CHAPTER 1

THIS ROAD LEADS TO HELL

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On October thirteenth, 1988 my divorce to Devon was final.I felt a load of intense pressure lifted from my chest and a hugesigh of relief. As one might expect, it wasn't quit that easy though.Post-traumatic stress syndrome settled heavily in on me, almostimmediately, causing a mental condition known as "disassociationfrom reality" requiring in-patient treatment. I was overwhelmedthat I was not strong enough to battle that off after all I had beenthrough. The treatment for that condition would be on-goingwith medications, but I did return to functioning with my careerand my family obligations. Devon continued to interfere in ourlives, on a regular basis, until 1995, experienced by extremelyodd occurrences or possibly a huge black cloud hanging overmy entire family with no real explanation. I tried to ignore theincidents or rationalize that these bizarre events were justcoincidental.

One day while I was working as RN, Director of Nursing,at a local nursing home, an elderly frail gentleman sat in hiswheelchair alone in the dining room. As I passed by he pleadedthat he needed to give me a prophetic message from God. Thisman had been a Pentecostal pastor in previous years and he knewnothing about my life. He said God had told him to relay to me thatI had been married to Satan himself! He continued that Devonhad been instructed to marry someone beautiful, and the morebeautiful, the more POWER he would receive. The gentlemanfurther stated that Devon was to bring me down to the lowestdepth of Hell and leave me. Tears were rolling down the old man'scheeks, his hands were shaking and his voice was quivering. I wasin awe of his words. The wrinkled old man, looked me squarelyin the eyes, and stated I was to NEVER stop looking over myshoulder, that danger for me and my family was still lurking aboutus. I sat there stunned, but quickly realized the elderly gentlemanwas drained by what he had just shared, so I pushed him in hiswheelchair to his room and ... HE WEPT.

My thoughts kept trailing back to the unexpected conversationwith the nursing home resident. It was shocking that he couldknow so much, but have no clue what my life had been about. Isat and pondered it, analyzed it and cried about the bluntness inwhich he gave me a warning, from God, as he put it. I found myselfin deep thought, remembering the point in time I did question if Iwas married to a monster, or Satan, himself. The last Thanksgivingthat Devon and I were together, I cooked the turkey and dressingthe day before. As usual, he would not allow me and my daughtersto spend the Holiday with my family, so for the first time in mylife I actually prepared the traditional meal. I put it in the ice boxfor the night, and planned to warm it the following day for ourfestive dinner. I got up the next morning and went to the kitchento begin my duties, in a holiday spirit. Much to my surprise, I wasshocked as I entered the kitchen to see the turkey pulverized.My head was spinning as I focused on the carcass of the turkeyon the cabinet, bone picked dry of all the meat. There weredroppings of grease and meat pieces on the floor and completemutilation of the dinner I had prepared. I allowed my eyes tocircle around the kitchen in dismay. The pan I had prepared thedressing in was empty and dressing was smudged all over thekitchen cabinets, ice box door, the oven etc. I was gasping at thethought of what could have happened in here while the girls andI had been sleeping. I rushed to the bedroom and saw Devonasleep in the bed. As on all previous nights he drank Scotch to thepoint of "black out" and then would pass out. I stood and staredat the horrific sight. He had dressing all over his face, in his hairand underneath his fingernails. He looked like a viscous blackpanther after ripping meat apart from his prey and shredding it.I felt evil was controlling our lives through this savage fiend whomanifested wickedness to its height of all possibilities. There wasno Thanksgiving dinner for us that day and to explain that to twoyoung girls was deplorable.

I had decided to move on from all of that. I would not considermyself a victim, but a survivor, instead. My oldest daughter, Leslieand my youngest daughter, Salem and I were strong. I felt residualeffects from the abusive marriage, but my daughters did notdisplay any ill effects from it. It was not unusual for me to bragon Salem for being so strong that she actually saved my life manytimes, from the attacks made on me, by Devon. We were bondingagain and doing the mother-daughter activities, trying to makeup for lost time and reshaping our lives in a positive manner. Lifebecame enjoyable again and rather uneventful, but I was soon tolearn it was the calm before the storm.

In 1991, Salem (age 10), became very ill with 105 degreefever, swollen joints and a gruesome rash all over her body,suffering severe pain. Doctors locally and afar examined herand could not figure it out. One physician tried to prepare methat we could lose Salem, since she was that ill, and with theuncertainty of what she had, there were no guarantees. Shebecame immobilized and could not walk at intermittent times,requiring homebound school for two years. Her hair was fallingout in clumps. She was hospitalized several times and when shewas at home I administered IV antibiotics, per the physician'sorders. They first suspected Lyme disease, then polyarthralgiaand other educated guesses. My mind constantly reflected back toa story Devon had once told me. He said his third wife's daughterdeveloped a brain tumor after they divorced and the girl died. Myheart would race at this thought, and wondered if he really hadsome kind of bizarre power, as he stated he did, that could inflictillness and such great pain on so many people. I drove Salem toScott and White in Temple, TX many times and a doctor made thediagnosis of a rare disease called Palestine Disease or Five StarComplex. She was placed on oral chemo therapy medicine for twoyears, but no change could be detected in her symptoms. Manytrips were made to the local ER, with major flare-ups, but sincethey had never heard of what she supposedly had, they wouldtreat the pain symptoms and send us on our miserable way. Itwas more than frustrating. As a mom and an RN, I was powerlessto do anything to soothe my daughter's pain and crying. Devon,somehow heard of Salem's illness and phoned me to torment methat his plan for us was going on schedule, then would laugh likea hyena and hang up. I couldn't take the stress anymore. I was anervous wreck worrying about Salem, holding down a Director ofNursing position of a large nursing home and Devon's harassment.I felt like I was about to lose it. But something deep inside ofme kept compelling me...