"
"You crazy, man." replied Marshawn, removing his cap briefly before putting it back on.. "Just flush the damn toilet and get the fuck outta there, will ya?"
"Fuck that. I'm proud of some of doz' mutha fuckas." Danny cracked.
Marshawn shook his head before speaking. "Dude better get himself checked out. Right, Mike?"
“Well, it's something to be aware of.” Mike diplomatically answered before putting a DVD into the disc player and turning on the tube television set. “Yeah, I'd say it wouldn't be a bad idea to get himself checked out."
"Dude, you need to start fillin' out some organ donor cards." added Carlos prompting laughter from the group. "I'm serious. Or lay off the damn meth...or somethin'."
"Man, fuck you all." replied Danny, dismissing the advice.
After laughing from the group exchange about anchor like stools, I prayed the forty milligram OxyContin would last long enough to get me through the upcoming two hour video on healthy habits. I was completely exhausted from the long work day and stressful drive in heavy traffic from the Newport Beach office to make it to class on time. It was a fifty minute drive to the Neighborhood Family Center and If I was late to class, it would be a direct violation of the diversion program agreement. Working ten hour days to make up for the lost time only added to my fatigue--notwithstanding having to keep from my client the true reason for my one day a week early departure. A part of Jackson likely banked on me lacking the stamina at forty-five years of age, or the time, to finish this program. Hell, he probably hoped I'd blow it off altogether if he thought I believed the restraining order was fraudulent and had no respect for it. To be honest, without the pills there was no way I’d be able to get through the program--they held the key to my resiliency; my survival.
When Mike started to delve into different forms of domestic abuse, it burned me to learn Jackson should be seated here instead of me. Yet, here I was taking his fall. It especially boiled me over when I felt so fatigued, stressed out and overworked. I thought maybe Anya would feel guilt ridden enough by this that I'd find her waiting outside to talk to me one of these nights when class ended, but she never made an appearance. Not that I could blame her, the area was bad, but the possibility she could feel this was actually justifiable, only added more fuel to my fire. She went to two men, told them about her husband’s disrespect and cheating ways, serious enough offenses to initiate a serious relationship with one for two entire years, yet she still played this card? That the kids knowing their father treated their mother inequitably was deserving of this? That them knowing a man loved their mother more than their father ever could would destroy their lives? How could I suddenly become unworthy of her love because I wanted her to believe in our love? That it was both “good” and “pure” just like she claimed? It was unfathomable she could be this twisted, but was I ready to accept this is who she truly was? Why was I still convinced this couldn’t be the woman I loved more than life itself? Was she really the kind of person who would be perfectly fine having Donald Holbert destroy the life of a person she absolutely misled? Would I have to settle the score with her too? My proclaimed soulmate? There's no way I could've been duped this badly.
Without “The Passion Particle”, my ascent to the bridge would’ve come much earlier—the only way I could dare attempt reconciling all these dynamic thoughts within me. With the pressures of my financial burden, living with my father hindering my sense of freedom, fighting an addiction to pain medication, and coping with deep irreconcilable wounds, this life just no longer seemed worth living. Constantly living inside my own head while trying to ignore the beat of my heart, made it impossible to stymie the mounting frustration. My friends were married with kids of their own to worry about. My father was still mourning my mother four years after her death. Yet here I was, finding my raison d'etre through a novel to deal with it all—the pills doing very little anymore to quell my disgust with the human experience. By the fiftieth week of my domestic violence course, after getting signed off on and fulfilling my community service requirement, life began feeling more manageable.
“We haven’t heard from you in a few weeks, Landyn.” Mike stated, swiveling his chair around to face me.
“Yeah man, you never talk to us.” Remarked Carlos, nudging me in the shoulder.
“I wish I had something to talk about.” I told them, smiling. “My life's boring compared to you guys. I’m not one for attention anyway.”
“The Captain must be back with his ho!” Another piped in, firing up the group.
Shaking my head, smirking. “That’s not happening.”
“He’s not like one of you guys.” Mike countered. “Looking for ways to break his restraining order.”
“My girl lets me fuckin' break it!” Announced Danny loudly.
“She’s gonna get you in a lot of trouble.” Mike warned. “You don’t want to catch another case. Or do you?”
“Catch me if you can then.” Danny retorted, leaning back in his chair. "Catch me if you fuckin' can."
“You can play catch me if you can.” Mike replied with a hint of sarcasm, nodding. “It’s just better not to put yourself at risk like that.”
“Yeah, well she ain’t keepin' me from my fuckin' kid.” Retorted Danny, who slapped hands with some of the group members. "The bitch can take that to the bank! Shit, I'm the one paying her child support and she has perfect nails. Fuckin' joke."
“She yo baby’s momma?” Inquired Marshawn. “Damn, didn’t know that.”
“Yeah…she won't call the fuckin' cops on me. Bitch knows better than that.”
“Don’t give her the power.” Mike scolded. “You won't even get to see your kid for a year. It's not worth it.”
“It’s fuckin' tough, Mike. I miss my boy.”
“So, how are you Landyn?” Mike asked, turning his attention away from Danny, ending the hope I dodged having to address the group.
“Well, if you need to know Mike.” I told him not knowing what else to tell him. “My turds are floating.”
Mike burst out into laughter along with the group. Coming from me, the response was surely unexpected. Hell, I didn't even see it coming. At two weeks away from my final session, and although I'd never see any of them again, it seemed I had earned their respect. After the laughter died down, Mike had a question for me.
“You told us the first time you addressed the group you didn’t think you belonged here. Do you still feel that way?”
“If you’re asking if I think I’m better than anyone else in this class, the answer is no. I didn’t mean it that way.” I explained, looking apologetically at the group,
“The reason I mention it is after fifty weeks, we can’t believe you’re even in here.” Mike revealed to my surprise. “Did you want to come clean now?”
“You never hit a bitch?” asked Danny.
“I never even threatened to hit my girlfriend.” I stated. “I never would.”
“I don’t know how you restrained yourself.” shot Carlos.
“It’s just not like that for me.” I told them shaking my head. “What's there to prove by hitting a woman? We’re physically stronger by nature. There's just nothing to gain. They trust us never to do something like that. Nothing in this world will piss your girl off more than walking away—that’s where the true power lies. You guys have it, it just doesn't feel like it when you're both hurting inside and are holding onto a lot of pride."
I paused, hoping someone would take it from there to let me escape but they were too busy listening, leaving me no choice but to continue.
"I hurt my ex-girlfriend with strong words and opinions instead of an open hand. To be honest I’m not sure if that makes me any better. The minute you start losing control of your emotions, you’ve lost. Yes, people lied to put me here and that's the real reason why I'm here. But I let my emotions get the best of me—letting the liars win. Once you’ve mastered your emotions, you’ve mastered your life. Opening my heart to God is helping me with that.”
“Do you think you’ve mastered your emotions?” Asked Mike.
I smiled then shook my head. “I wish I could say that, but I’m a work in progress. Although I don’t believe I belong here, it doesn’t mean I can’t make the best of this situation by using it to better understand who I am and to become a better person. I certainly never belonged here and I’ve been greatly wronged by sick, selfish and misinformed powerful people, but it doesn’t mean I’m not at fault for being here. I could’ve handled things better but was just trying to make it to the next day—like we all are.”
My words didn’t mean my emotional intelligence reached one hundred percent capacity; it only meant neglecting God’s existence created a bad ending to the story. Anya told me if she fell in love with me (if I swept her off her feet), she would end her marriage to be with me. I fully trusted when agreeing to pursue a realtionship with her that if she loved me, she knew a promise had to follow—especially after allowing and encouraging me to feel all the love in the world for her on such a grand scale. She had to know that, no matter the circumstances and if she didn’t, then she always believed divorce was beneath her and misrepresented herself to me from day one—what made my reaction to such a betrayal impossible to rein in. The way she ended things made me feel less than dirt after leading me to believe the opposite for two years. She even told me she hoped I didn't pursue a relationsip with her out of pity--this coming from the same woman who told me "you broke my heart" when we reconnected five months after leaving her at the bar because feeling so much so soon scared me. She will claim it was all my fault, but I always stayed consistent with my feelings—she always knew what I wanted and needed. The day I started holding her accountable for her words and actions was the day she changed—knowing she was about to be found out. That her love for me had conditions, all on her terms—that she had no idea love should always be on shared terms, not just on the terms of one person. And I would’ve done anything for her to leave Jackson, even accepting unshared terms until she was ready, but Anya was greatly influenced by the power of others and money--hiding that fact from me even after asking about it. She always cared more about what others thought of her far too much to ever truly love me enough to leave her convenient material marriage—why she never left a philanderer who objectifies her. If that was her modus operandi, no problem, just stay the fuck away from me—I wasn't like a dress you buy online only to return but the real deal. Having the City Prosecutor of Long Beach come after me was far beyond my emotional intelligence threshold, especially after the strings pulled in court to get a restraining order reserved for terrorists. Although I blamed Jackson, there was the real possibility she egged him on with half truths about me. Just another part of her requiring reconciliation before putting out the flames of my life.
After wrapping up the domestic violence course and receiving the appropriate sign offs within a year’s time, the diversion program was completed, earning a dismissal of all charges. Although still feeling greatly wronged by it all, a great satisfaction roosted within knowing Jackson hoped I’d come up short--believing I was too mentally wrecked to even finish the program. Jackson and Anya were notified and provided with the details of my progress every three months. It felt good imagining Jackson's anger upon receiving the news each quarter, especially after receiving the news all charges have been dismissed. How he banked on my disdain for a five year restraining order reserved for those who physically assaulted others—as proven by those enrolled in the fifty-week domestic violence class. All the proof to know Teri Shamm, who was never elected as Judicial Officer but appointed, was certainly in on it too--based upon misinformation provided by those who put her in that chair of judgment.
About a week after all the pseudo charges were dismissed, while online reading my emails, Jackson Caiaphas unexpectedly appeared as a possible business connection through Linked-In. I created a free account on the business networking site a few years ago but rarely signed into it, not even to update my profile--making only one real networking connection with everyone else appearing to be annoying recruiters or those trying to sell me something. Without regularly visiting the site, its navigation presented some unfamiliarity to me. Without any intent to view his profile, I accidently selected the link, taking me straight to his Linked-In profile page. Already knowing more than I wanted to know about Jackson after learning he appeared to start a new company "Jaka-Tek", his profile page also indicated his daughter, Katie, had her own Linked-In account. Curious, I purposely viewed her profile page learning she just finished college at Columbia University in New York. Even more shocking than the quickness of these passing years, was that she moved back east. But when recalling her dismay with having “disciplinarian parents”, it seemed her value for freedom drove her that far away from them. I'm sure she loved New York too, but who could blame her for wanting some distance to experience life on her own without interference? It felt good to know she seemed to be doing well, choosing to pursue a law career. All I could do was hope she didn't choose the path of a corrupt City Prosecutor. Although she viewed me as the villain in this story—the man who tried to hurt the goose who laid the golden egg and destroy her family, I rooted for her success in all she ever did from the sidelines. Katie seemed too independent and goal oriented to let her parents’ farce of a marriage or their divorce get in the way of reaching her goals. Upon learning her tuition cost about ninety thousand dollars annually, it proved why Anya obeyed her Master—not out of love or respect for him, but so he could cover the entire cost of her education; the reason why Anya feared the future of her kids could be affected if she left. Unfortunately, it also proved my greatest fear, Jackson's money was why she stayed and never left him. Not for herself as much anymore, but for her kids. Staying for the "sake of the kids" was another half truth, the missing half being for the "sake of the money" too. From her perspective, she never lied to me but by intentionally omitting the other half of her reason to mislead me, made it the worst of all lies. I even asked her the very first night we met if she was there for the money, after learning she was still married, and she denied it. And the worst part about it wasn't her not being truthful, the worst part about it was that I believed her—the woman who only told me she was married after someone else told me. If I had to forgive myself for being that stupid in order to let things go, it was likely I never would. Take money out of the equation and Anya would've never stayed for anyone's sake. You can simply look at Anya and Jackson to know if either drops the ball—gains weight or becomes economically unstable, the rings will fall off their fingers faster than the divorce papers can be filed. And if being "well off" was the reason she stayed, and make no mistake it was, then what's the problem with that? Her kids shouldn’t have to struggle in life and gain any advantage Jackson's money can give them. The last thing I’d ever want for her kids was to follow in my footsteps--having to crawl, scratch and scrape for every opportunity. Hell, I even had two college degrees and a CPA license and still struggled. My only problem was with Anya hiding this from me—leaving me to find out after not only asking, but after falling deeply in love with her. This only brought to light an even sadder fact--if I had never learned about her being married, she would’ve hid that from me as well unless I asked, and even then she still might not have come clean. If anyone is married to someone who motivates them to do such a thing to another human being, to do something that deceitful without disclosing vital information that can only bring harm, then they really need to divorce that person. A huge part of me believes if Anya had done that to the wrong kind of man, her life would be in immediate danger. What Jackson inspired Anya to do to two men is why I have a monster issue with him and to take it to the level he did armed only with misinformation and threats, brought a disgust within me so great at times, I needed God to avoid breaking a major commandment and wasting my eternal life on him. Some people don’t even try seeking God in these situations, but I began seeing how crucial he became being beyond livid with all the strings people pulled based on a pack of lies. In the same breath though, my inability to rein in my emotions caused this horrific outcome as well. Anya had to know how she was always willing to provide me a blanket without revealing all it covered. She should’ve been honest with me when we met, instead of painting a picture of a badly deceived and lonely married woman, if she was never that at all.
After viewing Katie’s profile, happy to know she’s doing well, I closed my laptop and dwelled in further proof of my inadequacy in Anya’s eyes—unworthy of being with her because Jackson provided more than I could. After a few days, my emotional intelligence made an unexpected appearance allowing me to view Anya's decision from a different angle—she didn’t want me to pay for something I wasn’t responsible for. And for the first time, the trauma I’ve experienced through not only my failed connection with Anya but all my prior relationships came to light. My mind capable of feeling only the wicked, never the good. Knowing the Anya I came to know and love, the one who didn't play me for a fool, she likely felt I shouldn’t be burdened with Katie and Andrew’s tuition. Soldifying this belief when recalling a text from her saying she felt like a liability more than an asset if we were together. And for the first time, this small part of her rationale was never revisited or questioned again--now a fully reconciled piece of her.
The feel good moment didn’t last long after receiving a frantic call from Mac Simon a few days later.
“Hey Mac.” I answered. “How are you?”
“Good, Landyn.” He replied, clearing his throat. “How’s it goin’?”
“Not bad.” I told him nervously, unsure why he was calling. “Did you need something from me?”
“I received a call from Claudine Courtney today.” He revealed.
“Really? Why'd she call?”
“She’s claiming you’re stalking her client's daughter on Linked-in.”
“Are you kidding, me?” I scoffed, knowing he wasn't. “Her father suspiciously came up as a business contact suggestion and I came across his daughter's profile while viewing his. I visited her profile one time out of curiosity. What is he trying to pull here?”
“You didn’t try to contact her?” he asked.
“Of course not!” I snapped, wondering if he even believed me. “I just finished the bullshit diversion program so why would I do something that would violate the order after going through that for the last year? I was just curious to see how she’s doing after seeing her profile. Why is Jackson suddenly coming up as a Linked-In contact suggestion? That's the real question. I'm a CPA and not even remotely in his neighborhood of networking contacts.”
“When did you finish the diversion program?”
“You mean the program I accepted when I didn’t know about the Long Beach City Prosecutor's involvement?” I replied sarcastically. “About a month ago. They didn't notify you? ”
"That's great. No, they didn't. Can you send me the paperwork?"
“Sorry about that, Mac. I'll scan and email it to you." I replied. "So, do they really think I want to go through all that again after just finishing?”
“They certainly aren't very happy about you finishing the program." He laughed. "I’m sure the husband laid down a huge bet you’d never see it through.”
“Yeah, well as much as I didn’t deserve to go through any of it...I did. The entire domestic violence class couldn't understand why I was in there...including the instructor.” I told Mac, while reaching for a forty milligram Oxycontin. "I may have not had the best reaction in the world to things, but I'm struggling with symptoms of P.T.S.D over here feeling the same shit a rape victim does after everything I've been through for the last seven years. What's his excuse? I'm not the monster here, he is."
“Just be careful, Landyn.” He warned. “He’s trying to provoke you into breaking the order. He’s watching your every move.”
There’s no doubt once Jackson learned the charges were dismissed after my completion of the entire program, he turned desperate to prove I’m the monster he built me up to be to all those around him. But if I was indeed the monster in all of this, we all were.
“Thanks for letting me know, Mac.” I told him, breaking a smile upon realizing he seemed to have not switched his allegiance. “I appreciate it.”
After my phone call with Mac, it felt good to know I ruled over Jackson's mind, beating him at his own game. For good measure, I filed a police report with the Newport Beach Police Department claiming Jackson Caiaphas was cyberstalking me on Linked-In--putting something on record in case he had Donald Holbert come after me again with another maliciously frivolous allegation. Why was it that Jackson could freely "watch my every move" by actually stalking me, but I couldn't be vigilant without being admonished? I refused to be thrown into a boxing ring with both hands tied behind my back--I had every right to defend myself by any means necessary, even blemishing his perfect public persona if necessary. The restraining order did not give him free rein to provoke me into breaking it and Mac should've never allowed it as much as he warned me about it. What if my own lawyer began siding with Jackson after talking with Claudine Courtney? That in Mac's point of view, finishing the diversion program was also an admission of guilt?
With another fourteen months of Jackson being able to fabricate innocuous violations before the restraining order expired, I shifted my focus to finishing “The Passion Particle” and building my business. After an entire year of hard work for the biotech public company client without being fully paid, I played my hand with Mr. Stansphere and Harris--increasing my monthly fee by two thousand dollars a month. Long before they agreed in writing to the monthly fee increase and just before beginning the diversion program not knowing when they could consistently pay me, I applied for work with a temp agency, picking up a gig as a senior accountant at a prestigious real estate firm in Newport Beach. Over the next fourteen months, after my payable balance with the biotech company grew to a hundred twenty thousand dollars, I laid into Harris about the direction of the Biotech company, even accusing them of fraud and being nothing more than a shell company. In all honesty, working for Harris for free waiting for the company to take off and loving Anya waiting for her to commit to me were parallel, both willing to take all I offered without any appreciation for all I did. After refusing to do any more work until they were current with their payments, this unfortunate falling out resulted in Harris, not only understanding, but reaching out to a firm that could take the product to the next level of production through a reverse merger. When the new company agreed to buy them out, this brought in forty-five thousand dollars of additional business for me that was paid on time. After getting the Company all caught up on its filings, I had no choice but to convert my one hundred twenty thousand dollar unpaid balance into sixty two thousand shares of common stock. After receiving the stock, I terminated my contract with the company as their Chief Financial Officer. When my six month consulting contract with the temp agency ended, the Newport Beach real estate firm signed an agreement with my Company to provide accounting services for them on a full-time basis as an independent contractor. The real estate firm paid me handsomely on a weekly basis, not only saving my business but also providing me with the opportunity to meet and work with, and for, some of the best group of professionals and people on the planet. Life seemed to be unexpectedly turning around, my mountain of debt now crumbling into an ant hill.
The real estate firm's office was on the fourteenth floor, techincally the thirteenth, but it was the highest point of the commercial building. Like most office buildings in Newport Beach, this structure was wholly owned by The Caiaphas Property Group. When management spoke with me about the likely increase in monthly rent when their lease expired in less than a year, litttle did anyone know about my intense affiliation with their landlord. The view from the top of the building was a great selling point for Jackson. Since the firm had the entire floor, the floor to ceiling windows brought the beauty of the evening sky to life, providing a striking view of the Pacific Ocean and its sinking companion. I typically arrived at the office at six thirty in the morning to beat the traffic, providing me with a few hours of getting some work done before the CFO arrived to give me other assignments to work on. I loved being busy though, they paid me without limiting any of the hours needed to finish the work and it made the day fly by. I hadn't felt so content in an office setting since working at KSR, making it hard to believe the days spent there ever happenned. One day while arriving early, I heard some squealing inside the conference room, which was next to my cubicle. Upon entering the conference room, a large brown and white falcon was perched just outside the window. Walking over, I expected it to get startled and fly away but it just stood there, staring at me. When I reached the window, I noticed it had a duckling underneath its talons. After staring at me for a few more seconds, it dipped its beak into the duckling who stared up at it helplessly. Fascinated, I watched it pull its meal apart, limb by limb, consuming it bit by bit. Lost in the rare sight, I was unable to pull myself away from the entire process, up to the minute the bird of prey consumed the last piece before flying away, leaving behind a tangled mess of feathers and blood. After mentioning this act of nature to the firm's in-house counsel, she looked at me for about five seconds before laughing--an obvious frequent occurence because of the golf course below housing the duck population and its feast for falcons.
With things turning around, including the soon expiration of the excessive five year restraining order, finding time to write my novel was hard to come by. Without time to write, the burning inside over the pulled strings intensified. Making me realize, even if my life turned perfect, this scar would destroy any happiness. When the restraining order did expire, how was redemption possible at all? Was a reclamation of honor even possible at this point? I thought this novel would be published the day the restraining order expired, but the novel was nowhere complete. I envisioned bringing the book into the open market would be my redemption but after rereading it, editing alone would take years! What now? How do you make your voice heard knowing it had to be? Of course, there existed reservations for bringing the story to print. There was no inspiration behind it to “out” Anya but there was indeed a righteous purpose behind it. What we shared together wasn’t for the rest of the world to know but the world needed to know its harmful affects--like a new disease. I wouldn’t have wanted anyone to ever go through what we endured. But there was no denying my pride had taken a major blow and the score needed to be settled for me to find any peace after the bearing of such false witness against me, especially knowing others in the past have cowered in fear with their tails between their legs in full retreat when Jackson went after them--unfortunately for him and his minions, that wasn't a part of my DNA. He needed to know I knew about his dealings with the City Prosecutor of Long Beach. He needed to know I knew he sent the letters to my father and to my clients after cyberstalking them—the same way he cyberstalked me for two years. I promised one day the score would be settled and I meant it. He challenged my liberty by fleecing the system, achieving his efforts to destroy my life on false grounds ensconced in incomplete context. If what he told those in power was the truth, I’d walk away from everything knowing I deserved every bit of it. But everything about the ground the restraining order stood upon and its alleged violations was too fraudulent for me to ignore—I reserved the right to reclaim my just character. Not that I was perfect here, but not the monster he hoped to create through half-truths to the decision makers. Each party involved needed to know they didn’t get away with a single thing. I wanted them to know I knew it was them.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
My means of redemption dawned on me while writing a chapter of “The Passion Particle” on a beautiful summer day. When recalling how most days like these pre Mrs. Anya Caiaphas were spent at the beach without a worry in the world. Either basking in the sand for a few hours or biking on the strip. Yet, here I was, inside an overly air conditioned coffee shop feeling a need to swallow a pill even to tolerate living under a clear blue sky. Days I've always enjoyed drug-free were now spent trapped within my mind reliving the anguish of all that happened, like a soul eternally damned. When envisioning what Jackson and Anya were likely doing on this day and others like it--lying on a beach or out on a boat in Cabo, getting ready for a party or a fun dinner, both walking around naked in a hotel room as if they never cheated on each other a day in their life, these torturous scenarios pecked at me like a duckling under the talons of a falcon, tearing me apart piece by piece--why I felt so connected to the process. Like the merciless falcon, they stabbed at me by living without a care of how their marriage, its misrepresentations and misdirections, inflicted deep suffering in my life for no good reason, leaving me with no other choice but to rectify this immediately. No one had the right to take my life away the way they have done. I didn’t want to blame Anya for it, the happiest and best moments in my life were mostly shared with her, but enough was enough. The need for drugs to get through the day have ran its course—I refuse to spend another day trapped inside my head swallowing toxins on a beautiful day that should be spent absorbing a sun nourishing vitamin. I believed she may reach out to me when the order expired, but after six months passed without any contact, there were no more free passes to give. Life was unfair to all of us, but this seemed beyond cruel. Jesus Christ turned the other cheek, but without any peace of mind, I was just too weak to do the same—my hand now forced to settle the score and reconcile Anya.
I wanted them all to hear me, the way Jackson wanted everyone to hear him by writing a letter to my father and clients. The same way he wanted his story heard by a higher power rather than cops unwilling to take a ridiculous report for clearly frivolous violations of a restraining order. The police department knew what a true violation of a restraining order was—they’ve witnessed it on many calls. But a City Prosecutor looking for political allies and maybe a few months of free rent to potentially pocket the city's budget unexpected windfall? Who would ever know?
Anya told me if she fell in love with me, she would be with me. Telling me the only reason she was still with Jackson was because no one would be there for her if she were to leave. She sold me on her kids not being the reason she was still married, even referring to them as “baggage” before I fell deeply. In fact, those words allowed and encouraged me to fall deeper because it’s the last thing I ever wanted her to feel about her kids. I know she never viewed her kids as “baggage” but in the eyes of another man, she feared him seeing them that way--especially after telling me Lance left her because he wanted no part of them in their life together. She never told me she was still there because divorce was beneath her. She never told me she was still with Jackson because she didn’t want to be part of the “general public”; although the general public left their spouses for much less. The worst thing of all was revealing she felt like she betrayed her kids nearly two years after asking me to fight for her—that the “pure” and “true” love she felt with her soulmate was a betrayal of her children. Not the emotional abuse her husband levied upon her for over a decade that inspired her to date a man before approaching me at a bar, but that it was our relationship founded purely on love that betrayed them. An unreal statement with such destructive power, it possibly cost me my entire future--never allowing me to feel or see life the same way again.
After learning Katie graduated from Columbia University and moved to New York, it was clear to me where this betrayal truly lied—that her daughter wouldn’t have been able to receive an all expenses paid out of state college education without Jackson’s money—why I referred to him one time as the goose who laid the golden egg. Anya only still shared a bed with her “roommate” because those golden eggs needed warmth so the future of her children would not be affected by her. And did that make me mad? Not at all--it’s not what set me off. Sure, it hurt to hear because of all she allowed me to feel, and it's something that should've been disclosed in the beginning, not asked. She didn't want me to know because she knew it would be a deal breaker, but in the same breath, all because she still slept with her husband didn't mean she loved him. The fact was Katie and Andrew deserved the absolute best in life and her allegiance should be with them before us. I wouldn’t have wanted either of them to have less for all the hard work they put in and the sacrifices they made. My problem was she failed to disclose vital things to know when we met not allowing me the chance to understand when revealing it all to me. It didn’t mean she didn’t love me, or she never fell in love with me or believed I was her soulmate. This has come to the point of reconciliation and redemption because those monster omissions greatly affected my life. By doing so, Anya betrayed me and herself. The fact that she viewed loving a man, like myself, as a betrayal of her kids was like experiencing a nearby nuclear blast—destroying all I ever trusted in and fought for. There could only be one reason--the money Jackson provided made him her master.
My life needed to keep moving forward from this moment on to silence the cacophony within. Before feeling the coldness of steel beneath me, my side of the story needed to be heard. Instead of posting new chapters on the website, I published an explanation for the true origin of the story to my readers before giving credit to those who made it happen.
"The Passion Particle" is ultimately a fictional story however 90% of the novel is based on a true story. It would be improper to not provide dedications with this novel as many people have contributed to its existence and should be properly recognized. The moral of the story is simply this; "Honesty is always the best policy." As for everyone else involved in the lie, whose only purpose was to hurt my life that inspired me to write this novel, and you know who you are, your dedication is coming in the only form I know how to communicate; the truth. For the reader, I think this makes the story a little more interactive, enjoyable and worth the read.
A few days later, I published my first dedication.
My first dedication goes to Judicial Officer Teri Shamm of the Lamoreaux Justice Center, Superior Court of California, County of Orange. My novel is not an indictment of the Justice Center as they had no knowledge of what happened in their building five years ago. I also don't believe Judicial Officer Shamm to be a bad judge or even a bad person, however I feel the way she handled my case, in particular, was with a certain unprovoked prejudice hinting towards collusion and even political corruption. Not only will the court documents provide evidence of this, but the magnitude of the grossly unfair punishment considering the facts of my case will as well. When Judicial Officer Shamm reassigned my case to a different courtroom, not only did it discriminate against others that day who undoubtedly also would have appreciated their cases to be quickly heard and in a private setting, but further proved my legitmate defense--that the stay away order was being sought not out of a fear for their safety but rather out of a fear of being exposed, resulting in a loss of their reputations based solely on the truth, in both fact and appearance. The fact I was pulled out of a courtroom to have my case heard in a completely private setting, constituted an illegal act--stealing my right to liberty and freedom of speech while aiding the discriminating nature of the proceedings and the resulting unfair ruling I received. Furthermore, I learned years after this event, the plaintiff had many government contracts through his business dealings and that Judicial Officer Teri Shamm herself was married to a politician, councilman Paul Ko who is currently embroiled in alleged wrongdoing with monies received for his non-profit organization. I feel someone who knew the plaintiff through their business dealings, who also knew Judicial Officer Shamm and/or her husband, shared one sided details of my case which prompted me being reassigned to have my case heard in an entirely private courtroom so no one could witness the political theatrics taking place. I also witnessed before entering the reassigned courtroom, the plaintiff having an open conversation with someone just outside the private courtroom my case would ultimately be heard in, giving me a reasonable impression there was collusion and political corruption in the handling of my case. When you consider Judicial Officer Teri Shamm was appointed to her post as judge, and never elected by the people, it's not unreasonable to think she is indebted to those who put her there.
I hope through this novel, Judicial Officer Teri Shamm, and others like her, are put on notice--there are consequences for unfair judgments after being presented with the truth. It’s a judicial officer's sworn duty to pursue the truth in every case they hear without bias and not to pursue truth only when its convenient. Most importantly, I want Judicial Officer Shamm to know, even though she could've been misled and put in a bad spot, she never got away with anything that day if she ever believes she did. That although it may represent a small “favor” she could usually get away with due to the many defendants needing a Spanish interpreter that day, this defendant was articulate enough to know that not only were his rights as a citizen completely violated, but that she also violated the judicial code of ethics with her severe overreaching ruling after an essentially unfair trial. A judge should always be held accountable when the facts and truth of a case are presented, no matter how they are presented, then discriminately ignored to take away basic freedoms and liberties afforded to people by the United States Constitution. Additionally, no judge should just give anyone, plaintiff or defendant, the absolute free rein to lie in their courtroom. Any true objective mind would also consider the defendant could be the true victim. Total whackjobs who stalk celebrities at their homes recieve less severe stay away orders than I did. That day in Judicial Officer Teri Shamm's courtroom, political strings were undoubtedly pulled, even asking me to provide proof of my claims without asking the defendant to provide the same when the burden of proof is never the defendant's responsibility, but the plaintiff's. She intentionally and unabashedly put a sword in the hands of an unconscionable assassin to wield it at me without repercussions for five years. There is no doubt in my mind the magnitude of this restraining order was secured because Judicial Officer Teri Shamm is a useful idiot for the people in power who put her in the judge's chair.
A day later, I wrote then posted the novel's second dedication:
The second dedication is for Donald Holbert and The Long Beach City Prosecutor’s office. No matter what you were told about the situation, here is the truth—money was extremely tight for me at the time, but after finally receiving payment on a past due balance from a client of mine, I filed an appeal to the discriminatory, excessive and illegal five year restraining order ruling by Judicial Officer Teri Shamm. Unknown to me, and I’ll take responsibility for not doing my homework before filing (believing there was a statute of limitations of at least four years), I missed the filing deadline by 23 days--losing the money spent for the appeal. As part of the appeal process, I was not allowed to mail the notice of appeal directly to the defendant. I had to have someone else sign and physically mail the appeal notice after the Long Beach Police Department appeared to drop the ball on its delivery to the protected parties. I then tasked my mother, who was fighting Cancer at the time, to sign and mail the notice before learning the filing deadline had expired. If I had known about the deadline, I would've never asked a loved one who was actually dying of Cancer at the time and in tremendous pain, to sign and physically mail the notice of appeal--making this false accusation against me without any evidence that much more maddening and disgusting. A whole year, possibly even longer, after the appeal was filed and mailed to the defendant, I received a court summons from the Long Beach City Prosecutor’s office stating there was a violation of the restraining order--the “victim” claiming without evidence I mailed the notice, not my mother. Mind you, this was a legal court document required to be sent to them after taking all the necessary precautions without realizing the deadline for filing had passed--an honest mistake.
Because I unknowingly filed the appeal 23 days past the filing due date, the protected parties pounced on the opportunity to wreck my life all because I challenged the legitimacy of the restraining order due to its length when compared to other stay away orders. Notwithstanding the fact, it was obtained on absolute lies. Donald Holbert, using The Long Beach City Prosecutor’s office to its greatest extent, you then pushed for me to be thrown in prison for an innocent oversight that ended up costing me money I could not afford to lose. To make matters worse, after accepting a diversion program deal, I learned your Long Beach City Prosecutor’s office was a commercial tenant in an office building owned by the “victim”. Leading me once again to reasonably believe political corruption had reared its ugly head. My financial situation at the time weakened my position to fight the lies the "victim" made against me, therefore reluctantly agreeing to (1) attend a fifty-two week domestic violence course I had zero business being in, (2) paying two hundred dollars to a battered women’s shelter in response to a woman I’ve never laid a finger on nor threatened to, and (3) complete eighty hours of community service all in a span of one year in exchange for the charges against me to be dismissed. By accepting the terms of the diversion program, I’d save myself $10,000 in attorney fees for a trial I simply couldn’t afford—the only reason I accepted it. Every single judge I came before in the Long Beach Courthouse during this time period appeared to be fair, never giving me the impression they were violating my rights like Judicial Officer Shamm did. However, the manner in which you weaponized the City Prosecutor’s office against me, by pursuing an innocuous and mostly unsubstantiated non-physical crime akin to assault or attempted murder, logically raised my suspicions about this all being politically motivated. But again, I did not learn the City Prosecutor’s office of Long Beach was a tenant of the “victim” or “Caiaphas Property Group” until after accepting the diversion program deal. I thought going through a public defender would provide me with fair representation during a trial however it seemed the public defender’s office also works for the state, not for me knowing its the “People of California”, not the protected parties, versus Landyn Lastman. My public defender even tried convincing me I was guilty before proven innocent, advising me to plead guilty when I did not intentionally violate the order. There just seemed to be an incentive to find me guilty so my file could be swept away off their desk, allowing the state to make money off my guilt for its programs (which are really good for those who truly need them). Upon realizing a conflict of interest clearly exists between the public defender and the city prosecutor’s office, I obtained continuances—needing time to hire a real attorney. Once my proper representation was secured and upon consultation, my attorney believed like I did—Judicial Officer Shamm's initial ruling was illegal and he wanted to fight its legality in a trial on top of the alleged restraining order violations filed against me. Unfortunately, the trial would’ve wrecked me financially—the only reason the diversion program was ever accepted.
For you to wield the power of the Long Beach City Prosecutor’s office against me, in pursuit of a potential one year prison sentence for a non physical violent offense, made me acutely aware how our legal system works. How people can very easily find themselves behind bars not even remotely based on the truth of their guilt or innocence, but because they are negotiating from a weak financial position. They then plead no contest or guilty not because they are guilty, but because they are broke when it’s the legal system they depend on to provide them with justice that is broken. I always believed the truth was sought, but you've proven the truth is bought. As long as a defense is based solely upon "the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth" then it should never cost the defendant a single cent. In fact, they should be reimbursed for all costs incurred for defending themselves against a rogue and thuggish prosecutor. I know someone put something into your ear Mr. Holbert and not soon after I was suddenly maliciously prosecuted and defamed by the office you head. This novel, “The Passion Particle” brings to light what I feel is a major problem with our current legal system, and unfortunately for you, my specific point of reference is how the City Prosecutor's Office of Long Beach is run. For the record, I don’t believe all the prosecutors in your office are corrupt, and I know the ones handling my case were misled and were just acting on your orders trying to make it in this competitive world, however it’s apparent some can be manipulated to become corrupted and for them to practice in a courthouse that carries the respected name of the ex-governor of California, George Deukmejian, is an absolute disgrace. I don’t want you to ever believe you got away with anything. I know all about your back-door dealings with a certain someone at a Cancer Society fundraising dinner meant to besmirch my good character and to keep the character of a very questionable person intact--all for a few months of free rent and likely an unexpected cash surplus in which was likely shared in the form of a "bonus". It would be a shame if someone blew a whistle causing the IRS to audit your office to make sure they received their share too. I just hope it was all worth it, because soon the world will know all about the lack of integrity and ethics of those involved in the attempt on my life. My advice to you going forward is to never allow yourself to do favors for a person you only know of but do not truly know. I know you were lied to about who I am and it’s the only reason why I’m limiting my disgust with you to this dedication. I wanted you to know that I know. You got away with nothing.
A day later, I wrote then posted the third dedication—the toughest one by far. Feeling the need, or the desire, to send this one out into cyberspace made me angry. No matter what I write, they will never see my side nor expect them to--essentially a waste of my time. Unfortunately for me, too many reasons existed not to. The first being the non-existent fear their parents instilled in their minds about me. Second, they already knew who I was. How else would they recognize the threat to their safety? If they were protected on the order, they had to not only know who I was but also what I looked like—especially if they believed the lie I threatened to kidnap them. Third, the threats made to destroy my life and the lies to intentionally defame my character. The fourth, the letter and emails sent to my father’s home after stalking him on the internet to learn of his mailing address along with sending the same documents to my clients. Fifth, it bothered me that they could believe that by their mother loving me, a man who greatly cared for and respected her more than their father ever did or could, also meant she did not love them--nothing could've been further from the truth. And last but not least, hijacking the legal process by urging Donald Holbert, The City Prosecutor of Long Beach and others in high positions of power to get involved. If Jackson had attempted to wreck me with the truth, there's zero need for any of these dedications, let alone this one in particular that will lead to nowhere. However, the last thing Jackson was accomplishing by coming after me by misleading others was protecting his children. Only telling the truth could’ve made him successful at that endeavor. For all I knew, they would likely never see, let alone read, this posting anyway—all I needed was for Jackson to read it.
The third and fourth dedications go to Katie and Andrew Caiaphas who are represented as Ashley and Robert Clarke in “The Passion Particle”. I will make this dedication short and sweet. They are the true victims here; two innocent kids brought into this world who have been lied to their entire lives by the people they should trust the most. The message to them through my novel is simply this; they’ve been manipulated and misled about who I am--that the monster their father created to put fear in their heads and hearts does not exist in any way shape or form. To this day I don’t know how a parent could ever be so selfish to instill a fear that does not exist in the heads of their own children rather than choosing to be honest with them about why that person exists in their lives. Unless of course they had a lot of things to hide, which happens to be the truth.
Katie and Andrew, I’ve wanted nothing but the best in life for you and wanted to share what I've learned about this crazy world we're a part of; that true happiness is extremely hard to come by because it never comes from how much money you have sitting in your bank or investment accounts, or how many horses are in your stable, or how many skiing trips you take to Mammoth, or how many boats you have to cruise the bay with, or how many friends you have on Facebook, but rather from how good someone you love makes you feel about yourself. Why a parent would not want their children to know this in life, when they know it to be true, is beyond my comprehension. I can only guess when a parent is a master manipulator who has to be in control of everything and also carries traits of a classic narcissist and sociopath, it’s easy to understand why they will never tell you where true happiness is found because it would defy all they’ve ever shown and given you. Unlike your mother and father’s union, you need to know marriages are realistic when you choose the right person. I want you both to know that trust and respect means everything in every relationship and if you don’t have it, you don’t have a real relationship. You both deserve real marriages based on mutual love, trust and respect that never leads to infidelity even to settle the score. You also need to know your self respect should never be for sale and should always be non-negotiable--that there is nothing “unique” or “special” about any man or woman who remains loyal to you because that’s what someone who truly loves and cares about you is supposed to do. That it’s okay to stand up for what you believe in even if it’s unpopular because that's what leaders do, not sheep—even if it costs you a friend or two down the road. The only reason this dedication exists is because your heads have been filled with horrific lies about me and that is the god honest truth. I've always had zero intention of ever reaching out to you one day to explain myself. It’s not my place to do that and you’re never going to side with me and I wouldn’t expect that of you—I totally understand. The lies told about me by your father to people in positions of power, who wish to wreck my life, unfortunately made it necessary for me to do so through this dedication and through this novel about what I truly represented in the life of your mother and who I really am. Your father objectifies her—I respected, loved and cared for her. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you, it just means he doesn’t love nor as he ever loved your mother the way a husband should love his wife. I've wanted nothing more than for her to be truly loved and if it was for anything less, you both would've never known me. It's the only reason I am still fighting this battle.
This was not written for you to be upset with or rebel against your parents. Although I feel they’ve focused more on showing you the value of things and money more than teaching you what real values are, their love for you both is without question, and they’re going to do what they feel is necessary to protect you. I don’t fault them for that and they are good parents. My problem is with the lies that's been communicated to others about me and some of those people are in high places who tried to harm me irreparably. My business as a CPA relies on my good name therefore I have the right to protect it. Defending my character is just as important as the protection of their reputation. The lies made about me is a shining example of how a parent can also serve oneself to avoid accountability for the reason an "other" person exists in their lives. One instance of this type of lie was when you were only 13 years old, Katie. When you overheard your mother threaten to divorce your father, and you thought you were to blame for it. For the record, you can blame me for it, and naturally you will because I’ve never given or bought you a thing in life, but please never blame these two people; your mother and you. You were not responsible in any way for your mother’s unhappiness with your father, and I know for a fact you and your brother made your mother proud every single day. I know she loves you greatly because I suffered every single day fighting for her to be honest about her true feelings and to do the right thing by ending her marriage. All the times you ever saw your mother upset and crying, times she left the house to go sit in her car or take a drive somewhere, times she had to excuse herself from dinner, please don’t ever blame yourself or your mother for it, instead blame me for it. Your father may have succeeded as a father and in life, but he failed as a husband in the worst way imaginable. I would’ve never been in the middle of this if that wasn’t true. So, if you ever still wondered about those times, you can now rest your mind because the truth was you had nothing to do with it at all. However, somehow it was reasoned that it was better for you to go to bed with that burden on your mind than to be honest with you to relieve you from it.
It was imperative you both know the truth so this false sense of fear, instilled in you by those who seem to care more about their reputation and image than your peace of mind, is released so you can see the true intent of my actions and what I truly represented in the life of your mother. Your mother and father’s marriage is not one founded on love, but rather on fear and deceit. Their marriage historically lacks loyalty, trust and respect and has simply hurt and disrupted lives around it, even ruined another man’s marriage in the past. What they have is a marriage to keep up appearances for business and networking purposes, and I feel it is their obligation as parents to show you theirs is not a normal marriage—especially when it pushes lies about others. A marriage without loyalty, trust and respect is not a marriage, let alone one you and Andrew should invest your life in. Believe it or not, your happiness within a marriage will determine your happiness in life. Otherwise, I would have never met your mother and known her pain, and she sure in the heck wouldn’t have encouraged or allowed me to fall in love with her and exist in her life--let alone be a significant part of it for two years. If I had no respect for your mother, I’d send you the texts she sent me over those two years and you would know exactly how much your father has wronged her and why I’ve been defamed and maliciously prosecuted. Unfortunately, your mother has been and continues to be a victim of emotional abuse from the destructive mind of your father, who I believe is a sociopath. I organically came into her life to save her from it based on what she shared with me. It's that simple. He has disrespected, dishonored, and shamed her for years and his love for her only represents an extension of love for himself and money. That’s the truth and why fear was put into your minds about me. They are all lies—everyone single one of them. Your mother knows the truth. I know the truth. And now the truth has arrived to you both. Here are some things to keep in mind as you continue life’s journey.
THINGS MONEY CAN’T BUY
- Common Sense
- Morals
- Respect
- Character
- Manners
- Trust
- Patience
- Class
- Integrity
- Love
I hope God blesses you both, that you meet people who respect your heart and mind, and the real love you both deserve from another, that eluded both your own mother and father, never eludes you.
After posting their dedication, it seemed exactly like placing a note into a bottle and throwing it into the ocean--beyond unlikely to ever reach them. They would have to perform a Google search for "The Passion Particle" just to locate it since I used an alias writer's name, Robert Everson, and only Jackson was cyberstalking these days. However, I couldn’t help but hope it reached their eyes after Jackson found it necessary to reach out to my father, my clients and to Donald Holbert. My communication was directly sent only to those who knew of my relationship with Anya and who actually knew me—no cyberstalking required. Unless of course, Anya lied to Jackson about Debbie knowing me; leading him to believe his letter to my father and clients was parallel. If Jackson didn’t want the heat though, he should’ve stayed out of the Facebook kitchen he was in for two years. He knew his wife wanted to be happy after chipping her heart away over the years. The least he could’ve done was make it right by letting her go without making a play for full custody. Destroying Jackson was never the plan; only his role as Anya’s husband--simply by wanting him to know his wife no longer truly loves him after all we've experienced together. Anya owed him the truth if he went seeking it by cyberstalking her soulmate--which he did. God favored those who basked in the truth and not for those who bore false witness. Going back to Genesis, God never allowed King Abimelech to touch Abraham’s wife, Sarah, because He knew she belonged to him. God never intervened on Jackson’s behalf the way he did for Abraham—why everything felt so right all the time. God knew what I knew from the very beginning—Jackson only objectified Anya, only loving her with his pecker and his wallet. Reaching out to Katie and Andrew would never change their minds. They would always choose their father over me and I wouldn’t want it any other way, but could Jackson say the same after contacting my father? He wasn’t changing his mind but he tried anyway, even doubling down when he threatened to destroy me. So, in so many words, fuck him. He failed to protect his children after choosing to do so with lies instead of the truth.
The next dedication was for the one who deserved it above all and everyone else, posting it the day after my dedication to Katie and Andrew.
The 5th dedication goes to Mr. Jackson Caiaphas, President of both the Caiaphas Property Group and now, his new side hustle Jaka-Tech, which ironically appears the “aka” contains the first letters of each of the three family members he’s deceived over the years (Anya, Katie & Andrew), but we’ll get to the details about that a little later. He is represeted as Colton Clarke in "The Passion Particle".
This dedication is not an indictment of Jackson’s business practices. I only mentioned the names of his businesses so there is no confusion about which Jackson Caiaphas I am speaking of. I’m certain he engages in honest good faith dealings with his tenants and clients and I wish him the best on his business endeavors. I can find appreciation in his work ethic and drive to run successful businesses. It’s not why this dedication exists.
In the movie “The Exorcist”, the head priest Father Merrin, tells his assistant priest, Damien Karras, the following before they begin the ritual to rid a demon from a little girl.
“The demon is a liar. He will lie to confuse us but he will also mix lies with the truth to attack us. His attack is psychological, Damien. And powerful.”
In a nutshell, Jackson Caiaphas to me, is the real life manisfestation of this same demon--mixing lies with the truth about me to deceive others in high places in an all-out effort to destroy my life that damn near took it. I think it’s only fair to recap why I carry such a strong opinion after his wife informed me of all the following about him.
- He cheated on his wife when she was pregnant with their second child and with another man’s wife.
- His cheating ways caused his wife such great distress that it was likely the reason why her son was born prematurely.
- After the affair was learned, the other man’s marriage was wrecked irreparably because it left Jackson's wife so distressed, she had to reach out to the husband to work together on a "solution". This caused her additional undue anguish after being gaslighted into feeling responsible for breaking up the marriage when it was her husband and the other man’s wife who destroyed it. Jackson put his wife in an unfair position and she only acted in a manner consistent with what any normal person would do in her situation.
- Jackson Caiaphas was so remorseful, after his son could have died from his premature birth and after he wrecked another man’s marriage, do you know what he did? He cheated on his wife yet again. Her crime? She put on weight from her pregnancy.
- Feeling a great need to repent after cheating on his wife, he instead chooses to make wisecracks around mutual friends that he would trade her in for two 20 year olds when she turns 40.
- Seeking ways to atone for his cheating and for ruining another man's marriage, decides it's best to continue his standard practice of flirting with waitresses and “checking out” other women in his wife's presence. I wonder how he acts when she's not around?
- What kind of advice does the mother of Jackson Caiaphas, who knows of her son's infidelities, give to her daughter in law? “Suck it up, Buttercup!” My mother would disown me if I ever cheated on my wife.
- Not only has he abused his wife emotionally for years, he leaves her with nearly the entire burden of handling all the duties of child raising with little help--other than using his money to hire others to handle the chores she would normally perform. His wife essentially taught her son to play baseball and other sports.
- Allows her, without any offer, to drive the kids to and from their activities late into the night even in hazardous conditions.
- His gross infidelities and disrespect led his wife to pursue a short-term and a long-term relationship outside of their marriage.
- Emotionally blackmailed his wife with threats to kill himself if she left him, threatening to fight for full custody of the kids and giving her his businesses in exchange instead of supporting her having the happiness in life he stole from her.
Jackson,
For the record, the only person who intentionally violated the restraining order was you by calling me using a spoof app to cowardly threaten, harass, and provoke me into violating the unjust restraining order I received based on a pack of half-truths. To add more fuel to the fire, you had the audacity to convince people you knew in government, particularly, a judicial officer of the court, the Long Beach City Police Department, and the City Prosecutor of Long Beach (a tenant of yours) to do your dirty work. I'm sure you'd even cry “slander” or "libel" if I ever uttered or wrote the truth about you, well here’s your chance with an entire novel your own wife used to give me working titles to. You then incredulously took it a step further by threatening to take my CPA license away, claiming you were “powerful” enough to do so—even challenging me to a fight “MMA style” which I declined not out of fear, but out of respect for your children. You even sunk low enough by cyberstalking my father and clients on the internet to locate their addresses in order to send a letter and the emails I sent to a mutual friend to my father’s home (who was in the throes of intolerable grief) and to the business offices of my clients—a classic example of your deeply rooted arrogance in a doomed from the beginning attempt to get them to side with you. But hey, at least now they know all about you too.
Like the emotional abuse you've levied upon your own wife throughout the course of your marriage; you’ve also tried to attack me psychologically, but just like your godforsaken marriage, you’ve failed. After all your shenanigans, I've come to realize something--you wouldn’t have done any of it if you truly believed your wife’s heart belonged to you. I now understand why you were upset after learning a simple truth. That if you had all the money in the world, you still could never give her a quarter of what I did. My conjecture is you learned she saw me after unintentionally walking right by you one night when you were together, and did not report it to the police--refusing to warn you or protect you. You found this out, likely from the husband of the mutual friend, through the emails a year after I sent them because your wife and her friend also refused to report them to the police. I'm also more than certain you saw the emails on your wife's phone because let’s face it, your marriage has zero trust, and you were beyond livid she protected me. There was only one reason why she did not report it to the police--she knows the truth about who I really am and all I stood for. This then boiled your blood enough to accuse your wife of still loving me--likely throwing a tantrum as most children do. In order to prove her devotion to her children and "family" against a non-threat, you then forced her to come after me by threatening to run and tell the kids "mommy doesn’t love daddy anymore". Unfortunately for your twisted narrative, I never came into her life to wreck your "family" but to only put an end to her marriage to an emotionally abusive narcissistic and philandering husband.
No matter what your legal counsel says, I know you’re the Conductor of this Crazy Train, and my question is why aren’t you in any kind of therapy? Can you even begin to comprehend why I felt the need to protect myself against all the lies by emailing Debbie? Did you know I walked away from your wife because she was married when we first met? Even told her if she ever got a divorce I’d love to date her? That I ran into her again 5 months later and she told me I broke her heart? That she referred to her marriage as only a “situation” after asking how it was possible I broke her heart? That she promised me if I swept her off her feet she would be with me? That I have two years worth of texts to prove I did? That the only reason she was still married was because she was afraid no one would accept her and her children? That she believed no one would be there for her if she left? That when you found out about San Francisco, after stalking me on Facebook, she told me she loved me more than ever? That we were only physically intimate because we were best friends who respected each other and not solely due to a physical attraction in which YOU base love upon?
I know you more than I ever wanted to know you. I am simply putting all of this out here because if I hadn’t been told about your transgressions, I would be married by now and have a family of my own—never falling in the financial hole I found myself in. I’ve lost a lot for caring about someone’s happiness in life over my own. Your wife never told me “I want to be with Jackson” or “I want to work on my marriage with Jackson”--telling me instead she feared her kids would hate her. As much as you would love to believe it, I’m not the type of man your kids would hate. They would quickly see I cared deeply for their mother’s well-being and would walk the ends of the earth for her. From what I've learned about her car accident, she doesn’t appear to be in a healthy place. It's what I was fighting for--the fear a good mother was living an unhealthy dangerous life by living a lie. I should have had many more holidays with my mother than I did, and Katie and Andrew both deserve the same. Sometimes it’s not about your libido and your ego. I can tell this simply by the manner in which you run around playing the role of victim without seeing the mess you created--giving two shits less about your wife's happiness over your own. When I found out you were stalking me on Facebook for 2 years, I told your wife if you’re not going to be honest with him, I have to be. Whether it was fair to her or not for me to put her in the position to come clean, it also wasn't right you had to go into my account to get the truth--if that’s what you were seeking and needed. Don't ever fool yourself--the only reason we aren't still seeing each other is because I forced her into being honest otherwise she would've never stopped seeing me. You can take that to the bank.
You need to keep in mind, horrific lies were told about me to people in high places; judges, police officers, prosecutors and surely others in your business and social circles. All I’m coming at you with are things I was told were true or are true. If you had chosen to tell the truth about me to these people, I’d have no reason to do any of this, but you simply did not and I will fight you on everything. We will be in court a lot—whatever it takes to shut your lies down. It's the only reason why I emailed Debbie—to defend myself by telling my side of the story. I even specifically instructed her in an email to not tell your wife which shows no intention of violating the court order unlike your phone calls to me. If I had any plans to intentionally violate the restraining order, I’d take my complaints directly to you. I just wanted her to know my side of things and to explain why I acted out the way I did. I’ll go as far to admit there’s a lot of things I didn’t understand at the time that I have a better understanding of now. I hate to break this to you but if I had any intention whatsoever to break the illegal court order, the last thing I'd do is go through a middle man if its also looked upon as an intentional violation of the court order.
Patience and time are my true warriors and we waited for this moment to make good on my promise to settle the score--now being achieved through this dedication. I do have a strong opinion about things, but only because it carries the truth with it—the means to my redemption. I want to ensure your choice pattern of harassment is extinguished for good. That the lies you told to others about me are destroyed and the truth is known. You need to accept responsibility for the way this turned out. Unlike every other man in Anya’s life you’ve scared off, I refuse to stand for it because the truth resides on my side in this matter, not yours. I will fight you under blood red skies in court over this--wanting nothing less than the lengthiest of hearings to get it right this time.
You should feel ashamed to have deprived the mother of your children a single day of happiness, a woman you promised to God and family “to honor and cherish until death do you part”. You even sat on your ass, instead of being bent on one knee when you proposed to her, but I guess when you have money and can promise her friends your money has bought, the simple gesture of honor and respect for a woman you claim to love didn’t matter. Unfortunately, it only marked the beginning of your emotional abuse, so much abuse in fact, it all felt normal to her until she met me. I’m confident she knows the truth now; that the day she met me was the day she realized how psychologically destructive you have been. That your actions and inactions as a loving caring husband is the reason she felt empty enough to pursue love and happiness again in her life and how dare you deny her that for anyone’s sake!
I've tried living my life by having compassion for others, but your demonic ways need to be brought to light, and I’m glad my passion for writing could do just that. You’re in the business of selling yourself to people, and you have adroitly sold yourself enough that people actually believe your lies. It also appears you’ve met those who will even protect them for you. As hard as you tried though, when you called me using a spoof app like the dishonest person you are, you failed to sell yourself to me--I was already well versed on you and your abusive ways. There is nothing normal or right about your behavior—your money is the only thing validating you. Without it, you’re nothing. Although I would never seek you out, I do hope our paths cross one day just so I can tell you these things straight to your face. The day you decided to phone me only confirmed your cowardice and all I ever learned about you through your wife. The most telling thing about you was that not one single time during our conversation did you attempt to protect her honor. In fact you put her in harm’s way that morning by telling someone, you believed was a "psycho", that she lied to him about everything. I will reiterate what I told you on that day; even though it was possible, I don’t believe she lied to me. She knows if she did, it would be like admitting to a violation of another human being akin to rape. However, I do believe without a doubt, because she told me many times when you asked her about me, YOU were the one she lied to. You can keep living the pipe dream your ego, the false image you’ve built and the fake friends your money has bought along the way, for as long as you live, but the one thing you can never deny is the truth in this life. The truth that I promise you God is well aware of between us--expounded upon as testimony in this memoir/novel. I don’t mix lies with the truth—it’s the truth or nothing at all. That’s called having integrity and character, but I also realize I can’t speak of things you know nothing about.
Here are some things in life you should know in case you didn’t;
- What goes around comes around.
- The lies you tell only build before they eventually come right back to you.
- Honesty is always the best policy.
It’s a shame a man 13 years your junior has to communicate these things to you. At one time over the last 5 years, I was so reflective I even considered it was me who was the classic narcissist and psychopath, but then I realized something; I never lied about anything, and lying is the trait of all narcissists, sociopaths, and psychopaths. That’s the difference between you and I and will always be.
Driven by Jackson’s attempts to destroy me, becoming the peacemaker I strived to be was an impossibility until unleashing this anguish—already losing far too much to deserve any of his attacks. If somehow he believed his actions were noble because he was protecting his kids then my response simply represented an act of survival; the drugs allowing me to stay patient until the time came to settle the score. Posting any of the dedications gave me no joy, only becoming necessary to salvage what was left of my life. If Jackson sought to destroy me, only protecting his kids with the truth about me could have accomplished that. Instead, he chose to slander and defame me to people with power in an effort to hide his unwholesome nature.
After posting this dedication, only one remained. If Anya was still with Jackson because she didn’t want to lose fifty percent of her kids, why did she not communicate that to me when we met? It shouldn't have been something to learn nearly two years after being deeply vested in our relationship. All I ever asked for or needed from Anya was the truth. She never had to love me for a single second and the last thing I ever wanted was to put her in the position we now found ourselves in. Why was she really still with Jackson? That’s all I wanted to know the first night we met so this all could've been avoided. All the things she told me after allowing me to fall deeply—from not wanting to lose fifty percent of her children, to not wanting to be grouped with the general public, to feeling selfish if she pursued happiness, and that she was still there for the sake of the kids because of the money Jackson provides were things she should have fully disclosed before pursuing a relationship. If these things were made known to me in the beginning, I would've never consented to having a relationship with her. Parading her marriage around to others while being in a serious relationship with me was not remotely close to what we agreed upon before deciding to give love a chance. We simply agreed if she fell in love with me, she would be with me, or at least promise to be. If she needed time, I loved her enough to give her that and even expected her to struggle at times. I understood how she could feel but not after pursuing happiness with me and allowing me to feel so much. She had something to fall back on; I did not. She did not lose a thing; I did. And if Jackson finding out about us meant running back to him begging for forgiveness then scheming with him against me, then my anger is completely justified—I’m no one’s dirty secret. She had no right to tell me about his infidelities without any plan to do something about it. If my "soulmate" could never stand up for a “pure” and “true” love likes ours, then how could I not feel betrayed? I took a great leap of faith for her because I trusted all she told me when we first met. For some reason she holds the belief she was honest with me in the beginning even as she remains dishonest with herself.
Two days later, I posted Anya’s dedication.
The 6th and final dedication goes to Anya Caiaphas, represented by Carla Clarke in this novel “The Passion Particle”, that chronicles our relationship. For the record, a couple of scenes between us were embellished for dramatic effect but 90% did happen as told.
Anya,
The story speaks for itself and gives you a golden opportunity to right your life’s wrong. I don’t know many people who are still married after being in a relationship like ours for 2 years. Eventually, you or Jackson were going to end up hurting someone bad enough that the truth about your marriage would be revealed one day. It had to be me because unlike everyone else, I truly loved you. I will never understand, even for the sake of your children, why you chose to stay with a man who has dishonored, disrespected, and shamed you over a man who would’ve never done such a thing to you after being in a very serious intimate and loving relationship with him for nearly two years. I think if you ever read the story, our story, you’ll understand better why I felt and reacted the way I did. As much as you want to pretend you do not, you in fact live with a man who has mentally abused you, Anya. An act he's committed against the mother of his own children that is worse than physical abuse--at least a bruise disappears over time. This pain has done nothing but linger and the abuse led you to me. Ironically, I somehow became a victim of that emotional abuse when you intentionally failed to fully disclose your situation to me when we met and after asking me if I'd fight for you, allowing me to be harmed. I only wanted you to come into the light of the truth so people could no longer be hurt by the lies of your marriage. All because you think people can’t be hurt by what they don’t know, doesn’t make it right--you’re still intentionally hurting them through your actions.
I’ve come to realize over time the mental abuse you’ve endured from Jackson was so significant it led you to me and these subsequent actions. I feel bad for punishing you for anything, but if you were me and you experienced all I have, you would easily understand why I stood up for what I felt was right. I know you’re mad at me because we’re not together (that’s the truth) and it’s why I got mad too, especially when you and I both know we belonged together after all we shared. But if we couldn’t be together, then I wanted to see you with another man one day, not the horrific one whose actions led you to me. I’d much rather see you truly happy with someone else if it couldn’t be me, and that’s the difference between Jackson and I, who claims to love you. If what Jackson provides your children is what truly makes you happy, I deserved the right to know before we pursued our relationship. You had five whole months to do so and you never did. It was as important as telling me you were married. It makes me wonder if I’m missing something here. Is this something you do to people to get through married life?
You told me one time loving someone was letting them go. So, if that is true, then if Jackson truly loves you, then why does he not let you go? Because you know as well as I do, he does not nor did he ever truly love you. You told me one time that he should've married a stripper. He also proposed to you while seated on his ass and not bent at the knee. He was a 30 year old protege of Jeffrey Epstein going after a 19 year old impressionable teenager because you gave him a boner. Would he want Katie dating a 30 year old man at 19? Do any of you see the sickness in that? I know what made you truly happy in life and it wasn’t your marriage to Jackson or the “I’m happy when my kids are happy” Hallmark channel nonsense. I’m the living walking proof of how much you love your kids because of my two years of unrewarded patience and sacrifices. I completely trusted in all you told me and believed you were too good of a person to keep ignoring the truth—hoping my intolerance would make you uncomfortable enough to leave Jackson and to at least meet a man who makes you a better person. Jackson brings out the absolute worst in you and you know it--you were raised much better than this. For you to choose a mentally abusive husband all because of his money makes me feel used and that unsettled me more than anything. I think you owe it to me to leave him after all we’ve shared and been through together, even if it means you are alone for a little bit. It wouldn’t be for long I’m certain of that. The Anya I came to know and love has no equal on this planet.
I wrote this novel to honor my mother and God, but it was also written hoping to bring you into the light of the truth if you ever read it, so you’d have a chance at real happiness again one day with a real man. Not a man who claims he is willing to lose an arm if he could change things yet is unwilling to lift a finger to help you in the kitchen after dinner. He may be a good provider, and a good father, but he needed to be a good husband too—spectacularly failing at what he vowed to do. He’s too consumed with his businesses and his political aspirations to ever be a good husband. You know this truth better than anyone—it takes actions more than an acronym (JAKA) to prove that. As long as you remain with him though, I will fight the lies made about me until the day I die. However, if you do leave, I could then forgive and forget because it meant I wasn’t played for a fool, and you finally did the right thing for once in your life. That’s the only thing I could ever respect—the return of my belief in your honest nature.
After posting the final dedication, I then added a disclaimer to the dedications, in case any friends of mine misinterpreted my intentions, or anyone else who read them and the story.
The following is a disclaimer in regards to the following dedications.
The dedications were not made so others would harass, hate, contact, or ridicule any of the parties mentioned within. They have caused me harm, not you. No contact information, and only names have been provided to ensure they are not contacted by any third parties. These people do run two quality businesses and they should not be contacted as well. This is not my intent whatsoever in any way shape or form. My only intention is to set the record straight with people who have made lies about me to people in high places, and to protect mine and my accounting firm's business name. The dedications serve a legitimate purpose in that they were made solely in self-defense of the many lies, provocations and a pattern of harassment that has been inflicted upon and about me since 2009. These lies constitute harassment, intentional infliction of emotional distress, defamation of character and even gas lighting. The story and dedications only go to prove the level of my fear, anxiety and the emotional distress these lies have caused me over the years.
The dedications were also not knowingly made false statements and represent a statement of fact, or facts I was led to believe were true, and if anything else, simply represents a matter of opinion.
Lastly, in a letter that harassed both my father and clients, the following was written:
“Jackson and Anya Caiaphas are both extremely well respected by so many in different communities, organizations, and circles.”
This statement suggests, and lends to the belief, they are both public figures therefore my dedications represent what I feel is in the public’s best interest. When a company is polluting the environment, I feel it’s best to notify others so they can be safe from harm. These people have harmed not only myself, but others in the past, so I feel these dedications represent a public service announcement so others don’t fall in the same trap I did. I wanted to also bring an awareness to narcissistic, sociopathic and psychopathic behaviors. We are all generally guilty of these types of behaviors however, intentionally lying is the trait which validates these behaviors, and I strongly believe I have enough evidence to prove the accusations made against me were categorically false, and I look forward to defending myself if necessary. My only crime, based on all I was told, was caring about someone’s happiness in life and I paid with my own. I’m the only one who lost and I lost a great deal. I feel I have a social responsibility to make sure this never happens to anyone else with true good intentions.
Thank you for reading and for your continued support and compliance.
God Bless
After posting the dedications, I took a break from writing to focus on beating my addiction to opiates. The only thing stopping me at this point was the months long bouts of insomnia and the unrelenting restless body syndrome symptoms. Having a client who paid me regularly brought new life to my business and to stop taking the pills would subject me to working on an hour's sleep for at least a couple of months. Since the milligram potency of the pills was far higher than those taken before my mother’s death, the uneasiness felt at my mother’s funeral would hit me tenfold this time around. Three months after posting the dedications to “The Passion Particle”, God, who blessed me more than I ever deserved to be, not only helped me fight back the severe withdrawal symptoms allowing me to return to a drug free life, but also had a hand in Nancy Pelosi winning her district over Jackson Caiaphas. Although my political views were unaligned with hers, it was nice to know there was some justice in the world. That the people who thought they'd gain more power by helping Jackson destroy my life remained in their limited capacities at the state level. Equally satisfying was bearing witness to Jackson’s ego taking a major hit on the largest of public stages. The loss, however, appeared to be too much for his ego to bear in December of the year 2017—five months after I posted the dedications to the novel website.
“Hey, Mac. It’s Landyn Lastman.” I relayed into his answering machine. “I need your services again—they filed for another restraining order against me.”