“There’s a story in my eyes,

turn the pages of desire.

Now it’s time to trade those dreams

for the rush of passion’s fire.

I can feel you tremble when we touch

and I feel the hand of fate

reaching out to both of us.

I’ve been holding back the night.

I’ve been searching for a clue from you.

I’m gonna try with all my might

To make this story line come true.”

~ “I Can’t Hold Back” Survivor

I believed our justice system always got to the heart of the matter and eventually the truth—to understand the reasons why a defendant reacted the way they did. That we were innocent before proven guilty. Judicial Officer Shamm claimed to have read my response, but if she truly did, how could she ignore all the lies? How could my defense be less than her accusations? How could my testimony come into question without Anya’s being questioned once knowing she had every incentive to lie? Knowing she was in an extra-marital relationship for two years? Regardless of how I viewed Anya’s love for me, in the eyes of the court she was clearly a woman who cheated on her husband. If she could lie to someone, she shared the same bed with, what gave Judicial Officer Shamm the confidence Anya would be honest with her? How could she criticize her infidelity yet not hold her accountable or even question her at all for it? How could she reinforce Anya’s bad behavior by bailing her out? I didn’t get it until remembering Jackson conversing with a man just outside the courtroom before our hearing. How could I be suddenly pulled from the person who was appointed to hear my case and brought into an entirely separate courtroom? To be heard by an entirely different judge? It had to be a set-up. They knew someone who could pull strings at this courthouse. They were all in on it—Jackson, the sunglass wearing man outside the courtroom and Judicial Officer Shamm.

While sitting until my thirty-minute wait expired, the eyes of two bailiffs were fixated on me, with more hope than vigilance, that I would do something to justify their clandestine crime—to put me behind bars. All I could do was sit there and take it while the craving for a pill left me irritable beyond belief. If Jackson had connections to judges, Anya telling me he “wouldn’t allow it” began making sense. That he could stand on the scales of justice, tipping it in his favor while Lady Justice wore a blindfold to take the kids away from her and deny her half of what she was entitled to. I knew I had to move on from Anya. I knew I had to fall out of love with her. I had no choice but to purge her from my heart completely, but it also seemed I really screwed her over by not being able to reign in my emotions. I wasn’t making excuses for her because what she told the judge was horrific, but I also couldn’t ignore “what if”. What if I was wrong about all of this? That I let Jackson defeat us by letting him turn me against her. That she knew he had judges and players in the courts, in his pocket, and he would use them to defeat her. To defeat us. Everyone wanted to see love as black and white, but a love like ours could never be. There were too many gray areas, even shades of blue—life just wasn’t the same without her. She brightened my life a thousand times more than the sun itself ever could and to lose that was beyond impossibility to stomach. Who else could I blame but her? Who else could I hold responsible but her? As it stood, I now blamed myself too.

Her “he threatened to kidnap my kids” statement during her testimony left me speechless. She said it happened in October two thousand seven, recalling the time she watched the movie “Unfaithful” and telling me it made her feel guilty. This prompted her to suddenly decide she wanted to break up with me via text. I pushed back on it and she reacted very aggressively, even saying “fuck you” to me. Did she fear I hatched a plan to kidnap her kids and that’s why she reacted so harshly? I was only fighting in the romantic sense—for her. Something someone she loved as deeply as me should be able to do without being fought against. If I didn’t love her, I would’ve just said “ok, sounds good. See ya!” Where would I have taken her kids to? My one-bedroom apartment? Tell them they were staying in the closet? I wanted her kids to like me not hate me. I know I never insinuated, let alone ever threatened to kidnap her kids. It never even crossed my mind until she mentioned it in court. Telling her kids about us was never an option—they would never choose me anyway so what was there to gain? Knowing Jackson’s history of infidelities and breaking up of marriages, he certainly would never cry to his children about a woman he abused cheated on him. For her to allow and encourage me to feel so much for her, based on all she told me about him, then not allow me to win the battle against her abuser was beyond maddening. If she never believed she was in control of her own destiny, she had no right to mine.

When the court allowed me to leave, Anya, Jackson and their attorney stood twenty yards in front of me. Jackson wrapped his right arm around Anya as she leaned into his shoulder as they walked toward the exit with Claudine Courtney. Remembering her hand in his as they walked by me that morning then seeing her lean into the man, who she told me made her sick, left me feeling the same. I wanted to hold on to that vision to move forward, knowing I was right all along to question her love, but I knew what that meant—not ready to accept she preferred his hand over mine. After they disappeared, twenty minutes passed before I made my own exodus. the hope of the day now bringing me to a new cold reality about this life and the world we live in. My last vision of Anya would be of her leaning into Jackson, her true abuser, and him being the one to catch her, as if I never existed. The man who dishonored and cheated on her enough to lead her to two other men, was now her pillar. How could this happen to me? How could I pour so much of myself into loving her to be falsely accused of things I never did or said? To be deemed the villain by the most treacherous? Even as a vibrant sun shone down upon me, a sense of impending doom fell harshly upon me. If how our relationship ended never sat well with me, this left an even worse taste in my mouth.

A month after the restraining order was granted, one morning I woke up for work and had a difficult time breathing. In an effort to calm myself, I went outside for some fresh air, but my breaths remained noticeably short and labored. Placing a hand on my chest, my heart was not beating erratically nor seemed out of rhythm. There was no pain, and no arm numbness, just a lightheadedness. Suddenly feeling nauseous, I retreated to my bed, but my shortened breaths made me restless, not allowing me to relax. Starting to panic, I snatched the cell phone from my nightstand to dial nine-one-one, but held off—there wouldn’t be enough time to save me at this point. Fighting to remain awake, ten minutes passed before the nausea mercifully subsided and a cold sweat poured over me. Using both my nose and mouth to breathe, I found a way to shower and get dressed. A new client just moved their home office to another location and had me hold several boxes of accounting documents for them to bring to their new workplace. They expected me no later than nine that morning—the information in the boxes needed to be analyzed and presented at a board meeting that same evening. With breaths that seemed to become shorter, I threw my head outside my open car window in forty-degree weather while driving on the freeway. About a half hour later, just before arriving at the client’s new office, my breaths started to normalize, my lightheadedness subsiding completely. Not knowing what caused it, I just chalked it up to stress,

Planning to unload the boxes upon my arrival, a parking spot right in front of the new office was miraculously available. While pulling into the spot, a woman was walking in my direction at the very same moment. Before reaching my car, she suddenly stopped, remaining as still as a deer in headlights, looking both sad and fearful—the first time I’ve ever seen both emotions on a human face. Upon recognizing her unique physical beauty, my heart started to beat erratically, leaving me breathless yet again—it was Anya. We both gazed at each other, both at a complete loss for words, after over two years of barricades between us nothing suddenly stood in the way of our emotions. The odds of us being here at this same moment had to be astronomical—a coincidence only the universe had the power to design. The last month left me so earthbound; it was possible this could be by a demon’s design as well. Fearing a violation would get me arrested, in front of a new client no less, while remaining inside my car, I motioned for her to continue past me to where she was headed. She then scurried by, disappearing quickly from view without incident. After bringing the boxes inside the office, I tried catching my breath, in disbelief of what transpired, and upset this didn’t happen sooner so we could’ve discussed the heart pendant. Seeing her caught me so off guard, amnesia befell me--having so much to say yet suddenly having nothing to say at all. Retreating back to my car, I drove around for an hour to fight back the urge to confront her about all that happened a month earlier. The look of sadness in her face, the way she appeared to fight back tears upon seeing me, caught me by surprise. Was it disappointment or fear? I couldn’t tell now, but one thing was certain, my feelings for her were not dead.

After the restraining order was granted, falling into a downward spiral with painkillers became an instinctual response, taking upwards to twenty pills a day—no less than three pills at a time did nothing for me anymore. Knowing my breathing problems was the result of my reliance on them was far less important than the dense fog they provided to cover up my painful emotions since the hearing. They allowed me to not only fraudfully face the day but they also stopped me from considering a walk upon a marine green plank. Without them, my mother would have to deal with a selfish son who took his life while she battled for hers. When my usage became too great to hide from her, I went to an outside source, referred to me by a business contact, who dealt twenty milligram OxyContin pills—and these blue pills he claimed were the same. I didn’t care anymore—everything had fallen apart in my life. Work related stress was nothing to me, always fighting instead of flighting when it came to problem solving—that’s what professionals did. Losing Anya though, the way it all went down, coupled with seeing her twice in a month’s span but not being able to hold or talk to her, was a whole different beast—handcuffed by those who had no idea why I felt so strongly. She meant more to me than I even believed she did—a whopping revelation. Being with her felt like a twenty Vicodin a day high that I needed to recreate in order to keep moving forward--my progress only an illusion. Without the pills, I’d be paralyzed in front of clients I hoped to build my business around—a must. Keeping up a façade of my own to prove my mental fitness and accounting acumen to others, while my heart bore the weight of a vast wasteland, scorching my mind every single minute. Everything I ever tackled was with a great passion for life, but without the pills to placate me, all of life’s pleasures were gone—providing the illusion my spirit raged on and goodness awaited me still. Growing up, I wondered how anyone could ever take drugs to the point they felt like they were needed—never believing a drug could ever consume or control me, but the opiates did just that; completely turning me into someone else—trapped in a constant nightmare and suspended in disbelief but too euphoric to be awakened to any problem. On the surface to everyone I was the same old Landyn, but nothing could’ve been further from the truth.

The restraining order, mostly its duration of five years and how it was obtained on mostly false pretenses rubbed me in the worst way. After seeing Anya, the look on her face splintered my mind into many pieces. What if she filed a false police report claiming I was stalking her after our chance encounter designed by the universe? It’s obvious she did know people who could hurt me and what if I lost my CPA license based on a false restraining order violation? She lied to get it, probably being pressured by those telling her she didn’t love her kids or her family if she didn’t. The goal was to put me behind bars the day of the hearing to absolve them of fault in the eyes of others, and here was an opportunity to make sure they didn’t fail on their quest. As much as I started to care less about life, I didn’t want my mother to have to bury her son while she was fighting a cancer battle, let alone see him in jail for six months to a year. If Anya lied under oath to get the order, she’d have no problem lying about a violation. The more I thought about the present danger and the unjust way it was obtained, the more I researched the appeal process. The only thing stopping me was the seven-hundred-dollar fee—a great burden for a man who needed pill money to get through the day.

My new client owned a restaurant and was trying to save it from bankruptcy after falling behind on his sales tax payments. The jobs of many long tenured employees were in jeopardy as their prior accountant embezzled money from the owner instead of paying the government. Saving the restaurant would give me an excellent reputation on which to build my business. After successfully negotiating with the State Board of Equalization, after they threatened to pull his liquor license and close the restaurant down, there was one small problem—he fell behind on his payments to me. Thinking this would be a short-term issue after I had him sign a contract, I agreed he could pay me every two months until he was current on his sales tax payments—allowing the restaurant to stay open while employees retained their jobs and partners retained their capital contributions. Unfortunately, my vision failed to go as planned—my kindness going unrewarded as he fell further behind on payments. When he finally paid me something, I used seven hundred dollars to start the appeal process.

The appeal required me to mail a proof of service to Anya to inform her an appeal was filed along with my reasons for filing it. Not wanting to burden my mother with its mailing, I took it to the police department to have a Sheriff hand deliver it to Anya so there would be zero doubt who mailed the proof of service. The Sheriff had ten days to deliver the proof of service but on day eight, it still had not been delivered. The drugs left me too foggy to consider it was a bad idea to have the same police department, who took the false break in report, deliver the proof of service to their masters. It forced me to burden my mother with signing and mailing the proof of service for my appeal after just undergoing a heavy chemo treatment that same day. After promising her this would be the last time I ever asked her for such a thing, she agreed. After the police department failed to mail my proof of service, I demanded a refund of the fee I paid them, additionally requesting copies of the police reports they took from Anya--specifically the break-in report. They gave me two reports but claimed the break-in report did not exist in their records.

“It has to be on record.” I told the officer at the window, shaking my head in disbelief. “They used it against me to obtain the restraining order.”

“It’s not on record.” He firmly stated, his eyes burning into mine with irritation.

The assuredness in his voice stopped me in my tracks—sounding like Judicial Officer Shamm; defending the indefensible. I nodded then left the department with copies of two of the three police reports, knowing two things without uncertainty—the third was destroyed after the restraining order was obtained and the police department was corrupted.

Ten days after having my mother mail the proof of service to Anya and the court, I received a letter back from the Court of Appeals informing me it was filed past the filing date deadline. The letter from the Appeals court allowed me to submit a reason for the late filing in which I had ten days to respond. Not needing ten days, I began writing my response immediately.

Court of Appeals of the State of California

Fourth Appellate District

Division Three

June 10, 2012

RE: Appeals Case No G0469630

Superior Court Case No. 11V002184

Anya Caiaphas v. Landyn Lastman

Dear O’ Luery, Daniel or for who it may concern,

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

Please accept this document as my informal letter brief to respectfully ask the Court of Appeals to not dismiss my appeal due to an untimely filing.

I feel the ruling I received, a 5 year non-contact stay away order protecting four individuals, two of whom are children, was grossly unjust and unnecessarily excessive and harsh. This restraining order ruling has unfairly affected my life. Restraining orders are intended for those who fear for their safety yet no evidence of threats, no evidence of any violence and no evidence of any injuries were ever presented to the court related to my case simply because there were none. I strongly believe I did not receive a fair hearing in both fact and appearance, and that the evidence provided to the court was not sufficiently examined by the presiding Judicial Officer, which subsequently led to the applicable law being erroneously applied. By not sufficiently examining the evidence, this allowed the restraining order to be obtained on false pretenses, therefore I believe my rights provided in the 1st and 5th amendments to the United States Constitution were denied to me by the court.

I would’ve filed the appeal sooner but was unable to for several reasons. First the $655 filing fee, the $100 required deposit and the $325 court reporter’s transcript were things I had to budget for. If there was an option to pay by credit card I could have done so, but I couldn’t part with the cash. In addition, my business is a fairly new entity therefore my main client at the time was struggling financially and had trouble paying me in a timely manner therefore I only had the cash flow to pay my bills but not enough to handle the required appeal fees until now.

I simply feel this order is protecting the wrong and not the wronged people. I am in great disbelief that not only did I receive a restraining order, but one of this magnitude without threatening anyone with physical violence, without any act of physical violence, without ever being arrested and without any injuries to any of the protected parties. I was an auditor with a local CPA firm for many years. In my profession, I could not substantiate any material amount on a client's balance sheet or income statement without any documentation or evidence to support it. I’ve never been allowed to just take someone’s word for something without evidence to support their claims as it would be an act of negligence if I were to do so, if not gross negligence, on my part. The protected parties appear to have friends in political circles, as I’ve been threatened in the past with people they know personally. Judicial Officer Shamm claimed to have read my response in its entirety in which the court reporter’s transcript will show. I feel if she truly read my response, like she claimed, her ruling was an act of gross negligence because my response provided relevant evidence to my defense she never considered.

In addition, I felt a special arrangement was made to accommodate the protected parties on the date of my hearing. On October 13, 2011, I was assigned “for all purposes” to a courtroom presided over by Judicial Officer Cordon, that was packed that day with other parties, mostly of Hispanic descent, who waited to have their cases heard. Particularly. two of those cases contained physical violent acts and injuries presented to Judicial Officer Cordon. I observed Judicial Officer Cordon consider evidence from all parties and not once did she give me the perception of partiality in her questioning of the parties or her rulings. In fact, the restraining order terms these parties received were either on par or even less harsh than the terms I received. At approximately 10:30 a.m., all litigants were granted a recess by Judicial Officer Cordon. I then decided to use the restroom however one of the protected parties, Jackson Caiaphas, began taunting me in an act of provocation. When I returned to the courtroom after our granted recess without reacting, I was suddenly summoned to have my case moved to Judicial Officer Shamm’s courtroom without any explanation as to why. I believed they were moving some of us to another courtroom due to a backlog of cases that day however my case was moved to be heard in a completely private setting. I felt this courtroom change was made to solely accommodate the protected party, Anya Caiaphas, so she could admit “in private” to an extra-marital relationship, lending further to my argument that this restraining order was not about a fear of safety, but rather about a fear of exposure and a loss of reputation. Having my case heard in a private manner was discriminatory to me in both fact and appearance but also discriminatory to all the other litigants that day in Judicial Officer Cordon’s courtroom. Why shouldn't they also be afforded the opportunity to have their cases heard in a private setting? I’m certain it was just as embarrassing for them to be there that day as it was for us. I won’t go into details, but I strongly suspect because of the people the protected parties are affiliated with, that my ruling had an element of political corruption within it. I truly felt the protected parties had two lawyers that day, their own attorney and Judicial Officer Teri Shamm. I believe my appeal, through the court reporter’s transcript, will show the ruling was partial, and that based on the evidence presented that was not sufficiently examined, the unfairness of the order could not be explained otherwise.

Even though I filed my appeal 7 months after the judgment, I can assure the Court of Appeals that my untimely filing had nothing to do with me accepting the Superior Court’s decision. I would not spend over $1,000 of cash I desperately need if I didn’t feel I had a solid case and strong reasons to support it. I truly hope the Court of Appeals will carefully consider my reason for the untimely filing. I did nothing worthy of being hit with a 5 year stay away order protecting 4 individuals, 2 of which are children, on my record. A restraining order is intended to protect those who fear for their safety. It is not intended to protect those who are afraid of losing face with the people around them. Also, I need to state I’m not trying to paint myself as a conspiracy theorist with my claims of political corruption, but my life has been greatly affected by the unfairness of this order and I could support my claims if I have to. I’m not looking to drag someone’s name through the mud, but the manner in which this restraining order was obtained is egregiously wrong. I think it would be an injustice to our justice system to not appeal this particular order based on the circumstances that surrounds its existence. People have died for this country and to know there are people out there (who only have money and the power they do because of the huge sacrifices others made for them), manipulating the system for their own purposes is beyond wrong. My only true motive here is to hopefully be allowed the opportunity to have the unfairness of the order be recognized and if deemed so, to have it rightfully removed from the record, so I could regain freedoms promised to me in the 1st and 5th amendments, freedoms people died for me to have, and further move forward with my life. All I’m asking for is the opportunity to be heard because I was not allowed to during my hearing on October 13, 2011.

Thank you for your time and consideration,

Sincerely,

Landyn Lastman

Having the kids on the restraining order provided proof they now knew me. How would they be able to report a violation if they didn’t? What bothered me the most about it is how it painted me as the villain in the story—the monster who wanted their mother and father to break up. They did not know the truth—the reason why they now knew me. Why any parent would dare instill a false sense of fear into the heads of their children was beyond my comprehension. Wasn’t that evidence of psychological abuse? Anya knew me well enough to know I wasn’t a threat to them. The goal was never to rat her out to them but to let Jackson know, after stalking me on Facebook for two years, the truth—enough was enough. To tell Anya "You say you love me forever. You say you wish, hope and dream. You say you want to wear my ring. You fight me each time I question your love. Tell him the fucking truth. Let the bastard off the hook. You’re not in love with him, you’re in love with me. We experienced everything two people in a relationship ever could—let’s be honest. I didn’t trust in your love to be lied about. We happened. It all happened and you initiated and pursued it—I was only there to make sure it was not done for nothing." I had to put the pressure on her more than ever and filing the appeal might break her enough to be honest with everyone—especially her kids so they knew there was nothing to fear. I had very good reasons why their parents didn’t belong together and never really did. In my eyes, they were the only good things that came out of the marriage.

After my courtroom hearing, it seemed Jackson was more violent than Anya led me to believe—the convergence of his arrogance, deceitful nature and hot temper the perfect storm. Anya made a smart move by keeping that from me—she knew I’d give my life to protect her and would never tolerate that kind of behavior from him. Although the restraining order weighed heavily upon me, after running into her by chance, I wasn’t convinced her heart was fully into it—that she was forced into this. Even as she walked past me with her hand in his, she walked so quickly by it seemed like she didn't want me to see it. All it really did was allow me to witness the façade of her marriage first hand, especially when he stayed outside the courtroom the entire time—not one time stepping inside to defend her honor. She never told the court she was in love with her husband—only that she wanted to be left alone. When Judicial Officer Shamm saw me without an attorney, she became a buzzard circling the kill. Instead of giving me a fair trial like Judicial Officer Cordon did for others earlier that day, she saw an opportunity to deny that. After learning on the internet that Judicial Officer Shamm was never elected, but appointed to Judicial Officer by the Terminator himself, Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger, it appeared a favor may have been likely owed to the person who put her there. After also learning she was married to a councilman in the same district Jackson Caiaphas was a part of in San Francisco, it provided more evidence this was likely an inside job. By filing an appeal, I wanted her to know, unlike others who appeared before her who needed interpreters, I was unlike anyone she’s ever seen in her courtroom. There was no doubt she viewed me as guilty before innocent that day, even feigning the entire due process she afforded me. Being moved into a private setting so she could get away with it, so they all could get away with it, was beyond easy to see. Yet, I remained unconvinced that Anya ran the show, just a willing participant because she was rightfully upset with me for sending back the gifts she gave me—for that, I couldn’t blame her one bit. It was the way it materialized—the court knowing the petitioner had an incentive to lie due to the nature of our relationship, even knowing deceit was exhibited by the petitioner, yet turned a blind eye to it—handing them a sword against me instead of a shield.

As two weeks passed without any word from the Court of Appeals it left me feeling reflective. A schism within—blaming myself for not being able to handle all the emotions the right way. The other part upset with Anya and her cohort, and another fractured part of me unable to find the justification for letting this go. They say anger was like taking poison hoping the other person got sick but my disposition was as impossible as stopping an avalanche. Without considering it, because of the euphoria they gave me, the pills may have enhanced my inability to let this go on any level. The drug use became so much a part of me, I couldn’t stomach functioning without it. I disliked my life so much, I needed a pill to tolerate even sitting down and eating a meal. And anytime I went without, it felt like my world was imploding. Any little thing, even something as mundane as taking a shower or shaving, things done in the past without a thought about reaching for a pill, was now needed to remain inspired in a world I’ve never felt more disconnected from.

The goal wasn’t to make Anya’s life miserable. I didn’t want to go back and forth to court as much as she didn’t, but this pain kept me pushing through all these unbridled emotions. The more mundane life became, the more insufferable it was. Never achieving the same high anymore off just one or two pills, needing three to four, sometimes even five, to feel good enough to even talk to another human being, let alone a client. When Anya told a judge I threatened to kidnap her kids, I lost faith in the goodness of people, mostly women. The drugs kept me connected to her through the euphoria they fed me—hoping this was all Jackson’s idea, not Anya’s. The euphoria felt through the Vicodin and now the OxyContin, kept hope alive the real Anya would turn against Jackson—to remember all we shared and all I was truly fighting for. She was better than this—I’d never fall so damn hard for someone who was just like every other woman out there. Secretly though, without that hope, whether it existed only in my head through a pill, I didn’t want to be here. Even the labored breaths never caused worry anymore, embracing them with the hope they’d cease leaving me breathless, the way she used to leave me whenever my eyes met hers.

While spending another late night at my client’s office, my cell phone began ringing, displaying a number unrecognized. Usually, I let these calls go to my voicemail, but something told me to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mister Lastman.” Answered a female voice. “This is Claudine Courtney—Anya Caiaphas’s attorney.”

“Hello.”

“Mister Lastman. I am calling to warn you to leave my client alone and to stop harassing her.” She demanded.

“Excuse me?” I replied, astonished by her request. “How am I harassing your client?”

“By appealing the restraining order.” she stated. “In all my years as an attorney, I’ve never heard of someone filing an appeal to a restraining order.”

“Well, I guess you better be ready to see a lot of firsts in your legal career when you encourage your client to spew frivolous claims about me in court.”

“There were no frivolous claims made about you in court.”

“You allowed your client to tell the judge I threatened to kidnap her kids and that I was outside her home.” I told her, feeling unsettled by her dishonesty. “Two things that never happened so you could get the most severe restraining order—one lasting five years due to the threats of kidnapping and trespassing. Did you ever get my response to the restraining order?”

“I never saw your response to the restraining order.” Claimed Claudine.

“How could that be? You never asked for it from Anya?” I asked, further irked by her dishonesty. “You know your client had to get a copy and you never asked for it even after the Judge put it up on her computer? Anya didn’t give it to you?”

“No.”

“Okay. Um…well she lied about a lot of things in court that day and I pointed each one of those lies out in my response.” I explained. “Since you have a wealth of experience, and have never seen anyone appeal a restraining order before, have you ever seen anyone pulled from an assigned courtroom in the middle of the day to have their case heard in a completely private hearing?”

“What are you trying to say, Mister Lastman?”

“I’m trying to say your client filed for a frivolous order, you aided her in doing so and this was a set-up.” I clarified for her. “There's no way this is Anya doing this alone—this is Jackson and his politically corrupt friends giving you a blank check to do whatever it takes to destroy my life. Would love to know the amount of the retainer he has with your firm, Miss Courtney--my conspiracy theory would make a lot more sense.”

“Conspiracy theory is an understatement! That’s not true, and you are a complete psycho!” she retorted. “Even the judge pointed that out!”

“That’s because she was in on it.” I snapped. “The goal was to get the “psycho” description on record—nothing more, nothing less—to justify her gross negligence of justice that day.”

“Filing an appeal to a restraining order is absolutely unheard of—it only further demonstrates a continuation of your abusive behavior towards Anya and her family.”

“The only true abuser here is who Anya is still married to.” I clarified, my voice starting to shake in tandem with my phone hand. “And I’m not fighting the restraining order in its most general terms. If Anya doesn’t want to see or talk to me, I understand after what I’ve said and done. My problem is with its magnitude because of the false pretenses it was obtained upon.”

“General terms.” She mocked.

“If Jackson could influence Anya to perjure herself, nothing would stop her from lying to a cop about me violating the order.” I argued. “If she obtained it with the truth, I would have no reason to appeal.”

“You’re making things up in your head, Mister Lastman!” She countered, giving me Judicial Officer Shamm flashbacks. “You wrote love notes to someone who never loved you—a psychotic act in every sense of the word. My client loves her husband and you need to move on. You need to accept the fact she was married and you got involved to destroy a family.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong about anything.”

“Now you’re out to wreck the reputations of two people who have done nothing but good for the community. Who are well liked and respected because she broke your heart. People have their hearts broken everyday but no one whines about it as much as you do.”

“Maybe that’s because no one is willing to risk, let alone lose, all I’ve lost.” I told her. “But that’s my reality now, no one else’s. If Anya wants a restraining order against me, she can have it—but not based on false narratives. And not because she was counseled by her attorney that the tenets of trespassing and kidnapping, whether they happened or not, are the ones judges would automatically grant you a five-year protective order for. Now, you have to deal with an appeal.”

“How long is this going to continue?” She asked. “It’s already been four years now, almost five.”

“This will only last as long your client remains dishonest. The choice is hers.”

“This will not be overturned, Mister Lastman—it’s a waste of everyone’s time.”

“You may be right about that, but if you really believe this will not be overturned, then why call me to discuss it?” I counterattacked. "What are you guys so afraid of? The truth?"

“Because someone needs to tell you that you need to move on or your life is about to be destroyed.”

“The shenanigans pulled that day left me with nothing else to lose—thank you for allowing me the opportunity to tell you and your client that.”

“If that’s what you want." She sighed heavily. "I look forward to completing your fall, Mister Lastman--you were warned."

“Thank you for your concern.” I replied, heavy on the sarcasm.

“And for the record, my client never did nor does she owe you an apology for anything. Good evening, Mister Lastman.”

“Based on the little knowledge you've received from her about our relationship, that couldn't be further from the truth. Good evening, Miss Courtney. I'm sure we'll be facing off again real soon.”

"Looking forward to it." She answered before hanging up.

Knowing this conversation would get back to her client, it felt good to let some steam off. The ruling was so egregious and the lies so horrific—I couldn’t let her get away with it. I didn’t want Anya to get in trouble for perjury knowing Jackson pressured her, but she should know better growing up in a Christian household that it shouldn't be so easy to bear false witness. I know mothers would do anything to protect their kids, but to tell a judge I threatened to kidnap her kids after she shared so much of their lives with me? After she told me no man wanted to be with her because she had “baggage”? I just couldn’t believe she went through with that evil lie. I wanted badly to believe Jackson made her do these things—plunging her into a position to be unfairly judged for a crime he wanted her to believe she committed—that she betrayed her kids by finding love in a man who honored her; a man who knew more than anyone how much she loved her kids. Her continued dishonesty only disgusted me because she allowed and encouraged me to feel so much for her. The appeal was filed simply because my survival depended on it--to force the pressure back on Jackson to see if the real Anya still remained. The only person in danger of me was me.

Ten days after having this conversation with Anya’s attorney, a letter finally arrived from the Court of Appeals. With the promise of salvation, I quickly ripped open the letter and scanned its contents.

COURT OF APPEAL – STATE OF CALIFORNIA

FOURTH APPELLATE DISTRICT

DIVISION THREE

JUNE 7, 2012

ANYA CAIAPHAS

Plaintiff and Respondent,

1.

LANDYN LASTMAN

Defendant and Appellant.

____________________________________

Since the filing is 23 days past the appeal filing date the Court of Appeals has dismissed the above case.

Clark R. Kelley,

Clerk/Administrator

By: Daniel O’ Luery

Deputy Clerk