“I believe if I don’t avenge you

  It will come to you somewhere else.

  I believe if you try to trap me.

  You will fall in the hole yourself.

  My heart is a broken engine

  But my blood is running clean.”

  ~ “Superior Machine” Threshold

  After informing Mac of the hearing date, he directed me to inform the court he wouldn’t be available and that Claudine Courtney surprisingly approved the continuance without complaint.

  A few days before the scheduled hearing date, I worked on gathering evidence for the upcoming trial. Claudine Courtney would undoubtedly attempt obtaining the second order based solely on the merit of the first. This made providing evidence of political corruption crucial for me to combat their attack plan. This was no longer a hairbrained conspiracy theory after stumbling upon the business relationship Jackson Caiaphas had with the City Prosecutor of Long Beach. It seemed Donald Holbert and his wife knew Jackson, likely through Anya's volunteer work at the Cancer Society, clearly bringing the real reason behind her “philanthropy” to light—all for business purposes. Anya warned me she had “people” and now those she gleaned through her volunteerism paid dividends in driving me to accepting a diversion deal for uncommitted violations of the restraining order. After spotting a rarely seen sight these days, a pay phone, I made a call to the Long Beach City Prosecutor’s office easily patching myself in to Donald Holbert’s direct line.

  “Hey Don, Jackson Caiaphas here. Give me a call when you can. Seven-one-four-two-nine-three-forty-three-eighty-three. Talk to you soon.” I spoke into the receiver, imitating Jackson’s shrill voice to the best of my ability while leaving the voice mail message before hanging up.

  A few days later, a voicemail received on my mobile phone from an unknown number hinted my message had reached its intended.

  “I know what you’re up to. I’m watching your every move.” claimed the disguised voice, the ending of the call punctuated by a frantic heavy breath followed by a loud click.

  Only six seconds long, the message spoke volumes—not taking a rocket scientist to know the source was Jackson, likely after receiving a distress call from Donald Holbert. A confirmation of what they believed to be a failproof plan now becoming a reckoning of their professional reputations.

  Having a feel now for how the legal game was played—how silence equated to truth, I looked forward to this second round. After saving Jackson’s threat to my voicemail, I visited the Caiaphas Property Group’s webpage noticing a significant tenant was suddenly missing from its home page—the City Prosecutor's office of Long Beach. Although still having no concrete proof of their involvement, their suspicious removal from the website promoting their tenancy at this particluar time, while all others remained, brought real credence to their collusion intending to destroy my life—and Mac needed to know.

  “They what now?” He asked.

  “They removed The City Prosecutor of Long Beach as one of their valued tenants on their company’s webpage, Mac.” I informed him more succinctly. “Can we use that as evidence of their suspected involvement? You have the screenshot I sent you of when they were listed as a tenant.”

  “Maybe they moved?” He asked.

  “Why would they suddenly move?" I posed without telling him about my call from the pay phone. “Removing them from the website suggests their implication, don’t you think? If they didn’t move, why else would Jackson remove them from the website?”

  “We can certainly question them about it.” He told me before clearing his throat.

  “Are you under the weather?” I asked.

  “Nah, just allergies...just that time of year.”

  “Mac, should I make a list of questions to ask them? I asked. “I really need to win this.”

  “This is a nothing burger—you’re going to win. They have nothing here. You never contacted them--all they've done is read something on a website. This is not a restraining order type case.” He reassured me. “Libel, perhaps? But their request for another restraining order has no leg to stand on.”

  “Okay.” I told him, feeling more redeemed but uncertain if they had a legitimate case for libel. Then again, Jackson boasted how he and Anya were "well respected in many communities" in his letter. If they were public figures, certainly the public had a right to know the truth about them and how they operate--using lies and people in power to destroy those who trusted them with their lives.

  “I wouldn’t worry about any of this, Landyn. I’ll talk to Claudine Courtney this week and we’ll get something worked out. I’m sure she knows how ridiculous this all is.”

  After speaking with Mac, I felt better about my prospects this time around. Just the chance to be finally heard, to tell my side of the story without a pill hindering my ability to think and communicate clearly should make all the difference.

  When the court date arrived, a day an agreed upon in advance continuance would be granted because of Mac’s unavailability, there was no anxiousness, uneasiness or nervousness felt. Expecting it to just be an uneventful day without Anya or Jackson’s presence, I went to bed late and woke up groggy. Lacking time to grab a cup of coffee before arriving at the courthouse, advancing through the courthouse’s security checkpoint felt like a dream. With a foggy mind focused on catching up on missed sleep while riding the courthouse’s escalator to the second floor, the sun glared brightly off the large courtroom windows, blinding me.

  On my approach to the courtroom, I flattened my tie against my chest, looking down to make sure it was tucked neatly within my new suit. Before I could bring my eyes up from the white marbled floors, the cacophony of a heightening stomp of footsteps peaked.

  “What’s goin’ on mother fucker?” Blared Jackson, my face nearly bumping into his collarbone. “You got somethin’ to say now, mother fucker?”

  Taking a step away from him to create space between us and fighting back the sun's glare with my right arm, I expected to feel a push, a punch or even a bullet. In this court house he could easily get away with murder—certain Donald Holbert would assist him with such an endeavor. His wrinkled face bore a sun deep crimson hue and the look in his wild bushy browed eyes suggested he may have been on drugs. As he continued to yell, I put my hands in the air and continued to back away, knowing exactly what he wanted. His ambush caught me by such great surprise, it stole from me all the things I wanted to say to his face. I then scanned the scene for an eye witness but not a single person was there.

  “What? You have nothing to say to me now?” He yelled, coming closer.

  “You’re a real big man in a courthouse, Jackson.” I told him while taking another step backwards. “I wonder why.”

  “I’ll take you on anytime, anyplace, anywhere!” He barked again, clenching his fists. “Let’s go!”

  “That’s what you want because I know who your political friends are now. I know Don Holbert is a friend of yours.” I fired back before stopping. “I know all about your political corruption and you’re not getting away with it this time---and you know it!”

  “There’s no political corruption!” He boomed, taking another step forward.

  “Why’d you remove the City Prosecutor of Long Beach from your website then?” I countered, refusing to take another step back and with an accusatory index finger. “You removed it because you got him involved you fuckin’ creep! All you’re doin’ is comin’ at me with lies, not the truth! Well, the truth is here now, you philanderin’ piece of shit!”

  “You’re the piece of shit home wrecker!” He exclaimed before lunging forward.

  In a suit far too tight for him, he raised his right fist but before he could throw a punch, Claudine Courtney emerged from the anteroom, grabbing his arm to pull him away from me. Seeing a clean opening, I tightened my bicep and fortified my wrist, poised to jolt his jaw so quickly it would undoubtedly knock him completely out. I contemplated taking the wide open shot so he could atone for all his evil, but it carried far too vicious intentions, and if he hit the back of his head on the cold marble floor, I could be guilty of something far worse than writing the truth about his life for the world to see.

  Fifteen seconds later, Claudine successfully tugged the maniacal Jackson away, removing the ability to prove his psychopathic nature any further. His contempt for me was what I've held inside in a much darker sense--I had far much less to lose than he did. Truth be told, the dedications were written to inspire this kind of reaction from him—bringing to life his psychotic tendencies. It's what I wanted him to feel—the same scorching rage I've felt over the last six years after his provocations to get me to break the illegal restraining order. It was validating to know I drove him over the edge of madness with my dedications—appearing to inflict more damage than a punch ever could. Jackson was now served with a bit of poetic justice and he certainly didn't care much for the taste of his own medicine. Apparently his conversation with the City Prosecutor of Long Beach did not go over very well especially after his recent congressional defeat. Although Donald Holbert was clearly misled, he should’ve never trusted Jackson to begin with by weaponizing his office against me without knowing the other side to the story. Instead of choosing the truth to defeat and quiet me, they chose defamation—men with zero character accusing me of lacking it. I’m guilty of only one thing--making a terrible decision in trusting someone with my life. A defect of believing in love, and if that's a defect of my character, love is truly dead for me. Losing Anya and my belief in love were too much to bear.

  The fact there were no witnesses to the incident; not a single person waiting outside the courtroom waiting for their case to be heard on the entire one hundred yard floor, screamed setup--the only witnesses conveniently being Claudine, Jackson and myself. His ambush left me kicking myself, failing to consider reaching for my cell phone to memorialize his erratic violent behavior. I could only imagine Anya in the anteroom shaking her head over the whole thing, unable to reel her master in. I’m sure she and Claudine advised against it, but Jackson was paying her to do his bidding—their opinions didn’t matter. His behavior only proved this entire second restraining order had no legs to stand on--and he knew it. How was it possible for him to obtain a stay away order when at the very minimum it required being contacted by me? I never sent an email blast letting them know or letting anyone else know about the dedications—they were sought out. There were no threats made to anyone's physical safety so how could a credible fear for their physical safety exist? Other than what they dreamed up in their heads? Jackson’s outburst all but assured this case would be dismissed or settled before it reached a judge. Mac was right—they had no chance of winning this, especially now being aware of the players involved and having an attorney to defend me this time.

  Minutes after Jackson’s assault and near battery efforts just outside the doors of the courtroom, we were then called to sit inside. There were two sections of seats on the left and right side of the courtroom with an open space between them where people could walk to meet with the judge. Jackson and Anya took seats in the back row after seeing me sitting in the same row in the opposite section. Without missing a beat, Jackson took his provocations a step further, moving to the very end of the opposite section of chairs to be near me. Peering over, I watched Anya fumble through her purse while her psychopathic husband’s eyes were trained on me. Remembering all of his prior provocations, I took my left hand and placed it under my chin, removing all my fingers except the middle one before scratching the side of my left cheek with it.

  “You fuckin’ son of a bitch.” He muttered before standing up.

  I rose without stopping my “itch”, making sure he knew what I thought of his decision to use lies instead of the truth in attempting to destroy me. Then Anya, taking her shining black heels, pounded them loudly upon the tiled floor before admonishing Jackson--her response to his antics leaving me in shock—the first time she's called out his childish behavior. After her show of disgust, I realized using the silent “fuck you” gesture only sunk myself down to his level making me no better. I immediately dropped it from my chin before sitting back down, choosing to ignore Jackson's unyielding stare who never heeded to Anya’s heeled reprimand. From that moment on I refused to feed the falcon, removing myself to the front of the courtroom and away from them. As they conversed loudly enough for me to hear, I tuned them both out—another attempt by the “victims” to antagonize me. On three separate occasions, Jackson rose from his seat and paced the room angrily behind me in a desperate effort to get me to respond. I instead held my ground knowing if he succeeded my side of the story would never be told--the thing he wanted. Six years ago when the illegal restraining order was granted, his provocations on this day would’ve worked. Now being off the pills, dressed in a new suit and with my emotions in better check, I didn’t want to jeopardize losing the chance to bury him the way he tried to bury me. After the pain and suffering I endured over the last six years, especially after going through the diversion program because of his ties to the City Prosecutor of Long Beach, the truth had finally caught up to him--and I refused to let him off the hook. He knew the only shot he had at winning this was to get me to physically assault him. Knowing my attorney wasn't here and his own counsel was currently missing in action by design, he would do all he possibly could to break me.

  Jackson surely painted himself as the victim--the devoted father and husband fighting for his family. In the eyes of others, maybe even most on the outside looking in, this angle justified his behavior. Unfortunately there was another side to the story holding the truth--he wasn’t the loving husband people thought he was. They didn't know the reasons for my ire. In their defense, there's no doubt that most men in my situation would’ve never taken the precautions I took before dating Anya. They would’ve quickly partaken in having an affair with her without falling in love and caring about what her reasons were. They would've never allowed themselves to be vulnerable the way I did. But, my fateful decision was based solely on the information Anya provided I trusted was accurate about the man she married and how it affected her. I wouldn't have been in her life at all if the pain he inflicted upon her was never communicated to me after asking--especially when being accused of breaking her heart after leaving her only because she was married. When she told me she was only there because no one would be there for her if she were to leave, I trusted her. When she told me no man would accept her and her kids, I believed her. When she told me she wasn’t still there for the money, I relied on that. And when she said it wasn’t a marriage but a situation, I put my complete faith in her. This hearing gave me a chance to learn the truth—to learn who Anya really was, if she was never all she led me to believe in.

  Jackson mentioned in his letter to my father “who knows what is true or not” but I played that hand through the dedications proving on this day the truth did matter--especially to the author of the letter to my father and clients. That the truth was everything and its revealing in this hearing will explain why it had to be. Jackson was not only on the verge of defeat but embarrassment. Although he fell woefully short as a husband, wrecking him as a father was never my goal or wish even though he had no problem wrecking Anya as a mother after she crossed him—aiming to prove her as immoral and unfit. But, if she did love me, how was Anya immoral after her husband chipped away her heart for years by disrespecting and dishonoring her? Jackson broke his wedding vows far before Anya even considered it. If her affinity for me was truly in the name of love, where’s the real immorality? Especially after her husband destroyed a marriage with his indiscretions while his survived? In the legal sense, without being officially divorced, an argument could be made against her morality in the eyes of society but what about in the eyes of God? And what about those women with nowhere to go and no one to turn to who stay with their espoused abusers because they are fearful? If Anya didn't love me, and she only wanted private time with another man without kids being around, then she was immoral in the eyes of God. But after all we shared? And after all the things that were said? I just couldn’t fully believe that. After six long torturous years, these questions I could only hope would be answered. This hearing wasn’t only about holding Jackson accountable, but also about reconciling who Anya truly was—if her love for me was indeed born on sacred ground.

  For the next twenty minutes, the courtroom became a lion's den as Jackson paced back and forth behind me, while I exercised due vigilance in hopes of evading a potential bullet. With the unchecked power of the City Prosecutor of Long Beach at his ready, he could easily dispatch of the monster he led everyone to believe I was--especially if he wanted to keep his kids believing Michael Myers was real. When the judge finally appeared, Claudine Courtney lost the quality that would make Houdini envious, taking a seat next to Anya before Jackson joined them. After the judge acknowledged the continuance and reset the trial date for a month later, Jackson and Anya abruptly left the courtroom. After being granted the continuance, I had to sign off on the paperwork being processed on the first floor to make things official, leaving me wide open to more of Jackson’s provocations. Upon reaching the processing office without incident, I got in line behind three people. Two minutes later, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

  “How do we make this go away, Mr. Lastman?” Claudine Courtney asked in a hushed tone, hoping to avoid attention from those standing in line, seemingly exasperated.

  “Can we at this point?” I asked beyond surprised and a bit relieved. “Your client filed for a restraining order rather than talking to me. Instead of being truthful in court, they put me in the position to defend myself from all the lies they've conjured up about me. After the craziness today you think this can just simply go away?”

  “If you’re willing to take down the dedications maybe we can move on without going through this.” She conceded, her blue eyes pleading.

  “I’m not taking them down, Claudine.” I told her shaking my head knowing they were up against the ropes. “I want my side of the story heard—that chance was stolen from me six years ago.”

  “Nothing illegal happened six years ago.” she countered in a louder tone before looking around.

  “Oh yes, it was illegal.” I quickly interjected. “Lies were created on the spot about me that weren't even in the actual restraining order complaint, just so the most serious tenets, such as kidnapping and trespassing, could be met to obtain the severest restraining order available. I guarantee no one in United States history has ever received a five year stay away order without threatening to or actually laying a finger on someone. And you know it. Your client colluded with others in power to protect the lie that is their life. Don't blame me for filing the appeal all because you guys got overzealous and took it too far."

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Claudine just stared up at me in disbelief, unable to shake her head knowing the truth.

  “I was the only one in a fifty-two week domestic violence class who never laid a finger on his girlfriend. I paid two hundred dollars to a battered womens shelter without the thought of striking Anya crossing my mind. If she wanted her precious lies to stand the test of time, then she should've never allowed me into her life the way she allowed to be. Or at the very least disclosed everything I needed to know when we met and not misrepresent herself the way she did leaving me drowning in her lies and half-truths." I continued, struggling to keep my composure and voice down. "This is all coming out of the wash now—especially after the letter Jackson sent to my father and clients.”

  “What letter?”

  “Your unhinged client, the one accusing me of being psychotic, sent a letter to my father and clients along with the emails I sent to Debbie.” I told her. “He didn’t disclose that to you?”

  “No, he never did." She stated, frustration swelling in her voice. "As opposing counsel, you must provide me with all the evidence you have in your possession.”

  I nodded, taking a deep breath to calm myself down. “I’ll give you a copy of his letter at the hearing. I don’t have it with me now.”

  “So how do we make this go away?” She inquired again.

  “You tell me. It's your client who's gone batshit crazy trying to get a restraining order without me contacting them. How is it they are the ones actually cyberstalking me yet calling me the stalker?" I told her, shaking my head. "Why don’t they go back to the ol' drawing board and instead of tryin' to get another stay away order, try suin' me for libel or slander if what I wrote in the dedications isn’t true?"

  "Please try to keep it down." Asked Claudine while we gained the attention of people around us.

  "I'll tell you what. We can then agree to having an independent party hook us up to a lie detector machine while giving our testimony. It'll be both dramatic and fun for all of us. Especially for you when its your clients turn--the judge is going to think we're having a major earthquake when they see the needle moving so fast. Hell, it'll probably fly off the machine." I said while fighting to keep my voice down. "But we both know they'll never agree to it because they know they're lying. The last thing they want is to get to the truth—they'd have no shot at winning.”

  “They didn’t cyberstalk you.”

  “How'd they learn about the dedications then?" I asked in disbelief before folding my arms across my chest. "They had to have "Googled" it or have known about the title of the novel. I even used an alias author's name; not my own."

  “Have you ever heard of Google Alerts?”

  “Is that the same as regular Google?”

  “You set it up using certain words and if any of those words appear on the internet, Google will alert you to it.”

  “I don’t understand." I reluctantly admitted. "I’m technologically impaired.”

  “For instance, when you used Jackson’s full name, Google alerted him to it. When you used Anya’s name, Google alerted her to it." she explained. "And when you used the name of their kids…”

  “I see.” I replied, nodding before looking away now cognizant of why Claudine approached me.

  Being more focused on my own name not showing up on search engines, I protected it by using an alias. I never realized using the names of Anya and Jackson Caiaphas within the dedication and not in its title, would allow them to come up on search engines--believing only those who knew the name of my novel or my fictitious author’s name would be able to see what I posted. When Claudine informed me the kids were compromised, the redemption I felt through the dedications lost all its luster.

  “Would you at least be willing to remove the dedications to their children?” She politely asked. “It would give me a little more leverage trying to talk some sense into them.”

  “I can do that. I will do that.” I told her without hesitation. “Your client is losing his mind if he’s setting up Google alerts. Don’t you think he’s a little out of line especially after what you witnessed this morning?"

  Courtney shook her head, her eyes peering up into the ceiling. “I know.”

  “I know you don’t have an easy job.” I told her. "He needs to stop acting like a child."

  “There were some other postings we found online.” She informed me.

  “Really?” I asked, genuinely surprised. “Other than the dedications?”

  “Yes, they came from a newspaper chatroom site of some kind.”

  I tried recalling if I had written something else about them that maybe the pills clouded my memory about. I was definitely upset enough to do something like that at times being so broken but genuinely could not remember. Maybe it was Mitch? I had no idea what Claudine was referring to.

  “If I google their names will the postings come up?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, well I didn’t post anything other than the dedications about them so I’ll locate those and see if I can remove them too."

  This was the first civil conversation I've had with Claudine after she called me about four years ago. She couldn't have been making much money on this case and likely wanted to focus her time on more lucrative legal endeavors. For all I knew, Anya could also have pushed the "Landyn is a monster" narrative as much as Jackson did, especially if her kids saw the dedications and she believed I planned to also reach out to them in person. The only problem I had with the lengths Jackson went to protect his "family", the one he cheated on, was simply the lies being said about me and how people in power were being used in the courts to turn those lies to truth--an extension of his infinite innate cheating mindset. It felt good to know, or at least it seemed, Claudine aimed to be reasonable and wanted to discuss a way to move past this. What made it difficult for me to grant her that hope was how my side of the story was completely neglected, making it seem like I'm a psychopath who's actions were indefensible. The court needed to seriously understand the dedications were not written to joyfully destroy lives but were a response to instigators purely done in self defense. I was honestly fine with the restraining order after sending Jackson the gifts Anya gave me, although, it was only done in response to her nasty refusal to explain why she sent me the heart pendant with the necklace I bought her. If a restraining order made it right for her, then that was fine and I probably deserved it. Sending her gifts to Jackson was purposefully meant to obliterate any remaining hope for us anyway. What I didn't deserve were the lies to obtain a five year restraining order protecting four people, two of which were children, and for them to lie to others they knew in power. Removing the dedication to their kids gave me absolutely zero pause—it reaching Jackson’s eyes was good enough for me. If he wanted to harbor his kids from the truth, then he should’ve realized sending a letter to my father would only provoke a broken man, who struggled every single minute to survive, into wanting him to feel the same anger. Every right in the world existed to defend my honor, especially if the kids ever believed they were in any danger from me—let alone having any delusional plans to kidnap them. There are ways to protect your kids and family, but creating monsters who do not exist is not how it’s done. It felt good to see he felt a part of the vitriol and disgust I’ve felt for the last six years. Knowing how hard he struggled to keep it together on this day proved how much stronger I was emotionally.

  After talking with Claudine, I went home that evening and deleted the dedications to Katie and Andrew. As a further act of goodwill, I also deleted Judicial Officer Teri Shamm’s, Donald Holbert’s and Anya’s dedication opting to leave Jackson’s up for the time being. A few days later, I decided to delete his as well. My message got to them loud and clear—the dedications serving their purpose by providing the chance never received six years earlier; the opportunity to tell my side of the story. A part of me hoped her kids read the dedications only so they knew they had nothing to fear from me and the reason why I existed in their mother’s life. The garbage I wrote about their father, although true, I hoped never reached their eyes. My beef was with Jackson as Anya’s husband, nothing more and nothing less. I needed to justify the decision I made to be a willing participant in Anya's life. I've always carried great respect for all relationships, not just marriages--never wanting to hurt an innocent person because I’ve been broken and left behind with self doubt before waiting for a phone call that never comes. All Anya told me about Jackson had to be true because of what she allowed me to participate in. I would never dream of coming into the middle of someone’s marriage and she knew that from Day One. I asked her very pointed questions about what led her to cheat on her husband with Lance. Even asking what I needed to do for her to leave him, unlike she did for Lance. Otherwise, I would’ve never chosen to get in the middle of another man’s marriage, let alone one that would disrupt the lives of their children. Anya convinced me into believing I was doing a noble thing, even characterizing our love as “pure” and “true” and that she needed me like she needed air—even calling us soulmates. If it was for anything less than that, and merely based on animal attraction, as beautiful as she is, I would’ve never entertained the thought knowing I'd likely never survive its end. There was no denying though, it felt extremely satisfying getting so easily under Jackson’s skin after all his provocations; a form of sweet justice. But, there were no winners here, just a congregation of lost souls.

  A month later, on the date of the rescheduled hearing, Mac was given prior notice from Claudine that Jackson and Anya needed a continuance. We had no objections, therefore another expected uneventful day at the courthouse awaited me without Mac. Again, the courthouse floor was empty, another quiet day with no people around having their cases heard. Spotting Claudine Courtney sitting in the courtroom upon entering, I approached her with a copy of Jackson’s letter.

  “Good morning, Claudine.” I greeted before handing her a copy of the letter. “As per your request.”

  “Good morning. Thank you.”

  “I also removed all of the dedications from the website, including the online postings you brought to my attention. ” I told her. “I have no idea who posted those. I think I was too open to a friend of mine about what I was going through and he might have done that. Anyway, they're no longer there."

  “We checked. Thanks for doing that." She told me, nodding. "Mrs. Caiaphas was thankful.”

  “Well, it was the right thing to do.” I nodded, surprised she told me that. “I informed my attorney that I removed the dedications so hopefully you can have a discussion with him about where we move from here. I’m sure you’d rather deal with him. I think you've had more than your fill of dealing with me.”

  “I’ll contact him.” She told me, smiling.

  After talking with Claudine and engaging with her on a more human level, she appeared to be understanding the nature of my dissension after witnessing her client’s behavior first hand. It was nice to know Anya appreciated my removal of the dedications but it really should’ve never come to this. My side of the story, although untold in a courtroom, was at least now known in some form after Jackson got a taste of what he tried dishing out. After the judge granted us another continuance, the hearing now pushed back another two months, I exited the courtroom and sat down to listen to a voice mail left by my father. With the phone to my ear, waiting for his message to end, I saw Claudine exit the courtroom with Anya walking beside her.

  To see Anya surprised me—why wasn’t she in the courtroom? I didn’t know what to make of it, but couldn’t stop fantasizing about a secret hope she held to reconcile herself—so I no longer had to. As she walked by, it brought me back in time to Katie’s recital--seeing her behind a booth selling t-shirts before the show and how ecstatic I was to be near her. For a moment, for the longest time without having an opiate in my system, it brought me back to when I felt her love. Even bringing me back to the time she told me “I love you so much it hurts”. What hurts, babe? All this time, without an explanation—always just assuming it was a positive feeling for us residing at the very heart of the truth—believing she knew she had to leave Jackson. Knowing she wasn’t leaving her children behind by doing so, otherwise, why else would it hurt so much? Now, it only opened my eyes to her wanting me to let her go after allowing me to feel so much--the kind of thing that breaks people forever.

  When Mac called me a week prior to the trial date, I anticipated learning how the hearing would no longer be taking place after removing the dedications.

  “How you holding up these days. Landyn?”

  “Haven’t felt this good in years, Mac.” I told him. “Have you talked to Claudine Courtney?”

  “Yes, I did.” He acknowledged, before clearing his throat. “Looks like she can’t convince her client to drop the restraining order request. Did you remove the dedications?”

  “I did several weeks ago.” I told him.

  “They are telling her you put them back up again.”

  “That’s not true--I took down all the dedications.” I replied honestly, shocked by their accusation. “I do still post chapters to the novel I’m writing—maybe that’s what they’re seeing? Why would they want to go through with it at this point? What they complained about is no longer there.”

  “This is beyond ridiculous, Landyn. The request for a restraining order has no merit." stated Mac. "I don’t know how a judge can even rule on this. You never contacted them.”

  “I know! How can this even be heard by a judge let alone ruled on?” I laughed seeing the absurdity. "If there is a trial, we have to vet the judge—I don’t trust any of them in this courthouse after Jackson's antics went unnoticed. The only reason they'd still consider pursuing this, is if they had someone already in place who’s willing to hijack the legal process for them again. Maybe that’s why they asked for the continuance? To get another judge?”

  “I wouldn’t worry--this is a sure win for you. Their plea for a restraining order has no legs to stand on.” He assured me, assertively.

  “Thank you for that, Mac.” I replied. “I can do away with the list of questions I had for them.”

  “Did you seriously put a list together?” Mac hooted.

  “I did just in case but…”

  “You won’t need it, Landyn. We won’t need it. The restraining order has no legal standing.”

  “You know, Anya was at the courthouse for the continuance.” I informed Mac. “Did she need to be there?”

  “Not at all.” Replied Mac. “She was there, huh?”

  “Yeah, I thought it was kind of strange.”

  “She didn’t have to be there.” He restated.

  “I wasn’t sure, but didn’t think she needed to be. Thanks for confirming.”

  After our phone conversation and learning Anya didn’t have to be there, it felt good to think maybe she showed up hoping to smooth and talk things over. But, my mind wouldn’t allow me to hold on to that belief—she was likely there because her husband told her to be there. After all, his money held her puppet strings. If I had known his money was her master and she would judge me for not being able to give her children what he could give, I would’ve never put my heart and soul into this. She instead chose to omit the real reason she was still married to a man who dishonored her, sealing my fate.

  On the day of the hearing, a day anything could happen including its dismissal, I grabbed the turquoise Tiffany pouch with the necklace inside, placing it within my suit's inside pocket then lightly patting it against my heart—just in case anything did.

  When I met Mac, he briefly coached me in the anteroom, instructing me to show no emotions and to let him do the talking.

  “I’m going to ask for another continuance.” He informed me. “I have an emergency—I’ll request it from the judge.”

  “Oh boy, this isn’t gonna set well with Jackson.” I replied, shaking my head and chuckling.

  “You think he’s going to accost you again?”

  “He just might..." I said before pausing. "And I’m not in the mood for it.”

  “Let me handle it. I’m here today." Mac told me in an attempt to calm me down. "He won’t be able to get away with that shit with me here—he knew he could get away with it without any witnesses.”

  Just at that moment, Jackson and Anya appeared with Claudine Courtney standing at the doors of the courtroom. As soon as Jackson saw me, he stopped to stare me down, apparently believing Mac hadn’t arrived yet.

  “They’re here and old father Hubbard is already stirring the pot.” I told Mac, motioning with a head tilt in Jackson's direction.

  “I’ll be right back." Mac told me before walking towards them. "Stay right there."

  Upon reaching them, Mac shook hands with Claudine then began conversing with Anya and Jackson, ending any further attempts at provocation. A few minutes later, Mac returned to where I stood.

  “I told them I was asking for a continuance in consideration of a deposition and asked if they had any dates they might be available for that.” Mac informed me.

  “This might be a stupid question, but what’s a deposition?”

  “We meet in a private setting and pose questions to them before the hearing.” He told me. “They’re pretty costly—would run you about five thousand dollars…but, I don’t think we’ll need it. I just wanted to give them something to think about.”

  “I have the money for a deposition—cost is not a factor.” I told Mac. “Based on the prior history of their lack of courtroom decorum, they'll lie about me again—I guarantee it. They don’t fear perjury or the repercussions of doing so. Even the judge will protect them by not seeking the truth. I don't want to go through another kangaroo court hearing.”

  “You’re going to win this, Landyn.” Mac told me. “It’s an unnecessary cost to you.”

  “But wouldn't it be easier to catch them in a lie with a deposition?” I countered. “If we depose them and they give an inconsistent answer to the same question during the hearing, couldn’t we prove to the court they’re lying?”

  “The judge already knows they have an incentive to lie--it's a fact they're both cheaters.”

  “They had an incentive to lie last time and look what happened?” I pleaded, throwing my hands in the air. “The judge overlooked the fact their godforsaken marriage was a lie—choosing instead to judge me for my written response to the order while ignoring all the lies and half-truths she told.”

  “Did you send a written response to this particular restraining order?” he asked.

  “Are you kidding? No way!”

  “You’re gonna be just fine.” He reassured me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "As long as you keep your emotions in check, there’s no way you can lose—we won’t need a deposition.”

  I nodded. “Okay, I trust your judgment, Mac.”

  Mac then instructed me to sit outside the courtroom while he went inside to request the continuance from the judge. Since my presence wasn't required, I took a seat next to a water fountain and waited for Mac's return. Ten minutes later, Jackson suddenly appeared, pushing through the courtroom doors and walking up to the water fountain to feign getting a sip of water.

  “Oh, we’re gonna sue you for all the lies you wrote about us.” He told me before leaning in to take a sip from the fountain. “We’re gonna sue you for slander.”

  I nodded. “Please be my guest. I didn’t write anything that was knowingly false—only repeating what your wife told me about you.”

  “I’m gonna fuckin' own you, Mr. Lastman.” He reiterated after lifting himself from the fountain, wiping at his mouth.

  “Even if you won, Jackson, I can promise you this much.” I told him before standing up then shaking my head. “You’ll never see a dime.”

  “I’m gonna wreck your life you miserable prick.” He proclaimed, a crooked smile forming on his face.

  When he said this, it dawned on me to grab my phone to capture his provocations. If I had this on video, I could prove to the court he was the aggressor.

  After quickly removing the phone from my pocket, I centered it on Jackson’s Botox reddened face before engaging the video function by pressing a red round button on the screen to start recording—my first time using this feature.

  “You got anything else to say, Mister Jackson Caiaphas?” I sarcastically inquired as his eyes widened.

  After realizing his fatal error, he muttered something before scurrying away like the greasy rat he was.

  After Mac requested and was granted another continuance, a new trial date was set for two weeks out without any plans for a deposition beforehand. I then informed Mac of the incident with Jackson recorded on my phone. After requesting to see it, I tried playing it for him but the video displayed only a black screen, losing my chance at providing evidence to the court of his violent behavior. After this unfortunate failure, I again reiterated to Mac I was more than willing to pay the cost of a deposition if it provided us with a way to catch them in a lie--or at least help him properly defend me during the hearing. A deposition would also provide a glimpse into their legal strategy and give us time to prove their arguments had no basis in the truth. After Mac again strongly suggested it was not needed, I leaned more heavily on his judgment. And why shouldn't I? I had an attorney this time around and the truth was on my side. How could I not feel confident about winning this? Of course, Jackson and Anya had powerful people in their corner, and other than Donald Holbert, I had no idea who else was willing to believe them and protect their lies. All they had to do was paint me as a "family killer" and the powerful would only assume their "friends" were innocent victims. One thing was certain after this trial was all said and done, I'd likely meet the real Anya.

  On the day of the hearing, after going through the courthouse's security check, I realized my phone was still in the car. I then raced down the escalator to retrieve it, afraid I might be late. When I reached the bottom of the escalator, I lightly patted my suit pocket to make sure the necklace was still within its pouch. As I approached the security checkpoint, I looked up to see Mr. and Mrs. Caiaphas passing through it on the opposite side. When Jackson noticed me, he mockingly stuck out his tongue. As he taunted me, I thought Anya would tell him to knock it off, but she failed to admonish her master, allowing him to antagonize me as he pleased. All I could do was shake my head and continue the trek to grab my phone; basking in the confidence that after today, the shit show they put on for the folks was coming to its end—the lies of their marriage no longer hurting those who trusted them ever again.