Lynda Tyvoll

I'm one of three of Lynda's victims that I know of. There was also a female victim that was known by me by the name of Corrola or Chastain (Corina?). The two girls were from Sweden but only one was made a victim. I met these two Swedish girls at a club (club 112, aka club onetweezie). Lynda told me later that she'd drugged and shaved all of the girl's hair off her head and left her nude in the girl's car on the side of a Georgia highway (either us-285 or 400). I know this because Lynda informed me of the incident afterward and warned me it could happen to me. Days later, the victim came knocking on the door and I was surprised to find her full head of hair was gone. Since Lynda was living with me and I didn't know what to do, the Swedish girl's presence made me nervous and I ushered her away.

As for the previous statement of a male victim, this was one of her previous boyfriends that came before me. His name is David (not sure of the last name). David tried to warn me about Lynda when I first became entangled with her. I thought it was just ex-boyfriend issues and discounted his attempts to de-rail me (I was young). David told me she was a really bad person and did not want to see me get mixed up with her. Lynda would later upon my insistence to know, recount the incident between her and David's breakup. Her story went something like this: Her and David were visiting in a NY bar and were arguing. Lynda began talking to a black male and the two administered something in David's drink. They all ended up in an alley where David was raped by black males (I never asked what she was doing about it or if she partook in the crime). In retrospect, the ramifications of Lynda's revelation apparently was not fully grasped by me at the time.

One time Lynda was insistent on showing me something with another group. She told me to follow in my truck while she rode with her "friends". I ended up in an apartment parking lot and was led upstairs. Shortly after entering the apartment the details are sketchy. I remember there was a pretty black girl standing at the foot of the bed and I was on the bed. From that point on there's really nothing in memory.

I remember being convinced to sign something before I "fell asleep". I remember being out of it and seeing other men and women in the 2nd or higher floor of an un-rented apartment but had no recollection until years later (I don't know why my memory is working so late in age, odd as it may sound, that's how it is). The only furniture I recall in there was the bed. I don't recall exactly what I signed but I remember it was with Lynda's coaxing and am relatively certain I signed for the apartment for others to reside in. I'm pretty sure it was a co-sign (possibly for the very apartment I was passing out in). Later I remember being carried, and dropped with a complaint that I was heavy (I've never been heavy). I may have been dragged down the stairs with my head hitting each tread on the way down.

Another time I remember being in my bedroom on the bed and having something very painful being injected into my testicles, and yet another time people were holding me down and blood was squirting (hello forensics files) because they were shooting me up but I was coming-to and began resisting. These last two scenarios happened possibly more than once.

There were times when my employees would ask if I'd been in a fight and incredulous when I stated I had not. I could not explain the black eyes, the broken or fractured right ribs, the missing money.

One of the worst resurrected memories (to date) from my subconscious is that I remember one evening being overtaken and held down by several men while I was already in the bed. I was groggy and my mind was weird. I did not know the people in there but Lynda was loud shouting orders for the men to keep me quiet, and to hurry up. They missed my vein and were trying to drug me. I remember being terrified that I was about to be stabbed with something metal and I recall considerable bleeding that caused an uproar in Lynda and a couple of the guys. They shot me up with enough heroine (I don't actually know that it was heroine and am assuming it was due to the amount of days I slept), enough of the drug to be out cold for 3 days. I can not state for certain that it was heroine because I have never been a user of heroine or any needle-drugs in my life. Just the thought of metal going into flesh is enough to make me disgusted (that people could be so ...trusting). I do recollect it was three days because when I awoke I thought it was the very next day, and remember being upset with Lynda for turning off the alarm clock when she knew I had just the day before signed a contract with a deaf Georgia contractor.

I stated to the deaf man (contractor) and his wife (daughter?) that I would arrive in the morning to commence work. When I arrived on the job site it was late in the afternoon (days later).

My job site trailer was stolen but the lock and chain were left around the tree (the lock may not have been present, I don't remember. The lock was the new-fangled round super-security types). The trailer and all my tools were gone. I was broken again.

The deaf contractor and his aid (daughter or wife) informed me that I was supposed to be present three (2?) days ago, and that some black men arrived stating they worked for me.

The job was already done and only Lynda knew of the contract agreement. What makes this revelation of recollections so astounding is that I never suspected Lynda of anything. In retrospect, she must have given them the key to the lock.

She kept me drugged by putting the unknown drug into my coffee and food. In retrospect, how I ever maintained and be so oblivious is beyond me.

I can tell you that the drug or poison has a distinct taste.

The taste is terrible just like her cooking which tasted like the coffee.

Lynda's usual was to throw a bag of meat into the oven for my dinner (it was called something but I don't remember), and regardless of the type of meat she placed within that bag that went into the oven, it all had that odd flavor similar to what was tasted in my coffee and everything else I can recall eating.

This went on for years, unbeknownst to me at the time (but I'm a semi-retarded person so this could be just par for the course of my being good at denial or something). Other strange things I recall is being told by a nurse who made me upset when she repeatedly told me that I shoot up drugs when I have never even considered pushing metal into my arm or anywhere else for that matter. I remember the nurse indignantly forcing me to see the inside of my elbow but I hadn't a clue what she was apparently "proving" to me. A scratch on my arm did not compute. I simply absolutely know that I would never-ever shoot up drugs and I didn't give a flip about some mark on my arm that I could not explain.

I remember one time that I came home from work and began lifting weights (the weight-lifting bench kit was purchased a few days prior and setup in the bedroom (which may have been upon Lynda's insistence because the bedroom is the last place I would think to put a work-out bench and weights). I remember feeling helpless on that last press up and remember consciously realizing or worrying that I knew that any second I was going to pass out and that the bar would end up landing on my throat.

A guy came out of the closet right after I finished finally getting the loaded barbell back on the bar. I was really groggy and about to pass out but fell to the bed. I must have drank something or eaten something prepared by Lynda. The sudden overwhelming tiredness caught me off-guard, literally struggling in slow-motion to push the weights up onto the bench's bar-holder, I fell onto the bed and passed-out while at least one person was entering the room from the wall-closet.

Someday I will write more about the crazy sick Lynda Tyvoll encounters, maybe.

The page is being abandoned and left for dead for historical purposes (or maybe it will help others that have been victimized by Lynda's antics).

I found she is wanted and is missing (details are online now. But like my website's topic matter on Lynda, even the mugshots.com website was for a time also scrubbed from the Internet).

The following are just some miscellaneous notes

I cannot explain why my subconscious appears to be regurgitating details of something so long ago, and why so clearly this late in my life.

If ever she is caught and sat behind the lie detector test, I would like to offer some questions for an investigator to consider asking Lynda (if she's alive, that is).

And just so I don't forget, she also emptied my bank account while we lived on Clairmont near Atlanta as an unauthorized taker of the money. This was not the only time she robbed me, but I wanted to jot down that I remembered (just now) that it was on Clairmont.