Threat Code 46
Implied threats are acted on more frequently and more forcibly than direct threats.
I sensed a strange, stilted insistence that I watch the end of a futuristic movie, Code 46, as if it had been set up for a reason by my friend with the garage apartment when I visited in December 2004.
Tim Robbins emerges unscathed from a forbidden love affair that leaves his ex lover shuffling painfully though a desolate exile.
Direct threats came in Spring 2005 from Ronald who said my “house would become uninhabitable, I would have to sleep in a Faraday Cage,” and my “live and business would be slowly strangled.”
I wrote it off to bizarre foolishness, but something bad was clearly going on. Key client files mysteriously disappeared from my home office, computers, web sites and data files were sabotaged.
I felt like I was being blasted by something in my home when I slept. The permanent bruise on my right ankle appeared at that time.
It was very strange for my mild mannered graphic designer to insist on a 3 pm appointment in home office Friday June 17, 2007 when she said all next week was wide open.
Even stranger was the furious voice mail at 2 pm in response to my calling at 1 pm to cancel to leave home to run errands. When I returned at 3:40 pm the house next door was on fire.
A friend says a contract was made to set the fire as a distraction, the owners had just left for a three week trip and wanted to rebuild.
My designer was to be paid to copy files from my PC and run programs to zap my hard drive.
She was horribly shaken when I insisted we meet the following Tuesday. She didn’t know arson was part of the plan.
After the fire I predictably moved to the beautiful but remote garage apartment the sweet man who had been sent to date me keep urging me to use as a writing studio.
I was very productive for a while and then the blasting started again.
I woke up in the middle of the night with throbbing headaches and was disoriented the next day.
The owner of course denied anything was happening and aggressively ridiculed discounted my reports.
Changing sleeping locations helped for a while. Then the morning I woke up with my scalp ablaze.
People at church urged me to check into a hospital for a week “for my own protection” but it didn’t sound right. In the distance, someone was trying to help me. A story a stranger told about Otto Orkin saved me.
It took two months for electricity and telephone service to be restored to my home. During that time, my house was repeatedly ransacked, the garage door was torn off it’s tracks and left open.
The ordeal caused me to miss a major professional convention held in Atlanta that summer and put me several months behind in my work.
In the fall of 2005 my mother rewrote her will to benefit a Park Avenue maritime attorney’s family who were her neighbors and a sibling with strong military and intelligence ties. Coincidence?
