Long Blue Line: Based on a True Story (21 page)

That visit truly ripped a chunk of my heart out. I went home, wondering what to do with myself. I wanted to stay busy and distracted, but every small thing was a reminder of my daughters and how they weren’t at home where they were supposed to be. I had to close the door to their bedroom. I couldn’t handle seeing their toys, their little beds, and their stuffed animals. I decided to go to the Court and file for a Restraining Order in case they let Derrick out of jail. I didn’t think he would be going anywhere for a long, long time, but I wanted CPS to know that I would never allow him to be near me or the girls again. After filing the paperwork, I went down the street to the college to talk to my boss at the bookstore because I was sure she was probably wondering where I had been. I hadn’t called her to let her know what was happening, but I figured that the small-town gossip had already started and she must have heard something. I walked in but my boss wasn’t there. She was probably on a break. One of my favorite co-workers, Michelle, was working. She got off the phone shortly after she noticed me standing there. I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? “What’s wrong?” she asked, seeing the evidence of stress and heartache in my eyes. I tried to talk, but the words wouldn’t come out. I tried to hold back my tears so hard. I wanted to be in control of my life. Nothing was under control. I started crying. “Baby, what is it?” she asked again, hugging me. “My…boyfriend…hurt my baby!” I cried. “Oh no, I’m so sorry Elizabeth!” she consoled. I explained in further detail about the events that had taken place. She sat in the back office with me and just listened. The bookstore was pretty empty, so she didn’t have any customers at the moment.

She called our boss on her cell phone, and she said that she would be back in a few minutes. Before I knew it, she walked in to find out what was going on. I explained the situation while trying to hold myself together as best as I could. “Well, I’m so sorry you’re having to go through this. If anyone wants to talk to me, I’ll be glad to tell them that from what I’ve seen you have always been to work on time and responsible, and I’ve never noticed any drug use.” “Thank you,” I sniffled. Of course, I hadn’t told her about my drug use. I didn’t want anyone to know about that. It was humiliating and had led to tragedy. I felt like everything was my fault. I never, in a million years, would have expected anything that horrific to happen to one of my children. If I had been clean, those men would never have been in my home in the first place. I would have kicked Derrick out at some point along the way and everything would have been okay. I would have struggled financially, but my daughters would have been safe and at home. My boss scheduled work for me, and we agreed that keeping busy would only be a benefit to me. I was alone and my co-workers were just about the only non-biased support I had.

After I left the college, I went to the gas station to get myself a pack of cigarettes. They were just about the only thing that kept me from passing out or vomiting when I had one of my many breakdowns. When I was paying the cashier Jesse, a friend that I had known since third grade, tapped me on the shoulder. I was so surprised to see him. I hadn’t seen him since before I was pregnant. He dated Megan for a while, and his best friend, Andy, had been my very first official boyfriend. Andy moved away a year after we dated. We were only twelve and thirteen, but we were definitely in love with each other.

“Holy crap! It’s been forever!” I exclaimed. “I know, I know. What have you been up to?” he asked. “You don’t want to know. Things are really bad right now.” He saw the look on my face and became concerned. “What’s going on?” he asked. “I can’t tell you right now, but you should stop by my place later on and we can catch up,” I said. I gave him my address and left the gas station. I didn’t think that Jesse would actually come by, but later that night he knocked on my door. “Hi!” I said, gesturing for him to come in. I gave him a long overdue hug and told him I was glad he stopped by. He had grown from an obnoxious little kid, shooting spitballs through straws at other girls (me included), to a handsome young adult. He had a contagious smile. He always maintained a positive attitude no matter what kind of crappy situation he was in. I remember one day when I was fourteen and before I met Josh. I had a group of friends over including him. We were all jumping on the trampoline while listening to Britney Spears. I was dancing to one of her classic songs. My mom didn’t like that. She thought that I was dancing like a slut. She yelled at me about it in front of everyone and told me to stop. I got off the trampoline and said some smart-ass remark. She slapped me across the face in front of everyone. She hardly ever did that. I was so upset that I felt tears running down my face. I didn’t want to cry in front of everyone so I left.

I started running down the street. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew there was a trail in the mountain a few blocks away from my house. I hiked about half way up the small mountain. It was starting to get dark so I finally stopped. I knew that I wouldn’t be found there. I had gone a long distance in a very short amount of time. I sat on a log, crying, thinking about my life. The trees, the fresh air, and the silence of the mountains always brought me into a meditative state. I calmed down and my thoughts began to ease. I was in sync with my surroundings, and I didn’t ever want to leave. If I were attacked by one of the many bears in Tahoe, I figured it was just meant to be. “Elizabeth!” I heard a yell from a distance. I didn’t immediately recognize the voice so I didn’t respond. I didn’t want to give my mom the satisfaction of remorsefully running back home to her.

“Elizabeth!” another echo sounded. I heard a loud whistle. I knew that my mom didn’t know how to whistle like that. It was Jesse. “What?” I responded loudly. He showed up less than five minutes later. He somehow knew where to find me, and I still have no idea how he knew. I had never hiked that mountain before. “What are you doing crazy girl?” he asked with that silly grin he always had on his face. I couldn’t help but smile. “I hate her. I am so sick of her! I am so sick of the bullshit!” I said, holding back the tears. “I know, but she said she’s sorry and she wants you to come home.” he relayed. I rolled my eyes. He reached out his hand. “Let’s go, it’s getting dark and I’m going to have to carry you down the damn hill if we don’t hurry, crazy girl.” I grabbed his hand and he helped me up. We made the hike down the hill, and when I would start to slip on the steep pine needle covered slopes, he would always make sure to catch me. He walked me home. “Do I at least get a hug for saving your life?” he joked. “Of course.” I said, as I hugged him. He held onto me and told me to go in and work it out with my mom. I did what he suggested. At that moment I was just a kid who didn’t realize how much he must have cared about me. After writing this, I now see it. A typical fourteen-year-old kid wouldn’t go out of his way to hike two miles to convince his female friend to work her drama out with her mother. He did. Thank you, Jesse. You possibly could have saved my life. I never officially thanked him for this.

He sat on my couch and before I told him about my horrible situation, I asked him how he was doing. “I’m good. My ex-girlfriend had our baby two weeks ago. He’s so cute,” he said, pulling up a picture on his phone. “Oh my gosh, Jesse! He is adorable! But I’m confused - how is she your ex if you just had a baby?” I asked. “She’s mean, and we just don’t get along at all. We decided that it’s best for us to not be together because all we ever do is fight. We have an agreement that I will be there every day and pay for whatever they need, but we aren’t ever going to be a couple again.” he said.

I thought that was really mature of him. Most guys his age would run, and I told him that. I then told him about what had been happening in the previous weeks. I cried periodically, still stunned that I had to tell such a story. He listened and said what he could to comfort me. I told him about the detectives accusing me, too. “Don’t worry, they lie and say anything to get any kind of information. They just want to see how you react.” That helped me feel better. We ended up getting a pack of beer that night. We invited his friend over, whom I also knew. Jake was super laid back and non-judgmental. It felt so nice having friends with me that I had known forever who would always have my back no matter what. We got a little buzzed and determined that the guys would crash downstairs on my couches so they wouldn’t have to drive. Jesse was passionate and sensitive with me. He cared.

The next day we spontaneously got in his truck, and the three of us made the six-hour drive to Santa Cruz. I just wanted to get away and stand in the ocean. I wanted to feel the windy, salty ocean breeze on my face. I wanted to go back in time to when I was little with my grandparents. The ocean reminded me of them. After the long, long drive, we arrived at a hotel around two in the morning. We hardly had any money but just enough to get the room. It was a suite with a separate bedroom. It was a romantic room, with white curtains tied to the side displaying the ocean. We fell asleep to the sound of the waves crashing, and I was given a night of peace and comfort. I felt secure with the ocean and Jesse and just being away from the pain.

The next day we woke up at 11:00 a.m. to the phone ringing. The hotel told us we had to pay for another night or kick rocks. We had about twenty dollars left. We packed our things and headed to the boardwalk. The sun was blazing and there were hippies with dreadlocks skating around everywhere. It was the side of California that I loved - carefree, happy and sunny. We all shared a $5 pizza for lunch but weren’t quite sure how we would make it back home. None of us seemed to care though. We started to drive. After a couple hours, the gas tank was getting low. We stopped at the next gas station knowing that fifteen dollars would, in no way, get us home. I tried a trick with my debit card, and it ended up filling the gas tank - $60 worth. We finally made it home, and I was instantly depressed again because I knew that I had to face reality. I hated it. I had another visit with the girls the next day and Court the day after. The Judge would determine if the girls could come home with me, or if they would remain in foster care for another six months.

I wasn’t always so weak. I once had a strong sense of the person I was - a mother, daughter, sister, and young woman with my whole life ahead of me. When I was a seventeen-year-old mom of two, I didn’t put up with crap from anyone. And people knew not to mess with me. I was a college student dedicated to providing my daughters and my husband a better future. We were living in a tiny apartment, and I knew that we all deserved much better than that. I was studying to pass the required courses to apply to a nursing school in Carson City. It was a competitive two-year program, but I knew I could do it. I wanted to work in the maternity ward at the local hospital as a labor and delivery nurse and eventually become the head nurse. I figured that the only thing that would prevent me from recklessly popping out another six kids would be to make a career for myself.

As I moved on and became seriously involved with Derrick, those goals were becoming less important to me. I stayed in school but had a hard time keeping up with the classes. The crazy all-nighters were starting to wear on me. The girls were eventually in daycare for twelve hours days. I had to find time to study at school because I knew I wouldn’t get a chance once I got home.

Derrick had a group of friends he liked to hang out with. A few were more on the normal side but most were not. They had a way of making drinking binges and parties seem normal. They were all older than me; I was definitely the runt of the group. The first time I saw them smoking crystal meth, I had no idea what it was. They sat in a circle and passed around a glass pipe filled with boiling liquid. The smoke was extremely thick and white. It had a slightly sweet smell to it. I knew that it couldn’t have been anything good, but other than that, I was lost.

I was always paranoid of that sort of thing. I had never tried illegal drugs before. Well, besides marijuana, that is, when I was a freshman in High School. It was a bad experience. I assumed that if I couldn’t handle pot, I would probably not be able to handle anything of a stronger nature.

The night I chose to leave Josh to be with Derrick was the night I chose my fate for the next four years. That night I chose not only my fate, but also the fate of Zoe and Chloe, and the fate of their relationship with my family. My spiritual and moral struggle was just beginning.

I woke up the next day and got ready to visit my daughters at noon. I made sure I grabbed a copy of the signed restraining order to give to the Social Worker when I arrived. Immediately after walking through the door, a Social Worker asked me to follow her back to her office for a moment. She handed me paperwork and said that I needed to sign it before the visit could take place. I read the paperwork and it said something along the lines of “I agree not to cry during my visit with my children. I further understand that I am not allowed to make any promises to my children and any inappropriate behavior will lead to the termination of my visitation.” I absolutely could not believe what I was reading. I was completely disgusted, and I wondered if this was even legal! I thought that the Court could only make decisions like that. I never thought that being emotional over the situation would lead to threats of not being able to visit my girls. This made me angry, and I had a very difficult time showing respect for any of those people from then on. I knew that I could not trust anyone and had to constantly be aware of my surroundings and who was watching me.

I was finally able to see the girls for the measly hour-long visit. It was bittersweet because I knew that I was being watched, and I didn't know how to interact with my girls under that kind of pressure. I wanted to just be normal, as I always was, but I knew that they were taking notes about everything and I was afraid. I sat in a chair and talked to both of the girls as they rambled on about what they had been doing for the past week. I also had them show me how to put together a puzzle and asked them what their favorite toy was. I always made sure to tell them how much I loved them and missed them. I wanted to make promises but wasn't allowed to. I was absolutely defeated. The girls cried this time when I left, but it wasn't as bad as the first time because I think that they were expecting it. Of course, I cried as well, but I was better able to conceal it because I didn't want to risk my visits being cut off for good.

I just had an hour before I had to go to the first Court Hearing for CPS. I went home and found something decent to wear. I tried to fix my hair because I just wanted to look like my normal self - before I had ever gotten involved with Derrick or drugs. It was hard to look presentable. I had lost so much weight. My grief had caused a serious loss of appetite. I had dark circles under both eyes from crying so much, and I just looked unhealthy in general. The proceeding was really quick.

The Lawyer for Social Services gave the Judge a petition to keep the girls in the Custody of the State, and the Judge signed it. I was given a copy of this report. We would begin a Court trial to determine the cause of the injury and who caused it the following week. I think that the Judge wanted to make sure that I had absolutely nothing to do with the injury. There were also drug-abuse accusations in the report, so the Judge ordered me to take regular drug tests. I just wanted a list of whatever it was that they wanted me to do so I could hurry up and do it and get my babies back home with me. Right after Court, the CASA worker that had met and approved of Derrick asked to talk to me in an empty conference room. I sat down next to her, facing a long meeting table, not expecting to hear what I did. “How could you, Elizabeth? I am disgusted! You should have known what was going on in your home! And drugs? I thought you were clean! You should be seriously ashamed of yourself.” I sat silently as she continued “It’s going to take a lot of work for you to get those girls back. I won’t recommend them to return home until you really work long and hard on yourself.” She spat at me everything that I did not want to hear. I knew that I was stupid, and I had made bad choices. I had let freaks into my life and home. She had kicked me hard when I was already down. Once again, hot tears were rolling down my face, and I couldn’t even respond to her. I knew that I had completely let down every person that I had ever known. I already knew everything that she said. I walked out of the conference room with my head down.

Before leaving the building, my Public Defender pulled me aside and informed me that Derrick was upstairs in Court at this moment. The District Attorney wanted to know if I would be willing to testify against him. “Of course!” I said. She told me that she wasn’t sure if the Judge was going to let Derrick out of jail or not, but either way, if Derrick didn’t take a plea, the case would go to trial. I waited outside in the lobby until my Public Defender came back out to inform me of his custody status. About fifteen minutes later, she came out shaking her head. “Well, they let him out in his own recognizance.” “What?” I replied. I was in disbelief. I did not understand why they let him out. I thought that they were supposed to keep people like him locked up for a very, very long time. I thought that they would do anything to make that happen. I didn’t understand. I returned home, exhausted from the day and just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. Jesse came over later that night to keep me company. He had been coming over almost every day.

A Detective called me the next day asking if I could go in for a voice-analysis-stress-test that afternoon. “I would be happy to,” I eagerly said. My dad called to check in on me, and I told him about the test I was going to take. He advised me against it. “I know you want to prove that you have no knowledge of the incident, Elizabeth, but I had a good friend who took that same test and failed it. He ended up spending time in prison, and, to this day, he says he was innocent. Those tests are a bunch of crap; they are just used as a tool by the cops,” he warned. “I know, but I just have to take it because I know I’ll pass. I have nothing to hide!” I replied. My dad offered to go with me and said he would start driving to Tahoe in the next hour. He was only forty-five minutes away. I was happy to have him go with me. I was so tired of being treated like a horrible mother and a criminal, and maybe if they saw my dad there they would give me just an ounce of respect. My dad picked me up twenty minutes before it was time to take the test. He drove me to the police station and walked me in. A police officer that I did not recognize opened the door and called my name, gesturing for me to follow him to the back. “I’ll be right here, Elizabeth. If they make you uncomfortable, just walk out.” my dad said as I walked to another interrogation room. The officer was nice to me, initially. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was playing good cop as all the others had done. He said that he was going to clip a microphone to my shirt so it could record the levels of stress in my voice. He pulled out his laptop and started going over how the test worked. I thought it was pretty pathetic that I was taking a test that was supposedly 100% accurate from a laptop! I questioned the validity of this so called “test” that I had never even heard about.

He started out by asking me simple questions, with only yes or no answers. “Is the wall in front of you blue?” he asked. “No,” I replied. “Do you know who is responsible for the injury to your daughter, Zoe?” he asked. “No,” I replied. “Okay, you did well on this question.” he announced. I wasn’t surprised, because I knew I would. “Are you responsible for the injury inflicted on your daughter, Zoe?” he asked. “No,” I replied, trying not to envision what could have really happened to her. The vision of her injury appeared in my mind as it frequently did. “Elizabeth, it looks like you are not being truthful here. Just tell me what happened. You can’t lie to a machine!” he pressed. “What the crap! Are you kidding me! I do not know what happened to my daughter, which is why I am here right now!” I yelled. “Let me take it again, NOW!” I demanded.

He went back to the first question - the same question I already passed. “Elizabeth, you are failing this test miserably. The lines are spiking with your answers. You can’t lie to a machine!” he said once again. This time with rage, anger, and pure fury, I got up, “You know what, this is total crap! I am sickened by the way you all are twisting everything around to be my fault. Do your jobs and figure out what happened to my daughter! I should have just listened to my dad.” I stormed out the door and back to the lobby. My dad saw that I was clearly upset. “They...are saying...that I know what happened! I don’t know or I wouldn’t be here!” I managed to say, between sniffles and sobs. “I was worried about that happening, Liz, but you know that you are innocent, and as long as you maintain that, God will take care of you.” He hugged me and drove me home. I was so upset that I started to have a panic attack. I was wondering if I was crazy. These law officials were supposed to catch the “bad guys,” and they weren’t doing that! I had always had trust in the justice system. Not anymore. I had no faith in the system and that was truly scary. If I couldn’t trust in those who are supposed to protect us from danger, could I trust in anyone at all?