“Halls of justice painted green,

money talking

Power wolves beset your door,

hear them stalking

Soon you please their appetite,

they devour

Hammer of justice crushes you,

overpower.

The ultimate in vanity.”

~ “…And Justice for All” Metallica

After two years of stalking me on Facebook, Jackson at last contacted me directly—confirming the rat took the cheese. After all his attempts to provoke me into breaking the order, he was broken down instead. It was only natural for a man like myself to fight for the one who holds his heart, and if you couldn’t do that in life, then what could you ever fight for? There seemed to be only one thing left for me to fight for…the truth. It was evident in Jackson’s voice, the way he delivered his name, this wouldn’t be a pleasant conversation. Mentally, he needed to be brought to his knees—in the same abusive manner he hurt Anya and those around him with his self-righteous narcissistic behavior. Jackson Caiaphas was not a normal human being, unlike those I’d treat with compassion, but rather a sociopath of the highest order. A true psychopath bent on turning me into the selfish abusive monster who chipped Anya’s heart away for years.

“It’s nice to know you know my name now—likely the only one you’ve never made a dime off of knowing.” I told him. “What took you so long?”

“I’m callin’ to tell you that I’m gonna bury you.” he countered. “You do not know me or what I’m capable of.”

“I know enough—more than I ever wanted to know.” I told him, shaking my head. “Why do you think I chose to be in this? Cause’ I didn’t know anything about you?”

“Let me tell you somethin’ right now, you sick FUCK. You have no idea who I am! NO IDEA!” he yelled. “I’m a VERY powerful man and will do everything in my POWER to DESTROY YOU! I will take your business AND your CPA license away from you! I’ll own YOU! I can do WHATEVER I WANT to WHOEVER I WANT YOU FUCKING OBSESSED PSYCHO!”

“So far, you’re living up to everything I was told you are. You may be a powerful man, Jackson but you’re also predictable.” I told him, nodding. “Extremely predictable.”

“What you DON’T know about me is that I love my family! I’m a good father to my kids!”

“When did I question your love for your kids?” I replied, trying to recall if I wrote that to Debbie. “I never said you were a bad father; only a horrific husband. You proved that when you cheated on a pregnant wife then left her to basically raise the kids on her own while making her work part-time for you—your female employee.”

“I’ve NEVER cheated on my wife! She lied to you about everything! EVERYTHING! She loves me and has only ever loved ME. Not only are you a complete psychopath, you’re an absolute fool to believe otherwise!”

“I don’t believe she told me the entire truth about things—I’ll give you that much but only because she was afraid of losing me.” I told him, not believing a word he said. “The one thing I do feel confident about is that she has definitely not told you the truth—that you’re the one she lied to. And if I’m an absolute fool then you must be incredibly insane to think that I wouldn’t have reacted so strongly to all of this if I believed for a second you’re truly the man she loves. Let me tell you, Jackson—it’s you who has no idea who I am.”

“Oh no…no, no, no—I know exactly who you are. I’ve known who you are for years.” He spoke, mocking my tone. “You’re the type of man who wrecks families and I’m the type in the business of protecting mine from a man like you at all costs.”

“I think you need to rethink coming after me the way you’ve come after others based on just thinking you know me.” I doubled down. “You’re heading down a painful road of truth that’ll only lead to the end of your world as you know it. If you want to protect your family, the last thing you wanna do is come after me.”

“Oh…is your end near, Landyn Lastman.” He snarled. “Your life will soon belong to me—that I am certain of. I’ll even fight you MMA style.”

“MMA style?” I laughed. “Like I wrote in my email, I don’t hit women so you’re safe. Much more than that though, I respect your kids too much to get in a physical altercation with their father. Maybe you should act your age for once and show them some respect too?”

“Come on, Mr. Lastman and confront me! I’m begging you.” He egged on. "I’ll meet you anytime, anyplace, anywhere.”

When he challenged me to a physical fight, my ego wanted so badly to set a time and place. The truth was though, I’d fall right into his trap—it’s what he wanted his kids to see. If I fought him, they would hate me more than they already did. It would only prove I was the monster their father told them I was. Teaching Jackson Caiaphas a lesson went beyond giving him the ass kicking of his life—it wouldn’t accomplish that goal at all. Jackson would win that battle before I could throw a single punch.

“You’re lucky you have kids.” I told him. “We’ll talk face to face when the time comes about what you tried to pull in court three years ago. Like I said, that score will be settled one day.”

“What did I do in court that day?”

“The strings you pulled with the people you know. I saw the man you were talking to. Don’t pretend he did nothing that day to help you.” I told him. “You’re a really brave man in a courtroom.”

“I’m gonna put you in a deep hole you’ll NEVER get OUT OF! This is only the beginning! Remember I own you today, tomorrow and FOREVER!” He yelled into the phone.

“If that’s the way you play the game, then bring it on! You may have scared off the others before me but that won’t work for you here.” I responded, defiantly. “I have somethin’ you don’t have in your favor—the truth. And the truth always wins in the end. You’re gonna put yourself in a world of hurt by trying to come after me with lies. That’s all you have are lies—I could only lose if you came after me with the truth.”

“You will lose in every way imaginable, Mr. Lastman.” He replied angrily without denying how he would achieve the feat. “Even in ways unimaginable.”

“This call has only confirmed every single thing Anya told me about you. I owe her one hell of an apology for what I put her through by breaking down on her.” I told him, preparing to go down a road I never planned to before his call. “But since we’re on the subject of the unimaginable, let me ask you a question I’ve just been dying to know.”

“What?”

“Do you still kiss your wife passionately?”

“You mean like just this morning?” He laughed. “Our lips are always near when we’re alone…even when she was seein’ you! Still after nearly twenty years of marriage!”

“Because I know things she will never tell you, and I wouldn’t want her to tell you the places where her lips have been.” I shot. “However, I will tell you that I’m certain you’ve tasted me.”

“You’re a DEAD MAN!” he shouted, trying hard to hold back his sobs before hanging up.

My biggest complaint about Jackson was how he didn’t bring out the best in Anya. After what I told him, it also seemed he brought out the absolute worst in me. Imagining Anya’s lips on his after all she told me about him just put me over sanity’s edge. I never wanted Jackson to know in any detail what we shared physically. This was never about that, but seeing her lips near his after telling me she didn't trust him just set me the fuck off. She told me she’d never love “another man” the way she loved me, but there she was for the entire world to see without me knowing Jackson was that “another man”. I’ve never felt more disgusted and disrespected in my entire life. After building a new relationship with God, times like these left me struggling from resorting back to old habits. The last thing I wanted Jackson to know was what we shared one night in a San Diego hotel room. If he was ever still an option for her, and she had to know he was, that should’ve never happened.

Apparently Jackson wasn’t finished after hanging up, but opted not to answer his return call—not wanting to sell Anya out more than I already did. It was up to Jackson to face his reality and do what he needed to do with the information provided to him—he was the one digging and stalking me on Facebook for it. Undoubtedly Anya would deny it, opting to play the "he's mentally ill" card but any woman in her position likely would. I always believed if he ever called me, the marriage could not be going well because if it was, why would he feel compelled to call me at all? I knew what meant more to him than anything, even more than his family—what was most important to any aspiring politician; his reputation. I wanted him to go to bed with the same thoughts I did each night—hurting to imagine Anya being intimate with someone else. If Jackson was right about never cheating on her, it made more sense why Anya stayed—her choice being more logical; why she struggled making a promise to leave. At any rate, this history of his abusive behavior ended with me—refusing to be a quiet victim like Lance and the others who were trapped inside their inner circle. The true reason why Anya chose me over them.

Having the information needed to reclaim what was left of my life, my heart and mind drowned in grief over the loss of my mother. Dealing with the guilt of not being there emotionally for her took its toll, only building upon growing thoughts to discontinue existing. The hardest thing was knowing not one single time did I ever pray with or for her. I never prayed that God would help her heal or deal with a very serious illness—at times even believing she wasn’t sick at all. She even treated me as if I was the greatest son on earth when I fell horribly short of the son she deserved. A son that didn’t keep her up at night, only adding to the stress that fed her a steadier diet of cancer. Was it a stretch to say I killed my own mother by falling short as her son? I honestly didn’t find it a stretch at all. After finding God, it was too late to correct the many things that could have extended her life. I believed failing Anya would be the toughest thing to live with, but failing my mother made it impossible to live with, bringing me closer to a steel ascent like never before.

Beginning to see the kinds of people Anya respected and admired helped me absorb the void she left. Now fully aware of the types of men who garnered her respect and who she was most drawn to, it left little doubt for two years she pretended to be someone else—worthy of a few Oscars. Although I began questioning her love, she always left me believing I was wrong, especially whenever she said “I love you forever”. The truth was any woman in her fragile emotional state would have told me they loved me—even missing me. In the end. she never missed me the way I needed her to—only missing what I gave her in a marriage that Jackson’s “love” stole. There seemed to be nothing special about me, let alone our love.

Hoping to be a more positive person and a man of peace, reading the Bible became my new hobby—well, a simpleton version of the Bible anyway. After reading the story of Joseph, it seemed eerily like my life—even more so having the middle name of Joseph. It’s almost as if God was trying to tell me all these years, “you should’ve read this one sooner—it would’ve saved you a lot of heartache”. Although Joseph was by far a holier man, his luck was on par with mine for similar reasons—most notably his fallout after meeting Potiphar, the wife of someone with power. After reading this story for the first time, I put the Bible down to take a small break to retrieve my mail. The only thing in my mailbox though was a letter from the Courthouse in Long Beach. Up to this point, my only affiliation with any courthouse was the one in Orange County. While opening the letter on my walk back to my apartment, there seemed no way this was meant for me—that I’ll likely have to readdress this with a new envelope to its intended receipient.

My name at the top of the letter ended all speculation who it was meant for—a notice of an arraignment hearing to be held in fourteen days on June 20th; ironically also Jackson and Anya's twentieth year wedding anniversary. A criminal complaint was filed against me in Long Beach Superior Court alleging a violation was committed of PC166(C)(1) twice, both misdemeanors. Before Googling what the penal codes were, I first Googled what an arraignment hearing was—a criminal proceeding at which a defendant is officially called before a court of competent jurisdiction, informed of the offense charged in the complaint, information, indictment, or other charging document, and asked to enter a plea of guilty, not guilty, or as otherwise permitted by law. Never being arrested or accused of any crime, this notice made zero sense to me. What did make sense was that Jackson Caiaphas was behind it, making good on his promise to destroy me.

After receiving the hearing notice, I visited my father to get my mind off it. I tried visiting him more after my mother’s death, but my business and the deep depression that followed the withdrawal symptoms kept me mostly away from the house. I also never knew when my dad would be home so calling in advance had to be done before even getting in my car.

“Hello?”

“Hey Dad, it’s me. How are you?”

“I’m okay, you?”

“I’m hangin’ in there.” I replied, with honesty. “I was thinkin’ of stoppin’ by. Are you gonna be home?”

“’ll be here. You have a package that came today.”

“Really?” I replied, believing they sent the notice of my arraignment hearing to my parent’s house since Long Beach was much closer than where I lived. “Is there a name and return address?”

“It’s a letter addressed to me, so I opened it.” He informed me.

“Oh.” I told him, knowing who probably sent the letter. “What did it say?”

“A lot…I need to know if it’s true.”

“Let me come by and read the letter first—I’ll let you know if it’s true or not.” I told him. “I’ll see you in about an hour.”

“See you then. Bye.”

The minute I entered the house, he had the letter already lying on the dining room table for me to read—including every email I sent Debbie underneath it.

We are sending this package to you because your son Landyn is mentally ill/disturbed and needs your help. We have enclosed letters written and sent by Landyn.

These lengthy letters and text messages have been going on for years. Rather than us going into a lot of detail about the relationship he is referring to, you can read the letters for yourself. We suggest that you read all the letters thoroughly so you can understand for yourselves the level of your son’s erratic and obsessive behavior and mental illness. Who knows what’s true or not, but we can tell you that Jackson and Anya Caiaphas are both extremely well respected by so many in different communities, organizations and circles and the letters are far from being true or accurate from what we know or understand.

As you will read in his letters, which are all over the place, he was and may still be addicted to pain pills or some other drugs. He is truly disturbed and continues to stalk all of us, as well as Anya and her family.

Your son needs help. He is psychotic and emotionally distraught and disturbed. He continues to contact everyone he knows that knows Anya and none of us want anything to do with him. As we understand it, there are 2 court ordered restraining orders against Landyn and he continues to violate them. He will find himself in jail shortly. Quite honestly, none of us know what he wants or is trying to achieve and it’s been going on for over 3 years. We’ve all had enough!

Because you are his father, we thought it was important that you are aware of what he is and has been doing. He has been on a downward spiral and is destroying his life, his future, his career and his mental well being.

We certainly hope as his father and family, you will care enough about him to have an intervention and get him the medical help he needs.

Also, Landyn has told all of us many times over the last 3 years that he would stop contacting us, but time and time again, he continues to harass and contact us.

WE DO NOT WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOUR SON. WE ALL WANT HIM TO GO AWAY AND TO STOP STALKING US AND HARASSING US. HE IS NOT OUR FRIEND AND NONE OF US WANT TO EVER HEAR FROM HIM AGAIN. PLEASE MAKE SURE HE GETS THIS MESSAGE LOUD AND CLEAR.

Please ask him to leave us alone. This has been going on for 3 years! He needs help.

Shaking my head then smiling at my father, I asked him to have a seat after reading paragraphs of half-truths, seemingly written by Jackson, that he mailed to my father. I then shared the entire true story and my personal struggle over the last four years. Surprisingly for the first time, my father listened without passing judgment—even after showing him the arraignment hearing notice.

“Did you do anything wrong?” he asked, putting his glasses on to read the notice.

“I don’t think so.” I told him, truthfully. “I’m assuming the hearing is about these emails I sent to her friend—the order didn’t state I couldn’t. But, if I sent them then told the friend to send it to my ex-girlfriend, then I’d be guilty of breaking the order. You can read the emails; I’m not embarrassed and have nothing to hide. I never asked her friend to do that—even stating not to.”

“What if she sent them to her?” he asked, scratching his nose.

“Then that’s her decision after asking her not to.” I told him. “I’m confident I did nothing wrong and they’re just trying to save face—they have a lot to hide. He wouldn’t have mentioned being “well respected” in the community if they didn’t.”

“Basically, they’re trying to paint you as crazy—a loose cannon out to hurt them physically.”

“That’s exactly what they’re tryin’ to do but they're also tryin' to discredit me so people don't believe I'm tellin' the truth.” I replied, nodding. “Listen, I’m not sayin’ I wasn’t deeply affected by how she handled things, and I’m not perfect here either. There were heavy emotions involved. All I’m sayin' is the only danger they face is the loss of their reputation.”

My father looked at me and nodded.

“You know…” he said while removing his glasses. “Jewish husbands are the worst.”

I started laughing. “I never knew that.”

“At least from what I’ve seen.” He finished.

"I hear catholic husbands aren't so great sometimes either." I joked.

"You have a point."

“Well, this one I'm dealing with here is a shining example of that stereotype." I told him holding up the letter to him. "There’s a lot of blood on his hands—this isn’t his first rodeo and it’s time someone stood up for themselves against him. I’m the first person he's ever faced off against who has nothin’ to lose. He’s tryin’ to destroy my life with half truths about me.”

“What do you mean you have nothing to lose?”

“I lost my job—my partnership promotion fighting for this woman’s happiness.”

Stating sternly. “You could lose your CPA license.”

“To be honest, if I lost it, all I would lose is a reason for people to continue underpaying me.” I responded. “Business owners think accountants are a necessary evil. In their eyes, I’m just a glorified bookkeeper—the professional equivalent of a gardener these days. If I lose it, I’ll go back to school and do something else that makes me feel valued and fulfilled. After this garbage, seeing how money ruins people…I don’t care anymore. Life is too damn short. I need to find my way to heaven now.”

“Are you still takin’ drugs?” He asked me, a genuine look of concern on his face.

I started laughing. "Why? Because I don't give two shits about losing my CPA license?"

"No. I just..."

“I quit after mom died.” I cut him off. “I’m not gonna lie…every day is a struggle but I’m battling through it.”

“We can get you help if you need it.” He offered. “Get you in some kind of rehab program.”

“I’m fine now, Dad.” I told him, affirmatively shaking my head. “I don’t wanna get in the frame of mind feeling the need to celebrate yearly anniversaries for something I should be—I feel I’m stronger than that. That's great for some people but it's not for me. The severity of the withdrawals I went through for months is a strong enough deterrent for me to stay off them—it was beyond awful.”

“Well, just know you have help if you need it.”

I nodded. “Thank you. How you holdin’ up?”

Fighting back tears, he took a second before responding. “It’s hard but I’m managing.”

Seeing three empty Kleenex boxes in the living room told me he was having a much harder time than leading me to believe. The truth was my mother’s passing was terribly difficult on both of us. Seeing Jackson’s letter on his table, adding more to the grief I witnessed, left me enraged. After opening up to my father about my challenges, it showed we needed each other, an opportunity to build trust and work on mending our historically contentious relationship. Before leaving the house, I further opened myself up to his judgment by telling him about my failing business venture and financial trouble on top of my legal trouble. He then offered me to move in with him until I got back on my feet. Although I had to place all my furniture, including my office desks inside a storage unit, it was the only way to get back in front of my mounting debt and falling credit—if there was still a chance of doing so. My father needed the company and the help making the decision a win win. What Jackson intended for evil on this day, God used for good.

I wasn’t upset with Jackson for writing the letter—all was fair in love and war. After all I sent him Anya’s gifts, but what infuriated me was that he sent it to my father, who he knew from the emails was in mourning. Jackson may have pretended to love his wife for the sake of his kids, but my father truly and dearly loved his. My father married my mother for who she was not because she gave him morning wood. When I sent the gifts back to Jackson, I sent it to a person directly involved, not to his mother or to Anya’s parents or even his kids—something I easily could’ve done. As much as Anya and Jackson convinced themselves I’d contact their kids, there was no way to ever justify doing so—no matter how much I felt betrayed. Katie and Andrew were on the inside, but truly outside and were innocent parties to our relationship. To contact my father because I contacted a friend who knew of my relationship with Anya, was not a parallel. Jackson even sent copies of the emails and letter to the owners and even the employees of the restaurants I did bookkeeping for. How he learned that information was unknown to me but it clearly involved cyberstalking with criminal intent. In my life, if you had a beef with someone, you settled it face to face and out of court—I refused to play a child’s game by getting a restraining order against him. Jackson had the right to call me after calling him out in my emails to Debbie. He didn’t have the right to stalk my father online to obtain his mailing address, then send him a letter announcing himself as “extremely respected” by many and that his son was mentally disturbed and still on drugs—all half-truths all because I vented to a friend who knew of our relationship. If he had the right to do that, then I had the right to send a letter to his two kids. Letting them know how “extremely respected” I was and how their psychotic sociopathic mentally disturbed father cheated on their mother several times. What he didn’t know is that Debbie enabled Anya to have a relationship with me and that’s why he likely felt justified, but Debbie was not a member of his family but a friend of the family—BIG difference. Still, I fought back the heavy temptation but his letter made me angry enough to reach out to his kids after sending the letter to my father, an innocent party.

I took the letter home to use as evidence against him at the arraignment. I also went online to grab the details of my phone bill to show the court by contacting me he intentionally violated the restraining order. After reading the letter again, I couldn’t stop concentrating on certain parts of it. First, how the actual stalker accused me of stalking. Second, how he claimed there were two restraining orders not one—Anya probably hid the fact the first restraining order attempt was rightfully thrown out because she feared what he may learn. Third, his statement “he will find himself in jail shortly” confirming his deep corruption--having the audacity to believe people learning the truth about his infidelities, based upon purposeful decisions he made in life, was the equivalent to lying about someone else to purposely destroy their life. Only a psychopathic egomaniac would dare try pulling that off. Sorry, but if you decide to stay in your marriage, it will be under an umbrella of truth and no longer under the cloud of deception. I refused to let anyone else outside of their polluted marriage, who cared deeply about them, to be destroyed by their lies.

The one accusation to think about was “none of us knows what he is trying to achieve”—I had to ask myself that same question—what was the ultimate goal here? It couldn't be about vengeance but about redemption. From the outside looking in, seeing all the trouble this caused me, it didn’t make much sense to people. But, if they knew what I’ve lost. If they knew how many others suffered trusting Anya and Jackson who did nothing but resort back to their deceitful and harmful ways when people started holding them accountable for the way they felt. If they knew how much trusting in Anya’s love affected my life. If they knew there were two kids who believed I was out to hurt them. If they knew about the heart pendant. Why couldn’t I defend myself? Their marriage should not be allowed to disrespect my right to feel natural things as a human being—feelings I was encouraged to have and allowed to trust in. Jackson believed the more pressure he applied, the more I’d cower for cover, but that tactic could never work on a man with nothing to lose. Unlike Anya, I prepared myself for the consequences of the decisions I made in life. And I never lied about things hoping to make them go away, also unlike Anya. They felt with great conviction and righteousness that trying to destroy a man’s life with lies was a noble act of protecting their children. But, if they truly desired to protect their kids, they needed to eliminate me by being honest. If they did that, what power did I possess against them? All I had was the truth. Anya lived her entire life finding it normal and natural to lie to those around her to protect the people she loves. The problem, under these circumstances though, being it was the manifestation of love for oneself than it was for others. After all, what was my crime? Loving someone who I believed felt the same for me? If I couldn't defend myself in the name of love, I could never defend myself. The truth was there were many things to accomplish by sending those emails to Debbie, even on a subconscious level besides defending myself and venting. I wanted to break Anya down into becoming an honest person—the one I fell in love with so hopefully someone else could feel her love the way I did one day. The more pressure she felt and the more anguish she saw me endure because of all she encouraged and allowed me to feel, there's no way the woman I came to know and love could continue with the charade. There’s no way she wouldn’t drop the charges and realize protecting her kids with the truth was not only the right thing but also the just thing to do in the eyes of God. In the end, she would render me powerless and without any reason to carry on. She could then leave Jackson without carrying the burden of extreme unhappiness and find happiness with someone else one day. As much pain as she brought me, no one could love someone the way she could. To deny her ability to love from the world by keeping her stuck with a man she never belonged with would be a crime. Unfortunately for my heart's sake, it now appearred my role in her life was not to be with her but so she would know love and gain the courage to choose happiness one day with someone else. If loving someone was letting go—I loved her more than any other man ever could. Nobody loved her the way I loved her and I wasn’t going to baby her like Jackson did—I never cheated on her. If she chose someone else in the end, other than Jackson, at least the sacrifices I made for her happiness and for love, would be worth it. I refused to accept Jackson’s version of her—this evil perverted persona of Anya just couldn’t be real. She could never be Jackson’s bitch. She had to see the wrong in him--his methods and rationale. If I were to just walk away forever, she never would. Maybe this is what she foresaw and why she asked if I would fight for her? To attack Jackson’s version of her to reveal the woman I knew and loved so her soul could be saved?

Another thing that furthered me along was his “who knows what is true or not”. I could guarantee this much—he’ll never know what was “true or not” if I ran away from him. By stalking me on Facebook for years, he apparently wanted to know--even boasting about how he's known me for years yet unable to get my last name right until his life depended on it. I didn’t need Jackson’s network to be respected and successful, unlike Lance did—his worst nightmare. The buck stopped with me and his marriage was no different than a factory that polluted the environment—it was time to go green on his ass. When Anya told me he would “come after me” believing he was fighting for "love", I had no idea he'd use people in high places through the court system to achieve that. Then again, what else could I expect from someone who would cheat on his beautiful wife while she was pregnant because he had sexual needs? Why Anya felt he should have married a stripper--his behavior nothing less than expected. After all Anya and I shared, there’s just no way she loves that man. After all we shared, she was beyond resentful about what he’s done to her. Frankly, I could understand why Anya didn’t tell him the truth but she told me she did—telling me she told him she loved me but he said it didn’t matter. How could she ever accuse me of making up my own conclusions when she does that in the name of protecting those she loves? Loving me is being honest with me about everything, even the bad. Loving her kids could be different but loving me had to be based on the truth and nothing but. And if Jackson really believed I was “mentally disturbed” and “psychotic”, why would he tell me Anya “lied to me about everything”? Wouldn’t telling a psychotic and mentally disturbed person such a thing put her in great danger? Women were killed every day in these situations by crazy men. If Jackson truly loved his wife, why would he jeopardize her safety from a mentally ill person? The truth was, he could care less about her happiness after learning she was in a two year relationship he asked her to end but never did. That’s the real Anya—that’s the one I loved and still fought for—even if she ended up with someone else. Sure, it would be devastating to me, but at least loving her was good for something—that she did grow and become a better person by leaving him.

Anya once told me when I called her beautiful it hung in “midair” for her. Jackson could call her “beautiful” every day and it meant nothing to her. Now I understood what that meant and it meant a lot to me. The real Anya deserved the word “beautiful” to hang high twenty-four seven for her. If I gave up the fight and let this all go, a piece of me believes she’d lose that forever. By fighting, it gave her the chance to prove me wrong about everything—resuscitating her beauty. To prove the entire last four years without her was my greatest miscalculation—she deserved that chance. I just couldn’t give up believing she was an honest and good person—that I couldn’t be that foolish. Even my mother wanted to be wrong about that.

After receiving the notice of arraignment, I did what any person in my frame of mind would do—email Debbie again hoping it got back to Jackson.

5/21/2013 9:09 p.m.

Excerpt from “The Great Gatsby”. I think you know who this applies to. Thought I would share.

“They were a careless people. Tom and Daisy. They smashed up things and creatures and then retreated into their money and their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they have made.”

No court. No law. Will ever deny me my first amendment right to protect myself from people who think they are better than others. People who are both arrogant and narcissistic.

5/21/2013 9:16 p.m.

In a life full of mistakes, they have now made the greatest one they will ever make.

Thank you for keeping this line open for me to vent—I appreciate it. I figured since you said hi to me at the restaurant while having lunch, you didn’t possess the same two faced qualities Anya unfortunately does. I appreciate that. Take care.

5/21/2013 9:29 p.m.

Just so you know, I had to do some chest beating with Jackson because he was inside my private personal accounts. This was all done in self defense. I don’t know what he is capable of. After all, I was physically intimate with his wife for 2 years. That must eat him up if he can’t stay out of my personal internet info even to this day. I saw him in my Linked In account and history has shown it’s reasonable to believe he’s still in my FB account too. So now I’ve got something to say about it. No one will take away my right to defend myself. It’s that simple.

5/22/2013 1:50 a.m.

You know it’s funny. He pays for something every day that I got for free. Their marriage is basically a form of legal prostitution. I have an idea, have him not give Anya another penny and let’s see how long she stays with him. Better yet, motivate Anya to gain twenty to thirty pounds and let's see how much he loves his wife. I won this battle a long time ago.

5/22/2013 6:23 a.m.

Let me tell you something about good parents—they give their kids the things money can’t buy in this life, and not just the things it can. You don’t need to have children to know that much is true. I know more about kids than they do in 18 years of raising them.

And if wanting the best for someone is a form of harassment then sue me. I have solid reasons for her leaving him, it's not only about a broken heart. This isn’t about my happiness. This was always about her happiness.

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5/22/2013 6:30 a.m.

I have worked hard and made great strides in my life since my mother’s passing. I’m nearly back to the old Landyn—the one with a purpose and who is in control. I’m not the Landyn of 2 years ago with a lot of raw emotions.

5/22/2013 6:47 a.m.

Do you think Jackson would be there for Anya if she lost a breast? If she got Cancer? He cheated on her when she was carrying his child! He’s an arrogant narcissist who cares only about himself. He’s the real psycho.

5/22/2013 8:22 p.m.

So, let me get this straight. I have no order from the court stating I can’t contact Anya’s friends. This only proves if she wanted her friends protected on the order, she doesn’t fear for her safety which is what a restraining order is for—not for the fear of losing a reputation. Second, I sent these emails directly to you and never requested you to tell Anya—in fact requested you not to. Third, I have absolutely zero proof these were even received thinking they just ended up lost in cyberspace. If you had responded to me and told me not to email you again and I still did, or you blocked me, I’d understand the charges much better. The facts of a violation don’t add up because I actually have to do something intentionally in contempt of the order for there to be a violation—not just fire off empty words to no one. I hate to break it to you guys but it’s not against the law to date a married person, and the married person is not the one with the power in these situations. I’m not married nor was I. If she respects her marriage at all, she simply shouldn’t have started a relationship with me—period. I trusted her not to after I told her I walked away because I didn’t want to fill a void in her marriage. Instead she told me I broke her heart—she’s unreal. If she had chosen honesty over lying to me, I would have walked away. She seems to think she can do whatever she wants to in life. Now after they filed this complaint, her circle is going to know what she’s about and as much as I don’t want that, I really don’t because this puts her at the mercy of Jackson and his people, I have to protect myself from her lies. Win, lose or draw. I hope she knows I’m now fighting for her soul.

5/22/2013 8:31 p.m.

This woman visited me even on the same days her husband was suspecting she was cheating on him. How could she be this great of a coward? What does anyone over there really stand for? She should have been begging forgiveness from Jesus Christ, not from Jackson. Not from a man who has cheated on her several times that drove her to cheat herself and leading her to feel she betrayed her kids. Is this what she wants for her children in the future? Being cheated on is a vicious cycle. Anya’s dad cheated on her mom and then Anya got cheated on too. So, she wants that cycle to continue for Katie and Andrew as well? Makes no sense to me when she can end it by being honest. Would you want this cycle to continue for your son, Debbie?

5/22/2013 8:37 p.m.

Sorry, I just don’t get the logic. I can’t make anyone do something they don’t want to do—all I can do is add my two cents. I don’t know what you were told, but I’ll tell you this much—you can hook Anya and I both up to a lie detector and we’ll find out real fast who is telling the truth and who isn’t. I’m more than willing to.

So, I pose this question. Anya told me one time about my friend, Mitch, or as you know him as, “Special Ed” (Now I understand why he wasn’t so fond of you guys). In regards to SE, Anya told me I should surround myself with people who add value to my life, and I agreed with her. Now the question is this…how does this not apply to Jackson as well? We all know he adds monetary value to her life, but what real value does he add to Anya’s life? All he has inspired her to do is destroy her own life by leaving her feeling unfulfilled even with two wonderful kids.

From the lies she told me to all the pain those lies caused me, she is now trying to take things away from me I’ve worked my entire life for because of the decisions she made to marry some creep who cheated on her and their family while she was pregnant with Andrew. After she met a man who understood her pain and who only wanted to see her in a better place in both her heart and mind based on everything she ever told him. Think about it—she told me she couldn’t quit me. That alone should prove Jackson adds as much value to her life as Mitch added to mine. There’s a reason why she couldn’t—a real reason why. Why isn't anyone paying attention to this over there? Why aren't you girls supporting her right to have the life she deserves?

5/22/2013 8:40 p.m.

It’s a shame that she decided to play this card. I was really starting to make real progress in letting this go—you ladies must miss my emails. I have to say I’m sure they are quite entertaining. I’m mad about the way she handled things but I’m not angry enough to hurt anyone that would put them in any fear for their safety. I really don’t care what she does anymore, but there are times when I do get upset with her for what's she's done and would like her to experience the daily struggle I go through so she understands the wrong she's done. As long as her last name is Caiaphas, I don’t care if she becomes the second coming of Gandhi or Mother Theresa, she will never be the person I know she can be. She is not a good person as long as she remains with Jackson. That’s not an opinion but a fact. I hope one day she can meet someone who brings out the beautiful person I got to know and love. I know for a fact I brought the best out of her—she even told me so (unless of course she lied about that too). Who knows what is true or not is right—I have no idea what to believe from all the things she told me anymore. All in all, I think this is a good thing for me. I know I’m not the same person I was when the restraining order was first issued nearly 3 years ago. I’m on solid ground and not standing in quicksand anymore. Okay, I’m done and getting off my soapbox. There’s only so much I can write before I even get sick of it. Hope to see you on the 20th when we can ring in the 20th wedding anniversary of Jackson and Anya’s blessed union filled with infidelities and the bearing of false witness. I loved that the arraignment hearing date was on June 20th—how fitting.

And of course, I thought I could end it there, but after they filed the complaint against me, I didn’t care now having phone records Jackson violated the restraining order twice.

5/23/2013 9:51 p.m.

A couple of more things and I will disappear. First, I hope you know I would hurt myself before I would hurt anyone else—I’d take my own life before hurting anyone else. In fact, if the courts decide to be unfair yet again, and I do lose my CPA license, I’m going to end things—there would be nothing left for me to live for. That should make people happy over there and quite frankly, I don’t fit in here anymore anyway—if I ever did. I’m as unhappy with the world as much as it’s unhappy with me—I don’t mind exiting. There’s nothing here for me after losing my mom. I remember one time Anya asked me how I could be so sure my father never cheated on my mother? For the record, if my own mother was faced with the decision to stay with someone who had cheated on her for the sake of the kids after having an extra-marital relationship with another man for two years, she would've done the right thing and left my father, refusing to live a false life. Her self-respect could never be bought. After Jackson’s letter to my father, I’m sure he would love nothing more than to come to court on the 20th to answer that question for her personally. I think Anya and Jackson both need to know what a real marriage is all about and how realistic it is. After all we shared, her marriage is nothing but a sham that needs to descredit others through the court system to keep it alive.

The only reason I emailed you was to defend myself, vent and give you my side of the story. If I thought emailing you would be a violation of the stay away order, I would have just contacted Anya directly—why go through a middle woman? Not once in any email did I ever ask you to pass info on to Anya for me and I would never ask that of you. Sure, I vented big time but I know what’s at stake for me personally, but again this restraining order exists on false pretenses, and even though I have to still respect that because the state court failed to protect my constitutional rights, I’m going to state my case if I have a safe forum to do so. All I ever did by emailing you was present my side of things and defend myself. That’s all, and you can block me at any time—no hard feelings, Debbie. I would have blocked me too.

It’s crazy but I’m at peace with most things and a lot less upset with Anya. I wasn’t even upset with her when she filed the restraining order—I understood she had to do that. It was the lying that came with it. The false break-in report. The false stalking charge. The false phone calls to her house and hangups. The false kidnapping claim. The lies to the cops. The lies to her husband that I was some obsessed psycho with zero grounds for feeling how I did. The absolute perjury committed in the courtroom. And to be honest, I know why she did it but enough was enough. I was good with her complaints about me but obtain the protective order on the truth, not on lies—that was her mistake. I know I put her through a lot but I trusted her enough to know that when you tell someone “I love you forever” and “I want to wear your ring” that claims of harassment and stalking are simply never options unless I was threatening to kill her. That was just way too much for me to understand. My belief in love was really all I had left. Without that, this life means nothing. So, it’s time to go. If I take my life, it’s not Anya’s fault at all—she was just the icing on the cake. It’s just an overaccumulation of everything. Things are just meant to work out for other people. It’s obvious I never really belonged here especially if we didn’t belong to each other after all she encouraged and allowed me to feel for her regardless of her circumstances. She never should’ve done what she did to me let alone be able to look Jackson in his face with so much to hide.

At this point, even my newfound belief in God could not save me from my fate—to lose faith in everything else left on earth then sinning by taking my life. Without love, without that hope or promise, there was no purpose of being for me—clearly missing the window where love ruled by twenty to three hundred years. If Anya could live a single day without me after all we shared and all she ever told me, trusting the words “I love you” from anyone else again was an impossibility. As much as I wanted to believe Jackson was behind it all—would someone who loved me ever allow him to come after me? Then again, it’s possible she never knew he sent that letter to my father or called me on the phone. Maybe she refused to attack me the way he wanted her to and he did these things on his own? It wouldn’t mean she didn’t love her kids or family but maybe she still loved me? Maybe she knew he was hell bent on putting me in jail and taking my CPA license away to ruin a future together she still believed in? What if I’m wrong about her? I’d never know if I were to back down now—or maybe I’m just crazy for that to even cross my mind. Strange how Jackson was so proud of the letter, he wouldn’t put his name or a return address on the package—his righteousness somehow gone missing.

Jackson hoped to upset me enough to break the order; upset me enough to fight him “MMA style”. Hoping to forever cement in the minds of Katie and Andrew, who already saw me as the bad guy, that I was the monster in all of this. There was simply no turning the tide in their minds if I kicked the living shit out of their father. Even without the kids, Jackson had to attack me first before I’d even throw a single punch. Sometimes my thoughts get the best of me, but when reality arrives, a push for diplomacy overtakes the internal furnace for war. If Jackson provoked a real psychopath, his call would've not only endangered himself but his entire family. At his age, how could he lack such emotional intelligence? Or was he just extremely confident in his ability to destroy my life? To destroy my future because I gave his wife the love she always deserved from him? His actions only proved he didn’t care about Anya—too focused on his ego to consider how provoking a wild beast could put his family in danger. His provocations only furthered the need to defend myself. Didn’t he understand he had a lot more to lose than I did? While focused on destroying my life he was setting himself up for a fall from his political pulpit. The more I began to think less emotionally, the more I saw another reason why he wanted to destroy me. By taking my CPA license and freedom away, he believed it would also take Anya away from me forever—losing the ability and the means to support her. Providing me baggage of my own like Anya claimed to have the night we met. Jackson knew being convicted of a crime and having a jail record would blemish me in the eyes of not only Katie and Andrew, but Anya's parents, brothers, family and friends. A mark that he likely believed paled in comparison to his and would give rise for them to question any affinity Anya had for me--including any support for me. Maybe Anya having the knowledge of the things he did would be enough for her to realize she threw a love away she never should have?

I also had to start easing up on Anya—I didn’t come into her life to rip hers apart. Seeing her with Jackson, after all I gave and lost for two years, was just too much to bear. What else could I have expected from her though? She was my twin in that way—living by the golden rule; an eye for an eye; tooth for a tooth. Anya was angry with me as much as I was angry with her—only becoming disconnected due to the nature of our relationship. If it wasn’t fair for her to judge me based on things other men wouldn’t have to deal with, it wasn’t fair to judge her when she felt her back was against the wall. If she stayed with Jackson, there was no saving her soul because of what he inspired her to do—bearing false witness. Anya could say she was protecting her kids but she could not encourage and allow me to fall deeply in love with her then cover for the man that led her to me. It was game over at that point for Jackson. She didn’t have to sell Jackson out to be with me. All she had to do was tell her children that "Landyn honors and respects me as a person and loves me for who I am and not for what I can give him"; that "Landyn doesn’t treat me like a tool but as a true equal partner and best friend". Katie and Andrew have both witnessed her leave the house, even threaten divorce—in a sense she already left their father open for judgment. How can she suddenly protect him knowing the man I truly am? I even began feeling for Anya to stay with Jackson, in a sense she was being loyal to me, bringing meaning to something she told me—if she couldn’t have me, she didn’t want anyone else. And there was also this undeniable truth—she was with me when she was with Jackson. Without her leaving to be with someone else after all we shared, she had to have known there was no other love for her she wanted from anyone else.

Jackson wanted his kids to fear me so Anya could never have my love. It never crossed my mind to reach out to her kids, but after sending the letter to my father knowing he was mourning my mother’s death, it became seriously considered. Feeding the fantasy dialogue to let them know "I’m not the monster your father is making me out to be but rather the man who loves and wants the best for your mother even if she is with someone else". What if her son was so enraged he felt the need to eliminate the threat and ruin his life forever over a lie his parents told him? Especially if he believed I was a psycho and mentally disturbed? With no proof Jackson sent the letter though, communicating to Katie and Andrew was completely off the table even when the restraining order expired—they were untouchable in my eyes. If Jackson admitted to sending the letter, then he crossed the line that made potentially contacting them fair game.

When the morning sun rose on June twentieth, the day of my arraignment weighed heavily on my mind not knowing what to expect. For some reason there was a feeling of dread—that the truth wouldn’t matter again. All I could do was trust in God’s plan for me, being more aware of how the universe works—recognizing the free will He graciously gave me and to us all. Lucifer ran the earth these days and I could feel him lurking below waiting to devour what he lost—those days of me blaming God for things he was solely responsible for.

Upon arriving at the courthouse, newly built in the City of Long Beach and named after a former Governor of California, George Deukmejian, a great uneasiness fell upon me. Before I could take another step past the scanning area, after retrieving my car key and cell phone from the small bin, a woman with boyish looks and messy short brown hair approached me.

“What are you here for?” she asked, sternly. “You look lost.”

“I’m just tryin’ to find out where I need to go.” I told her, looking upwards.

“Can I see your documents?” she asked, her hands extending out to me.

“Sure.” I replied, quickly handing them to her.

“Ah, you’re on the fourth floor, courtroom number four eleven.” She stated, pointing upwards. “You can take the escalators all the way up.”

“Great! Thank you.”

“Do you have representation with you today?” She then asked.

“Representation?”

“Legal representation.” She clarified, looking around. "A lawyer."

“No, I didn’t think I needed one today.” I told her. “Plus I’m experiencing some financial hardship right now and really can’t afford one.”

“So you need a public defender?” She mentioned abruptly, looking at my documents further.

“Yes but…”

“What’s the problem?” she cut me off, looking back up at me with an annoyed look.

“I’m tryin’ to figure out what I’m being charged with before determining if I need one.”

“You have a restraining order against you.” She blurted, her green eyes returning to the notice of arraignment I gave her.

“I do.”

“I think you need one. Let’s sit down on the bench over here.” She motioned with a head tilt toward the area where the bench was located, moving her vegan frame hurriedly before looking back at me. “And you broke it.”

“I hope you mean that in the form of a question.” I told her, before sitting next to her after feeling wrongfully accused off the bat.

She skeptically gauged me, her thin eyebrows forming inward, without nodding.

“No, I did not break the order.” I elaborated.

“Well, it clearly says right here you violated it, not once but twice.” Furthering her conviction of me, placing a pointed finger on the notice.

“That’s not true at all.” I reiterated. “I’m clearly being accused of that, but that doesn’t mean I broke it.”

“So, what does it mean, Mr. Lastman?” Her eyes now peering deeper into mine.

“It means I’m not guilty.”

“So...you’re pleading not guilty?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s what you’re here for today.” She told me, a slight smile forming on her face. “But I have to warn you—everyone here believes they’re not guilty.”

“I’m sure you see a lot of guilty people who claim they’re not guilty.” I told her, smiling back with an appreciation for her approach to explaining what an arraignment hearing was through her skepticism—she had to be with all the people she dealt with every day. “I’m not one of them.”

“We’ll see.” she replied before handing me a pen and a piece of paper from her binder. “Fill out this paper work. It will cost fifty dollars for my services but you can mail a check to me when you have the money. My address is listed right here—my name is Nancy. Nancy Stonebeck.”

“Thank you, Nancy. Nice to meet you.” I said before shaking her hand.

I quickly filled out and signed the document before handing it back to her. We then made the trek to courtroom number four eleven and waited in line before finally entering to take a seat. Nancy had a seat assigned to her with the other public defenders near the judge while I took a seat in the back with roughly eighty other people. There was no sign of Anya and Jackson—likely not being required to be at the hearing since the State of California was accusing me of violating the order. My arraignment not disrupting their wedding anniversary plans after all.

After the judge appeared, a tall heavy set caucasian female with light brown hair curled at its ends, she swore us all in and then began settling the easiest cases—those that could be quickly resolved or moved to a later date. While waiting to be called up to enter my plea, I considered going to catch a movie and visiting my father afterwards—seeing if he wanted to grab dinner. Still a month away before moving in with him, he was by himself being tortured by his own thoughts. He asked to come to the courthouse in support of me, but I told him to stay home and relax. He didn’t need to witness the place where my belief in love took me and how it ended. While sitting there listening to the cases being heard, it dawned on me how falling deeply in love today could lead to such travesty—even making me grateful my situation didn’t involve to financial ruin through child support or alimony. It was sad to see all the love stories, poems and music ever written or told were mostly fables. How all these years holding the belief a happily ever was non-fiction made me a psychopath in the eyes of the world. Except for a lucky few, this is where love led people today—a courthouse; nothing more than low income housing for love’s impoverished. That the state legal system profited upon those who believed in love—no longer a bastion of freedom but a monolith of government weaponization and overreach. Those in the courtroom on this day were mostly of color and minorities—they never stood a chance in here. The truth was, race or ethnicity didn’t matter; without money to buy into the system we all never stood a chance. The disturbing truth about our legal system beyond clear here—Lady Justice had her blindfold replaced by a hundred dollar bill; the truth no longer being sought, but bought.

When my case was finally called, the anticipation of going home sooner than expected to meet my father heightened. After standing, my public defender motioned for me to sit back down before she started to approach the bench. I didn’t know what she discussed with the judge, but it didn't seem out of the ordinary. After conversing for roughly five minutes, Nancy motioned for me to walk outside with her. Upon our exit from the courtroom, we sat down on a bench about twenty yards away.

“They say you mailed a document to the home of the protected parties.” She told me.

“What document?” I asked, shocked. “I haven’t sent anything to their home since the order was granted.”

“An appeal of the restraining order.” she replied before handing it to me.

“Oh…I apologize. Yes..." I told her, focused on the document detailing my reasons for the appeal. "I mean no—I didn’t mail that to their home.”

"How did it get to them?"

“My mother mailed it." I informed her, my hand starting to tremble with anxiety. "I can get a copy of the proof of service from home--she signed it.”

"Will your mother be willing to testify to mailing it?" She asked.

"She passed away." I told her, now seeing Jackson's strategy to destroy me coming into focus.

“Were you able to file an appeal?” she asked, her lips pursing while examining the appeal document again. “Did the court of appeals accept it and hear on it?”

“I filed it but they ended up denying it.”

“How come?”

“It was filed twenty three days past the deadline.” I replied, remembering the frustration I felt learning that, or maybe it was just the discontent building inside me. “I can get you their correspondence to me.”

Shaking her head. “That’s a problem.”

“I don’t understand. What’s the problem?”

“Because it was mailed directly to them and you should’ve known it was past the deadline to be filed.” She clarified. “Now that’s evidence of harassment that is hard to disprove without a witness.”

“Even if it’s not intentional?” I countered. “I didn’t know there was a deadline for filing the appeal when I filed it. Why did the clerk at the courthouse make sure I didn't file past the deadline before accepting my appeal documentation and payment? This was a costly error for me.”

“You had a police officer come to their home and hand deliver it too?”

“Initially, yes. I was worried they would falsely accuse me of mailing the document so I arranged for a police officer to deliver it. The police had ten days to hand deliver it to their home from the date of my filing with the court.” I told her. “On day nine, I visited the police department and learned they had not yet delivered it. Fearing the cops were connected to the protected parties and were looking to not deliver it to them on purpose, they have these kinds of connections, I asked for a refund and instructed them to cease their delivery of the notice of appeal."

"Connections?" She deadpanned.

"The protected parties have friends in high places that do favors for them--they did so during my restraining order hearing." I explained but realized the look on her face screamed skepticism. "Unfortunately without knowing who is helping them, I can't prove it."

"How can you prove you instructed the police department to not deliver the notice of appeal?" she asked, more disbelief showing through her tone.

"I have the refund receipt and can get that for you." I answered, trying to keep my cool. "That’s when I asked my mother to mail the notice of appeal documents and sign a proof of service.”

“Well, they got it twice.” She reiterated. “An appeal that was denied."

“If I knew the appeal would be denied, I wouldn’t have sent either. This was not intentionally done and was an honest mistake." I countered. "I believed the appeal was approved after physically filing it with the court and they accepted my payment. They received the notice of appeal both times before it was denied. I can easily prove that. Not to mention, it angers me that I even had to ask my mother, who was in great pain and dying of cancer at the time, to physically mail it for me--the last thing she needed was this bullshit."

Shaking her head while peering down at the notice of appeal on her lap, she added her two cents. “That will be costly to prove and that’s only the first count. Did you email her friend?”

“I did—in self-defense—only to tell my side of the story and to vent to her.”

“How many times did you email her?” she asked, suddenly producing all the emails from her binder then flipping through each and every page —her eyes looking down and up at me in tandem with each flip.

“Off and on for a year.” I admitted. “I felt it was important for her to know my side of the story—I was having a rough time. Since I never heard back from her and she never blocked me, it seemed she hadn’t received any of them. After a while, it became therapeutic more than anything.”

“Did you threaten to confront Anya’s husband?” she further prodded.

“I did because I believe he pushed her to viciously lie about me in court the day of my restraining order hearing while also provoking me to fight him so I took issue with him being on the order. Restraining orders were put in place to protect the physical safety of women, not protect men who provoke fights with the restrained.” I furthered my defense, feeling more irritable with every passing second. “But I also told Debbie not to tell Anya about my emails so it wouldn’t get me in trouble—I explicitly stated this in the emails.”

“Is she a friend of theirs or a friend of yours?”

“Well, both…I thought.” I told her before nodding. “But she is mainly their friend.”

“Well, here’s the problem." She looked down, pausing for a few seconds before meeting my gaze. "They want to put you into custody today.”

“Into custody?” I yelled, my voice echoing throughout the courthouse. “For what? For writing emails to a friend who was not protected on the restraining order? Are you kidding me? The judge during the restraining order hearing never disallowed me from emailing the friend!”

“Please keep your voice down, Mr. Lastman!” She quckly scolded, looking around us.

Catching my breath then countering at a lower decibel level. “Why would I go through a “middle man” if it’s treated the same as directly contacting the protected parties? I thought I could contact the friend without breaking the order. I mean…the friend never acknowledged any of my emails, not even blocking me so I couldn't send anymore to her, so how did I know she got the emails at all? Let alone read any of them?”

“You have two restraining orders against you.” she piled on, dismissing my response. “This is the second one.”

“The second one?” I responded incredulously. “I’ve only been served on one. When did the second one happen?”

“The first was obtained in two thousand nine and the second in two thousand eleven.” She elucidated, now producing both of the orders from her binder. “They’re also claiming you’ve driven by the house on multiple occasions...even calling the house before hanging up. Did you talk to the protected parties and…”

“Let me just make this clear.” I cut her off, disgusted to see how Jackson's twisted game was working on even those who were suppossed to defend me. “There's only one restraining order not two, otherwise the second restraining order would've been a violation of the first. Secondly, I’ve never driven by their home. I’ve also never, not once, called their home and hung up. They can claim that all they want but they have zero evidence that ever happened because it never did. They can't even produce a specific date or time this occurred. And lastly, the only time I’ve ever talked to the protected parties during the last few years was when Jackson called me.”

“Who’s Jackson now?” She inquired, her frantic eyes studying a document on her lap.

“Anya's husband.” I told her. “Didn't he violate the restraining order by calling me?”

“Can you prove he called you?”

I sighed, my shoulders slumping before explaining my predicament. “I thought I could but the phone number he called me from was from a phone number belonging to someone else—it appears he used a spoofing app to call me.”

“What’s a spoofing app?”

“It's an app he used that allows the actual number he called me from to show on my phone bill as a different number to hide the one he actually used. I found this out after calling it and learning it was a number to a business in the area." I told her. “I know and have the exact times and date he called me on the phone bill, but that's all I have as proof. He'll never admit to calling me knowing it's a violation."

“A spoofing app. Sure.” She replied, sounding as if she didn’t believe me. “Did you at least hang up when he called you? Or did you carry on a conversation with him?”

“I carried on a brief conversation with him because he was threatening to destroy my life and then I hung up. He called me a second time but I didn’t answer.” I told her. “Although he didn’t put his name on it, I can provide as evidence a letter he wrote to my father and mailed to his home. He also sent it to a couple of my clients and to the people who work at the restaurant I do accounting for. He sent all those emails I wrote to the friend along with it.”

“Can you prove he actually wrote the letters and mailed them?”

“I don’t but a part of me believes his self-righteousness and arrogance might inspire him to cop to it.” I told her. “I’m sure it appears looking at all the emails I sent that I’m the mentally disturbed one but it’s all an attempt to hide from the court that he's the real psychopath."

She started shaking her head before telling me. "These emails seem to tell a different story, Mr. Lastman."

"Yeah, well...it's the truth."

She nodded as if she didn't hear a word I said before giving me my options. “Mr. Lastman, you can plead not guilty but I’m advising you that they’re going to arrest you and set a bond amount today.” she stated far too confidently. “Based on a lack of evidence, I would advise pleading guilty. By doing so they will likely be lenient and give you only six months to a year of jail time.”

“How could they put me in jail without any kind of trial? How am I guilty before proven innocent? I've never laid a finger on these people or ever threatened to do so.” I exclaimed, unwilling to buy what she tried to sell. “Only six months to a year? For sending a notice of appeal, a court document, to their home and emailing a mutual friend? Does that sound right to you? Something is very wrong here."

“We can work some kind of program out with the City of Long Beach prosecutor's office that would also likely include community service.”

“Let me advise you about the kind of person I am so you know who you’re defending in this case.” I responded as confidently as she advised me to plead guilty to a crime I didn’t commit. “I’ll never plead guilty to something I’ve never done.”

“It doesn’t matter in your situation.” she retorted, shaking her head. “You don’t have the evidence you need to disprove any of these counts. Plus you have a restraining order working against you. In the eyes of the court, you're essentially already guilty.”

“Let me rephrase that then.” I restated. “I’ll never plead guilty to anything I’m not guilty of. The only thing I’m guilty of here is defending myself.”

“That’s the way you see this?” she chuckled. “As defending yourself. Mr. Lastman? Really?”

“Absolutely.”

She sighed heavily, placing both hands on her knees. “They will see this as harassment, not as an act of self-defense.”

“Where is the threat to their safety that warrants me to be put into custody? There have been no acts of physical violence giving the court a reason to put me in jail.” I countered, my voice now hoarse from emotional exhaustion. “Any emotional distress the protected parties are feeling is being contrived to hide the truth from the people around them. Jackson is driving this crazy train and using unknown people in the court system to make this threat greater than it is. I hate to break it to everyone that’s in on this, but I have the truth on my side and the knowledge I did nothing wrong. They have no justifiable reason to ever bring me into custody.”

“How do you plead, Mr. Lastman?” She asked, looking exasperated.

“How do you think I plead?” I said, shaking my head; completely winded.

“Okay.” she replied, giving a quick nod then stuffing the documents back into her binder. “Go back inside and have a seat. They’ll call us back up in about ten minutes.”

“Thank you.” I said, trying to slow my racing heartbeat.

What side was she on? Or, was this how public defenders kept their legal services so cheap? I guess it made sense—get their clients to plead guilty so no legal expenses can be incurred by the state of California. If I had been weaker and broke, like most in the courthouse, pleading guilty when I wasn’t would’ve easily happened. They wanted to put me into custody? On what grounds? All because I emailed a friend to vent upon learning I was lied to for two years that came at a great personal cost? For having a court document mailed to their home that was required to be delivered to them? All of this didn’t make sense, and that’s why it was hard to believe all of this wasn’t devised by people in Jackson's circle. People who were lied to about who I was and the nature of my relationship with Anya—why it was absolutely necessary to tell my side of the story to Debbie.

The world of politics was an octopus—its tentacles wrapped tightly around the almighty dollar, using the scales of justice as a shield, like shells, to avoid being found by predators—the general public. This was how our tax dollars were being spent. This was what the soldiers who died were fighting for when they stormed the beaches of Normandy during the second world war. So people like Jackson, and those of the same ilk, could manipulate the justice system. His show of power only proved everything was at stake for him, and he meant exactly what he said—he would stop at nothing to destroy me. Little did he know that happened several years ago when my soulmate went along with it. For Anya to even be attracted to, let alone to be and go with anything a man like Jackson did, spoke volumes to me about her cowardice and everything she convinced me she wasn’t. Is this someone she raised her kids to emulate? I just couldn’t have fathomed after allowing and encouraging me to fall in love with her she was this much of a fraud. Yet, still unwilling to accept this was who she really was.

When I re-entered the courtroom, luckily finding an open seat, I had a much clearer view of how those who struggled financially became pawns of the legal system. After my public defender tried to sell me on pleading guilty, without at least reciting the actual law I broke itself, I wondered how many others have plead guilty taking her advisement? How many others she convinced to admit to crimes they didn’t commit because they were weakened by their financial situation? How many of those people were sitting in jail cells for the crime of just being broke? How many people she conned into believing they were guilty before proven innocent and not the other way around? So the State of California could waste taxpayer money elsewhere? This courthouse, just one of many in this state, seemed to be extensions of a greedy corporation masquerading as a government for the people. It even felt like my arraignment hearing was taking place in another country because the Bill of Rights seemingly had no place here. How else were all these city prosecutors, judges and public defenders going to be paid? Jackson made sure they would profit on me loving someone better than he ever could--undoubtedly making the system even more money if they put me behind bars. Made easier when the State of California had absolutely no evidence I mailed a completely innocuous notice of appeal to the protected parties yet still charged me for it. No police reports were ever filed and no arrests were ever made yet they wanted to bring me into custody? Somehow this arraignment hearing was allowed to happen without any regard to the truth, but what made it even worse is that a system that never had a problem with me was now out to take what little remained of my soul.

When my time came to face the judge, with the prospect of being put into custody hanging in the balance, I silently vowed to not let Jackson get away with this. I've witnessed the corruption once again, that even my own public defender was on the side of Jackson, or the State of California—I was on my own here. When my case was called, Nancy gestured for me to come up and stand behind the podium next to her. When the judge asked for my plea, she leaned into the microphone.

“The plea is not guilty, your Honor.” she announced without emotion.

“Alright.” The dark haired female judge replied while jotting something down.

At that moment, one of the three female prosecutors, a thin blonde wearing a nice custom fitted suit began speaking into her own microphone at a table next to us.

“Your Honor, we are requesting to have this trial today—we have two of the protected parties, including a friend, in an anteroom ready to testify against the defendant.” She told the judge before pointing her finger at me. “This man has been harassing and stalking the protected parties for four years now. We are asking the court that he be put into custody if the trial cannot take place today—the parties feel threatened and fear for their safety. Mr. Lastman is not mentally well—he is psychotic in every sense of the word. He has two restraining orders against him and still refuses to stop harassing the victims. They have two children who are now scared for their lives—this man is a monster. The entire family is living in a constant state of fear. Their lives have been thrown into chaos! They have suffered severe emotional distress at the hands of the defendant who won't leave them alone. They are sick and tired of it and demand the court take action against Mr. Lastman immediately by bringing him into custody!”

“Well, the law does allow the defendant the right to a speedy trial.” Replied the judge, who then beckoned for the bailiff, a thick towering moustached caucasian male, to stand directly behind me. “Have you been arrested, Mr. Lastman?”

I looked over at Nancy for approval who then nodded her head.

“No, your Honor.”

Now turning her attention to the female prosecutor, the judge made another inquiry. “Has the protected parties filed a police report regarding Mr. Lastman’s current alleged erratic behavior?”

“No, your Honor.”

“Do you have anything to add, Mr. Lastman?”

I looked over at the Nancy once more, who again nodded.

“Thank you. I can’t reiterate this enough—I am not guilty of what they are accusing me of, Your Honor.” I spoke confidently before pointing a finger in the direction of the prosecution. “They’re not telling you all the facts the court needs to make an informed fair decision. I am confident when the entire story is learned, the alleged harassment will appear much different than their interpretation of it. The plaintiffs are hoping to push this quickly through because they have a lot to hide, mostly my side of the story. This trial will likely take days, if not a week, to determine its outcome. For them to think they can rush this trial through in a few hours should be looked upon skeptically by the court.”

“Alright then.” Acknowledge the judge. “Anything else, prosecutor?”

I looked over at all three of the very professional prosecution team, a glaring contrast to my thin defense team. All three shook their heads as the lead prosecutor scowled at me before leaning into the microphone again to speak.

“The defendant is only going to continue breaking the restraining order if he is not put into custody and a high bail amount not set today, your Honor. He has shown no respect whatsoever for any of the two restraining orders he has against him.”

The judge continued to write on a note pad before she answered. “No police reports were filed against the defendant and he was never arrested. Additionally, he appeared on time and is in court today. The defendant will not be put into custody today and no bail amount will be set. However, Mr. Lastman, you are being warned that any breach of the restraining orders will bring cause for your immediate arrest. Is that understood, Sir?”

My public defender turned to me and smiled.

I smiled back at Nancy and nodded. “Understood, your Honor.”

“I’ll set the start date of the trial for July twenty-fifth.” Announced the judge. “Does that work for you, Mr. Lastman?”

“Yes, your Honor.”

“Prosecutor?”

“We can’t get a sooner date, your Honor?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“We accept that date.” She sighed.

“Alright.” She looked up at me as the bailiff, or Gregor "The Mountain" Clegane, walked back to his station. “Until then the parties are dismissed.”

Nancy turned to me, grabbing her bag off the floor beside her. “Congratulations. I guess I’ll see you then.”

“Thank you. see you then.” I told her, unsure if I'd continue to use her services.

Before leaving, I glanced over at the lead female prosecutor who was stuffing documents, likely all the emails I sent Debbie, irritably back into her briefcase. I didn’t know much about prosecutors, but she appeared to have a highly vested interest in this case—hell bent on putting me in prison for a non-violent crime. It did feel good to know she’d have to walk into that anteroom to burst Jackson’s bubble—his first attempt to destroy me failing spectacularly. If they didn’t want me to appeal the restraining order, then they shouldn’t have commited perjury the day of my restraining order hearing—it’s really that simple. Let alone requesting a separate courtroom to deny me a fair hearing in both fact and appearance. And lastly, Jackson should have never attempted to provoke me that day. We were all here again because of the antics they pulled—I wasn’t going quietly away like the others did before me. I’ve lost too much. I had to make coming after me the worst decision he ever made.

After dodging the bullet Jackson meant for me, I sat in my car before leaving the courthouse and made a phone call.

“Lando?”

“Hey man, how’s it goin’?”

“Not much…haven’t heard from you in almost a year!” excitedly exclaimed the voice on the phone.

“Yeah man, it’s been a little over a year actually.” I replied. “I’m kind of jonesing over here—can Jeff get me any of the blues? The thirties? Is he still doing that kind of thing?”

“Yeah, he’s still dealin’—he can get those but you should try the forty Oxys he has—pharmacy grade, dude.”

I paused for about ten seconds before responding.

"Lando, you there?"

“Yeah, I'm still here." I reluctantly confirmed. "I think I’m gonna need both.”