“Chasin’ a dream as I go higher

Playin’ it mean, my heart’s on fire.

Livin’ my life, ain’t no pretender.

Ready to fight with no surrender.”

~ “No Surrender” Judas Priest

“How could you do this to me?” I asked, desperately holding in my anger. “How could you do this to us?”

“You did this to us!” Shot Anya. “You destroyed us!”

“You let him destroy us!” I countered ferociously. “You let him steal away our hopes, wishes and dreams without reining him in! You knew what we stood for!”

“What is a mother to do?” She cried. “My family!”

“You did what a mother should do? What was that? Destroy me so you can think you’re pulling the wool over the eyes of your kids? They’ve always known something was wrong.” I confidently repied. “That’s why Andrew was afraid you’d leave. That’s why Katie blamed herself. They’ve felt it and it had nothing to do with us! You let Jackson let you believe it did!”

“You’re always the victim, Landyn!”

“So if you’re with me, you don’t love your kids?” I jabbed. “Help me understand that logic. How am I a danger to your children? After sharing their daily lives with me? After proving to you they weren’t baggage to me unlike they were to Lance? From all people, how could you protect them from someone you’re in love with? Help me to understand that—cause I never will.”

After Anya’s eyes darted back and forth, in anxiety from my emotional onslaught, she then bowed her head. At that very moment I knew what was coming; she was about to use her greatest weapon against me.

“I’d understand this a lot better if you just told people the truth about me, about us.” I told her. “For you to accept everything I ever did and gave then not vouching for who I am to everyone around you just wasn’t right. When do you start holding Jackson accountable for our relationship? I mean really hold him accountable and not allowing him to think this makes it even between you two? It doesn’t! He wasn’t in love with someone, but you were! It's not even close to being even!”

“My kids…” She trailed off, tears flooding her eyes just like the time she confessed to still sleeping with her husband.

“I deserved to know the truth why you were still there the night we reconnected.” I explained, hoping she’d understand my position. “I’m certain you always had the same concern for your kids even on the night we met—why Lance left you. I deserved to know you thought of yourself as being above the general public who divorced so I could protect my heart. Even so I could better understand your position. You never gave me the chance to understand because you hid the real reasons you were still there from me! Loving someone by letting them go is something you do before they fall—not letting them go after letting them feel all the love in the world for you.”

Anya turned her head to look behind her and wiped at her eyes before issuing a stern warning. “You need to leave. He’s going to be home any minute.”

“Who?” I asked, placing my right hand softly on her left shoulder before looking behind her.

“My husband.” She told me. “I’m married!”

“Fuck. Him.” I told her, pulling away. “Married? Now you care about your marriage after stealing my life from me? After telling me it was only a "situation"? After telling me there is no marriage? Who are you?"

“Please go, Landyn.” She pleaded. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

I shook my head then replied. “It already did.”

“I know people! You need to leave!” She yelled. “They are out for blood. I’m shaking.”

“Who? Donald Holbert? The City Prosecutor of Long Beach?” I told her. “You don’t think I know your husband sold him on a false narrative to get his office to come after me for nothing? After all that man has put you through emotionally, how could you let him get away with that?”

“You have to let me go.” She pushed back, shaking her head in disbelief. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t find someone else.”

Upon hearing those words, I reached into my pocket to reveal the turquoise Tiffany pouch.

“I’m not letting go...until I’m ready to.” I told her, exposing the shining necklace from its pouch then extending it out to her. “I had no right asking you to send this back. This has always been yours.”

Before laying it upon her open palms, a vulgar slamming of a door shattered the moment.

“Does he want to join us for dinner?” barked Jackson suddenly appearing from behind Anya. “Have him join us.”

Anya bowed her head before raising it, her face now belonging to another, but to the woman clad in black who appeared the night I nearly lost my life before remarking.

"Turn the page."

Thrusted back to reality with open eyes and a racing heartbeat, my encounter had all unbelievably been just a dream. After revisiting the most horrific moment of my life, it wrecked me emotionally; unable to shake her haunting words--my day undoubtedly ruined because it felt so real. Since my near death experience from hypoxia, the woman gracing the edge of the coffee table remained an unsolved enigma—there’s no way my mind could’ve dreamt her up. I used to tell Anya she was better than the woman of my dreams and will always be, but this woman stuck out in a different way—she had to be real. Who was she? Why did she suddenly appear? A woman I can't recall ever knowing but feeling so connected to? Is it because I’ve learned to trust God?

Since my near demise, kicking my addiction to opiates became an urgent matter, but being able to stomach a single minute in a domestic violence class I didn’t belong in was an impossibility without them. Taking a forty milligram pill, after taking no more than a fifteen milligram pill dose at a time, brought on the hypoxia. Now fully aware, taking a marked increase in a higher dosage pill never plagued me again. My higher tolerance making a forty milligram Oxy dosage a one time issue. Unfortunately, accepting the diversion program before learning about the City Prosecutor's involvement never allowed me to consider not taking on the additional risk--needing a pill again to get through the heavy negative emotions.

The Neighborhood Family Center where the domestic violence class took place was in a sketchy area, replete with homeless meth heads carelessly roaming the streets. Describing them as such didn’t mean precluding myself from judgment—I was just as dependent on a drug to tolerate life as they were. The difference came with their indifference to theft and its consequences. Fearful of my Mercedes being broken into, I parked in a nicer neighborhood a few blocks down then walked to the Center. The men in my class were typical—young and poorly educated minorities with learning difficulties who never had a shot in life. Yet, there I was among them, a two time college graduate and CPA—exactly what Jackson hoped for if he couldn’t get me thrown into jail. The first two weeks were spent stewing in class, high on Oxycontin, showing intense interest in their stories to avoid engaging with the group. There was no surprise learning they mostly came from broken homes. The teacher, an older white haired balding gentleman appearing to be in his late fifties named Mike, was a recovered alcoholic. He did an artful job navigating through the subject matter while relating to the group—especially when dealing with a few who were definite loose cannons with short attention spans “catching” additional cases even while going through the program. It led me to wonder if I’ve experienced the same neglect in life, would I have turned out any different? I’d like to think so, but without anything to believe in, like God, the path easily could’ve been the same for me. Passing judgment on them wasn’t what I did—I just clearly did not belong here. When it came time to introduce myself to the group on my first of fifty-two three hour nights, the only one dressed in slacks and a long-sleeved work shirt was also the only one who had no story of physical violence to share. After telling them a short version of how I ended up among them, nearly everyone had something to say.

“You didn’t yell or hit yo bitch, man?” asked one of the class members, Carlos, who sported dark rimmed glasses, full neck and arm tattoos.

“Not at all.” I replied shaking my head.

“Oh, come on, Dawg! You lyin'!” Yelled out another, Danny, having long dark braided hair in a pony tail to match his lengthy pale face.

“No lie. I only communicated with her through text messaging and email.” I told them feeling like no one believed me.

“Did you type in all caps or somethin'? What da fuck?” Laughed another, Marshawn, a thick older black man with a receeding hairline.

“I didn’t even do that.” I smiled before folding my arms across my chest and shaking my head at such a great point. “The husband even tried to put me in jail for this. If I was broke, I could easily be sittin’ in a jail cell and not sittin' here with you guys right now.”

Marshawn shook his head then howled again before speaking. “This is too damn crazy! This can’t be true.”

“I could’ve never imagined just trusting in someone's pain could lead to this.” I stated before refusing to talk anymore--the destruction of my life wasn't comedy relief to me.

“Yo! You’re "Captain Save-a-Ho"!” Danny yelled out, the entire class now roaring in laughter and jeering.

“Okay, calm down.” Directed Mike. “There are classes goin’ on next door.”

“Do you believe this, Mike? Dude never struck a bitch, never cursed her out and he’s in this fucking class?” Carlos laughed. “Shit, man this dude is full of IT!”

“We’ll get him to fess up in the next fifty weeks.” Mike prodded. “They always do.”

I looked around the room and decided to save my breath--they didn't believe me anyway.

“Captain Save-a-Ho.” Snickered another bringing forth more laughter from the group, someone not even worth turning my head around to see.

As they all laughed, including the instructor, only the drug stopped me from name dropping Donald Holbert for his role in my attendance. What irritated me more than anything, even more than being subjected to this ridicule by just being here, was they referred to the love of my absolute life as a “Ho”. As if my relationship with Anya was just like any of theirs, lacking any semblance of beauty and ending up in physical assault. They referred to me as “Captain Save-A-Ho” for weeks and it was extremely difficult to not take it personally after all the sacrifices I made and all I've lost. Was this the perception others had of my relationship? That it was a big nothing? Something to be mocked and laughed at? It burned me deeply to know the details so intimately, nearly losing my life from just falling in love, for my relationship to be viewed so negatively. Over time, as we gradually began interacting and learning more about our situations, I realized they were only trying to connect with me, a guy who seemingly had it together yet struggled too, allowing them feel a little more normal. For the first twenty weeks of the course, I rarely talked, choosing instead to listen to their weekly struggles for three hours a night, offering insight or advice when appropriate. As wrong as the State of California got it with me, my tax dollars were very well spent here—this government program really helped people who needed it.

Each night, Mike would ask someone in the group how life was treating them. Talking to someone about their problems, uninterrupted for a half hour to get heavy things off their chest, had to be therapeutic—like writing my novel was for me. Whenever Mike asked how I was doing, exhausted from the drive in just to make it on time to a class I didn't belong in, I kept it short--fearful my disgust with everything would shine through. After poking fun at my professional attire in a room full of backward baseball caps and shorts wearing students, he got me to open up about my business. When informing the group I was a CPA and about my work for the public start-up company, it sparked a conversation.

"What's the goal here? " Mike asked. "Why are you still working for them if they're not paying you?"

"Being a public start-up, I'm looking at the big picture here." I told him. "If I can help this company get off the ground, I believe my business is gonna take off."

"I don't know why you'd start your own business when you're not getting paid." Carlos stated, shaking his head.

"They're paying me, just not all that they owe me." I explained. "Having my own business was the best choice for me. Being a CPA in private practice is unrewarding--they work you to death. If I'm going to work that hard then I'm going to do it for myself. And let me tell you this, it's hard to get ahead in life these days working an eight to five job. The best way to get ahead, I'm learning, is by working for yourself and investing in the stock market."

"Or buying real estate." Mike added.

I nodded. "Agreed, builidng equity is the cheat code to wealth. I was in the process of buying a home five years ago before everything blew up in my face."

After the group asked me about my stock investments and telling them about a few of them, we engaged in a conversation about the stock market that took up the entirety of the remaining class time that evening. At the six month point of my program, Mike even got me to open up about my anger with God and how my mother’s death brought me to believe in His existence.

“He’s the game changer.” I told the group.

Mike nodded. “He is.”

“I’m a monster work in process.” I exclaimed. “But the worst things in life happened to me when I didn’t believe in Him. Life’s been pretty fair ever since.”

“Even after all the shit you’ve gone through, Captain?” joked Danny.

I smiled before speaking. “God has blessed me more than I deserved to be—that’s the way I see things now. It doesn’t mean I’m not upset about how things turned out; it just means I know God loves me. And I’m not special; God loves all of us.”

No one in class knew of my struggle with opiate addiction. They also never knew how the Long Beach City Prosecutor being spoonfed misinformation by Jackson was the real reason why I sat among them. You could see the absence of God in their lives, like my own life before my mother’s passing. But even my belief in God couldn’t extinguish the fire that scorched within after Jackson pushed this to an entirely different level by whining to the City Prosecutor’s office—the local police department likely laughing him out of the room when he tried to file police reports for emails to a friend and especially a notice of appeal being sent to his home. Then when the opportunity arose at a fundraising event, Jackson took his complaints to a higher source on the political spectrum; misleading and crying to someone who knew of him, but didn’t know him. By going to Donald Holbert, the City Prosecutor of Long Beach, on top of sending a letter to my father’s home and to my clients after cyberstalking them to obtain their contact information, his ego took things too far. While in the diversion program, I plotted the resuscitation of my character he tried to assassinate. He fired several shots, misfiring on each one, and now the score would be settled when the restraining order expired. And he knew it—why he tried to provoke me into breaking it. If my desire for the truth to be known was great before accepting the diversion program I didn’t belong in, it was a burning lava lake of fire now.

Then there were the Saturday mornings, fighting to maintain my balance on a grassy sloped rattlesnake infested hill, a reach grabber tool in one hand and a trash bag in the other. Purposely starting my community service shift at seven in the morning to avoid running into anyone I may know at the park. My father suggested I perform my hours at the park he worked at, Peckham Park, but instead opted for a larger park on a hill overlooking the entire harbor area, Kinship Park. The park's recreational grounds had a gymnasium, four baseball fields, two large picnic areas and many trails. Cleaning up the picnic areas was the worst part of the service. Undoubtedly the ones who threw these birthday bashes were struggling financially and doing the best they could to give their children a fun day to remember, but they also proved why their lives were messy—leaving behind streamers, busted balloons, ripped candy wrappers, paper plates and large plastic cups the wind carried up and down the reedy hillsides. The people that did clean up after themselves, let leftover cake and ice cream dripping down the sides of the steel trash cans. The park Director, who signed off on my community service, assigned me certain areas needing attention each Saturday. When my four hour shift was over, I’d just let him know. He was always very appreciative of my efforts—apparently no one in my position usually put forth any. If anyone had a reason not to put in an effort, it was me, but not working hard would only make the time go slower--the total disregard by some to keeping the park clean ticking me off to the point it wasn’t right for me not to care. Didn't they realize their trash could get into the sewer system then travel to the nearby ocean threatening its sea life? I never did any type of charitable work and always wanted to so I decided to make the best of it. For once, giving myself a sense of purpose. The morning Oxycontin also didn’t hurt to make it more tolerable.

Upon my arrival one early Saturday morning, a colossal birthday party mess its throwers refused to clean, awaited me. Dismayed, I sat down on top of the nearest picnic table and shook my head before gazing out over the hill top and across the pink sky dawn. After shifting my eyes to the quiet cities beneath me, I thought to myself somewhere Anya and Jackson were down there enjoying the morning. It was one of the most sobering moments of my life--truly seeing where their lies have taken me and may have also taken others. How it seemed they were perfectly fine uprooting lives other than their own then just going about their day facing zero consequences for their behavior like spoiled children--no better than the park's inconsiderate birthday party bashers. Remembering how on one of these same beautiful peaceful Saturday mornings, that same woman initiated a meeting at my apartment so we could steal a moment of happiness together. It made me angry to think that maybe, an irreconcilable piece of Anya, just wanted some privacy with a man, any man. Revisiting this price I paid just to feel loved and for trusting in someone’s need for it, then brought the steel marine green bridge connecting the cities below into the sharpest focus. At this very moment, my mind was made up—nothing will stop me from reclaiming my honor. I will be redeemed and reconcile Anya after all the shenanigans Jackson pulled. How that would ultimately be achieved? I had no idea, but my resolve was never greater.

On the fortieth week of my fifty-two week domestic violence sentence, Mike gave a presentation to the group on healthy habits--a subject matter there was no alienating myself from. Although no longer abusing opiates, taking them the same way anyone in chronic physical pain was prescribed to, the need still existed. Taking these pills for mental pain was not ideal, but dealing with the stress and pressure of getting through the diversion program made not taking them an impossibility. When the Program Director, Mike, explained certain signs of an unhealthy person, most memorably that a heavy stool resting at the bottom of the bowl could possibly be a serious health issue, I finally gleaned some benefit from the class. Honestly, who ever pays attention to that?

“So, if my shit don't float..." remarked Danny before pausing. "No bueno?"

Mike nodded and reiterated the point. “That’s right.”

"Shit.” He replied, shaking his head then laying back in his chair before folding his arms across his chest. "I'm a dead man walkin' then."

"Yo, you look at your turds, Dawg?" Inquired Marshawn.

"Shitz yeah!" Danny exclaimed, propping himself back up. "Some of doz' shits I'm more proud of than my damn kid!"

"You crazy, man." replied Marshawn, removing his cap briefly before putting it back on.. "Just flush the damn toilet and get the fuck outta there, will ya?"

"Fuck that. I'm proud of some of doz' mutha fuckas." Danny cracked.

Marshawn shook his head before speaking. "Dude better get himself checked out. Right, Mike?"

“Well, it's something to be aware of.” Mike diplomatically answered before putting a DVD into the disc player and turning on the tube television set. “Yeah, I'd say it wouldn't be a bad idea to get himself checked out."

"Dude, you need to start fillin' out some organ donor cards." added Carlos prompting laughter from the group. "I'm serious. Or lay off the damn meth...or somethin'."

"Man, fuck you all." replied Danny, dismissing the advice.

After laughing from the group exchange about anchor like stools, I prayed the forty milligram OxyContin would last long enough to get me through the upcoming two hour video on healthy habits. I was completely exhausted from the long work day and stressful drive in heavy traffic from the Newport Beach office to make it to class on time. It was a fifty minute drive to the Neighborhood Family Center and If I was late to class, it would be a direct violation of the diversion program agreement. Working ten hour days to make up for the lost time only added to my fatigue--notwithstanding having to keep from my client the true reason for my one day a week early departure. A part of Jackson likely banked on me lacking the stamina at forty-five years of age, or the time, to finish this program. Hell, he probably hoped I'd blow it off altogether if he thought I believed the restraining order was fraudulent and had no respect for it. To be honest, without the pills there was no way I’d be able to get through the program--they held the key to my resiliency; my survival.

When Mike started to delve into different forms of domestic abuse, it burned me to learn Jackson should be seated here instead of me. Yet, here I was taking his fall. It especially boiled me over when I felt so fatigued, stressed out and overworked. I thought maybe Anya would feel guilt ridden enough by this that I'd find her waiting outside to talk to me one of these nights when class ended, but she never made an appearance. Not that I could blame her, the area was bad, but the possibility she could feel this was actually justifiable, only added more fuel to my fire. She went to two men, told them about her husband’s disrespect and cheating ways, serious enough offenses to initiate a serious relationship with one for two entire years, yet she still played this card? That the kids knowing their father treated their mother inequitably was deserving of this? That them knowing a man loved their mother more than their father ever could would destroy their lives? How could I suddenly become unworthy of her love because I wanted her to believe in our love? That it was both “good” and “pure” just like she claimed? It was unfathomable she could be this twisted, but was I ready to accept this is who she truly was? Why was I still convinced this couldn’t be the woman I loved more than life itself? Was she really the kind of person who would be perfectly fine having Donald Holbert destroy the life of a person she absolutely misled? Would I have to settle the score with her too? My proclaimed soulmate? There's no way I could've been duped this badly.

Without “The Passion Particle”, my ascent to the bridge would’ve come much earlier—the only way I could dare attempt reconciling all these dynamic thoughts within me. With the pressures of my financial burden, living with my father hindering my sense of freedom, fighting an addiction to pain medication, and coping with deep irreconcilable wounds, this life just no longer seemed worth living. Constantly living inside my own head while trying to ignore the beat of my heart, made it impossible to stymie the mounting frustration. My friends were married with kids of their own to worry about. My father was still mourning my mother four years after her death. Yet here I was, finding my raison d'etre through a novel to deal with it all—the pills doing very little anymore to quell my disgust with the human experience. By the fiftieth week of my domestic violence course, after getting signed off on and fulfilling my community service requirement, life began feeling more manageable.

“We haven’t heard from you in a few weeks, Landyn.” Mike stated, swiveling his chair around to face me.

“Yeah man, you never talk to us.” Remarked Carlos, nudging me in the shoulder.

“I wish I had something to talk about.” I told them, smiling. “My life's boring compared to you guys. I’m not one for attention anyway.”

“The Captain must be back with his ho!” Another piped in, firing up the group.

Shaking my head, smirking. “That’s not happening.”

“He’s not like one of you guys.” Mike countered. “Looking for ways to break his restraining order.”

“My girl lets me fuckin' break it!” Announced Danny loudly.

“She’s gonna get you in a lot of trouble.” Mike warned. “You don’t want to catch another case. Or do you?”

“Catch me if you can then.” Danny retorted, leaning back in his chair. "Catch me if you fuckin' can."

“You can play catch me if you can.” Mike replied with a hint of sarcasm, nodding. “It’s just better not to put yourself at risk like that.”

“Yeah, well she ain’t keepin' me from my fuckin' kid.” Retorted Danny, who slapped hands with some of the group members. "The bitch can take that to the bank! Shit, I'm the one paying her child support and she has perfect nails. Fuckin' joke."

“She yo baby’s momma?” Inquired Marshawn. “Damn, didn’t know that.”

“Yeah…she won't call the fuckin' cops on me. Bitch knows better than that.”

“Don’t give her the power.” Mike scolded. “You won't even get to see your kid for a year. It's not worth it.”

“It’s fuckin' tough, Mike. I miss my boy.”

“So, how are you Landyn?” Mike asked, turning his attention away from Danny, ending the hope I dodged having to address the group.

“Well, if you need to know Mike.” I told him not knowing what else to tell him. “My turds are floating.”

Mike burst out into laughter along with the group. Coming from me, the response was surely unexpected. Hell, I didn't even see it coming. At two weeks away from my final session, and although I'd never see any of them again, it seemed I had earned their respect. After the laughter died down, Mike had a question for me.

“You told us the first time you addressed the group you didn’t think you belonged here. Do you still feel that way?”

“If you’re asking if I think I’m better than anyone else in this class, the answer is no. I didn’t mean it that way.” I explained, looking apologetically at the group,

“The reason I mention it is after fifty weeks, we can’t believe you’re even in here.” Mike revealed to my surprise. “Did you want to come clean now?”

“You never hit a bitch?” asked Danny.

“I never even threatened to hit my girlfriend.” I stated. “I never would.”

“I don’t know how you restrained yourself.” shot Carlos.

“It’s just not like that for me.” I told them shaking my head. “What's there to prove by hitting a woman? We’re physically stronger by nature. There's just nothing to gain. They trust us never to do something like that. Nothing in this world will piss your girl off more than walking away—that’s where the true power lies. You guys have it, it just doesn't feel like it when you're both hurting inside and are holding onto a lot of pride."

I paused, hoping someone would take it from there to let me escape but they were too busy listening, leaving me no choice but to continue.

"I hurt my ex-girlfriend with strong words and opinions instead of an open hand. To be honest I’m not sure if that makes me any better. The minute you start losing control of your emotions, you’ve lost. Yes, people lied to put me here and that's the real reason why I'm here. But I let my emotions get the best of me—letting the liars win. Once you’ve mastered your emotions, you’ve mastered your life. Opening my heart to God is helping me with that.”

“Do you think you’ve mastered your emotions?” Asked Mike.

I smiled then shook my head. “I wish I could say that, but I’m a work in progress. Although I don’t believe I belong here, it doesn’t mean I can’t make the best of this situation by using it to better understand who I am and to become a better person. I certainly never belonged here and I’ve been greatly wronged by sick, selfish and misinformed powerful people, but it doesn’t mean I’m not at fault for being here. I could’ve handled things better but was just trying to make it to the next day—like we all are.”

My words didn’t mean my emotional intelligence reached one hundred percent capacity; it only meant neglecting God’s existence created a bad ending to the story. Anya told me if she fell in love with me (if I swept her off her feet), she would end her marriage to be with me. I fully trusted when agreeing to pursue a realtionship with her that if she loved me, she knew a promise had to follow—especially after allowing and encouraging me to feel all the love in the world for her on such a grand scale. She had to know that, no matter the circumstances and if she didn’t, then she always believed divorce was beneath her and misrepresented herself to me from day one—what made my reaction to such a betrayal impossible to rein in. The way she ended things made me feel less than dirt after leading me to believe the opposite for two years. She even told me she hoped I didn't pursue a relationsip with her out of pity--this coming from the same woman who told me "you broke my heart" when we reconnected five months after leaving her at the bar because feeling so much so soon scared me. She will claim it was all my fault, but I always stayed consistent with my feelings—she always knew what I wanted and needed. The day I started holding her accountable for her words and actions was the day she changed—knowing she was about to be found out. That her love for me had conditions, all on her terms—that she had no idea love should always be on shared terms, not just on the terms of one person. And I would’ve done anything for her to leave Jackson, even accepting unshared terms until she was ready, but Anya was greatly influenced by the power of others and money--hiding that fact from me even after asking about it. She always cared more about what others thought of her far too much to ever truly love me enough to leave her convenient material marriage—why she never left a philanderer who objectifies her. If that was her modus operandi, no problem, just stay the fuck away from me—I wasn't like a dress you buy online only to return but the real deal. Having the City Prosecutor of Long Beach come after me was far beyond my emotional intelligence threshold, especially after the strings pulled in court to get a restraining order reserved for terrorists. Although I blamed Jackson, there was the real possibility she egged him on with half truths about me. Just another part of her requiring reconciliation before putting out the flames of my life.

After wrapping up the domestic violence course and receiving the appropriate sign offs within a year’s time, the diversion program was completed, earning a dismissal of all charges. Although still feeling greatly wronged by it all, a great satisfaction roosted within knowing Jackson hoped I’d come up short--believing I was too mentally wrecked to even finish the program. Jackson and Anya were notified and provided with the details of my progress every three months. It felt good imagining Jackson's anger upon receiving the news each quarter, especially after receiving the news all charges have been dismissed. How he banked on my disdain for a five year restraining order reserved for those who physically assaulted others—as proven by those enrolled in the fifty-week domestic violence class. All the proof to know Teri Shamm, who was never elected as Judicial Officer but appointed, was certainly in on it too--based upon misinformation provided by those who put her in that chair of judgment.

About a week after all the pseudo charges were dismissed, while online reading my emails, Jackson Caiaphas unexpectedly appeared as a possible business connection through Linked-In. I created a free account on the business networking site a few years ago but rarely signed into it, not even to update my profile--making only one real networking connection with everyone else appearing to be annoying recruiters or those trying to sell me something. Without regularly visiting the site, its navigation presented some unfamiliarity to me. Without any intent to view his profile, I accidently selected the link, taking me straight to his Linked-In profile page. I knew more than I ever wanted to know about Jackson but through his profile, it also showed his daughter, Katie, had her own Linked-In account. Curious, I purposely viewed her profile page learning she just finished college at Columbia University in New York. Even more shocking than the quickness of these passing years, was that she moved back east. But when recalling her dismay with having “disciplinarian parents”, it seemed her value for freedom drove her that far away from them. I'm sure she loved New York too, but who could blame her for wanting some distance to experience life on her own without interference? It felt good to know she seemed to be doing well, choosing to pursue a law career. All I could do was hope she didn't choose the path of a corrupt City Prosecutor. Although she viewed me as the villain in this story—the man who tried to hurt the goose who laid the golden egg and destroy her family, I rooted for her success in all she ever did from the sidelines. Katie seemed too independent and goal oriented to let her parents’ farce of a marriage or their divorce get in the way of reaching her goals. Upon learning her tuition cost about ninety thousand dollars annually, it proved why Anya obeyed her Master—not out of love or respect for him, but so he could cover the entire cost of her education; the reason why Anya feared the future of her kids could be affected if she left. Unfortunately, it also proved my greatest fear, Jackson's money was why she stayed and never left him. Not for herself as much anymore, but for her kids. Staying for the "sake of the kids" was another half truth, the missing half being for the "sake of the money" too. From her perspective, she never lied to me but by intentionally omitting the other half of her reason to mislead me, made it the worst of all lies. I even asked her the very first night we met if she was there for the money, after learning she was still married, and she denied it. And the worst part about it wasn't her not being truthful, the worst part about it was that I believed her—the woman who only told me she was married after someone else told me. If I had to forgive myself for being that stupid in order to let things go, it was likely I never would. Take money out of the equation and Anya would've never stayed for anyone's sake. You can simply look at Anya and Jackson to know if either drops the ball—gains weight or becomes economically unstable, the rings will fall off their fingers as fast as those divorce papers can be filed. And if being "well off" was the reason she stayed, and make no mistake it was, then what's the problem with that? Her kids shouldn’t have to struggle in life and gain any advantage Jackson's money can give them. The last thing I’d ever want for her kids was to follow in my footsteps--having to crawl, scratch and scrape for every opportunity. Hell, I even had two college degrees and a CPA license and still struggled. My only problem was with Anya hiding this from me—leaving me to find out after not only asking, but after falling deeply in love with her. This only brought to light an even sadder fact--if I had never learned about her being married, she would’ve hid that from me as well unless I asked, and even then she still might not have come clean. If anyone is married to someone who motivates them to do such a thing to another human being, to do something that deceitful without disclosing vital information that can only bring harm, then they really need to divorce that person. A huge part of me believes if Anya had done that to the wrong kind of man, her life would be in immediate danger. What Jackson inspired Anya to do to two men is why I have a monster issue with him and to take it to the level he did armed only with misinformation and threats, brought a disgust within me so great at times, I needed God to avoid breaking a major commandment and wasting my eternal life on him. Some people don’t even try seeking God in these situations, but I began seeing how crucial he became being beyond livid with all the strings people pulled based on a pack of lies. In the same breath though, my inability to rein in my emotions caused this horrific outcome as well. Anya had to know how she was always willing to provide me a blanket without revealing all it covered. She should’ve been honest with me when we met, instead of painting a picture of a badly deceived and lonely married woman, if she was never that at all.

After viewing Katie’s profile, happy to know she’s doing well, I closed my laptop and dwelled in further proof of my inadequacy in Anya’s eyes—unworthy of being with her because Jackson provided more than I could. After a few days, my emotional intelligence made an unexpected appearance allowing me to view Anya's decision from a different angle—she didn’t want me to pay for something I wasn’t responsible for. And for the first time, the trauma I’ve experienced through not only my failed connection with Anya but all my prior relationships came to light. My mind capable of feeling only the wicked, never the good. Knowing the Anya I came to know and love, the one who didn't play me for a fool, she likely felt I shouldn’t be burdened with Katie and Andrew’s tuition. Soldifying this belief when recalling a text from her saying she felt like a liability more than an asset if we were together. And for the first time, this small part of her rationale was never revisited or questioned again--now a fully reconciled piece of her.

The feel good moment didn’t last long after receiving a frantic call from Mac Simon a few days later.

“Hey Mac.” I answered. “How are you?”

“Good, Landyn.” He replied, clearing his throat. “How’s it goin’?”

“Not bad.” I told him nervously, unsure why he was calling. “Did you need something from me?”

“I received a call from Claudine Courtney today.” He revealed.

“Really? Why'd she call?”

“She’s claiming you’re stalking her client's daughter on Linked-in.”

“Are you kidding, me?” I scoffed, knowing he wasn't. “Her father suspiciously came up as a business contact suggestion and I came across his daughter's profile while viewing his. I visited her profile one time out of curiosity. What is he trying to pull here?”

“You didn’t try to contact her?” he asked.

“Of course not!” I snapped, wondering if he even believed me. “I just finished the bullshit diversion program so why would I do something that would violate the order after going through that for the last year? I was just curious to see how she’s doing after seeing her profile. Why is Jackson suddenly coming up as a Linked-In contact suggestion? That's the real question. I'm a CPA and not even remotely in his neighborhood of networking contacts.”

“When did you finish the diversion program?”

“You mean the program I accepted when I didn’t know about the Long Beach City Prosecutor's involvement?” I replied sarcastically. “About a month ago. They didn't notify you?”

"That's great. No, they didn't. Can you send me the paperwork?"

“Sorry about that, Mac. I'll scan and email it to you." I replied. "So, do they really think I want to go through all that again after just finishing?”

“They certainly aren't very happy about you finishing the program." He laughed. "I’m sure the husband laid down a huge bet you’d never see it through.”

“Yeah, well as much as I didn’t deserve to go through any of it...I did. The entire domestic violence class couldn't understand why I was in there...including the instructor.” I told Mac, while reaching for a forty milligram Oxycontin. "I may have not had the best reaction in the world to things, but I'm struggling with symptoms of P.T.S.D over here feeling the same shit a rape victim does after everything I've been through for the last seven years. What's his excuse? I'm not the monster here, he is."

“Just be careful, Landyn.” He warned. “He’s trying to provoke you into breaking the order. He’s watching your every move.”

There’s no doubt once Jackson learned the charges were dismissed after my completion of the entire program, he turned desperate to prove I’m the monster he built me up to be to all those around him. But if I was indeed the monster in all of this, we all were.

“Thanks for letting me know, Mac.” I told him, breaking a smile upon realizing he seemed to have not switched his allegiance. “I appreciate it.”

After my phone call with Mac, it felt good to know I ruled over Jackson's mind, beating him at his own game. For good measure, I filed a police report with the Newport Beach Police Department claiming Jackson Caipahas was cyberstalking me on Linked-In--putting something on record in case he had Donald Holbert come after me again with another maliciously frivolous allegation. Why was it that Jackson could freely "watch my every move" by actually stalking me, but I couldn't be vigilant without being admonished? I refused to be thrown into a boxing ring with both hands tied behind my back--I had every right to defend myself by any means necessary, even blemishing his perfect public persona if necessary. The restraining order did not give him free rein to provoke me into breaking it and Mac should've never allowed it as much as he warned me about it. What if my own lawyer began siding with Jackson after talking with Claudine Courtney? That in Mac's point of view, finishing the diversion program was also an admission of guilt?

With another fourteen months of Jackson being able to fabricate innocuous violations before the restraining order expired, I shifted my focus to finishing “The Passion Particle” and building my business. After an entire year of hard work for the biotech public company client without being fully paid, I played my hand with Mr. Stansphere and Harris--increasing my monthly fee by two thousand dollars a month. After they agreed in writing to the monthly fee increase, I applied for work with a temp agency, picking up a gig as a senior accountant at a prestigious real estate firm in Newport Beach. Over the next fourteen months, after my payable balance with the biotech company grew to a hundred twenty thousand dollars, I laid into Harris about the direction of the Biotech company, even accusing them of fraud and being nothing more than a shell company. In all honesty, working for Harris for free waiting for the company to take off and loving Anya waiting for her to commit to me were parallel, both willing to take all I offered without any appreciation for all I did. After refusing to do any more work until they were current with their payments, this unfortunate falling out resulted in Harris, not only understanding, but reaching out to a firm that could take the product to the next level of production through a reverse merger. When the new company agreed to buy them out, this brought in forty-five thousand dollars of additional business for me that was paid on time. After getting the Company all caught up on its filings, I had no choice but to convert my one hundred twenty thousand dollar unpaid balance into sixty two thousand shares of common stock. After receiving the stock, I terminated my contract with the company as their Chief Financial Officer and started working for the Newport Beach real estate firm full-time as an independent contractor. The real estate firm paid me handsomely on a weekly basis, not only saving my business but also providing me with the opportunity to meet and work with, and for, some of the best group of professionals and people on the planet. Life seemed to be unexpectedly turning around, my mountain of debt now crumbling into an ant hill.

With things turning around, including the soon expiration of the excessive five year restraining order, finding time to write my novel was hard to come by. Without time to write, the burning inside over the pulled strings intensified. Making me realize, even if my life turned perfect, this scar would destroy any happiness. When the restraining order did expire, how could I achieve any redemption from it all? Was a reclamation of honor possible at this point? With the novel nowhere complete, as I hoped when the restraining order expired so it could be quickly published, now what? I envisioned bringing the book into the open market would be my redemption but after rereading it, editing alone would take years. How do I make my voice heard knowing it had to be? Of course, I had reservations of bringing the book to print. It wasn’t written to “out” Anya. What we shared together wasn’t for the rest of the world to know but the story was too damn unique not to be told—especially if it helped others in the same boat. I wouldn’t have wanted anyone to go what we endured. But the score needed to be settled for me to find any peace—Jackson needed to know I knew about his dealings with the City Prosecutor of Long Beach. He needed to know I knew he sent the letters to my father and to my clients after cyberstalking them—the same way he cyberstalked me for two years. I promised one day the score would be settled and I meant it. Jackson challenged my liberty by fleecing the system, achieving his defamation of my character on false grounds and with incomplete context. If what he told those in power was the truth, I’d walk away from everything knowing I deserved every bit of it. But everything about the ground the restraining order stood upon and its alleged violations was too fraudulent to ignore—I reserved the right to reclaim my rightful character. Not that I was perfect here, but not the monster he hoped to create through half-truths. Each party involved needed to know they didn’t get away with a single thing. Just like when Lady Olenna told Jamie Lannister in Games of Thrones before drinking the poison given to her “Tell Cersei, I want her to know it was me.” I wanted them to know I knew it was them.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

My means of redemption dawned on me while writing a chapter of “The Passion Particle” on a beautiful summer day. How Days like these before Mrs. Anya Caiaphas were spent at the beach without a worry in the world, either basking in the sand for a few hours or biking on the strip. Yet, here I was inside an overly air conditioned coffee shop, having to swallow a pill just to enjoy a day I always enjoyed drug-free, trapped within my mind reliving the anguish of all that happened, like a soul eternally damned. When I imagined Jackson and Anya on a day like this, at the beach in an exotic place or on a boat, or getting ready for a party or a fun dinner, without a thought of how their marriage and misrepresentations inflicted deep suffering in my life for no good reason—I needed to fix this immediately. No one had the right to steal my life away the way they have done. I didn’t want to blame Anya for it, the happiest and best moments in my life were mostly shared with her, but enough was enough. The need for drugs to get through the day needed to end—I refuse to spend another day trapped inside my head on a beautiful day that should be spent just enjoying life. I believed she may reach out to me when the order expired but after six months passed without any contact from her, there were no more free passes to give. Life was unfair to all of us, but this was cruel. Jesus Christ turned the other cheek, but without any peace of mind, I was just too weak to do the same—my hand being forced to settle the score and reconcile Anya.

I wanted them all to hear me, the way Jackson wanted everyone to hear him by writing a letter to my father and clients. The same way he wanted his story heard by a higher power rather than cops unwilling to take a ridiculous report for clearly innocuous violations of a restraining order. The police department knew what a true violation of a restraining order was—they’ve witnessed it on many calls. But a City Prosecutor looking for political allies and a few months of free rent? They didn’t care—no one would ever know.

Anya told me if she fell in love with me, she would be with me. Telling me the only reason she was still with Jackson was because no one would be there for her if she were to leave. She sold me on her kids not being the reason she was still married, even referring to them as “baggage” before I fell deeply. In fact, those words allowed and encouraged me to fall deeper because it’s the last thing I ever wanted her to feel about her kids. I know she never viewed her kids as “baggage” but in the eyes of another man, she feared him seeing them that way. She never told me she was still there because divorce was beneath her. She never told me she was still with Jackson because she didn’t want to be part of the “general public”; although the general public left their spouses for much less. The worst thing was she felt like she betrayed her kids—that the “pure” and “true” love she felt with her soulmate was a betrayal of her children. That statement destroyed us. After learning Katie graduated from Columbia University and moved to New York, it was clear to me where this betrayal truly lied—that her daughter wouldn’t have been able to receive an all expenses paid out of state college education without Jackson’s money—why I referred to him one time as the goose who laid the golden egg. Anya was still shared a bed with her “roommate” because those golden eggs needed warmth for her kids to thrive. And did that make me mad? Not at all. It’s not what set me off. Her kids deserved the absolute best in life. I wouldn’t have wanted them to have less for all the hard work they put in and the sacrifices they made. My problem was she misrepresented herself to me when we met. It didn’t mean she didn’t love me, or fall in love with me, or even believe I was her soulmate. This has gone to the point of reconciliation and redemption because those monster misrepresentations greatly affected my life. Anya betrayed me and she betrayed herself. The fact that she viewed loving a man like myself as a betrayal of her kids was like experiencing a nearby nuclear blast—destroying all I ever did and fought for. It only could be for one reason and that was the money Jackson provided to them all. Why did she lead me down the path of true love for nothing? To go against everything we ever stood for? The day she told me she believed she betrayed her kids was the day she betrayed me. My life needs to keep moving forward and remaining silent won’t destroy the cacophony within. Before feeling the coldness of steel beneath me, my side of the story needed to be heard. Instead of posting any more new chapters on the website, I instead posted an explanation of the true origin of the story to my readers and give credit to those who made it happen.

I started off with the first posting this way.

"The Passion Particle" is ultimately a fictional story however 90% of the novel is based on a true story. It would be improper to not provide dedications with this novel as many people have contributed to its existence and should be properly recognized. There are quite a few, and they are all deserving. The moral of the story is simply this. "Honesty is always the best policy." As for everyone else involved in the lie whose only purpose was to hurt my life inspiring me to write this novel, and they know who they are, your dedication is coming in the only form I know how to write in; the truth. For the reader, I think this makes the story a little more interactive, enjoyable and worth the read.

I then posted my first dedication:

My first dedication goes to Judicial Officer Teri Shamm of the Lamoreaux Justice Center, Superior Court of California, County of Orange. My novel is not an indictment of the Justice Center as they had no knowledge of what happened in their building 5 years ago. I also don't believe this woman to be a bad judge or even a bad person, however I feel the way she handled my case, in particular, was with an unheard of and certainly unprovoked prejudice that appeared to hint towards collusion and political corruption, that I believe not only will the court documents provide evidence of but also based on the magnitude of my grossly unfair ruling considering the facts of my case. When Judicial Officer Shamm pulled me out of the courtroom I was to have my case heard in, not only did it discriminate against others that day who undoubtedly would have appreciated their cases to be heard in a private setting as well, but also proved my defense that the case was not about a fear of safety but rather about a fear of exposure and a loss of reputation based solely on the truth, in both fact and appearance. The fact I was pulled out of a courtroom to have my case heard in a completely private setting, constituted an illegal act that helped aid the discriminating nature of the proceedings and the resulting unfair ruling I received. Furthermore, I learned years after this event, the plaintiff had many government contracts through his business dealings and that Judicial Officer Teri Shamm herself was married to a politician, councilman Paul Ko who is currently embroiled in alleged wrongdoing with monies received for his non-profit organization. I feel someone who knew the plaintiff through their business dealings who also knew Judicial Officer Shamm and/or her husband, shared one sided details of my case which prompted me being pulled from the courtroom I was assigned to have my case heard in and into an entirely private venue. I also witnessed before entering the other courtroom, the plaintiff having an open conversation with someone just outside the private courtroom my case would be heard in. This led me to further believe there was collusion and political corruption in the handling of my case. When you consider Judicial Officer Teri Shamm was appointed to her post as judge, and not elected, who is to say she couldn’t be indebted to those who put her there?

I would hope through this novel, Judicial Officer Teri Shamm, and others like her, will be made aware that there are consequences for unfair judgments they make upon others especially when they are presented with the truth—it’s their sworn duty to pursue it in every case they hear without bias. Most importantly, I want Judicial Officer Shamm to always know, even though she could have been misled, she never got away with anything that day if she ever believes she did. That although it represented a small “favor” she could normally get away with due to the many defendants I saw that day who needed a Spanish interpreter at the courthouse, this defendant was articulate enough to know that not only his rights as a citizen were violated, but that she violated the judicial code of ethics when her severe overreaching ruling gave me the impression of receiving an unfair trial. A judge should always be held accountable when the facts and truth of a case are presented then discriminately ignored to take away basic freedoms and liberties afforded to us in the United States Constitution. Additionally, no judge should just give people, even those claiming to be the victim, free rein to lie in their courtroom. Any true objective mind would also consider it’s the defendant who may be the true victim. Judicial Officer Shamm, you should’ve known better. Just in case you thought you got away with it, you didn’t.

A day later, I wrote then posted my second dedication:

The second dedication goes to Donald Holbert and The Long Beach City Prosecutor’s office. No matter what you were told, here is the truth—money was extremely tight for me at the time, but after finally being paid by a past due client of mine, I filed to appeal the discriminatory and excessive illegal five year restraining order I received from Judicial Officer Teri Shamm. Unknown to me, and I’ll take responsibility for not doing my homework before filing believing there was a statute of limitations for at least four years, I missed the filing deadline by 23 days and lost all the money I spent for the appeal. As part of the appeal process, I was not allowed to mail the notice of appeal directly to the defendant. I had to have someone else sign and physically mail the appeal notice after the Long Beach Police Department seemed to have dropped the ball on its delivery to the protected parties. I then tasked my mother, who was fighting Cancer at the time, to sign and mail the notice before becoming aware the filing deadline had passed. A whole year, possibly even longer, after the appeal was filed and mailed to the defendant, I received a notice from the Long Beach City Prosecutor’s office stating there was a violation with the “victim” now claiming without evidence that I mailed the notice, not my mother. Mind you, this was a legal court document that was required to be sent to them and took all the necessary precautions with the knowledge I had at the time that there was no missed deadline for filing. But because I unknowingly filed it 23 days past the filing due date, they jumped all over it as an opportunity to wreck my life turning it into a major issue as if I filed appeals for living and know all the deadlines. Donald Holbert, using The Long Beach City Prosecutor’s office to his greatest extent, actually pushed for me to be thrown in jail for the innocent oversight ended up costing me money I couldn’t afford to lose. I then subsequently learned after accepting a diversion program deal that Donald Holbert and the Long Beach City Prosecutor’s office was a commercial tenant in the office building owned by the “victim” as once again, political corruption appears to have reared its ugly head yet again. My financial situation weakened my position to fight the lies made against me, therefore basically forcing me to reluctantly agree to attend a fifty-two week domestic violence course I had zero business being in, paying two hundred dollars to a battered women’s shelter in response to a woman I’ve never laid a finger on nor threatened to, and complete eighty hours of community service all in a span of one year in exchange for the charges against me to be dismissed. I reasoned by deferring the cost over a year if I took the course, I’d save myself $10,000 in attorney fees for a trial I simply couldn’t afford—the only reason I even accepted it. Every single judge I came before in the Long Beach Courthouse during this time period appeared to be fair and never gave me the impression they were violating my rights like Judicial Officer Shamm did. However, the way Donald Holbert and his Long Beach City Prosecutor’s office pursued such an innocuous non-physical crime, as if I had attempted to murder or even assault someone, raised my suspicions about people working behind the scenes against me. But again, I did not learn the City Prosecutor’s office of Long Beach was a tenant of the “victim” or “Caiaphas Property Group” until after I accepted the deal. I thought by going through a public defender I would be represented fairly during a trial to prove my innocence however I learned it appears the public defender’s office works for the state, not for me and it’s the “People of California” versus Landyn Lastman. My public defender even believed I was guilty before proven innocent and advised me to plead guilty! I did not violate the order! There seemed to be an incentive to find me guilty so they could remove my file off their desk, allowing the state to make money off of me and for its state programs (which are really good for those who truly need them). Upon realizing this likely conflict of interest between the public defender and the city prosecutor’s office, I obtained a couple of continuances—needing time to come up with the money to hire a real attorney. Once I secured proper representation, my attorney felt like I did—the initial ruling I appealed was illegal and wanted to fight its legality in a trial on top of the alleged restraining order violations that were filed against me. Unfortunately, the trial would’ve wrecked me financially—the only reason I accepted the diversion program.

For Donald Holbert to wield the power of the Long Beach City Prosecutor’s office to pursue a potential one year jail sentence in my case for a physically non-violent offense made me acutely aware how our legal system works. How people based solely on a weak financial situation find themselves in jail not even remotely based on the truth of their guilt or innocence. They plead no contest or guilty not because they are guilty, but because they are broke even though it’s the legal system they depend on to provide them with justice that is broken. I always believed the truth was sought, but the unethical way this office handled my case, proved to me the truth is bought, not sought. Someone put something into the ear of Donald Holbert and not soon after I was being maliciously prosecuted and defamed. This novel, “The Passion Particle” brings to light what I feel is a major problem with our current legal system, and my specific point of reference is Donald Holbert and the Long Beach City Prosecutor’s office.

Donald Holbert, don’t believe everything you hear for just a couple of months of free rent or for a political favor from a future member of Congress. For the record, I don’t believe all the prosecutors in your office are corrupt, and I know the ones handling my case were fed lies and were just taking your orders, however it’s apparent some can be manipulated to become corrupted in some capacity and for them to practice in a courthouse that carries the respected name of the ex-governor of California, George Deukmejian, is an absolute disgrace. Again, I don’t want you to ever believe you got away with anything. I know the truth about your back-door dealings at a fundraising dinner meant to besmirch my good character and to keep the character of a very questionable person intact. Soon the world will know how that person operates and their complete lack of ethics and integrity. Do yourself a favor and never allow yourself to do favors for a person you only know of but do not truly know. I know you were lied to about who I am and it’s the only reason why I’m limiting my disgust with you to this dedication. I wanted you to know that I know. You got away with nothing.

A day later, I wrote then posted the third dedication—the toughest one by far. It made me angry feeling the need to because they would never see my side nor expect them to. Unfortunately, too many reasons existed not to. The first being the fear their parents instilled in their minds about me. Secondly, they had to know who I was for me to be listed on the protected order. How else would they recognize the threat to their safety? If they were protected on the order, they had to know who I was and what I looked like—especially if they believed the lie I threatened to kidnap them. Third, the threats made to destroy my life and the half-truths to intentionally defame my character. The fourth, the letter sent to my father’s home after stalking him on the internet to learn of his mailing address along with sending the same letter to my clients after cyberstalking them. Lastly but not least, defaming my character with lies to Donald Holbert, The City Prosecutor of Long Beach and others. The last thing they were accomplishing by coming after me in that manner was protecting them—only telling the truth could’ve made them successful at that endeavor. And for all I knew, they would likely never see this posting anyway—all I needed was their parents to see it.

The third and fourth dedications go to Katie and Andrew Caiaphas who are represented as Ashley and Robert Clarke in “The Passion Particle”. I will make this dedication short and sweet to both of them. They are the true victims here; two innocent kids brought into this world who have simply been lied to for their entire lives by the people they should trust the most. It’s never noble to lie about good decent people with the goal to destroy their lives in order to keep a massive lie alive that has greatly harmed others The message to them through my novel is simply this—they’ve been manipulated and lied to about who I am and that the monster their father created to put fear in their heads and hearts does not exist in any way shape or form. To this day I don’t know how a parent could ever be selfish enough to instill a fear about a good decent person that does not exist in the heads of their own children rather than being honest with them about why that person exists in their lives in the first place, unless they had a lot of things about themselves to hide, which happens to be the truth.

Katie and Andrew, you simply need to know I’ve always wanted nothing but the best in life for both of you and it’s important for you to know that true happiness doesn’t come from how much money you have sitting in your bank or investment accounts, or how many horses are in your stable, or how many skiing trips you take to Mammoth, or how many boats you have to cruise the bay with, or how many friends you have on Facebook, but rather how good someone you love makes you feel about yourself. Why a parent would not want their children to know this in life, when they know it to be true, is beyond my comprehension, but when a parent is a master manipulator who has to be in control of everything and carries all the traits of a classic narcissist and sociopath, it’s easy to understand they why they won’t tell you where true happiness is found because it would defy all they’ve taught you. Unlike your mother and father’s union, you need to know marriages are realistic when you choose the right person. I want you both to know that trust and respect means everything in every relationship and if you don’t have it, you don’t have a real relationship. You both deserve real marriages based on mutual love, trust and respect which never leads to infidelity even to settle the score. You also need to know your self respect should never be bought and should always be non-negotiable. That there is nothing “unique” or “special” about any man or woman who respects you and remains loyal to you because that’s what someone who truly loves and cares about you is supposed to do. That it’s okay to stand up for what you believe in even if it’s unpopular because that is the trait of leaders, not sheep—even if it costs you a friend or two down the road. The only reason this dedication even exists is because your heads have been filled with horrific lies about me and that is the god honest truth. I had absolutely zero intention of ever reaching out to you one day to explain who I was. First of all, it’s not my place to do that and secondly, you’re highly unlikely to side with me and I wouldn’t expect that of you—I get it. Unfortunately, the lies told about me to people in positions of power to harm me made it necessary through this dedication and through this novel about what I truly represented in the life of your mother and who I really am. Your father objectifies her—I respected, loved and cared for her. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you, it just means he doesn’t love your mother the way a husband needs to love his wife.

This was also not written for you to hate or rebel against your parents. Although I feel they’ve fallen short in teaching you about real values other than the value of things and money, their love for you both is without question, and they’re going to do what they feel is necessary to protect you. I don’t fault them for that and they are good parents. My problem is with the lies they’ve communicated to others about me and some of those people are in high places who tried to harm me irreparably. If what was told about me was the truth, you both would never know I existed. My CPA business relies on my name and I have the right to protect it. All because a parent may be a good parent doesn’t necessarily mean they are of high character. All because a parent may be a good parent, doesn’t give them the right to hurt the lives of others with lies by serving themselves to avoid being held accountable for the reason why these “others” existed in their lives in the first place. Defending my character is just as important as the protection of their reputation. One instance of this type of lie that served themselves was when you were only 13 years old, Katie. When you overheard your mother threaten to divorce your father, and you thought you were to blame for it. Dior the record, you can blame me for it and I’m sure you will because I’ve never given or bought you a thing in life, but there are two people I never want you to blame; your mother and you. You were not responsible in any way for your mother’s unhappiness with your father, and I know for a fact you and your brother made your mother proud every day. I know she loves you greatly because I suffered every single day fighting for her to be honest about her true feelings and to do the right thing by ending her marriage. All the times you ever saw your mother upset and crying, times she left the house to go sit in her car or take a drive somewhere, times she had to excuse herself from dinner, please don’t you ever blame yourselves or your mother for it, blame me for it instead. Your father succeeded in life and even as a father, but he failed as a husband in the worst way imaginable. I would’ve never been in the middle of this if that wasn’t true. So, if you ever still wondered about those times, you can now rest your mind because the truth was you had nothing to do with it at all. However, in the head of a certain dishonest parent, it was better for you to go to bed with that burden on your mind than to be honest with you to relieve you from it.

It was imperative you both know the truth so that this false sense of fear instilled in you by a parent, who seems to care about their reputation and image more than your peace of mind, is released so you can see the true intent of my actions and what I truly represented in the life of your mother. Your mother and father’s marriage is not one founded on love, but rather on fear and deceit. Their marriage historically lacks loyalty, trust and respect and has simply hurt and disrupted lives around it, even ruined another man’s marriage in the past. What they have is a marriage to keep up appearances for business and networking purposes, and I feel it is their obligation as parents to show you theirs is not a normal marriage—especially when it pushes lies about others. Not having loyalty, trust and respect in a marriage is not a marriage let alone one you and Andrew should invest your life in because believe it or not, your happiness within a marriage will determine your happiness in life. Otherwise, I would have never met your mother and known her pain, and she sure in the heck wouldn’t have encouraged or allowed me to fall in love with her or be in her life let alone for the two years I was a significant part of it. If I had no respect for your mother I’d send you the texts she has sent me over those two years and you would know exactly how much your father has wronged her and why I’ve been defamed. You need to know your mother is a victim of emotional abuse for many years from the destructive mind of your father, who I believe to be a sociopath, and I simply came into her life to save her from it. It’s that simple. He has disrespected, dishonored, and shamed her for years and his love for her only represents an extension of love for himself and money. That’s the truth and why fear was put into your minds about me. They are all lies—everyone single one of them. Your mother knows the truth. I know the truth. And now the truth has arrived to you both. Please do not use your parent’s marriage as a guide to a happy successful marriage because disrespect, dishonor and disloyalty are not traits of a real marriage, and you deserve loyalty and respect from someone you give your hearts to, and there’s nothing unique about someone you’re married to who gives you that—it should always be demanded and expected. Here are some things to keep in mind as you continue life’s journey. Things your parents could never teach you because they lack it for each other.

THINGS MONEY CAN’T BUY

1. Common Sense

2. Morals

3. Respect

4. Character

5. Manners

6. Trust

7. Patience

8. Class

9. Integrity

10. Love

I hope God blesses you both, that you meet people who respect your heart, and the real love you both deserve from another that eluded both your own mother and father never eludes you.

After posting that dedication, one I never believed would be necessary, it seemed too far-fetched that either of them would ever read it. They would have to perform a Google search on me to locate it and only Jackson was cyberstalking people these days. However, I couldn’t help but hope it reached their eyes after Jackson found it necessary to reach out to my father, my clients and to Donald Holbert. My communication went directly to the people who knew of my relationship with Anya and who actually knew me—no cyberstalking required. If Jackson didn’t want the heat, he should’ve stayed out of the Facebook kitchen. He knew his wife wanted to be happy after stealing happiness from her over the years—the least he could’ve done was make it right for her by letting her go without making a play for full custody. My goal was never to destroy Jackson, only his role as Anya’s husband, by wanting him to know the woman he’s married to is not in love with him after all we experienced. Anya owed him the truth if he went seeking it by cyberstalking someone on Facebook for two whole years. God favored the truth and those who basked in it and was not for those who bore false witness. In fact, he never allowed King Abimelech to touch Abraham’s wife, Sarah, because He knew she belonged to him. God never intervened on Jackson’s behalf the way he did for Abraham—everything felt too right for God to be against our love. God knew what I knew from the very beginning—Jackson only objectified Anya, loving her with his pecker and his wallet. I knew reaching out to Katie and Andrew could never change their minds. They would always choose their father over me and I wouldn’t want it any other way, but the same could be said when Jackson contacting my father. He wasn’t changing anyone’s mind there but he tried anyway, even doubling down when he threatened to destroy me. So, in so many words, FUCK HIM. He failed to protect his children when he chose to do it with lies instead of the truth—his public image meaning more than doing the right thing as a parent.

The next dedication was for the one who deserved it more than anyone, posting it the day after Katie’s and Andrew’s.

The 5th dedication goes to Mr. Jackson Caiaphas, President of both Caiaphas Property Group and now, his new side hustle Jaka-Tech, which ironically appears the “aka” contains the first letters of each of the three family members he’s deceived (Anya, Katie & Andrew) over the years, but we’ll get to the details about that a little later.

This dedication is not an indictment of Jackson’s business practices. I only mentioned the names of his businesses so there is no confusion about which Jackson Caiaphas I am speaking of. I’m certain he engages in honest good faith dealings with his tenants and clients and I wish him the best on his business endeavors. I can find appreciation in his work ethic and drive to run successful businesses. It’s not why this dedication exists.

In the movie “The Exorcist”, the head priest Father Merrin, tells his assistant priest, Damien Karras, the following before they begin the ritual to rid a demon from a little girl.

“The demon is a liar. He will lie to confuse us but he will also mix lies with the truth to attack us. His attack is psychological, Damien. And powerful.”

In a nutshell, Jackson Caiaphas to me, is a representation of this same demon because he has mixed lies with the truth about me to deceive others in high places in an all-out effort to destroy my life that damn near took it. I think it’s only fair to recap why I feel this way about the man after his wife has informed me of all the following.

1. He cheated on his wife when she was pregnant with their second child and with another man’s wife.

2. His cheating ways caused his wife such great distress that it was likely the reason why her son was born prematurely.

3. After the affair was learned, the other man’s marriage was wrecked irreparably because Anya was so distressed she had to reach out to the husband to work together on a solution. This caused Anya undue anguish believing by doing so she had a hand in breaking up the marriage when it was her husband and the other man’s wife who did. Jackson put Anya unfairly in this position and she did only what a normal person in her situation would do. Something she never should feel guilt about.

4. Jackson Caiaphas was so remorseful, after his son could have died from his premature birth and after he wrecked another man’s marriage, do you know what he did? He cheated on his wife yet again. Her crime? She put on weight from her pregnancy.

5. Feeling so much remorse after he cheated on his wife, he jokes with her and to others he would trade her in for two 20 year olds when she turns 40.

6. Flirts with waitresses and “checks out” other women in her presence even after cheating on her and ruining another man’s marriage.

7. What kind of advice does the mother of Jackson Caiaphas, who knows of his infidelities, gives to her daughter in law? “Suck it up, Buttercup!” I think my mother would have disowned me if I had cheated on my wife.

8. Has abused his wife emotionally for years and leaving her to handle essentially all the duties of a parent with little help other than using his money to hire others to handle the chores she would normally have to do. Kids that his wife was left alone to raise, driving them to and from activities into the night and in hazardous conditions at times. His wife essentially taught her son to play baseball and other sports. His gross infidelities and disrespect led his wife to pursue a short-term and a long-term relationship outside of their marriage.

9. Emotionally blackmailed his wife with threats to kill himself if she left him, threatening to fight for full custody of the kids and giving her his businesses in exchange instead of supporting her having the happiness in life he stole from her.

My only weapon here is the truth, but Jackson’s only weapon of choice, like the demon in “The Exorcist” was mixing lies with the truth. The thing is, you can never defeat the truth. The following is a description of the kind of person Jackson Caiaphas truly is.

“Narcissists, if you give them the opportunity and they are hell bent on it, will make you sick—literally. They use people to the max, including their spouses, children and siblings. If you become ill, they will replace you with someone else. You can take that one to the bank. Narcissists move adroitly to their goals—never stopping to help anyone but themselves. They may strategically donate money to the right entities or play the part of the “do gooder” but this is all part of re-enhancing their image of themselves as the “great compassionate man or woman.”

Jackson,

I’m sure you thought you got away with it all. You even called me, using a spoof app because you were violating the restraining order, to cowardly threaten, harass, and provoke me into violating the unjust restraining order I received based on a pack of half-truths. You even convinced people you knew in government, particularly, a judicial officer of the court, the Long Beach City Police Department, and the City Prosecutor of Long Beach (a tenant of yours) to do the same. You then threatened to sue me for “slander” if I ever said such things about you, well here’s your chance with an entire novel your own wife used to give me working titles to. You threatened to take my CPA license away from me, claiming you were “powerful” enough to do so—even challenging me to a fight “MMA style” which I declined not out of fear, but out of respect for your children. You then sunk so low you even cyberstalked my father and my clients on the internet, like all the times you stalked me on Facebook for a two year period, to locate addresses so you could send a letter to my father’s home, who was in the middle of intolerable grief, and to all of my clients—a classic example of your deeply rooted arrogance in a doomed from the start attempt to get them on your side. But hey, at least they know all about you too now. Just like you’ve done in your marriage to abuse your own wife; you’ve tried to attack me psychologically, and just like your godforsaken marriage, you’ve failed. In the end though, I finally realized something when it was all said and done. You wouldn’t have done any of the above if you truly believed your wife’s heart belonged to you. I now understand why you were upset after learning a simple truth—that if you had all the money in the world, you still could never give her a quarter of what I did. My conjecture is you found out she saw me one night when she was with you, and did not report it to the police nor warn or protect you. I even walked right past you unintentionally that night and even after seeing me, she kept it hidden from you to protect me because she knows the truth, as well as I do about you. You probably found the emails a year after they were sent because she never reported them to the police and you then got upset with her, accused her of still loving me, and then threw a tantrum, like most children do—forcing her come after me by threatening you’d tell the kids mommy doesn’t love daddy. I believe you saw the emails I sent to her friend on her phone, because let’s face it your marriage has zero trust, and you were beyond yourself when she protected me simply because she knows who I really am and what I really stood for and it wasn’t wrecking your family but to end her marriage to an emotionally abusive narcissist and philanderer.

No matter what your legal counsel says, I know you’re the Conductor of this Crazy Train, and my question is why aren’t you in any kind of therapy? Can you even comprehend for a minute why I’ve felt the need to protect myself against your lies? Did you know I walked away from your wife because she was married when we first met? Even told her if she ever got a divorce I’d love to date her? Then I ran into her again 5 months later and she told me I broke her heart? When I asked how that was even possible because she was married, she referred to her marriage as just a “situation”? That she promised me if I swept her off her feet she would be with me? That the only reason she was till there was because she was afraid no one would accept her with her children? That she believed no one would be there for her if she left? For 2 years, and I can call AT&T and get the text message archives to prove it, I swept her off her feet. In fact, when you found out about San Francisco after stalking me on Facebook, she told me she loved me more than ever. Sure, we were physical, but we loved each other simply because we were best friends and respected each other, not solely because of her physical beauty, in which YOU base love upon. I know you more than I ever wanted to know you. I am simply putting all of this out here because if I hadn’t been told about your transgressions, I would have been married by now and have a family of my own—never being in the financial hole I found myself in afterwards. I’ve lost a lot for caring about someone’s happiness in life over my own. Anya never told me “I want to be with Jackson” or “I want to work on my marriage with Jackson”. She told me she feared her kids would hate her, and as much as you would love to believe it, I’m not the type of man her kids would have hated—They’d see I cared deeply for their mother’s well-being and greatly respected her. From what I witnessed not too long ago, she doesn’t appear to be in a healthy place, and that was what I was fighting for—fearing their mother was living an unhealthy life by living a lie. I should have had a lot more holidays with my mother than I did, and so should Katie and Andrew. Sometimes Jackson, it’s not about you and your ego. I can tell the way you run around playing the role of victim, without seeing your role in the mess you created, you could care less about Anya’s happiness over your own. When I found out you were stalking me on Facebook over the last 2 years, I told Anya if you’re not going to be honest with him, I’m going to be. I put her in a position to come clean because I didn’t think it was right you had to go into my account to get the truth, if that’s what you were seeking, and you needed to have it. Now I understand how the last day unfolded the way it did when Anya told me “He would never allow it” and indeed I saw it one day when you had your entire body craned outside of your driver side window while stuck in traffic. You’re a high risk individual who could easily take lives with your crazy temper. Anya told me “I love you forever” every day for well over a year and after San Francisco she told me she loved me more than ever after we had dinner together. Then suddenly she morphs into a completely different person, calling the police department to take reports after you did a crazy thing like threatening to install chips in her phone—even rallying a neighbor, who is either an ex-cop or cop, to lead the charge. In a span of just 72 hours, it went from “I love you forever” to “You’re harassing me.” That day was like a death to me as I remember my mother, who was dying of Cancer, worried about her son more than herself because he didn’t understand why the absolute love of his life was doing what she did. Now, he knows and it only adds to the greatness of my novel, “The Passion Particle”.

You need to keep in mind, horrific lies were said about me to people in high places; judges, police officers, and others in your business and social circles. All I’m coming at you with are things I was told were true or are true. If you were coming at me speaking the truth to these people, I’d have no reason to do any of this, but you simply are not and I will fight you on everything. We will be in court a lot—whatever it takes to shut your lies down. I regret sending Anya’s gifts back simply because I didn’t understand the reason for her lies, but now I do. She knew you were a whack job capable of doing psycho things, and she told those lies because she was forced to by you, or else she could be harmed. They were vicious lies made to judges and to prosecutors and I wasn’t going to allow people, especially friends I knew of Anya’s, to be lied to. That’s why I emailed Debbie—to defend myself by telling my side of the story. I even specifically instructed her in my email to not tell Anya which shows no intention of violating a court order. If I had any plans to intentionally violate the restraining order, I’d take my complaints directly to you. I just wanted her to know my side of things and why I acted out the way I did. I’ll admit there’s a lot of things I didn’t understand at the time but I have a better understanding of now. I hate to break it to you but if I had any intention whatsoever to break a court order, the last thing I’m going to do is go through a middle man if I’m going to end up getting in trouble for it anyway.

You’re coming at me with all this rage, but you’re not holding yourself accountable for the role you’ve played. You’re not only completely incapable of exercising empathy, but you believe you’re the victim. I’m simply in your life because you victimized your wife for years with your complete disregard to her feelings. You talk a big game but your actions fall way short—it takes a lot more than money to buy her heart now. You’re soon to be 60 going on 20, and it’s amazing after all these years on this planet and you have zero emotional intelligence whatsoever. Like she used to tell me about you “he should have married a stripper”. I couldn’t agree more because I see your fits of jealousy, so let me break it further down so you can maybe understand why this dedication exist.

1. You pressured your wife to lie to a judge about me.

2. You had her lie so she could obtain an order, and you used my emotions against me to provoke me into breaking the order so you could ruin my life. I know all the ways you tried to accomplish this with pictures of the past with you both, lies about me made to others, and stalking me on Linked-In so I would “connect” with you.

3. You called me twice to threaten me with a “Spoof Call” app so the number could not be traced. I think Anya needs to be made aware of these things because I don’t think she is.

4. You’re the true stalker yet deflected it upon me.

5. I attended a 52 week DV class and was the only one there who never struck a woman leaving everyone to wonder why I was even there in the first place. Through this class though, I learned all about patterns of abuse and realized you were the one who fit all the criteria to be in a DV class. This deflection upon me is another reason for the dedication—you are still the only abuser in Anya’s life.

Patience and time are my true warriors. We waited for this moment so I could settle the score in which I promised you one day I would do. This has now been achieved through my dedications—through the truth. I do have a strong opinion about things, but only because it carries the truth with it—my redemption. I want to make sure your pattern of harassment is extinguished for good. That the lies you told to others about me are destroyed and the truth is known. I feel you should seriously consider some kind of therapy to deal with your lack of emotional intelligence and psychopathic ways. You need to accept responsibility for the way this turned out. Unlike everyone other man in Anya’s life you’ve scared off, I’m not going to stand for it because the truth resides on my side in this matter and I’ll fight you under blood red skies in court over this if I must. I’d want nothing less than the lengthiest of hearings because I have a ton of questions for you. That’s right, we’re coming after YOU in court, not Anya. We’re going after the Conductor of the Crazy train, not its passenger.

You should feel ashamed to have deprived the mother of your children a single day of happiness, a woman you promised to God and family “to honor and cherish until death do you part”. You even sat on your ass, instead of being bent on one knee when you proposed to her, but I guess when you have money and can promise her friends your money has bought, the simple gesture of honor and respect for a woman you claim to love didn’t matter. But it only marked the beginning of your emotional abuse, so much abuse in fact, it all felt normal to her until she met me. I’m confident she knows the truth now, that the day she met me was the day she realized how psychologically destructive you have been. That your actions and inactions as a loving caring husband is the reason she felt empty enough to pursue love and happiness again in her life and how dare you deny her that for anyone’s sake!

I’ve always been a man of compassion, but your demonic ways need to be brought to light, and I’m glad my passion for writing could do just that. You’re in the business of selling yourself to people, and you have adroitly sold yourself enough that people actually believe your lies and it appears you’ve even met those who will protect them for you. As hard as you tried though, when you called me using a spoof app like the dishonest person you are, you failed to sell yourself to me—I wasn’t buying. I know all about you and your abusive ways. You’re the one who should be facing domestic violence charges for meeting all the criteria of an abuser. There is nothing normal or right about your behavior—your money the only thing validating you. Without it, you’re nothing in life—unable to buy people like your friends and even your own wife and kids. Without your money, you offer nothing to anyone, and once you learn you cannot achieve a monetary benefit from people, you kick them to the curb. You’re a very sick human being who only tells lies with the sole intent and purpose to serve yourself. And to ruin the lives of others for the decisions and choices, not mistakes, you’ve made to harm others. Although I would never seek you out, I really do hope our paths cross one day because I would love to tell you this straight to your face, but I already learned you’re the greatest coward I’ve ever known. The day you decided to phone me only confirmed all I ever knew about you through your wife, even though not one time during our conversation did you protect her. In fact you sought to put her in harm’s way that day by telling someone you believed was psycho that “she lied to you about everything”. I will tell you again what I told you on that day; even though it was possible, I don’t believe she lied to me. Anya knows if she did, it would be like admitting to a violation of another human being on the same level as rape. However, I do believe without a doubt, because she told me many times when you asked her about me, YOU were the one she lied to. You can keep living the pipe dream your ego, the false image you’ve built, and the fake friends your money has bought along the way for as long as you live, but the one thing you can never deny is the truth in this life. The truth that I promise you God is well aware of between us, that is expounded upon as testimony in this memoir/novel. I don’t mix lies with the truth—it’s the truth or nothing at all. That’s called integrity. That’s called character. But I also realize I can’t talk of these things you don’t know of nor could fully comprehend.

Here are some things in life you should know in case you didn’t;

What goes around comes around.

The lies you tell only build and then eventually come right back to you.

Honesty is always the best policy.

It’s a shame a man 13 years your junior must tell you these things. At one time over the last 5 years, I was so reflective I considered the possibility it was me who was the classic narcissist and psychopath. Then I realized something; I never lied about anything, and lying is the trait of all narcissists, sociopaths, and psychopaths—you are the ultimate triple threat. I always told the truth about everything and that’s the difference between you and I, and will always be.

After posting this dedication, doubting the likelihood it will get read by its intended, there was just one dedication left to post. Driven by Jackson’s attempts to destroy me and knowing his actions fueled my fire, becoming the peacemaker I strived to be remained an impossibility until this unleashing of anguish—already losing far too much to deserve any of Jackson’s attacks. If somehow he believed his actions were noble because he was “protecting his kids” then my response simply represented an act of survival; the drugs allowing me to stay patient until the time came to settle the score. To settle this score was nothing to be happy about, only becoming necessary to defend what was left of my life. If Jackson sought to destroy me then protecting the kids with the truth accomplishes that. Instead, he chose to defame me to people of power who could end me in an effort to hide his own unwholesome nature. If Anya had told me when we met that she was still there because she didn’t want to lose fifty percent of her kids, then just communicate that to me. Don’t bait me into allowing me to develop enormous feelings for you only to switch on me in the end—the Bernie Madoff version of loving someone. That’s all I ever asked or needed from Anya—the truth. She didn’t have to love me for a single second and the last thing I wanted was to put her in this position. Why are you really still there? That’s all I wanted to know and I asked it because I wanted to avoid feeling all of this yet she took zero responsibility by allowing Jackson to come after me—a part of me hoping she was unaware of the strings he’s been pulling. I gave her the love she wanted after she withheld valuable information from me and all I asked for was her love in return, not misrepresentations of the truth. All the things she told me after allowing me to fall deeply—from not wanting to lose fifty percent of her children, to not wanting to be viewed like the general public, to feeling selfish if she pursued happiness, and that she was still there for the sake of the kids because if the money Jackson provides. And then having the audacity of parading her marriage around to others while being in a serious relationship with me was not remotely close to what we discussed and agreed upon when we decided to give it a chance. We agreed if she fell in love with me, she would be with me, or at least promise to be. If she needed time, I loved her enough to give her that and I expected some struggles on her part—I understood how she could feel but not as much after pursuing her happiness with me and allowing me to feel so much. She had something to fall back on, I did not. And if Jackson finding out about us meant running back to him and conspiring with him against me, then my anger is justified—I’m no one’s dirty secret. She had no right to tell me about his infidelities knowing it would hook me, if she had no plan on doing anything she promised when we agreed to give it a shot. When I told her I’d be a “big boy”, I meant it in the sense that if she didn’t love me and decided not to be with me not in the sense I’d understand she’d grow a second face the minute Jackson learned of our relationship. She needed to act like a “big girl” if she wanted me to be a “big boy” especially if you’re engaging in the most intimate of acts with another man. This was a relationship in which I could be greatly harmed and she needed to vouch and defend me. If my soulmate, what she called me, couldn’t stand up for a “pure” and “true” love likes ours, again words she used to describe our love, then how could I not feel betrayed? I took that leap of faith for her because I trusted her. She needed to do the same for me by vouching for me, and not conspiring with a demon to destroy my life.

Two days later, I posted Anya’s dedication.

The 6th dedication goes to Anya Caiaphas, represented as Carla Clarke, as this novel “The Passion Particle” chronicles our relationship. I must say a couple of scenes between us were embellished for dramatic effect, but 95% did happen as told.

Anya, the story speaks for itself and gives you a golden opportunity to right your life’s wrong. I don’t know many people who are still married after being in a relationship with someone else for 2 years. Eventually, you or Jackson were going to end up hurting someone bad enough one day that the truth about your marriage would be revealed. I was the one because unlike everyone else, I truly loved you. I will never understand, even for the sake of your children, why you would choose to stay with a man who has dishonored, disrespected, and shamed you over a man who would’ve never done such a thing to you. I think if you ever read the story, our story, you’ll understand much better why I felt and reacted the way I did. You live with a man who has mentally abused you, Anya. It’s an act worse than physical abuse because at least a bruise disappears over time. This pain lingers and the abuse led you to me and in turn, I somehow became a victim of that emotional abuse when you misrepresented your situation to me, allowing me to be harmed. I only wanted you to come into the light of the truth so people could no longer be hurt by your lies. All because you think people can’t be hurt by what they don’t know, doesn’t make it right, Anya. You’re still intentionally hurting them through your actions. Your numerous “half the truth omissions” are still lies because it serves yourself. I work every single day trying to find a way to forgive you, but it’s hard to forget because you hurt me with the knowledge you gave me about Jackson’s multiple gross infidelities in order to get what you wanted from me to satisfy your ego (narcissism). I’ve come to realize over time the mental abuse you’ve endured from Jackson was so significant it led you to me and these subsequent actions. I feel bad for punishing you for anything, but if you were me and you experienced all I have, you would easily understand why I stood up for what I felt was right. I know you’re mad at me because we’re not together (that’s the truth) and it’s why I got mad too, especially when you and I both know we belonged together after all we shared. But if we couldn’t be together, then I wanted to see you with another man one day, not the horrific one whose actions led you to me. I’d much rather see you truly happy with someone else if it couldn’t be me, and that’s the difference between Jackson and I, who claims to love you. If what Jackson provides your children is what truly makes you happy, I deserved the right to know before we pursued our relationship. You had five whole months to do so and you never did. It was as important as telling me you were married. It makes me wonder if I’m missing something here. Is this something you do to people to get through married life? You told me one time loving someone was letting them go. So, if that is true, then if Jackson truly loves you, then why does he not let you go? Because you know as well as I do, he does not nor did he ever truly love you. He was a 30 year old swinging dick going after a 19 year old impressionable teenager because you gave him a boner. Would he want Katie dating a 30 or a 32 year old man? Do any of you see the sickness in that? I know what made you truly happy in life and it wasn’t your marriage to Jackson or the “I’m happy when my kids are happy” sadistic bullshit. I’m the living walking proof how much you loved your kids because of my two years of unrewarded patience and sacrifices. Part of the reason I sacrificed myself the way I did was because I completely trusted in all you told me and believed you were too good of a person to ignore the truth—hoping it would make you uncomfortable enough to leave Jackson and to meet a man who makes you a better person. Jackson brings out the absolute worst in you, Anya and you know it. You and I both know you were raised better than that. For you to still be with such a mentally abusive husband over me makes me feel used and that unsettled me more than anything. I think you owe it to me to leave him after all we’ve shared and been through together, even if it means you are alone for a little bit. It wouldn’t be for long I’m certain of that. You being with him is downright wrong for anyone’s sake and you know it.

I wrote this novel to honor my mother and God, but it was also written hoping to bring you into the light of the truth if you ever read it, so you’d have a chance at real happiness again one day with a real man. Not a man who claims he is willing to lose an arm if he could change things yet is unwilling to lift a finger to help you in the kitchen after dinner. He may be a good provider, and a good father, but he needed to be a good husband too—spectacularly failing at what he vowed to do. He’s too consumed with his businesses and his political aspirations to ever be a good husband. You know this truth better than anyone—it takes actions more than an acronym (JAKA) to prove that. As long as you remain with him though, I will fight the lies made about me until the day I die. However, if you do leave, I could then forgive and forget because it meant I wasn’t played for a fool, and you finally did the right thing for once in your life. That’s the only thing I could ever respect—the return of my belief in your honest nature.

After posting the final dedication, I then posted a disclaimer to the dedications, in case any friends of mine misinterpreted my intentions, or anyone else who read them.

The following is a disclaimer in regards to the following dedications.

The dedications were not made so others would harass, hate, contact, or ridicule any of the parties mentioned within. They have caused me harm, not you. No contact information, and only names have been provided to ensure they are not contacted by any third parties. These people do run two quality businesses and they should not be contacted as well. This is not my intent whatsoever in any way shape or form. My only intention is to set the record straight with people who have made lies about me to people in high places, and to protect mine and my company’s name. The dedications serve a legitimate purpose in that they were made solely in self-defense of the many lies, provocations and a pattern of harassment that has been inflicted upon and about me since 2009. These lies constitute harassment, intentional infliction of emotional distress, defamation of character and even gas lighting. The story and dedications only go to prove the level of my fear, anxiety and the emotional distress these lies have caused me over the years.

The dedications were also not knowingly made false statements and represent a statement of fact, or facts I was led to believe were true, and if anything else, simply represents a matter of opinion.

Lastly, in a letter that harassed both my father and clients, the following was written:

“Jackson and Anya Caiaphas are both extremely well respected by so many in different communities, organizations, and circles.”

This statement suggests, and lends to the belief, they are both public figures therefore my dedications represent what I feel is in the public’s best interest. When a company is polluting the environment, I feel it’s best to notify others so they can be safe from harm. These people have harmed not only myself, but others in the past, so I feel these dedications represent a public service announcement so others don’t fall in the same trap I did. I wanted to also bring an awareness to narcissistic, sociopathic and psychopathic behaviors. We are all generally guilty of these types of behaviors however, intentionally lying is the trait which validates these behaviors, and I strongly believe I have enough evidence to prove the accusations made against me were categorically false, and I look forward to defending myself if necessary. My only crime, based on all I was told, was caring about someone’s happiness in life and I paid with my own. I’m the only one who lost and I lost a great deal. I feel I have a social responsibility to make sure this never happens to anyone else with true good intentions.

Thank you for reading, and for your continued support and compliance.

God Bless

After posting the dedications, I took a break from writing to focus on beating my addiction to opiates. The only thing holding me back was the months long bouts of insomnia and the unrelenting restless body syndrome. Now having a client who paid me regularly, it brought new life to my business aspirations—unable to afford going into the office on an hour’s sleep which would last for a few months. Additionally, all the uneasiness felt at my mother’s funeral would hit me tenfold—the milligram potency of the pills was far higher than those taken before my mother’s death. Three months after posting the dedications to “The Passion Particle”, God, who blessed me more than I ever deserved in this life, not only helped me fight back the severe withdrawal symptoms and allowing me to return to a drug free life, but also had Nancy Pelosi win her district over Jackson Caiaphas. Although my political views were unaligned with hers, it was nice to know there was some justice in the world—knowing Jackson’s ego took a major hit on the largest of stages. The loss though appeared to be too much for his ego to bear in December of the year 2017—five months after I posted the dedications to the novel website.

“Hey, Mac. It’s Landyn Lastman.” I relayed into his answering machine. “I need your services again—they filed for another restraining order against me.”