Dauntless: A Story of Crime, Punishment, and Love

By Emili LeBlanc

Bondage and imprisonment start in the mind. However, our healing and freedom
also, start in the mind. Our intention to be free and happy is
set in the heart and carried out by the mind and with faith. We simply need to
accept the invitation. God built us perfectly and beautifully and
gave us many powerful gifts. These gifts are not visible to the
naked eye. These gifts are built in. They are natural and intrinsic
and it is imperative that we find them and use them. These gifts
are when we take our power back from wherever the place was
we left it, or whoever we gave it to; places like addictions, poor
decision making or in bad relationships with other people on any
level.

Dauntless A Story of Crime, Punishment, and Love was written to illustrate a journey of overcoming adversity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: May 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781504374415

Emili LeBlanc

Emili LeBlanc has been an avid journal keeper and reader since she was able to read and write. As a college graduate holding a Bachelors of Arts in Business and Marketing, she has written many research papers on various topics that have ranged from religion, to psychology, to international and domestic business practices. She takes this experience, her love for books and storytelling into her first published work of fiction; Dauntless is collection of events that invite the reader into a life that could have been their own or the life of someone they love. Breaking away from the structured compositions required by University, she takes her writing to a level of moving dialogue and voice along with well crafted storytelling that will bring the reader into the mind and the life of a person who is Dauntless.

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Copyright © 2017 Emili LeBlanc.

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.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Balboa Press

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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.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Scripture quotations marked KJV are from the Holy Bible, King James Version (Authorized Version). First published in 1611. Quoted from the KJV Classic Reference Bible, Copyright © 1983 by The Zondervan Corporation.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-5043-7440-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-7442-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-7441-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017932808

Balboa Press rev. date: 05/17/2017

Dedication

Dauntless is dedicated to all the Angels in my life, earthly and spiritual.

They are the ones who protected me, walked with me and who stand by me.

I dedicate this story to the singers and musicians whose art is the truth and helps tell this story.

The list of Angels is extensive. You know who you are. You have walked with me or you are reading this.

I am eternally grateful to you.

~

Epigraph

Dauntless

C 1989

I see in your eyes the pain you feel

No one ever told you life could be like this

Give me your heart I’ll show you a new way to fly

It started out so right you felt it so strong

How were you to know it would turn out so wrong

My sister, don’t cry, I’ll show you a new way to fly

Here you go making things better

You had it in you all along

You just hadn’t learned your song

My heart is at peace

My mind is at ease

I’m following my dreams

Life is not what it seems

You had it in you all along

You just hadn’t learned your song

Preface

Dauntless came to be written as a catharsis for the author. It is because of a life and the lives of others who have had their hearts and identity’s compromised and nearly destroyed. It is for those who are traveling in a life that does not fit them and who feel hopeless. Most of all it is to encourage these travelers to awaken their Dauntless Spirit and really live the life and to love and be loved as they so deserve. To know Thyself.

Introduction

Dauntless A Story of Crime, Punishment and Love tells the story of a woman’s life and the decisions she made that would completely undo the life she could have had. As a very young person, her life is exposed to the dark underworld of drug dealing, crime, and abuse. These were things no one in her family had ever been exposed to and no one was prepared to pull her away from, until situations became critical and the angels mobilized to help save her life.

Prologue

From the moment I was cuffed and shackled and led out of the courtroom in front of my family, my support people, and my crying children, my first defense was to shut my emotions off completely. For all the years I had been in an abusive relationship, I had become an expert at protecting myself this way. All that was left was a deep sense of injustice, rage, and the seeds of vindication. There was also a sense of relief because I was tired of fighting this war. I had served nearly twenty-four years on and off in an abusive relationship with a man named Tiger. Every time I had left him in the past, I really struggled economically and had to deal with him stalking me and convincing me to come back. I spent years living in that fuzzy grey area of not knowing thyself and holding onto little scraps of what I thought was love. The night he was killed was three years after I had finally left him for good. Two weeks after his shooting, I was arrested as an accessory to murder because my vehicle was used by the men who shot him to leave the scene. Even though he gained entry into my house, he was shot outside of the house, fifteen feet away from what could have been ruled as being within the make my day law. In this case, as the law is written, anyone who provides a means of escape, disguise or protection to the offender is considered equally guilty. I spent three years out on bond starting in 2005. Even though my original charge would have dealt me twelve to life, I was finally given a six-year prison sentence plus a mandatory three years’ parole for my reduced charge of accessory after the fact. My public defender literally told me I had to plead guilty to something and this was my only choice. I took a fourth degree felony charge. I knew my incarceration marked the beginning of the end of what would eventually add up to nearly thirty-three years of battling and struggling emotionally and financially to get my life back. After a long hard battle, I would finally be mentally, physically, and emotionally free.

Table of Contents

Part I

The Road to Hell is Wide

Part II

San Miguel Archangel Guardame’ Saint Michael Archangel Protect Me

Part III

The Conviction

Part IV

One True Love

Part I

The Road to Hell is Wide

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Enter ye in by the narrow gate: for wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction, and many are they that enter in thereby. Matthew 7:13

The horrific journey started with a fifteen-year-old on the edge of sixteen who thought she was twenty-seven. Looking at my pictures from that time, I see that I dressed like an older person, I looked like an older person, and I tried my best to adopt the mannerisms of an older person. As I look back on those times, I realize now that I had as much common sense as any young teenager … or a box of rocks; and it was not as commendable as I thought at the time. I certainly did not belong in the next chapter of the life I had created for myself. No young person should have had this life when she really did not have to. I did not have to, but I did and it was my choice to use the limited skill sets that I had.

I was raised in a good, solid family. My parents had been sweethearts since high school, and they married young. My dad is four months older than my mom. Even though they were the same age, my dad graduated a year earlier at the age of sixteen and my mom at the age of seventeen. They married nearly two years later. I was born in October of 1965 in a tiny hospital in a very rural area. I like to joke about that hospital whenever we travel that way, saying it looks like a veterinary hospital. However, on a more serious note, my mom had serious complications during and after my birth. She could have died from internal hemorrhaging. My grandmother brought attention to the fact that my mom’s abdomen was extremely swollen and she was not recovering from childbirth normally. Thank God, the doctor acted quickly and she lived. Otherwise my very young father would have been a widower with a newborn to raise practically on his own and I would not have the blessing that is my mother. My parents were raised in neighboring small towns and had the same values. My mom will always say one of the main reasons she married my dad is he was not a drinking man. They both grew up exposed to alcoholism and the terrors, poverty, and sadness it creates for the children who witness it. My father’s mother was a devout Catholic who stayed in a very challenging marriage with my grandfather who was handsome in a Clark Gable way- as a young man, he really resembled Clark Gable. My grandfather was a free spirit and he loved to party, often spending most of his pay in the bar buying rounds for his friends. He had a lot of friends. He was an alcoholic and he eventually destroyed his health. My grandmother stood by him through it all, but she was heartbroken, angry, and bitter. It was no life for a woman who was raised so carefully by a loving and deeply religious family. She was a musician and played music and sang in a band with her siblings. She could play the guitar, piano, and mandolin and she had the voice of an angel. As children, she and her siblings had been groomed to be musicians by her older brother who was a gregarious, talented, and outgoing person. He had a radio show in his hometown, where he featured local and regional musicians. Despite the drinking and carrying on, my grandpa was a loving father and grandfather and he left me with good memories. He was a cowboy. He loved being in the mountains and his life’s work was to care for the herds of cattle for various ranchers in his community. He would live in the mountains in his camp most of the year, just as his father did, and my dad was raised in that environment. My dad started working with his dad and grandfather when he was about eight years old. He has the best stories about his childhood. He had many adventures and had to be responsible and tough at a young age. Cowboys are hard-working men and the men in my family lived that life. Near the end of my grandfather’s life, he and my grandmother made their peace. Sadly, on the day of his funeral, my grandma whispered to me that she was done living.

My mother’s parents and extended family worked hard and drank hard together. My maternal grandfather nearly beat my grandmother to death in drunken rages. She always said that he was the sweetest man when he was sober, and turned into the devil when he had alcohol in him. I remember him, and I have a picture in my mind of him as a very handsome man. He was always loving to me and I don’t ever remember seeing him drunk. But I would never have known because I was little more than a toddler when he died. In the beginning my grandmother drank with him to be in his world, and after he took his life when he was in his early forties, she continued to drink and be around people who drank. She drank to drown her sorrows and to hide from her life’s reality. She had big sorrows too. Right after my grandpa died, her son died. My uncle drowned in a river. It is said he battled addictions, and that he was high on something when he died. He also couldn’t swim. Shortly after, my aunt died of massive heart failure. She was only twenty-four years old and was four months along expecting her first child. Less than ten years later, my other aunt was shot to death. This is still an open case. Shortly after that, my grandmother’s youngest son died leaving behind four young sons and his wife of many years. Soon after my uncle’s passing, her husband died and then shortly after, her eldest granddaughter passed. In between all of that, her son-in-law died after a forty-seven-year marriage to my aunt. Of her six kids, she had two daughters left: my mom and my widowed aunt.

For her salvation, my grandmother asked God for a miracle. I love the story of her salvation. On a night when she had been drinking heavily she had really hit rock bottom inside her grief. It was unbearable. She prayed to God to help her. After being up all night, she started her day by pouring out what was left of her liquor, destroying her cigarettes, and giving her life over to God. She never, ever, drank liquor or smoked cigarettes again. She started attending church and learning God’s word. Her world changed and she begins to find some happiness. For the rest of her days, she carried a deep sense of sadness over the deaths of so many of her children and also a granddaughter she helped raise. It is something no mother ever gets over. She gave me a lot of her strength in some critical times and in the spring of 2013, on her deathbed, she asked me to take care of my mom and my aunt, her last living children. My parents had been out of the country and had returned the evening before my grandma passed. She died about a half hour after my parents arrived at my aunt’s house where she had received care for the last months of her life. We took care of her and she lived out the rest of her days on her terms. The day before she passed, she asked my aunt if she was going to die. It was the one and only time I saw her afraid to die.

The beauty of these tragedies is that the grandmothers who dedicated their lives to God were praying for their families for the rest of their lives, and their prayers have been answered, in God’s way and in his time. I keep their pictures next to each other. They are my reminders of the power of prayer, faith, and love. I am fortunate to be part of these people who created me and who prayed for me, and who love me still in spite of the heartbreak I brought them. My dear aunt gave me the Bible my grandma bought when she was saved. On the dedication page of that Bible, she dedicated it to herself; writing To me From me. As for my other grandma, a man from her hometown brought to my attention that he had one of the many hundreds of rosaries she made for soldiers and for missionaries to give to people around the world.

My parents moved to the city when I was a baby. They had to because I was born with a birth defect called clubfoot, or congenital talipes equinovarus. This condition requires immediate and extensive treatment that involves surgeries, casts, braces, and special shoes. All of this helped to set the bone growth of the feet and ankles. Without this care, I could have been crippled. Being very young parents, barely out of their teens, my parents were poor, and they really struggled financially. My dad was a hardworking man who held down two jobs and my mom was always a stay-at-home mom. He was handsome in a young Clint Eastwood way and carried himself in a serious no-nonsense manner, and my mom, a beautiful, petite redhead, together made a handsome couple. She could care for me and my baby sister who came into this world when I was four years old. At four, I was still in the corrective shoes that would finalize the treatment for my feet. It was four years of casts, and braces, then the shoes, and ongoing medical care for me that my father worked so hard to pay for and that my mother, who had been uprooted from all she knew, toughed out to ensure I would walk. My dad still donates money