Long Blue Line: Based on a True Story (2 page)

To my family, thank you for your love and support in spite of the controversial events in this story. To my wonderful husband, Steven, and my daughter, Savhanna, who have helped me along the way when it felt like it would never end - you are my motivation, my purpose in life, and the best two people any wife and mother could ask for. I love you both more than life. You have given me a new life. Thank you.

To my readers, and the support from my hometown, South Lake Tahoe, CA, this story has allowed me to reconnect with so many lost friends and colleagues that I thought were gone from my life forever. I value your love and support more than I can explain in words, and it’s because of you that this story is here. Your support has played a huge role in turning a very distressing series of events into something that will serve a greater purpose for my children, humanity and for me.

To my amazing Grandmother, thank you so much for sharing your amazingly articulate mind for the sake of this book. I love you more than I could ever say, and I am proud to have such a beautiful and loving Grandma in my life.

To my Mom, who has helped me along this road in more ways than I had ever realized until writing this memoir, and I wish that I could have thanked you and shown my appreciation much sooner than today because you definitely deserved my gratitude a long time ago. I am sorry for putting you through so much pain and agonizing years of having to endure the unknown. You have suffered with me, and although this makes me sad, I now understand that I was never truly alone in this journey. I love you so incredibly much, and I am very grateful for your ability to calmly tolerate my frequent dramatic antics and still love me and understand me - all at the same time.

I love you Mommy.

I also want to dedicate this book to my Dad. Although we’ve had our times of conflict and haven’t always agreed on everything, you always loved me and wanted what was best. Writing this book helped me to realize this. I am sure that I was a tough teenager for a father to deal with, and I know that you did the best you could. As I have grown older and matured over the years and have had children of my own, I understand why you were upset on more than one occasion. It just meant that you cared. You just wanted me to be safe. Though I was the only person who could have saved myself, I thank you for trying to help me. Thanks for helping me get through some of my rough patches and stepping into my life when I was sad and alone.

I love you Dad.

If my life were to unexpectedly end today, there would be no means or way to convey to my precious daughters the permanent place that they have always held in my heart. The unanswered questions and unspoken truth will always remain, and my story will forever be swept under the rug.

If you, the reader, are easily disturbed or become upset over violent acts towards children and/or women, I strongly urge you to not continue to read any further. These are real issues, which are incredibly disturbing, and as a result, society typically avoids talking or learning about them.

Do not ever tell yourself “
It’ll never happen to me.” Th
is is the point when it
can
happen
.

“Do you think anyone will notice?” I ask my twin sister, Merri. “Liz! You’re fine! Quit worrying about it and just be happy that we’re getting the hell out of here!” She enthusiastically replied. For as much as Merri and I had fought over the years, and even physically beat each other up as kids, we were still twins regardless, and the idea that we’d be walking down the aisle together on our high school graduation day wasn’t a surprising one.

No one else would have wanted to walk with me anyway. I would have felt bad if one of the lonely, partner-less kids who paired up last minute to walk down the aisle got stuck with me. And if it were a guy, he would totally come off as my baby-daddy!
What if he was a little scrawny guy half my size?
I pondered. Luckily and not surprisingly, my twin and I managed to graduate a year early. It was just a few weeks before my due-date, and I was convinced that I was going to be
that kid
who passed out on the walk across the field. When we were ordered to stand in line and instructed to prove that we weren’t hiding a bottle of jack or a beach ball to disrupt the ceremony, my attempt to conceal my pregnancy with my extra-large gown failed miserably. Those gowns were awesome hiding places. The cat was out of the bag when I opened my gown, revealing my cute polka-dot maternity dress, and the only hidden item I was found guilty of was a baby. The other kids were sly enough to keep their
blow-up-Betty
dolls and bottles of booze under the radar.

The band began playing that same-old graduation song - whatever it’s called. It was our signal to walk, and that’s all we knew. We started the walk up the small gravel hill which I had walked on many times over the last few years. We were walking away from the same hill that led to the Young Parents Program. This was the place that I was introduced to as my new school after finding out I was pregnant when I had just turned fifteen. Fat as a whale, at nine months pregnant with my baby, it wasn’t exactly a walk in the park trying to waddle my way up to the grass football field to receive my diploma, but I did it.

College was next. I was so worried about everything on my first day of classes. I didn’t get to just pack up my bag and speed my way over to the college where my only worry would be of being pulled over by a highway patrol car. I had to wake up extra early to convince Chloe and Zoe to let me get them dressed for the day, brush the knots out of their tiny heads of hair, beg them to eat their breakfast in the least messy manner possible, and try to translate what they were bickering over - which was usually who got to use the Princess bowl for their cereal.
What’s so wrong with the Minnie Mouse bowl,
I would think. After the morning meltdowns had taken their course, it was time to grab my bag, with one kid in each arm, open the front door, somehow turn around to lock it, and stuff their stubborn little bodies into their car seats. I would have to distract them with anything and everything possible just to get them to sit still long enough to get them securely buckled in. At that point, I had sweat dripping from my forehead and wishing that I had brought an extra stick of deodorant to do something about my armpit dilemma. Oh, and this was all in the dead of winter with six feet of snow and all.

It wasn’t easy to handle this five days a week at the age of 18 but nothing was going to stand in my way of getting an education. I would one day provide the best for these girls. They deserved the best, and I was determined to give that to them.

Life can sure be one unpredictable roller coaster. If you had asked me then how I felt about drugs and people on welfare, I surely would have laughed as my snooty nose stuck straight up in the air. I would’ve said something along the lines of,
“There is no excuse for being a total loser! We are all responsible for our own actions, and people like that just need to fall off the face of the planet.”
True story.

Have you ever made an attempt to explain a crappy situation or life event to someone, and instead of actually referring to the events for what they were, you simply called them
things
? My brain won’t allow me to go there, even when I try to go there.
Things
have a great way of keeping you from falling into that pit of being the person who was living with those…
things
.
Things
are the universal word that comes to our mercy when we just can’t spit it out. Whoever was awesome enough to come up with
things
(maybe a pilgrim or one of my great ancestors) forever have my grateful appreciation.

Once again I have to say life is unpredictable and sometimes it takes some pretty rough turns, and eventually if you’re one of the unlucky, you’ll have zero control over where you’ll end up next. One of the most challenging things in life is living through the unknown. Not knowing what will happen next or where the next direction of your life may swerve is usually more frightening than actually
knowing
what’s to come. I lived for four years in this state. Or wait, I
existed
for four years in this state. I didn’t know what would come next. I began to expect that whatever did come next would certainly be bad, and those bad things would always be followed by other things that got worse.

The only explanation that I can think of as to how my mental status is still intact enough to even write my story is the countless nights I spent praying as I fell asleep. I would beg for God to make it better. I begged him to just make it go away. I mentioned to God on several occasions that if my life were to forever continue with this pain, I would rather he just let me die in my sleep. I was too chicken to kill myself. I knew that I could not live like this for much longer. Fortunately, God kept me breathing. He knew that there were better things to come. God knew that I would one day have a better understanding of life, and he knew that I would pass it on to the many others who were still searching. Thanks for that, God. I am thankful that you forced me to endure all of that pain because if you hadn’t, I wouldn’t be who I am today. And today, because of you, I love myself.

Everything is fuzzy. I can’t seem to focus. I cast my line out ahead hoping for a fresh salmon dinner doused in lemon and garlic, and the girls always like to eat what we catch. Waiting patiently is always worth the prize. Wondering where they’ve toddled off to, I peer over my shoulder. The white pickup truck is crookedly parked about 20 feet away. It’s too quiet, I think to myself. Something isn’t right.
Where are the girls? Where is Derrick?

In a panic, I drop my pole to the ground and quickly race toward the truck. The fishing gear is scattered in the bed of the four-wheel-drive, and the only evidence of my girls is a shoe. A blue and white shoe with the laces untied. It’s too small to be Chloe’s shoe. It must belong to Zoe. Gazing around, I see nothing. Derrick suddenly appears from the side of the truck and asks me, “What’s going on?”

He reeks of pot. I could see the heavy smoke swirling out of the passenger side window. “Derrick, where are the girls?” I ask in a panic. “Elizabeth…” he sighs as if we’ve been through this. “Chloe is in a foster home - don’t you remember?” His statement sounds familiar. I must have forgotten.
How in the world could I forget about something like that,
I ask myself. “Well, where is Zoe?” I demand. “C’mon Elizabeth. Don’t get all crazy again. You know where Zoe is.” “No! I don’t! Where the hell is my baby?” I shriek.

His red eyes look to the ground and the silence returns. As Derrick slowly lifts his head, he glances toward the tailgate, silently urging me to acknowledge the single shoe lying on its side. As I look over, the wind picks up and the laces begin to sway. The silence and the eerie manner in which the shoelace hangs over the tailgate, resting to a slow swing, forces an abrupt vision of choosing a tiny casket for Zoe at the local morgue. The casket suddenly becomes visible. It’s in the back of the truck next to the shoe. “ZOE!” I become hysterical. I hurry over to the casket to lift the lid. It’s empty. “No, Derrick!” I sob. “What happened to Zoe? Why is this casket in your truck? WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?”

Oh my God,
I say to myself. My stomach clenches as I hurry to pick up the tiny sneaker.

“They told me she didn’t die, Derrick!” I yell, as a rush of fear overcomes my body. “This can’t be true! Zoe is only 22 months old!” I cry, more to myself. I begin sobbing uncontrollably as my knees hit the ground.

Dear God, Please let this be a nightmare. Please let me wake up! I want my baby back! PLEASE!

I opened my eyes to the sunlight seeping through my townhouse window. I’m soaked with sweat and still feeling the terror from the nightmare. With tears streaming down my face I sigh, simultaneously with relief and grief. I know that today will be one of those tough days. The lingering feeling of pain and sadness from my dream will follow me around for the remainder of the day, and I’ll have nothing on my mind except my babies. I’ll also be wondering why my subconscious always seems to bring Derrick into my nightmares as the villain. I sat across the table from him in deep thought while watching him devour his breakfast.