Chapter 6 - At Home Again
In the following few days after the hospital release, I had no energy and in general didn’t feel good. I had difficulty performing and concentrating on everyday tasks, slept most of the time and kept waking up several times a night due to severe nightmares. Fortunately, each time I awoke in my own bed, in the safety of the house, my thought process was at normal speed. The “crazy awakening” experienced earlier appeared to be just a one-time incident. The usual symptoms – inability to concentrate, pain all over my face and the rest of the body – were appearing at unpredictable intervals.
I kept busy by reading the book Mraky Nad Barrandovem (Clouds over Barrandov) and listening to music. I had planned on reading the book for years but never found the time. The setting takes place before, during, and after the Nazi occupation of Czechoslovakia. The plot is based on a true story; the life struggle of famous Czech actors, performers, and producers of this era. I liked the book but reading every single page was a struggle. The constant back and forth between the pages and chapters was mentally tiring so I napped frequently.
I was not in the best mood either; I was unable to figure out the present situation and the unusual experiences of the past several weeks. I had to keep switching music genres periodically; too much heavy metal caused irritability and chest pains. Too much classical and Eighties/Nineties pop and alternative caused drowsiness associated with facial tingling. To stay in perfect physical and emotional harmony was a challenge.
​
There was not a cloud in the sky on Sunday morning, the 29th of January. I was feeling much better and wanted to take my family to East Cobb Park for a walk. We drove to the Fuller Park entrance that was closest to our house. East Cobb and Fuller parks are connected by nature trails surrounded by woods on all sides.
“Walk in the woods would definitely help everyone to relax,” I said to my wife.
​
During the walk from Fuller to East Cobb Park, both Julia and Teresa were happy; they continuously smiled and talked with each other and their parents in apparent relief the whole family was together at last.
“Do you remember what you said to Jonathan and Milli just before the arrest?” Romana asked, as we were walking.
“No, I only remember few flashbacks and why talk about it now? Let’s just enjoy the day,” I said.
“You said something about being followed by aliens. Do you remember that?”
“Aliens?” I replied in disbelief and continued, “You don’t believe in fairy tales, do you? That’s crazy. To be honest with you, I might have said anything at that point. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately,” I said, and tried to steer the conversation in a different direction.
After a few minutes we reached the first man-made structure; an amphitheater standing before a large open grass area followed by a playground.
Both kids ran inside of the amphitheater and Teresa said, “Look what I found. I have money.”
Both Romana and I were a little surprised since she found a twenty-dollar bill.
“You are a very lucky girl. Do you know the president’s name on the bill?” I asked and pointed to the picture.
“Jackson,” she read loudly and smiled with her eyes wide open.
“Good, you are smart girl. That’s a lot of money, save it and buy something useful,” I said.
We continued to walk to the playground where we played. A kids’ birthday party was in full progress just in front of the playground, near the cooking grills; the food smelled good, everyone was happy, and kids were running around. The kids and adults played all sorts of games: sand bag toss, circle toss to reach a specific target, and flying air rockets.
“This is fun. Let’s go there,” Teresa said.
Romana didn’t want to meet the people since it was a private birthday party.
“Come on, let’s go, it doesn’t matter. I am sure the parents will let our kids play the games with their kids.” I tried to persuade her, but she refused to go with us.
The three of us had a great time since the birthday family welcomed us with open arms. All of us played the games and ran around the field. Within twenty minutes, other families unrelated to the birthday party joined and played with everyone. I had a nice conversation with the granddad of the ten-year-old birthday girl. We talked for at least thirty minutes about ourselves and our families. He answered every single question with a smile and without hesitation, no matter how private the question was.
“What a nice guy and friendly family. I wish everyone would be like them,” I thought, after saying goodbye to him and his family. It was about lunchtime so we walked back to the car and drove home.
​
After lunch, I became exhausted and irritated. “I need to save myself. I should stay out of everyone’s way until I feel better.”
I remembered the rule and went to the bedroom. I slept, read the book and listened to music until dinner time. I didn’t want to think about the possible scenarios and solutions, or why this happened or what might happen next. I was happy to be alive and grateful for the precious time spent with the family earlier in the day.
After dinner, the kids wanted to watch a movie. It had been a while since the four of us watched a movie together.
“Romana, come on over to watch a movie with us. I’ll find something appropriate for all of us,” I said.
Netflix is one of the best entertainment deals out there. For less than ten bucks a month, you can watch unlimited amounts of movies, shows, and fairy tales, commercial free. I was searching through movies similar to Pirates of the Caribbean, the movies anyone from three to a hundred years old would enjoy watching, and came across E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial.
“That’s a great movie. I must have been about seven, right at Teresa’s age, when I saw it the first time,” I said.
Everyone, including my wife, became excited and wanted to see E.T. As expected, both kids enjoyed the show and were asking the right questions up until the end. I loved the movie as well, it reminded me of my childhood. One sentence in particular stood out. As E.T. was saying goodbye to the little boy, he made the following comment: “I’ll be right here,” and pointed his finger to his head.
The next morning, January 30th, started like any other morning after the hospital release. I felt fine at first but quickly became tired, especially after eating breakfast. The facial pains appeared again and my time perception changed. At certain times, everyone and everything was moving just a little slower than normal; however, voices and sounds remained at the same speed.
“To feel better, I need to start functioning again. Where is my phone? I can’t remember seeing it any time after the arrest. It still must be somewhere at Milli’s house. I’ll get it today, as soon as we’re finished at marriage therapy.”
Romana decided that seeing a marriage therapist would be a good idea. I also felt the marriage was not where it should have been. About a year ago, she grew more distant and wanted to hang around with her friend Eva as much as possible.
We arrived at the therapist’s office, located on Roswell Road near Buckhead, a few minutes before the scheduled appointment time of 11 a.m. and sat in the waiting area. The place was small but cozy; there were two chairs, a water pitcher, magazines, and peppermint candy. An older, white-bearded heavier gentleman walked out of the office with a younger man dressed in a suit.
He turned to us and said, “Good morning, I am Mr. Milton. How are you?”
After the introduction we went to his office, which appeared more like a large closet, with a two-person couch and chair separated by no more than five feet and a small night stand. There wasn’t room for anything else. I thought the setting was very unusual, especially after I found out he used to work for KPMG performing full background checks of potential candidates.
“My wife chose this guy,” I thought. “His prior client, the younger guy, looked like a typical agent. The office setting in general is strange. Yes, he is the post-hospital NSA government caretaker of mine.”
I was tired and decided not to talk unless I had to. I blocked the agent idea out of my mind and viewed Mr. Milton as the person who was saving the marriage. He was relaxed, friendly, and fair to both parties, and the meeting went well. Individual stress therapy with someone else was recommended for the both of us.
​
In the afternoon, Romana had plans with the kids and refused to give me a ride to pick up my car and the cell phone. I used her phone to call Milan, who had no problem driving me to Milli’s house. I called my sister to let her know Milan and I were about to come to the house. We were going to see each other for the first time since the arrest and I didn’t want to scare her by staying in her house alone. I dressed for the occasion: black Levi’s jeans, black Kenneth Cole long-sleeve shirt, black Kenneth Cole Reaction winter coat, “Iron Man” sunglasses and black Nike sneakers.
“Whatever the scenario might be, I’m sure looking good for it. The NSA can follow me as long as they want and I’ll just give them a hard time from now on,” I thought, and admired myself in front of the mirror.
The coat was my favorite; comfortable fabric, nice collar and just the right length, ending slightly above my knees. I took it to every single European trip except in summer. This was the coat Leah liked as well. I have one memory that stood out among the others. . . At the end of 2016, Leah and her tax group were sitting and waiting for an airplane at Flint, Michigan airport. She noticed me, started to smile and looked directly into my eyes for at least ten seconds as I was approaching her. I was looking and smiling at her as well.
​
Milli and her family live in Canton, about a twenty-minute drive from my place, on almost an acre of land in a ranch-style house built in the Sixties. Most houses in those days were built ranch style, surrounded by trees to save electricity. The world population in the mid-Sixties was 3.3 billion, less than half of the 7.5 billion in 2017, therefore, a house near a city on an acre of land was easily affordable for a blue-collar family.
Milli and Asa welcomed us as soon as we arrived. Jonathan was also in the house, unable to go to work due to short-term disability. About a week ago, he had an accident while skiing in Snowshoe, WV. While skiing on the Western Territory side of the mountain, a gust of wind blew him to the ground so hard he cracked his wrist, scapula, shoulder and fractured a collarbone. The pain must have been excruciating since he was still unable to sit in a chair and drive a car. I felt sorry for him, especially when all the circumstances were factored in; it happened on the second day of their vacation, on a flat surface while he was almost at a standstill. The wind gust must have been at least 60mph.
​
The four of us sat down in relief that we were finally able to get together. We talked about everyday items, Jonathan’s accident, the arrest, and the next steps in my life.
“Jonathan, I need to ask you few questions. Can we go outside for a minute?” I said.
“Sure, no problem,” he replied, and we walked to the backyard.
“Please tell me everything you can remember about the arrest. I can only remember a few flashbacks; I smoked some weed, broke the aquarium, went outside of the house, was in an ambulance, two cops standing in front of me, waking up in a police car, arriving at prison and that’s it. This scares me, I want to find the cause of this,” I calmly said to him.
“I don’t know why this happened. I never seen you acting like that, it wasn’t you. You might have smoked some, but you were drug tested in jail and everything came back negative,” he sincerely answered.
“Really, the tests came back negative? That’s strange, weed usually stays in your system for weeks,” I replied, and clearly remembered several deep inhalations of the weed, knowing for sure I smoked some.
Jonathan continued to speak. “It’s possible you have a quick metabolism, I just don’t know. Anyway, you went outside of the house, was really noisy and the neighbor called a cop. I called the ambulance, but you refused the medical help. Then you fought with the police; Black guy and White woman. You kicked the woman officer and were thrown hard in the cop car by both of them. The Black cop mentioned, ‘Is this necessary? Do we really have to do this?’ I talked them out of pressing charges and said the truth. You lost a job and were under a lot of stress. This was not the person we knew. This wasn’t you. We never seen you act like this,” he said.
I was able to see genuine concern on his face.
“Thank you for sticking with me and for downplaying the situation with the cops. I don’t know why this happened to me. Let’s move past this. I’ll get a job asap and Romana will be happy. Sorry for all the trouble I caused you and I feel really bad Asa was present. I hope he wasn’t scared of me,” I said in relief, happy to communicate with Jonathan in a normal way without the crazy “side effects” experienced in the past several weeks.
It appeared nobody in my family knew what was really going on in my mind.
“Don’t worry about it, Joseph. Milli and Asa ran out of the house as soon as you acted weird. He didn’t see anything,” he said, trying to comfort me.
“Good. Were you able to save the fish?” I asked.
“No, but we told him the fish got sick in the aquarium and had to be released to a river.”
I was plenty satisfied with the answer and we went inside of the house to play with Asa.
Asa and I always liked to play with kid guns, to shoot foam bullets at each other. We did just that every time our families were together. Everyone, including Julia and Teresa, enjoyed shooting from the pistols. It’s a shame Romana never saw us having this much fun together. She didn’t seem to enjoy outdoor activities, such as primitive camping, either. She was more of an indoor person who loved to spend vacations in full-inclusive resorts, killing time by eating, drinking, and endlessly lying by a pool. Asa and I took the guns and started to play by shooting all over from one end of the house to the other.
“This is great, when a bullet is shot, I can track it from a barrel to a target. I’ll try to catch one,” I thought, and asked Asa to shoot directly at me.
I almost caught the bullet and asked him to shoot again from a greater distance. He was, however, shooting from the same distance. I didn’t want anyone to suspect my time perception changed so I stopped playing and pretended to feel tired.
“Has anyone seen my phone?” I asked.
“Yes,” Milli answered. “It’s in the drawer, inside of your car.”
“It was great seeing everyone again, sorry for all the trouble I caused.”
I said goodbye and walked to my car, where the phone was exactly as Milli had said, in the drawer. While driving home, I did not feel good; I had chest pains, facial muscle soreness and my eyes were hurting. I had to stop at my mom’s and talk with her about a letter she received from the mortgage company. She had low income, unable to qualify for a mortgage on her own. The mortgage on the house she owned had been under my name since 2005, the last time we refinanced.
Shortly after my arrival I quickly became irritated, snappy, and could not listen to her advice regarding everything from nutrition to my marriage.
“Stop right now, don’t say another word!” I abruptly said to her.
“But Joseph, avocado is healthy—” she said.
“Shut up, I had enough of you! All my life you caused me nothing but problems,” I snapped back at her, then threw the letter on the cul-de-sac, jumped into my car and drove away as fast as I could. “That woman, if she wasn’t my mother I would never want to see her again. I had enough of her already.”
I was angry, needed to relax somewhere as fast as possible, and wanted to walk the trail from Fuller to East Cobb Park. The chest and facial pains were intensifying, the closer I was approaching the park. I parked and exited the car as fast as possible, feeling like my heart was about to explode. A black vehicle parked next to my car; a man looking like an agent exited, turned his head towards me and kept staring for a few seconds.
“Yeah right,” I thought. “The agents must have bugged my car with some sort of device generating a strong electromagnetic field.”
I justified the situation and slowly walked into the woods, but the pain didn’t stop. “It has to be in the Leaf’s wireless key since the phone is in the car.”
I buried the key next to an easily recognizable tree and resumed the walk, then tried to run, but felt worse after a few steps.
“Nobody is around to help me in case of a collapse. I better pick up the key and drive home as fast as possible,” I said to myself, as the pain intensified.
And there he was; the agent I feared approached me and smiled like he knew what was going on in my body from both a physical and emotional perspective. I gathered the last remaining strength left in my body and ran as fast as possible to the car. I drove home, obeying all traffic laws so as not to raise any suspicions.
“Romana will surely take me to the hospital or, in a worst-case situation, I’ll die home in my bed,” I thought numerous times.
Unfortunately, Romana was not home. The pains slightly decreased, I lay in my bed and tried to relax. Airplanes and helicopters constantly flew nearby. At one point, it seemed if a helicopter was idling above the house.
“I’ll probably die or will be kidnaped for interrogation.”
I was helpless and didn’t know what to do anymore. To close the eyes and wait for help was the best and only available option. The helicopter must have been idling for at least five minutes and for no apparent reason slowly flew away. The chest pains decreased in similar speed as the helicopter engine sound decreased. My symptoms went away and there was total silence.
“Am I in a grave?” I asked. “It sure feels quiet and peaceful.”
It was so easy to close my eyes and fall asleep.
​
The first thing I wanted to do on Tuesday, January 31st was to read news on my cell phone. Reading news right after waking up is sort of my habit anyway, especially on off days. Local news is great for local events. I mostly access foreign sources on the internet for national and world news because most news generated by the US media companies caters to special interest groups. The news is limited, biased, and doesn’t provide the whole picture. On TV, most of the airtime devoted to news is wasted in pointless debates to influence the public to have certain opinions. It makes sense because of limited ownership; in 1983, fifty companies controlled 90% of the media market in the USA. Today, only five companies control the same 90% of the market.
​
After waking up, I felt close to normal and happy to be in the bed. I reached for the phone to surf the internet and experienced the same problems when looking at the screen. Flashes of light were shooting into my face at unpredictable intervals, the colors were sharper than normal and touch-screen functionality of the device was off the charts. A simple one-time finger touch mostly did not work and a page moved slowly up and down or to the sides. The zoom was either too much or too little, nothing in between. I tried as hard as I could to at least read something. This seemingly miniscule task became impossible since the symptoms returned; the dizziness, facial pains and inability to focus were increasing the longer I looked at the phone. I had to stop.
“Is someone doing this on purpose?”
As soon as the thought ended, I heard the engines and tire noises of several cars that drove by. This was strange since noises from passing cars were always barely audible while being in the master bedroom. It sounded as if Old Canton Road was right next to the house instead of at the normal distance of about 200 feet.
I stayed in the bed and tried to fall asleep, but could not, as thoughts were racing in my mind. “Are the aviation and street noises somehow related to each other?” And again, after I finished my thought the loud street noises were audible again. “Yes, I’m in trouble! The psychiatrists and agents conspired against me by installing speakers in the house to drive me crazy when nobody is around. At least I’m still alive and on TV! :-) It’s OK, I need to learn to live in my new dimension.”
I brushed my teeth, washed my face, styled my hair and dressed in the usual jeans and T-shirt outfit. It was time for breakfast. I went downstairs to the kitchen to make myself a small dish consisting of one slice of toast and one of papaya. All the noises were gone but my physical symptoms were present. I sat down and removed the cell phone from my pocket and placed it on the dining table in front of me. The symptoms slightly decreased. I walked away from the table and the symptoms disappeared altogether.
“It’s in the cell phone. The producers bugged my phone with a device that shoots strong electromagnetic radiation to my body. I’ll do a little experiment.”
I approached the table and inserted the phone into my pocket and the symptoms – dizziness, chest and facial pains – appeared again. I quickly reached for the phone, placed it on the table and walked away and again the symptoms were gone.
“I need to get rid of the phone as fast as possible. But how, how am I gonna do this without raising suspicion? I am under constant surveillance and can’t just take a rock and smash the fucker. The phone has to stay away from my body until I figure something out,” I thought, and placed the phone in the kitchen cabinet above the refrigerator.
Watching the news on TV was the next logical step. Picture quality of the TV was way above average; bright sharp colors, the characters in focus were positioned more in front of the TV, very similar to 3D-picture quality, and again there were the ever-present vibrating flashes of light. I gave up on LCD screens altogether, turned off the TV and went upstairs to lie in a bed. I continued to read Clouds over Barrandov and was finally able to relax. The book looked and felt like a normal book; the pages were not vibrating, and letters were not coming out of the paper, what a relief.
​
I either slept or read the book until lunchtime. The weather was warm, the sky was cloudless. After lunch, I went outside, took my shirt off, lay on a blanket and continued to read the book. At 2.30 p.m., Teresa arrived from school. Both kids changed to swimsuits, took their books and lay next to me. We read and played all sorts of games; holding and flying the “kid airplane” above my head, hide and seek.
“Why don’t we take the blanket and go to the Sope Creek park?” I suggested. “We can lay on the grass next to the pond, play and read our books over there.”
The pond is in the middle of woods and is full of life most of the year. There are plenty of fish, frogs, turtles, and birds. The kids always loved to go there.
“What do you think?” I asked the kids.
The girls smiled, jumped up and down and eagerly agreed.
I came up with a plan in my head: “Perfect, I’ll drop the phone in the pond and make it look like an accident.”
The children took their books and ran to the garage to sit in the Leaf. I picked up the blanket, went to the kitchen and grabbed the phone. The symptoms appeared again, and I walked to the garage like nothing was going on. My symptoms decreased, but didn’t disappear completely, as soon as I threw the phone on the floor right next to me.
“This sucks! My car must be bugged with a similar device,” I thought, and turned around to make sure the car was not affecting the kids.
What a relief, the girls were smiling and talking with each other. The parking lot at the park was unusually busy for Tuesday afternoon but we were able to find a spot to park. I picked up the blanket, phone, and a water bottle. The symptoms immediately worsened; my chest was under such pressure, I was barely able to breathe. I tricked the kids into walking next to me as fast as possible by playing a game; whoever reaches the pond first is the winner.
“Strange, if I hold the phone right next to their little bodies the pressure eases. I guess the producers want to kill me and not the kids.”
We reached a wooden dock located at the edge of the pond, near the main trail. Julia and Teresa walked to the other edge of the dock from where I was standing; the chest, facial pains, and pressure increased to an almost unbearable point. It felt like I was about to collapse.
“I need to do it now or never.”
I threw the blanket with the water bottle on the ground and calmly typed the pin. My back was facing the pond. I took a step back and kept moving the phone in front on my face like I was searching for the appropriate amount of sunlight to improve the screen’s visibility, then lifted my right foot and gently touched the outer rim closest to the water with the heel. I applied additional pressure to my left foot and jumped into the water backwards. Hundreds of needles suddenly penetrated my body.
Swimming in an open body of water in January surely felt cold, even in Georgia. I quickly dropped the phone and exited the pond as fast as possible. Both Julia and Teresa couldn’t comprehend what just happened; they stood still with their mouths fully opened, asking questions about why and how this happened. I quickly took off my shirt and wrapped the blanket around my body.
“Come on, girls, we have to go. I’m freezing,” I said.
“But Daddy,” Teresa said, paused and continued, “why did you fall into the water? Will you go back to get your phone?”
“No, Teresa, the water is too cold and the phone is already damaged. Let’s go home,” I replied to her.
After several minutes, I was finally able to convince both girls to walk back to the car.
​
At the parking lot, a man on a bicycle approached us and said, “Hi.”
I was caught in complete shock but said, “Hi,” as well.
It was Zack, the person who wrote the sarcastic message on Facebook and didn’t bother to call 911.
“Hey Joseph, what’s up with the blanket? Did you go for a swim?” Zack asked, in clear amusement.
“Man, you won’t believe what happened. I tripped, fell in the pond and lost my phone,” I answered, in the friendliest way possible.
“Is your phone still in the water?” he continued.
“Unfortunately, but what can you do,” I said, and buckled the kids into their car seats. We said bye to each other. He continued bicycling towards the pond; the kids and I drove home. Zack was a business consultant and normally traveled Monday through Thursday almost every week. This was unusual, and I began to get worried.
“Why was he so concerned about my phone? I hope he will not try to find it. The NSA definitely sent him over here to check on me.”
When we arrived home I acted brilliantly in front of my wife, who believed every single word that came out of my mouth.
“Joseph, what’s wrong with you and your phones lately?” she asked in disbelief.
“I had an accident, ask the kids, they were there. Fortunately, the phone cost only $170, not $700. I’ll get something cheap again,” I answered.
“You are cheap, it only took you ten years to buy a new couch and you had to make a scene at the store.”
Romana clearly wanted to pick a fight and argue. I knew exactly where the conversation to argue was heading; my employment situation and flirting with women.
​
The hopes of flying to the Czech Republic were high. A haircut was desired. I called my hairstylist, Khuan, located in the nearby city of Smyrna, and made an appointment for 7.30 p.m. that night. I drove my wife’s car, a Toyota Highlander, and not the Leaf due to persisting facial, chest pains and fatigue. Strangely, the symptoms were present in much lesser strength or not present at all when driving a gasoline car. I was nervous, alone in the darkness of the night. This was the farthest distance away from the house I’d been since the arrest.
“Are there any surprises waiting for me? What is the next stage of the game and will I complete the journey in one piece?” I questioned the situation.
Khuan is an immigrant from Vietnam, has a people’s personality and is an excellent hairstylist. We share life stories every time he cuts my hair. He has been cutting my hair since 2000, for seventeen years already. This occasion was no different than any other visit except I was tired and didn’t feel like discussing anything.
After my hair was trimmed, I said goodbye, walked outside and saw a person sitting in a dark blue Dodge Ram pickup truck eating a sandwich. Three words crossed my mind as I entered the car: “agent” and “being followed.” The engine started; shortly after, my chest and facial pains resumed and increased to such an extent that breathing normally was a monumental task.
“Not only had they bugged the Leaf, the keyless entry and the phone, but now the Highlander is also bugged with the device to make me sick, to crash the car. I need to get home, to a witness, any friendly witness right now, before I collapse again,” I thought, and tuned in a fast Metallica song to keep my mind occupied, away from the fatigue and pains.
The car left Khuan’s parking lot, all four wheels touched Spring Road and I placed the pedal to the metal to get away from the Dodge as fast as possible, then maintained speed right at 55mph. The pains increased to unbearable levels; my eyes were barely able to see the road ahead, slow and long deep breaths were the only way to force some air into the lungs, my chest was about to explode. I turned the volume of the song to the maximum to stabilize my body and mind. Just before the Atlanta/Spring Road intersection, a few seconds in front of me, a black Mustang was slowing down to almost a complete standstill.
“You will not force me to stop and give up, not now, or never as long as I am alive, fuck you!” I said loudly, and at the last second, just before rear-ending the Mustang, I steered the car to the left lane and floored it again.
The light at the intersection was flashing green, the speed of my car was climbing to 65, 75, 80 and I saw another car at a standstill in front of the Mustang, while both vehicles were quickly disappearing in my rearview mirror.
“I better slow down before I crash or kill someone. There is a Nam Dae Mun farmers market less than a minute away. I have to exit the car right now, before I pass out,” I thought.
​
I parked at the right side of the store, next to empty shopping carts, exited the vehicle and within a few seconds all symptoms, except eye pain, had disappeared. I shopped at this store on a regular basis until spring of 2015 when we moved from Smyrna to East Cobb. The store offers a large selection of basic to exotic good-quality fruits and vegetables for reasonable prices, way below what the typical grocery store charges. I needed to calm down and assess the situation. Buying fresh produce seemed like the next logical step. I took my time; went to the bathroom, shopped around and paid the cashier, like every other person at the store.
A young man, an ordinary-looking man in his mid-thirties, dressed in blue jeans and a light-grey jacket, passed by me and looked directly into my eyes while a cashier was placing the purchased items into plastic bags. He unsuccessfully tried to hide his emotions, but his face was silently giving him away by showing, “What are you doing? You can run but you can’t hide.”
Leaving the store, entering the Highlander and driving home was the only option besides throwing the groceries in a dumpster and walking home.
“If I walk home and tell the story to my wife, I’m a dead man. She will call the psychiatrists who will advise her to bring me back to the hospital.”
My hands were shaking as I turned the key and started the car. The engine was smoothly idling, my face was staring into the darkness of the night, my body was waiting for the symptoms to appear again. I was nervous, but otherwise felt fine. I slowly drove off and religiously obeyed traffic laws. The shortest route home was to drive around the new Braves stadium, currently under construction. The car crossed Cobb Parkway and ascended to the top of a small hill where everything was beautifully lit up: new hotel, new office building, new residential development and the stadium itself. I slowed down to 25mph, opened the window, looked outside and admired how fast the construction had progressed. I was being followed by a black SUV but didn’t care anymore.
My body was flooded with the feeling of victory, “I won, at least tonight, and was given a break to enjoy the scenery, to recharge for the next level of the game,” I said and drove home without experiencing any unusual incidents.
At home, I was unloading the groceries. Romana approached me, slightly bumped into me and continued to walk to the kitchen in silence without saying “Hi” or anything else. She poured herself a glass of wine and walked upstairs to the master bedroom. My worst fears were confirmed. The NSA agents had forced her to cooperate. She feared for her and our children’s safety but couldn’t tell me anything since the whole house was bugged. At least she was smart enough to give me a signal by bumping into me. It appeared the agents were amused by the situation. I almost died and crashed the car, went to the store, was given a break and left alone thereafter.
“This is my house, my family, and nobody has the right to drag my wife and kids into this. I will give them a clear message to stay away.”
I was upset, turned on the TV and watched the movie, Braveheart (1995). Less than an hour into the movie, Mel Gibson screamed as he rallied his soldiers, “They can take our lives, but they will never take our freedom!” Shortly after, the Scottish soldiers raised their kilts and waved their naked butts at the English. I said to myself, “Perfect, I am sure the agents will get the message,” then turned off the TV and went to bed.
​
On Wednesday February 1st, I woke up in a good mood. The phone that made me so sick was lost forever in the waters of the Sope Creek pond. The manual stated the phone would be irreversibly damaged if submerged under water for more than 30 minutes. Shopping for another phone became today’s priority. I wanted something cheap and possibly used. After the T-Mobile authorized dealer sold me the death-ray-emitting cell phone, I didn’t trust or want to go anywhere near the store.
“How about the independent cell phone/repair store owned by Middle Easterners on Windy Hill Road? They surely would sell an unlocked, possibly fully cracked cell phone,” I thought, and left my house within a few minutes.
Unfortunately, the store was no longer in business. I remembered the young server from Ru San’s Sushi Bar who mentioned there was a small independent cell phone store right next to the retailer. I found the restaurant on Google Maps but not the cell phone store. It did not exist. I had little more than an hour of free time before my scheduled doctor’s appointment, a hospital follow-up with primary physician, Dr. Reddi. I made up my mind to find the retailer, no matter what.
On my way to Kennesaw, there was more than the usual amount of traffic on I-75 in the opposite direction. I began to worry I would not make it to the doctor on time. “Dr. Smart Phones” was the name of the small retail store. I picked up a used Samsung Galaxy, the only phone I liked from the variety of only four phones available for sale, and asked the cashier if the phone was unlocked. The answer was “Yes” and I was also given friendly advice to use CM Security, the free antivirus program. I paid cash and negotiated a small discount of 5%. Due to system error, the cashier was unable to print a receipt.
“Don’t worry about it. I have to run to a doctor. I am sure you will remember me in case I have a problem with the phone.” We said bye to each other and I left the store.
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I arrived at the WellStar Medical Center on Roswell Road just on time and was welcomed by Dr. Reddi’s assistant, a young Indian girl in her early twenties. She was friendly and kept smiling during conversations. I described my symptoms and circumstances surrounding the hospitalization.
“I see a note here from October stating a low pulse of 46. Did you ever follow up with a cardiologist?” she asked.
“No, I totally forgot and still have chest pains from time to time,” I answered.
Dr. Reddi decided to perform another EKG test and told me to take my shirt off and lie on the medical bed.
The doctor left and the pretty young assistant entered the room, smiled at me and said, “Well, I am going to have to shave your chest before the sensors can be attached.”
I remembered a situation that happened in October 2016; two young and pretty assistants also had to shave my chest before an EKG examination. It was sort of fun but, most importantly, I had a story to share with the girls at lunch.
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A couple short memories. . .
The next day, in October, I went to the cafeteria at my usual time right around 12.10 p.m. Christine and Ronnee were sitting at a table opposite each other. Jessica was sitting alone, at the table right next to them, and smiled at me as I walked in.
“Great, today I will entertain Jessica. It’s her turn,” I thought, as I was heating up lunch in a microwave, standing a few feet from the girls.
I sat down opposite Jessica and said, “Hi guys, you won’t believe what happened yesterday.”
“Hi Joseph, so what happened?” Jessica asked, and I began telling the story.
“I went to a doctor for a yearly physical exam. It was discovered I had a very low pulse of 46 and an EKG test was ordered. The doctor’s assistant stated she will have to partially shave my chest for the sensors to stick. She left the room and I heard her laughing with another assistant saying, ‘We will have to shave his chest, ha, ha, ha.’”
Jessica jumped into the conversation. “That’s mean, I can’t believe they were laughing at you.”
I then continued to talk. “Well, both assistants were girls in their early twenties, who then entered the room with razors in their hands and said the following sentence while smiling: ‘We are going to shave your chest and won’t even charge you for it,’ and I replied, ‘That’s great, next time I need a wax I know where to go.’”
The four of us had a good laugh. The lunch was great, we also talked about a movie called Borat. I mentioned that, during one particular sporting competition the official Kazakhstan national anthem was accidently exchanged for the Kazakhstan national anthem played in the Borat movie. The wrong anthem was played to the Kazakhstan athletes during a medal ceremony.
Mark came to the lunch and pulled Ronnee into the hallway to discuss a business matter. Christine was on her phone, sitting on a couch at the other end of the cafeteria. It was just me and Jessica sitting alone at a table. I seized the moment.
“You have the exact same hairstyle like the other day,” I said.
“I don’t remember,” Jessica said.
“But I remember, the other day you had the hair pulled back, just like today, and wore the black costume. You look great.”
At that moment, we were both happy and smiled at each other. I didn’t have a chance to say anything else as Ronnee had come back and joined us. This was the perfect lunch. Jessica was sitting at a table alone and waiting for me. She knew I would come to the lunch that day. It was Tuesday, I always went to the cafeteria on Tuesdays. I had a chance to flirt with her and show my appreciation right there at the lunch. I didn’t, however, have a chance to show her my affection. A gentle touch on her hand would have been the perfect ending to the perfect lunch.
After the lunch ended, I was in a great mood for the rest of the day. In the afternoon, Sue and I talked about work-related and personal matters and I shared the story with her.
“One time, I waxed my legs and it wasn’t the most pleasant thing,” she replied.
“Have you ever waxed down there?” I asked.
She raised her head, smiled a little in clear amusement I had the courage to ask her this question.
“Yes, and it hurt like hell,” she answered
“This is great, I can’t believe I am having this type of conversation with my boss,” I thought, smiling and looking directly at Sue.
She was still my boss and I didn’t want to push my luck by asking her any more inappropriate questions. I thought about the conversation later in the afternoon.
“What if Christine, Jessica, and Ronnee told me they waxed their legs. Would I also have asked them about waxing down there? I most certainly would have and who knows where the conversation would go in the future. :-)”
Back at the doctor’s office
And again, a young nurse was shaving parts of my chest for free as I was replaying the two memories in my mind. The EKG results were within normal limits, but I had more important symptoms to worry about.
“Why am I having all these facial and chest pains? What’s wrong with my right arm? A touch of anything feels different with my right hand than with my left hand. The arm tingles and I have a ‘freeze’ feeling on the dorsal side of my hand.”
I was puzzled by these symptoms and suspected possible nerve damage. The doctor ordered blood work and an X-ray of my right hand. I never had pains when having blood drawn except for today, when the procedure was very uncomfortable. Nerve damage seemed the most probable cause of the additional sensitivity. I went downstairs to the ground level of the building, where the imaging center was located. A young female assistant introduced herself and stated she would be the person in charge of the X-ray procedure. How lucky I was, all these pretty young nurses were catering to my needs. We walked through a long hallway, to the X-ray room. I was told to sit in front of the X-ray machine, to place my hand on a square plate and hold still.
The nurse went to the operator area but quickly returned and stated, “Please bear with me for a minute, I need to make a few adjustments.”
“No problem,” I said.
She walked away, back to the operator area.
“I’m not going to sit right in front of the machine while she’s performing her so-called ‘adjustments’. I know exactly what’s going on. On NSA’s direct order, I’ll receive a lethal dose of radiation. They will kill me in a similar way to how Putin poisoned Alexander Litvinenko,” I thought, and got up from the chair, walked across the room, sat on a chair right next to the operator area and continued to think. “I am away from the X-ray machine as much as possible and really close to the nurse. She can take as much time as she wants ‘adjusting’ the machine.”
In few minutes the nurse came back and said, “OK, everything is ready. Let’s take the picture.”
I went back to my original seat. She placed a heavy rubber cover over my lap.
I looked into her face, smiled, pointed my left hand toward the cover and said, “Good thinking, this is the most important item I need to save.”
She smiled back and said, “It will definitely protect you.”
The nurse took the X-ray fairly quickly and walked me back to the waiting area. I was happy to be out of the room and remembered “The Hollywood Rob” rule, to stay calm no matter what. I became thirsty and slowly walked to a water fountain, then used the restroom. Body language was the key. I acted as if nothing unusual happened until I paused, closed my eyes for a minute and relaxed in the safety of my car.
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I couldn’t relax for too long as I had another appointment scheduled in the afternoon. It was with behavioral therapist, Patricia Keller. Coincidently, her office was located in an office park right next to the WellStar clinic. Patricia was an older lady in her fifties, not too attractive per my taste, but she had class. It didn’t matter to me if she was attractive or not.
As the marriage therapist said, “Joseph, the behavioral therapist shouldn’t be someone you want to have lunch with.”
I took his advice and was happy that at least she is a woman. I love to socialize with all kinds of women; young, old, attractive or unattractive, I don’t care. The women, however, have to have class and intelligent conversation is a must. If I can’t have intelligent conversation with you, I’ll never talk with you again, no matter how beautiful you are.
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The therapy session lasted less than an hour. It was more about introduction and the surrounding circumstances that led me to her office. After leaving the office, I was hungry, tired and went straight home to take a nap. I woke up in less than half an hour but didn’t feel right. I had difficulty concentrating and remembering events that had happened recently. Performing seemingly miniscule tasks more than one at a time was a struggle. I had to keep reminding myself of what I was doing all the time. For example; when making breakfast, I placed a glass inside of the refrigerator’s opening to pump filtered water, then turned around and applied cream cheese and marmalade on a piece of toast.
“Is this enough cream cheese? Should I put more or less of it? What about some fruit with my meal? What should I get? Am I being watched by the producers or the NSA all the time? What about Heaven vs Hell and Matrix? How are Christine, Jessica, and Ronnee doing, are they OK? I wish I could at least talk to them, I miss them so much. Hollywood Rob is the golden rule. Am I doing everything in the correct order? Maybe I should go to the bathroom first to wash and brush my teeth, then make breakfast.”
I walked to the bathroom and continued to think. “Should I first wash my face or brush my teeth? What is the correct order? I don’t want to raise any suspicions. How did I do it before I got sick? I look horrible, I need to shave and brush my hair first. Oh shit, the water is running!”
I ran back to the kitchen and the water was flowing from the fridge to the glass and to the floor. I realized, this was more or less a problem all the time since I left the hospital. My thoughts were constantly racing between the ordinary stable world I knew before December 15 2016 and the world after December 15 2016, the new world, the new space-time, the new extreme dimension where anything was possible. The uncertainty of the new world, the constant thinking about what may happen next, to figure things out as fast as possible, to save my life as fast as possible, made everything so difficult. It became impossible to concentrate and stay focused. To fall asleep was the only thing that cured the problem, but only short-term until I woke up. To go outside, listen to the birds, look at the trees and sky, to lie down on a blanket, to close the eyes, relax and finally be able to block the thought process was another short-term solution frequently used.
“What about the long-term solution? Does it even exist? What if it doesn’t? Is this going to get worse and worse until I die?” I often thought.
I couldn’t even imagine being alone all the time. At least my family was around and forced me to stay in the old world most of the time.
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Thursday, February 2nd was another busy day. My wife and I had an 11.45 a.m. appointment with our marriage therapist. I wasn’t particularly happy at the prospect of seeing this government-appointed guardian of mine but had no choice.
“It will be OK as long as I act normal, no matter what. This strategy worked fine so far.”
I reminded myself to act natural then asked Romana about Europe. Since leaving the hospital, I questioned her on numerous occasions to let me travel to see my family, especially grandmother, who’s almost eighty. She gave me an evasive answer every time I asked her, so this was the last try for a while. I didn’t want to give her any reasons to throw me out of the house. After coming home from the hospital, she became cold, distant, and unsupportive of my problems. In her mind I was fired, and went to the jail and the hospital on purpose. As soon as I returned home, she had many questions about my life insurance and wanted me to sign a document giving her full authorization to disconnect me from life support. I had a difficult time comprehending why she acted the way she did.
“Only a paid actress or wife extorted by the intelligence agencies would act this way,” was the only explanation I was able to come up with.
Nobody likes to get fired, or goes to jail and hospital on purpose.
The therapy session went fine except for my symptoms; my eyes were slightly dilated, I had facial pains and my right arm was hurting. There was one instance which made me a little nervous.
“Joseph, tell me a few examples of what you like about your wife,” the therapist asked.
“Well, she is a strong woman who doesn’t fall under pressure—”
He interrupted me and said, “Yes, she doesn’t fall under pressure. That is an important quality don’t you think?”
During the sentence he slightly jumped, turned his body toward me and his wide-open eyes were looking directly into my eyes.
“I agree, this is an important quality. That’s what I love about her,” I calmly answered in a steady voice and didn’t move my body at all. I thought, “The agent is trying to trick me into talking.”
I was alternating my sight between the floor, walls, and the therapist for the duration of the session.
At the end, the therapist asked us, “Would you like to schedule the next session a week from today?”
I raised my head up and answered, “I was hoping to go to Europe for a few days before I start looking for a job.”
He looked at my wife and said, “It is not up to me. Would you let him go?”
Romana answered without hesitation, “Yes.”