WELCOME TO MY HADES

By Dr Yvette L. Lockhart

You are about to embark on an intimate, often disturbing, true memoir of a young Dannielle Devereaux, who is a survivor of domestic violence. She is an intelligent, talented, creative and well- read individual, yet she fell prey to this trap. All she ever wanted in life was to offer aid to others in need. Her pursuit of higher education kept her al

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dr. Yvette L. Lockhart
• Release date: Oct 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781087901404

Dr Yvette L. Lockhart

Dr. Yvette Leilani Lockhart has dedicated her life to the empowerment of humanity, famlies, woman, and children. She is a survivor on all levels and in this way is able to assist others with a strength and insight only present in those with a lived experience such as hers. She holds a doctoral degree in psychology and currently has a private practice.

Book preview

1

The Implicit Warnings

The sun must be rising, I hear birds chirping and there appears to be light, from what source or which direction, I do not know. I am uncertain that my eyes are open as I lay on my back, trying to attempt acclimating to my surroundings. I am uncertain where I am or what day it is?

Before me, I see an aged haggardly looking dresser. It would seem to me I am inputting information as if I am a computerized android. Before me I see faded, yellow tinged wallpaper embracing its walls for dear life. As I hesitantly raise my arm, I allow my hand to touch and scan the shaping of the headboard behind my head. My senses tell me it would appear to match the monstrous dresser before me. It occurred in my thoughts that the furnishings surrounding me were ancient, perhaps discarded or abandoned by their previous owners.

It also became clear to me that this was not an atmosphere with which I was comfortable.

There was a feeling that boisterous screams wanted to emit vocally from my mouth, but this was an impossibility to perform.

I got up. Yet this decision was not such a simple task to undertake. I felt as if my body and my head have become physiologically detached. My head gave me the sensation of being extremely inflated, larger than it should be, and why was I feeling in such a weakened, achy state. I began my assent when tremendous pain overwhelmed me.

Hesitantly, I brought my hands to my face. Its touch was not familiar to me, and why could I not open my mouth to utter words.

I stood, yet not steadily, and proceeded forward to find a bathroom. I racked each step with such horrendous pain, as I hadn’t felt in my given years, yet it was remaining alien to me.

It seemingly would appear that I was alone in this place, but somehow, I sensed threats of bodily harm.

As I washed my hands, I found myself in front of a mirror. I gazed at the sight before my eyes, uncertain of the reflection they were viewing. There were only slits where eyes should be. As I attempted to make closer examination, I could not open my eyes any wider and that the hideous site before me in the mirror, was me.

Startled at what I saw, I tried to open my mouth in awe. This was not possible. My mouth would not open. It was as if glued shut. Pain ravishing my body, the memory of why I had this appearance came flooding to the forefront of my mind and I desperately needed to flee.

I saw no clothing or baggage to rummage through. Slowly I survey my surroundings, I was, in the midst, of what would appear to be a nightmare.

It was not a nightmare. This is happening now, ~ my life.

I, Dannielle Devereaux, stood amongst such sights I knew not what caused the most visceral pain. Before me, I viewed old dilapidated, dust immersed, and grotesque chairs that I feared to sit upon them. Startlingly, I then noticed a kitchen. They filled it with the minimum essentials. Swiftly, an antique refrigerator came into view. It has a cylindrical attachment on the top and there appeared to be noises vibrating from it. It was shorter than I was. I stood over 5’6" and was small framed. There was a metal table with two metal and plastic cushioned chairs. They covered the floor with old distressed linoleum, I had seen such at a local five and dime store.

Everything belonged in a museum. I was becoming quite dizzy and hastily in need to find a suitable place to sit down. Turning back towards the bed, I did so and as I caught my breath. I became filled with wonder and confusion. I slowly pondered.

Joltingly, full recollection returned like rapidly flashing slides on a screen before me.

Yesterday, they had married us. Dannielle Devereaux is my name no longer. Dannielle Devereaux- Ste James is my new name. Does this mean I am no longer the strong willed, yet gentle and polite woman etched in spirituality? I was a woman afraid of nothing, which was of this world. They had not taught me to fear, but to forge onward with determination. My feet had always remained firmly planted on the ground, not given to flight. I never fled from fears. Confronting fear is the key and therefore seen as it truly was, an illusion. To fear was to believe in that fear, give into that fear. Dannielle Devereaux should not be in this situation!

We, Stephan Ste James and I, had eloped. A Justice of the Peace married us. We had not left the state. I had to settle for this since my faith would not allow my cohabiting with Stephan until after documentation of an official license.

The Catholic Church required a minimum of six weeks notification called the Banns of Marriage and I had nowhere else to stay, since I moved out of the Catholic all-girls College dormitory. It was so ghastly miserable there.

♦

On the college campus, I began feeling overcome with distress and overwhelming loneliness.

In attendance, the college had an abundance of wealthy young women who looked down upon those who had no such wealth and had to work for their daily sustenance. Let us also add the fact that I was a young woman of color and physically worked on campus, in an experimental computer program called The Math Project. These facts left me virtually within the depths of their social stratification.

One young woman in my dormitory had a pink Cadillac, and her wardrobe was color coordinated to match her vehicle. She would literally walk past me as if I were invisible. I would greet her at least twice daily, merely snubbed. My upbringing would not allow me to ignore her as she did of me. The daily assaults to my self-esteem shouted out to me a solitary, yet enormous question, What are you doing here? It also made me contemplate whether this environment was healthy for me.

Regrouping my strategy of becoming a medical doctor is a need, which had been my lifelong dream. I recall having made this decision as a young child and watched helplessly as my baby brother, Anton, struggled with a brittle-bone disease by the name of Osteo-genesis imperfecta. I became determined that children neither should, nor would have to suffer as he did, although he never uttered a complaint of any discomfort. I was very idealistic and thought there was a possibility of my accomplishing this ominous medical marvel.

Stephan thought it would be a great idea to get married, the perfect solution. We were friends, but not in love. This way, we could get our own place and I could commute to college. Perfect! Sounds relatively simple. How complicated could it be?

Let’s go for it, I had known Stephan for a few years. He treated me as if I were a special person and I needed this treatment at this point and time of my life.

Personally, there was a void in the sexual education category on my part. I had attended Catholic School throughout my developmental years, and this was not a topic for conversation with my parents. Discussions concerning such topics were just never an option, not even with girlfriends. If I heard something that was not discernable to me, I pretended that I knew what they were speaking of, or just ignored it. This way of life became very natural to me.

Stephan was a friend of my older brother, Alex, a few years older than I was and appeared to know how the world worked, including the people inhabiting it. I was not so certain, any longer, of what the world held for me. I was beginning to stumble along its pathways.

All my friends were away at college and would have thought my plan was crazy, anyway. Therefore, Ramon and Caroline, an unmarried couple who had been living together for quite a while and were friends of Stephan’s, stood up for us. I barely knew either of them. They had arranged everything for the following day!

♦

After the ceremony, we stopped by my family’s home, where I had lived, when not in the college campus dormitory. We broke the news to my parents as a mere gesture. I was uncertain whether it would matter to them. This was not something that my parents wished for me. My parents seemed to have had my future mapped out for me, and it was just becoming apparent to me.

My family did not care for Stephan and for that matter, I was uncertain whether they actually cared for me, at times. They had their hands full, caring for my disabled brother.

I can recall my decision to stop sharing my report cards with them. Instead, I shared them with the mother of a friend of mine. She would envelop me in her arms and hug me tightly with glee while praising me for my accomplishments. My parents never noticed that there were no more report cards for them to sign.

They felt that I was making a terrible mistake by leaving the dormitory. But made it intolerable for me to remain a part of their existence.

They presented an illusion of being the happy united front concerning the news of my marriage.

I felt my mother slip some envelope into my hand; it turned out to be my income tax refund check, which she had been hiding from me. I was awe-struck, and I didn’t know what to say, as I was in pure delight to receive it. We didn’t have much money worth mentioning, and I was told that Stephan had secured an apartment for us. The check was only over three hundred dollars, but I had earned it and it felt like a million dollars to me.

I can remember leaving and feeling overwhelmed with such sadness, or was it of forebodingness, for my decision-making process. I was in a dilemma. What could have been another choice under the circumstances? Living in my parent’s house was not an option. Freedom is a desire. Almost twenty, I had left college once before to enter the Marine Corps. Now I was out of the Marine Corps and making another attempt at the same college. This time they included housing.

Living on campus without a vehicle was quite a handicap. It was in the suburbs or boondocks as many of my acquaintances described its location. This was the rationale for the little bribe of a sports car from my parents, but once I accepted Regis College, it became unmentioned again.

No one could visit, for it would have to be an all- day event. That was a great deal to ask of anyone. Truly, I was in a quandary.

Stephan was aware of all these facts and also that I could not live with him without the benefit of marriage since I was a devout Catholic.

Deep in my heart, I still desired to become a Nun, but my mother continued to express her disdain for such a life choice. Little did I know that these things would, collectively, come back to haunt me.

♦

When we, the newly giddily mannered married couple, arrived at our, gasping, turn of the century apartment in what appeared to be an attic. It took three flights of winding stairs and still was tucked far in the rear of an antiquated house.

My performance began as I pretended to be the radiant bride. I openly shared the fact that my mother had given to me a check, that in fact it was my income tax refund, and I started discussing how we could brighten up the dismally dark, musty-smelling, depressing place with curtains and possibly some plants.

Suddenly, the check became snatched from my hands. A bit stunned, I could hear myself question what he was doing. Stephan boldly states, I’m using it to join the union.

Recently, Stephan had gained a driver position with a trucking company, and the union would take the fee from his weekly salary.

Again, I could hear myself questioning why we could not discuss this further, when a painful slap landed on my cheek. I am stunned, but could still feel myself reaching for my check, so I could swiftly exit that apartment door with it in hand.

Suddenly I am pounced upon and could feel blow upon blow strike my person. When the blows ceased, I began collecting myself, wiping blood from my face but not crying. I would surmise that I was in the state of shock. I could faintly hear what sounded like a dog whimpering, not realizing that the whimpers were coming from me, Dannielle Deveraux.

Quickly, the behavior of Stephan altered as I began hearing pleas from him saying: Please stay, You have to remain with me. Stephan continued: What would people say? What was he saying ~ what would people say if I left him? What people would think about these situational events was the furthest thing from my mind. I would not stay in a situation of brutality. Stephan pleaded and pleaded that he would never touch me again, that he was so terribly sorry for what he had done to me.

Just hours before, we had exchanged wedding vows. I talked myself into believing that I could eventually fall in love and needed to feel that he meant what he had been telling me ~ that he loved me.

I allowed myself to accept his plea of remaining in that apartment for the night only. Stephan cleaned my wounds and tucked me neatly in bed along with a couple of aspirin as my wedding celebratory cocktail.

Eventually, I managed to drift off to sleep, with plans to leave in the morning.

Now, I am awake, alone, scared, dazed, confused and besides my emotional pain, it surprised me to experience tremendous physical pain.

I stood up and sought a bathroom to prepare for my showering and exiting this place.

As I casually gazed in the mirror, my reflection startled me. What hideous thing was looking back at me? It is me. I cried in silence. I became trapped by my vanity, a vanity that I never knew I possessed. I could let no one see me like this.

This was my everlasting Wedding Memory!

♦

I must have cried myself back to sleep, for the next thing I knew the sounds of keys in the door awakened me and someone entered. I heard footsteps approaching the bedroom and became paralyzed with fear.

There he stood, with a sheepish-looking grin as he asked: Hungry? Not waiting for a response, he headed toward me. A vanilla ice cream soda! I could see that he was holding a sipping straw in his other hand. Stephan had come back to feed me, considering that he did not understand the severity of my injuries. What if I had died while he was out? Had he done this, before? He was smiling, saying comforting things and fluffing my pillows. It was as if it had struck me deaf and dumb. I could see his lips moving, but I could no longer hear a sound uttered from the moment he began walking toward me. Silently, I screamed as he reached across me to grasp the pillows behind my head. Stephan then posed the soda and straw before my lips. I just stared at the straw as if it was a dagger. Stephan squeezed the straw together and attempted to glide it between my upper and lower teeth, since my mouth would not open any wider than a crack. I could sense the muscles of my face trying to assist during this procedure, but my mouth could not open. The sharpness of the plastic straw against my tongue, I could feel it.

Attempting to sip the soda through the straw was a struggle, and the motions of swallowing are utterly painful. Since I could not speak, I just watched his darting eyes. I had no idea what might happen next. I did not know who this person was any longer.

What had I done???

I watched as Stephan sat there on the edge of the bed chattering away about what I do not know. Continually nudging the straw into my mouth, oh so carefully, as if to say, I must not remind Dannielle that she is in utter pain from what I did to her. It was what I assumed Stephan to be thinking to himself. I slowly and painfully take the soda in my own hands and attempt feeding myself. There was something about Stephan feeding me that made my skin crawl. I am laying here because of what he did to me.

I had married him to access freedom, but he was the one walking around with the freedom and with his appearance unmarred, attempting to be charming, telling me what a lovely day it is outdoors in the fresh air. He was asking me, Would you like to go for a ride, to get some air? I just looked at him, since I could not speak, nor could I nod, for the pain permeated to the core of my body. It was incredulous. There was no nightstand, so I placed the ice cream soda container on the floor beside the bed, leaving my arm to dangle as if it belonged to a rag doll. I can remember thinking it was odd, that the room appeared to be a jail cell. It was sparse and ugly, resembling scenes that I could recall from the movies with jail cells in them. I just lay there, unable to think and wanting to return to sleep so I did not have to think or look at this person chattering away, laughing at his own jokes as if nothing was wrong with this picture.

I could feel Stephan rise from the bed and sense him leave the room, but he did not leave the apartment for quite a while. What was he doing? Where were my things? My clothes? My bags? Where was the rest of the furniture?

I was alone with no money, no transportation and in agony. Stephan had been chattering away about the beautiful sunshine and crispy New England fall day we were having. His talk about the weather made me think about my coat. Where was my coat? I wondered if that was what he was doing when he left the room for such long a period; prior to actually leaving.

He took off in his truck as he parked along the side of this antique house, which had become my prison. How was I going to return to school looking like this ~ this monster!

We had no phone, therefore I could telephone no one who might listen if I dared to get up the nerve to tell anyone of such things. If only I had seen any of these signs for what they were. These signs were shouting for me to run as fast as I was able and to not look back.

2

The Courtship of An Abuser

As I struggle to find a comfortable spot on the pillow for my head, I could feel tears burning a path along my face. My mind drifted back to when Stephan and I began dating. It was a bright, warmly sunny day, just as I had always liked them. It was summer, and I was working for a college registrar at a very elite University. The stroll was not far to the bus stop that took me to work, and I was strolling. A nice vehicle drove up beside me and I heard a friendly familiar Hello!

Hesitantly, I turned my gaze toward the direction of the sound of the voice. It was Stephan.

Hello, I said as I kept my pace walking. I was not in a tremendous hurry, but I did not have any desire to miss the next bus only to end up late for work.

How do you like it?: Stephan chimed.

Once again, I turned my head in his direction, but the question puzzled me. I was not one to take any particular note of fancy vehicles. If they were clean, neat, and ran smoothly, I liked them well enough, but they were not important to me. I remember that this was one reason; I did not care for residing on the college campus. I realized that I needed a vehicle if I were to continue my schooling. It was much too far from public transportation. It was out in the suburbs. But having a fancy vehicle was not important to me, as a person; I only needed a dependable vehicle for transportation. I didn’t want to appear rude, but I didn’t really know what kind of vehicle it was, until Stephan quipped, Jaguar! Nice?.

I responded with a half-smile as I tried to maintain my pace.

Where ya headed, I can give you a ride?, heard coming from the direction of Stephan.

I glanced at him, responding to him, that, It really isn’t necessary ~ I have plenty of time to arrive at work punctually, but thank you for asking.

Stephan was persistent and making great strides at being charming. Finally, as I carefully studied his face and manner, I felt that there could be no harm in accepting the ride. Stephan stopped the vehicle, and I gracefully entered. The conversation was exceptionally light, and we both smiled a great deal. I thought I smiled a lot, but I feel that he won this challenge.

We arrived at the University entrance for me to access my office. I whispered, Thank you and he was off, not even waiting to note whether I entered the building unencumbered. This was not a gentlemanly way! I watched as he drove away into the distance.

Throughout the day as I performed my duties at the Registrar’s office, I had this nagging feeling about Stephan ~ uncertain what or why it should be of concern.

It was the close of the day and I am eager to get to the trolley stop. I was rushing through the doors when I came to an abrupt halt. There was Stephan! I had not informed him of my hours, so how did he know that I would leave now and coming through these specific exit doors. This was not where he dropped me off earlier in the morning. I did not know of it then, but he had been stalking me for a considerable number of weeks. We went through the protocol of offering and accepting his transportation to and from my home. This swiftly became a ritual, and we began seeing each other socially for movies, dinners, and casual walks in the park near my home during the next few months.

Stephan took great care to be endearingly caring with seemingly genuine tenderness and charm. Around my parents, Sabrie and Henri Devereaux, he was always respectful. I did not notice that the relationship with my older brother, supposedly his friend, until now, has become strained. I should have been more observant, perhaps I might have noticed that I was merely a pawn in an evil twisted plot to balance the scales which Stephan felt an unbalance. Our family had what may have given the appearance of the perfect family, but who utterly understands what that constituency entails.

Stephan wanted me to meet his mother, Janna, who lived just outside of the city in a little suburb where my first and only boyfriend, Alain, lived. Janna was very ingratiating. She had the look and mystique of the iconic legendary actress, Ava Gardner. Janna, divorced from Stephan’s father, and sharing a house with an also divorced man. Her other younger son, Gabriel, who I had already met and began developing a pleasant relationship, lived with them. He was about a year younger than I was. Everyone called him Gabe. I did not think of it then, but whenever we went out, it was with Gabe’s friends and their events they had been planning to attend. It did enter my mind that, since Stephan was a friend of my older brother’s, why didn’t we ever run into any of his other mutual friends or my brother, for that matter? Looking back in retrospect, I understand so much more.

Stephan told me that his mother and her male roommate did not share a bed, that they had separate bedrooms, that they were not sexually engaged. I thought it was a strange thing for an adult son to share with their new girlfriend. It also seemed as a very unlikely, unnatural way to live for a couple, but I did not question it because it made things easier for me. I did not want sex to enter our relationship. Looking back on this voluntary disclosure, perhaps Stephan knew how unhappy I was on campus and he was setting up the scenario of us living together.

My parents and older brother, Alex, are unpleased concerning our dating. Even my brother’s girlfriend, Sandi interjected He smells, how can you stand being around him? Obviously, I would not care to be around anyone who smelled, therefore I knew this to be an inaccurate fact now. I must add that Stephan had been living on the street at one time (that I know of). I know this because I recall my parents and my brother arguing about whether he could sleep in his car while parked in our driveway. My parents were adamant that this would not happen. I do not think it was because it was our driveway, I feel that my parents did not care for anyone unacceptable to the family to chance an encounter with their daughter, me.

My brother, Alex, had a soft spot for people in need. I recall a young man, named Tommie, residing with us while he attended college. I believe that it was graduate school, but I am uncertain. I remember that he returned to Florida to teach school. There was no problem with him sleeping directly across the hall from my room. Tommie was from an excellent family and on academic scholarship to a regional college. He was quiet, polite, soft-spoken, intelligent and with excellent grooming habits. Tommie was a genuinely nice young man; he just was not my type, nor do I think I was his type. Most likely, knowing my parents, if I had shown the least bit of interest in Tommie, he would have had to seek housing elsewhere.

My parents allowed only one young man to date or even telephone the home for me when I was a teen. My father would hang up the telephone on any male callers asking for me.

I was a senior in high school, and my cousin, Adele of the same age, talked my parents into allowing me to tag along to a State Track and Field Meet (in which she was competing) in New York City. I was astonished that she was successful in seeking their permission. On this trip, I met an incredibly attractive, intelligent, athletic young man. His name was Alain. I was walking down the hall of the hotel toward my room, which I share with Adele and her fellow track teammates. Suddenly, I am grabbed by the arm and dragged into someone else’s room. When I caught my breath, I realized that there would be a bit of a problem. As I looked ahead of me ~ stood a group of young teen-aged fellows. Some faces were familiar (from a Catholic grade school, I attended prior to testing for my current High School’s Accelerated/Gifted Program), while others are unknown to me. I had heard enough news stories and read enough newspapers to realize that they meant harm to me. Before I contemplated becoming hysterical, Alain burst through the door, stormed over to me, took hold of my arm, and forcefully led me out into the hall. What are you doing? Walking around the hotel like that, especially at night, is not a good idea. Alain admonished. I did not know him. But standing next to him was an awfully familiar face. His name was Joseph, and we addressed one another’s parents as aunt and uncle, despite that factually we have no family relations. I hugged him immediately, realizing what could have happened to me. I was not crying, but I was so grateful that it left me speechless. Joseph and Alain talked between themselves, following an introduction of us to one another, and announced to me they would make certain that nothing else would happen to me that night. They took me to their room and said they would return me to my room in the morning. I was still in the state of shock, I think I may have nodded my head in the affirmative. The two of them announced that they were going to protect me through tonight. Fully clothed, I slept in the middle of the bed. To my left side was Joseph and to my right side was Alain as I heard the words: Get some sleep, no one will bother you here. I never felt so safe in my lifetime, but I had never been so frightened either. I was so naïve, so sheltered. I did not close my eyes and when morning broke, my lifesavers walked me back to my room. When I entered the room, the young ladies each peered knowingly at me. I am sure that they thought I had been off with some fellow. I feel exhausted and did not have the strength to explain anything. I let them think whatever they wanted, including my cousin, Adele. I did not tell her anything either. I might have confided in her if she had asked me, but everyone, including her, was so certain about where I had been and what activity I had been engaged. They probably would not have believed me, anyway.

The day’s schedule was rapidly in progress. Track and Field Meets to prepare for, etc. I showered, dressed, and went out in the stands to watch.

Dannielle? Are you okay?, asked Alain, with sincerity in his tone, when I ran into him in the stadium bleachers. And without waiting for a response, gave instructions, Don’t you go wandering off alone. I seemed