Blown for Good - Marc Morgan Headley [62]
“You know that if you leave and get declared, you can never talk to your sister or parents ever again?” Jackson said. “You can’t just go back to LA and live life like this never happened. You will have to go live somewhere else and never see your family again. Or at least not until you pay back your freeloader debt and get through all the steps to get undeclared.”
“I guess I don’t really have a choice then do I?” I said in apathy.
Jackson drove off and I thought about my situation for hours. If I tried to play nice, I would still be stuck here, but would be able to speak with my family. If I did ever get out of here, I would have to start over and find a place to live and somehow find a job to make a living. I could barely do that before with a few connections. Now I would have to somehow start my life over and make a living with no friends or family. That seemed like a daunting proposition. I thought that I sometimes wish I were dead.
My options were limited. I could go to the RPF and live a miserable existence there, but still get food and housing. I could play nice and try and stay here and live a slightly less miserable existence with food and some sort of housing. Or my last and final option was get the hell out of here, do whatever the hell I wanted to, never being able to talk with any of my friends or family ever again, owe these people several thousand dollars and most likely live like a bum, starving to death and without a roof over my head.
At 17 years old, after having spent close to a year at the base, I had no idea what I should do. I was not able to talk to anybody and it was up to me to decide what I was going to do. It seemed like no matter what door I picked, I was going to be walking into a nightmare. I had no idea what I was going to do. I figured I would just go along and see what happened. Maybe an opportunity would present itself and I could miraculously escape the pain and suffering my future had in store for me.
I had to go into the garage to get another broom. On my way in, I had to stop and help a guy move some stuff in the garage. We were down behind a large table and were pulling out some stuff when we saw Dave Miscavige come in. He was with a security guard. As Dave walked in he took off his Ray Ban sunglasses and handed them to the security guard. He walked across the room towards another guy that was in the garage. It was Mark Fisher. Mark Fisher had been in Religious Technology Center just a few months prior. Mark did not stop to show that he saw Dave was there. He just kept doing what he was doing. Dave started yelling at him.
Mark Fisher looked back at him and said “What do you want, Dave?” Mark was much heftier than Dave and at least a foot taller as well.
I had never heard anybody ever call him “Dave” to his face. It was always “Sir.”
Dave did not like being talked to in any other way than as if he was the most important guy in the room. Mark just scowled at Dave. He did not care who Dave thought he was, he was talking down at Dave and telling him he did not care what he thought or what he did. Dave started punching Mark with the guard standing right there. Mark did not hit back, he just put his arms up to block as many punches as he could. Dave hit him over and over again. When Dave was done, Mark just stood there, bloodied a bit by all the punches. Mark, although physically attacked, maintained his composure and attitude.
“Make sure the medical officer sees him and gets him patched up,” Dave said to the guard as he took his sunglasses back and walked out.
Mark Fisher went back to what he was doing like nothing had happened.
I got my broom and got the hell out of there. I was already in enough trouble without getting involved in this mess. Guess it was not a good day to be called “Mark” no matter how you spelled it.
Later that day, Greg Wilhere came to see me while I was sweeping leaves behind the mess hall. Greg seemed like a nice guy. Besides being the guy that hung out with Tom Cruise a lot, I knew him as one of my close friend’s dad. Darius,