Lifted from Darkness

By Jeanette M. Towne

The Epic Transformation

from Living the Nightmare

to Healing the Spirit...

On the outside, Jeanette had it all together; a good marriage, a beautiful daughter - poised on the threshold of a successful career. Behind the closed doors of a suburban prison, she continued to hide the shadowy secret of a splintered world of physical and mental torture. For over ten years, Jeanette was the pawn in a twisted psychological game, directed by the hands of the man whose lies she believed. She accepted the stark reality of never escaping alive.

When she first met Jack, she was captured by his charming personality, wowed by his wealth, and quickly fell in love. What originated as protective, confident and dominant, cascaded into a traumatic web of physical and psychological violence, illustrating the intense complexities of love and fury, passion and brutality.

In this touching work of inspiration, Jeanette reveals the entangled suffering and sadistic manipulation experienced, living with erratic violence. She carries you with her through the climatic events that led to her escape from the chasm of fear and intimidation. Jeanette exposes the heartbreaking effects domestic violence played on her identity as she moved toward true healing and a life of personal fulfillment and success with a faithful trust in the God that never fails.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Sep 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781449784935

Jeanette M. Towne

Jeanette M. Towne is the founder and CEO of a communication technology corporation. She is a Certified Platinum Technology Partner, one of twelve members represented on a Silicon Valley Based, Corporate Advisory Council. She savors her safe and splendid 25 year marriage to Sam, as they raise four children in sunny California. In addition to family, Jeanette is an inspirational speaker, loves anything outdoors, plays keyboard at church, leads a bible study group with her husband, and donates time to women’s ministries.

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Endorsements

What a captivating story that kept me riveted to the book, from beginning to the end. You just don’t imagine that things like this exist in the world, because we have been trained to look at the outside appearances and not see what is going on in the inside. Jeanette has captured the true essence of what it means to be a ‘battered-wife’ and how this could happen. I think all of us always wonder how someone could let this happen to them, or why don’t they just leave. Jeanette explains so clearly in this book how this could happen to anyone who has a heart and mind to love. This story is one of hope, love and victory in Christ. I strongly urge anyone who is lost in their circumstances, doubtful of life and wanting to quit, to read this encouraging story of how someone who just wanted to love and to be loved, found that love in the end. – Kyle Flores, International Vice President/Sale and Marketing

‘Wow!’ is the first word that came out of my mouth after reading this incredible story that takes you on a ride of young dreams that turn to a horrible nightmare only to end up in victory. Jeanette recounts the story that so many women have lived or are living through today. A story that could have made her a bitter woman giving into defeat becomes a story that through the grace of God has seen success and triumph. Her story will make you angry, will raise questions of why; wondering why no one noticed, but will take you to a place of hope and dreams being fulfilled. I am so proud that Jeanette has been willing to tell her story, to face her past, to find healing and to now be in a place to help and encourage others. – Tim Stevenson, Senior Pastor, Horizon Community Church

Jeanette’s story brings hope. She openly shares her life as she grew up in total innocence, married into a life of chaos and destruction, but was completely restored by God’s grace. – Angel Martin, BS, NM Technologist

Unbelievable and encouraging! Jeanette has detailed a real life experience that so many women have endured and can relate to. Even more importantly, Jeanette’s boldness to bring her story to light can and will continue to encourage thousands who feel trapped out of guilt or fear. She reminds us that God will never leave us amidst trials and tribulations. – Christopher Hudson, Chief of Operations, Still Light Studios

Jeanette Towne wished this sad story during her 20s never happened. But it did. And through her transformed life today, Jeanette looks back, and courageously uncovers the ‘silent terror’ of her torture and abuse, and the emotional paradox of her ‘domestic prison,’ a similar prison which many others are ‘captive in’ today. This book is not a voyeuristic tour, but rather a story of reality, a gift of hope to those who still cry out to God to be rescued, and for their friends and family who will be part of the rescue. And even more, it shows everyone there is a path to building a beautiful new life of hope, strength, giving, trust, and genuine love. – Rod Howard, Co-Founder of Vocari, Vocation to Calling, and father of six daughters

In Lifted From Darkness, Jeanette Towne captures the survival mentality and pain of those entangled in domestic abuse, allowing the reader to understand the complexity, perversion, and emotional conflict that terrorizes victims of such abuse. While her story recounts the ugliness and sorrow of her labored journey, the raw realities of true redemption shine forth; reminding readers that God does not shy away from the hard and impossible. – Emily White Youree, Former Randall House Acquisitions Editor

Lifted From Darkness is the eye-opening and heart-wrenching ten-year true story of an abused wife who chronicles what it’s like to be beaten down, emotionally and physically on a 24/7 basis. Jeanette Towne has woven the fabric of a married life spinning out of control and who bares her soul honestly and convincingly. Faced with the sad fact that the husband she only sought to love and cherish does little but beat and break her down, Jeanette comes to grip with a seemingly hopeless situation. She never falters in her goal of being a good wife and mother and in spite of the adversity at hand emerges as the winner and more importantly a beacon of light to battered women everywhere. –Joseph Moore, Training Administrator, Major Aerospace Company

This is a must-read book for every young girl getting ready to leave the protection of her family. – Alisha Steinheimer JD, Corporate Vice President

A very real story of abuse and salvation that will encourage women in similar circumstances to realize there is hope for a better tomorrow. This story speaks life to anyone in overwhelming circumstances showing that prayer and faith can bring inner strength to escape unspeakable misery. – T.L. Crutchfield, B.S. in Criminal Justice, Sacramento State University

Lifted

From

Darkness

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Jeanette M. Towne

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Copyright © 2013 Jeanette M. Towne.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

1 [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Cover Design by Sally Sue Dunn Designs, LLC

ISBN: 978-1-4497-8494-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-8493-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013902580

WestBow Press rev. date: 05/12/2016

Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The NIV and New International Version are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™ All rights reserved.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 The Last Straw

Chapter 2 First Meeting

Chapter 3 Iris

Chapter 4 The Parents

Chapter 5 Club Escape

Chapter 6 I Do

Chapter 7 Corona Del Mar

Chapter 8 First Abuse

Chapter 9 A New Life

Chapter 10 Northern California

Chapter 11 The Perfect Little Family

Chapter 12 Married?

Chapter 13 The First Eviction

Chapter 14 The New Job

Chapter 15 A Wild Party

Chapter 16 A Teaching Opportunity

Chapter 17 The 25K Gift

Chapter 18 A Box Explodes

Chapter 19 Reconciliation

Chapter 20 Guns

Chapter 21 The Shameful Disease

Chapter 22 The Garbage Disposal

Chapter 23 The Mustang

Chapter 24 Kitty

Chapter 25 Casa Clara

Chapter 26 The Dream House

Chapter 27 Nothing but Trash

Chapter 28 Fortune 5

Chapter 29 New Roommates

Chapter 30 The Confrontation

Chapter 31 The Escape

Chapter 32 Lake Tahoe

Chapter 33 The New Life

Chapter 34 Modern Day Miracles

Chapter 35 Building an Empire

Chapter 36 Leah’s Rescue

Chapter 37 President

Chapter 38 Healing a Heart

Epilogue

Lifted From Darkness Readers’ Guide Questions for Discussion

Author’s Note

This book is dedicated to my late-parents, Dominic and Mary Miani and to my husband, Sam Towne. My father was my very first love and the rescuer in my time of real need. My loving mother, who read my first draft manuscript and encouraged me to continue writing, even though she knew I would have to relive the horrific paid in order tell my story. Finally, I dedicate this book to my husband Sam. Sam opened his life and heart to me, showing me the truth of our Savior in a real way. Sam didn’t shy from my past, but embraced the potential of a relationship together, that would thrive when built on the solid rock of our Lord.

I want to give honor to God for calling, saving, and never leaving me. I owe each day and every breath to Him. As He has saved me, the continuing quest of my life is to educate and inspire others to see the ugly trap of domestic abuse and to be set free, and Lifted From Darkness.

Ps. 40:1-2 (NIV) I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.

Chapter 1

The Last Straw

I knew better than to leave out any type of tool. Throughout the years, I had trained myself to be meticulous when it came to using sharp objects around the house such as knives, barbecue utensils, or anything that could become a weapon.

Getting ready for work was a challenge. I had to walk softly and towel- dry my hair; any loud noises in the house could cause him to wake up. After a late night of drinking, drugging, and partying, if I woke him up while getting ready for work, the punishment could be anything from a screaming tirade delivered an inch from my face, to hits, kicks, choking, airborne projectiles, or body slamming. On occasion it could be worse; a threat from a knife or loaded gun would be used, to punish my actions.

I was almost immune to the violence since it was difficult to acknowledge my living situation -the violence seemed so surreal. This was my life. Long past depression, I was the walking dead - a living- zombie. I was a hostage in my own home and fairly certain I’d be dead before the end of the year.

Raised Catholic, I learned that suicide was a mortal sin. Not only did I live in hell on earth, if I killed myself to escape, my sentencing would be eternal damnation to burn in hell. I prayed daily for God to please let me die in my sleep, or for God to take him through cancer, illness, or some freak accident.

No one had a clue what went on in my house. From the outside, I looked perfect: perfect family, perfect life. People assumed I had it all together—an attractive young woman working for a Fortune 500 company; married to a strikingly handsome, funny, intelligent, wonderful husband; and raising a darling and obedient young step-daughter.

No one would believe I was a prisoner in my own home. No one would believe I was followed, threatened and could be killed on any day. No one would believe my husband had already been involved in murdering several people, and murdering me would come easily. I could not escape.

Why couldn’t I just take off, change my name, and start a new life? Maybe that was possible in the early days, the days when things weren’t very violent. In those days, I was a young wife, raising a darling two- year-old baby who had been abandoned by a cruel mother. I wanted her. I wanted to be the mommy, the good wife … the perfect family. Now, I knew if I left and went undercover, I would never see my daughter again. How could I escape and leave her there? She would surely become the victim once I left.

My family was a target. If I ever managed to escape, not only would my daughter be hurt, but my parents would also be at risk. He knew where my parents lived and had hissed on many occasions that if I ever thought of leaving, my family would be history. I believed him.

Just Another Day

Getting my business portfolio together and reviewing my meetings for the day, I wrote a note listing the locations for my sales calls and left it on the counter by the telephone. The designer suit I purchased at the Goodwill Store for $7.00 was clean and pressed, my stiletto pumps shined. After checking my appearance one last time in the bathroom mirror I leaned against the door and exhaled loudly, realizing Jack had taken my purse the night before and had it in the master bedroom. My heart skipped a beat; my stomach began to tighten and convulse. I needed my purse. It had my license and a few dollars needed for the day.

If I took off my high heels and stepped into the bedroom, I could grab my purse quickly and be out of the house. I hoped he was in bed alone. The hallway looked long and dark. I stood at the end of the hall looking towards the master bedroom door, which was open about an inch. All of the blinds were drawn and blankets covered the seams, not allowing a drop of sunlight to enter the room. After years of drugging, sunlight would put him in a foul mood. I nervously glanced at my watch. I had to get the purse or be late for my first sales call of the day.

Without sales, there would be no commission checks. Without commission checks, there would be no money for the house payment or food … or his drug habit. Without drugs, he would be volatile; one small irritation away from a human explosion.

Taking a deep, silent breath, I tip-toed down the hallway and crept up to the entrance of the master bedroom. Leaning my hands against the door I pressed softly, and slowly opened the door. One of the hinges began to squeak! Why didn’t I get the WD40? I held my breath as I heard him move in bed. Don’t move. Please don’t move! Please don’t wake up! After what seemed like eternity, I heard the steady breathing of sleep. Whew, close call! Quietly, I pushed the door open a sliver, and slid into the room. I stood there letting my eyes adjust until I spied my purse on the counter of the bathroom. Why didn’t I hide my purse better? Usually, I hid my purse in different places throughout the house so I could easily retrieve it each morning.

Three, four, five soft steps and I reached my purse. The handle was a long strap that hung down along the side of the sink. Looking over, the coast was still clear; he was asleep. Quickly, I grasped the square body of the purse and began to lift … a little too quickly. The strap lifted and wrapped around the knob of the vanity cabinet. As I pulled the purse towards my body the cabinet door opened and then swooshed closed with a loud slam! A slurred stream of profanity began to spew from his mouth.

Where do you think you are going? he shouted. I could smell the alcohol and cigarettes projecting from across the room. I should have shut up and cowered, but was seething with anger. He raped me the night before, and I was enraged at being a prisoner in my own home. I was despondent, my life seemed hopeless with no way out. The rage rushed up from my neck, igniting my cheeks with fire.

To work … one of us has to earn a living, I said sarcastically. As soon as it came off my tongue, I panicked.

Glancing at the dresser, I noticed a hammer. He must have been working with his tools and forgot to put the hammer away. As soon as I spied the hammer, I noticed his eyes on it at the same time. Enraged, he flew out of bed, crossed the room, and grabbed the hammer. I dared not run. If I ran, he would claw me in the back of the head. I might have a chance if I didn’t try to fight back. I crumpled down by the vanity, crouching on both feet with my hands up in a defensive position and watched in the wall-sized mirror as he filled the room, looming larger than life. I looked up at him and then I saw it as clear as day. He stood above me with the hammer poised to come down, crushing into my skull. His face was contorted and transformed into murderous monster. His eyes were bloodshot and in the darkened room looked like slits of oozing blood. This was it. This was my last moment of life. The hammer started to come down. I saw the scene unfold as if the seconds were all in slow motion.

Chapter 2

First Meeting

Growing up in Southern California in the 1970’s was like living in a Norman Rockwell painting. My parents were first generation Italian Americans, raising us with firm discipline, and a healthy mix of generous love and positive encouragement. Family and church were the focus of our lives. Danger and fear were two things I was unfamiliar with. We worked hard, played hard, loved each other and trusted all. We walked to school and played until dark on summer days. No fear. No danger.

I always felt a strong calling to rescue sick birds, bring home stray kittens and help people, and knew at a young age that I wanted to become a nurse. So, after high school, I registered for college, and moved into a one-bedroom apartment with a gal I worked with. It was close to school and, I landed a job as a waitress in a local family restaurant to pay for tuition and living expenses. It was thrilling! Freedom! I was a grown up, barely 18 and living away from home—it felt both exciting and scary. I loved getting into my ’65 Mustang and heading to class, but was often frightened when coming home late at night; some nights I ran from the dark parking lot to my apartment door.

After two years of grinding through basic coursework, and keeping up my grades, I was rewarded with a coveted acceptance letter into the highly competitive nursing program. My first day of class was a warm fall day in 1977. I sat quietly in the classroom with nineteen other students, listening attentively, as our Nursing Instructors began orientation. Our program director, Nurse Restick, paced regally through the class, with her white nursing cap adorning her head. She sported a starched white nursing outfit and an Aqua-net coated hairdo that would remain in place, even in a strong breeze. Nurse Restick turned and fixed her gaze directly into my eyes when she announced,

Don’t plan on working while you are in the nursing program! You will be working at the hospital part-time and going to classes the rest of the time. Between studying and the hospital, you won’t have time to work. I shrank down in my chair, panicked and swallowed hard. How would I survive? I had to work? There was no way I’d be able to support myself without a job.

Nurse Restick was right about working. I dragged my body up at 5:30 am, drove to the hospital by 6:45, and worked hard all day. We studied pediatrics, medical-surgical, and OB/GYN nursing. Enthusiastically I embraced each procedure and opportunity to fulfill my dream but the schedule was grueling. On alternate days, I was in classes, learning pharmacology, transmission of disease and laboratory nursing skills. The drill was rote and each day, I would literally run from school or the hospital to my car and then off to the restaurant where I would work from 4 pm until midnight.

This went on for months with me juggling life. I had to study for exams, I had to work, I had to do clinical. I was struggling to hold on to my B+ average, a B+! Who wanted a C-grade nurse? I was young, healthy and energetic, and did my best, however after the first year, the 70 hour a week schedule was sucking the immune system out of my body. I was run down and began to get sick. Some mornings I was so tired, I wouldn’t even hear the alarm blasting inches from my head. By the last semester of the program, I knew my attendance was slipping. Nurse Restick, pulled me aside, wagging her threatening finger at me, eyes bulging in disapproval,

If you miss any more clinical hours, you will be dropped from the program. I bowed my head and agreed with her; she was serious, and she was right, but missing hours wasn’t due to lack of zeal or hard work….it was because I was stretching my body too thin and working on little to no sleep.

I continued the pace and was filled with a final burst of energy when nearing the end of the program. Finals were fast approaching and the only class I needed to complete was one summer session of Psychiatric Nursing and I’d be done. That was it! One morning, a few weeks before finals, I decided to stay at home and miss the lecture, so I could study for a very important pharmacology test. I knew Restick was upset about my clinical hours but I’d kept my attendance perfect over the last few weeks. It made sense, study so I’d ace my test, and then come into class later that afternoon to take it. I got up at the usual time and instead of rushing off to school, carefully reviewed all of my notes. I was going to get an A on this test, not the C I would have gotten if I’d gone to the lecture as scheduled.

As I approached the classroom, Nurse Restick was waiting; she rushed out to intercept me in the hallway, approaching me with long stiff strides, eyes blazing anger. I froze.

Where do you think you are going? She blurted out. I was shocked by her comment and felt my stomach tighten. I knew I had become the ugly step-child during the program, but accepted that sentence because of my life situation. The instructors hated that I lived on my own and thought I was way too independent. They continually over scrutinized everything I did, mainly because they felt I didn’t take their advice and continued working at the restaurant. I wasn’t a slouch! I had maintained an A-/B+ average during the entire program and was in the top 1/3 of the class. There were many students who were dropped from the program due to poor grades, not me. I was a good student and had such a passion for nursing, my only fault was that my parents were raised in a culture and time when a child at 18 would pay their own way. They worked for it, and we did too. They didn’t help pay for college and my siblings and I all worked after high school to pay for college and support ourselves. That was how it was done in the Miani family.

I’m. I’m ….going to take our final… Nurse Restick. I stammered. She grabbed my arm and pulled me roughly, escorting me down the hallway and into the bathroom. I was dumbfounded but followed along with wonderment and disbelief. I felt tears welling in my eyes and could feel a huge lump in my throat. She hissed back at me.

You’re out! She swung open the door of the bathroom and pushed me inside. You’ve been a rebel since day one. You continued to work against my recommendation. Nobody works and makes it through my program - what made you think you’d be able to? I couldn’t talk; words were stuck in the bottom of my dry throat. I started to cry while she continued her tirade, not hiding her obvious dislike for me and seeming to enjoy lambasting and humiliating me. You were warned! You missed lecture this morning. I have already filed papers with the college…you are dismissed from the nursing program!

I couldn’t believe my ears. I started working on my goal of becoming a nurse in 1974. That was over three years ago. I had just about made it. I went to night school during my senior year in high school to become a nurse’s aide. I completed all of my general education classes at Cypress College and was accepted into the nursing program. I completed my clinical study, my lab and internship and was only three weeks away from the end. Only three weeks left until school was over…one quick summer class and that was it. I would live my dream of graduating as a Nurse with an Associate of Science Degree.

I tried to negotiate, But Nurse Restick…I choked out between huffing sobs. "I didn’t think my classroom hours were a problem. When…when you told me about missing hours, you always said Clinical Hours. When I made up hours last month, I made up clinical hours. My face flushed a bright red, while tears streamed down my cheeks, dripping from my chin. Restick stood with a sanctimonious and victorious smirk on her face, hands on her hips while my sobs echoed in the empty women’s bathroom. I pleaded with her, groveling. I am so sorry, Nurse Restick. Please. Please. Please don’t drop me from the program. Please it’s almost graduation. Please, I promise, I can make up the hours I promise I can. This is everything I’ve ever wanted in life. I want to be a nurse. I’ve always wanted to be a nurse. I haven’t wanted anything more than this. Please don’t drop me. Not now, we’re almost done. Please, please…." She stood firm, a cruel lopsided curl on her lips.

"With your little waitress job taking up most of your nights and leaving you very tired, there is no way I can be available to monitor you for clinical. I just can’t be put out while you try to make up 2 or 3 hours. She just about spat the words. It has been decided. Forget a career in nursing and stick to slinging hash. Your nursing days are over! Please clean out your locker now, my decision is final!" She flung open the bathroom door and whirled out, leaving behind the scent of Aqua Net. I was in shock. I sunk to the floor, hitting the cold tile, trying to process what had just happened. I hugged my knees, buried my head into my lap and cried. My life was over. How could I be dropped from the program? Graduation was in my plan. I was going to be a nurse. I wanted to help people. I was going to be the best nurse at the hospital. I could help the sick babies and hold the hand of the terminally ill. All of my dreams were dashed that afternoon, as I slumped on to the floor wondering what I would do next.

Weeks later, I finally had the nerve to tell my parents about what happened with my nursing program. They were worried about my future, shared my disappointment, and wanted me to move home. Mom told me that Dad had accepted a six-year position for the Department of Defense, beginning in the fall. He would be working out of the embassy in Copenhagen, Denmark. My parents had always wanted to live abroad, and now it looked like a reality. An Air Force couple would be