Long Blue Line: Based on a True Story (22 page)

I told Jesse about what had happened that day. He offered to come over after he got off work, but I just wanted to seclude myself and be alone. I was so anxious, angry, and stressed out. I simply did not know what to do with myself. I was so sad. I was let down and I felt betrayed. The police were betraying me! They didn’t give a shit about what had really happened. They wanted a quick answer; a confession, and they didn’t care who it came from. If I could go back in time, I would lay into them and made them feel like the criminals, neglecting to do their job, which I imagine, they were swore to do when they took the job. To protect and serve…don’t think so!

Every visit I had with the girls was torture. They seemed to be doing okay, but I still saw the pain in their eyes and I sensed their confusion. The official trial was going to start after the next weekend. This was when the Social Workers would attempt to gather as much harmful evidence against me as they possibly could. They would run around town and interview ever person that had ever come into contact with me. These Social Workers were doing some serious fishing. They spoke with everyone - from my high school teachers to all of my friends and even to my boss at the college bookstore. It was complete public humiliation. Now every single person knew what had taken place. Not only did I feel like my privacy was violated and my positive reputation was shot, but I also felt like the privacy of my daughters was completely thrown out the window. I got a copy of the report a few days before Court and after one of the visits with Chloe and Zoe.

I was absolutely stunned and disgusted with what I was reading. To make it worse, at the end of the report there were several pictures of the injury that my daughter had sustained. I thought that would be illegal! A group of at least twenty Social Workers, Attorneys, and Court Advocates had access to these reports that were supposed to be confidential. Clearly they were not. I had a hard time believing that some of these statements were true. The Social Worker claimed that one of my favorite high school teachers that worked with me at the Young Parents Program had made statements regarding my oldest daughter. She had implied that she thought my oldest daughter was “slow” and had symptoms of fetal alcohol syndrome. That was the first that I had ever heard of that.

On top of it all, I even read a report about what Lilah said. She told the Social Workers that I was “just young and I didn't know what I was doing, and although I had good intentions, the girls were probably better off without me.” I was absolutely baffled.  Either the Social Workers were not being honest with their statements or these people who I thought were my friends and close family members had completely turned against me. I thought that if they truly felt those things about me, they would have confronted me a long time ago. All of these people would be subpoenaed to go to Court and get up on the stand to say these things to my face. I dreaded it.

On the day of Court, my stomach hurt and I felt like I couldn't function. My mom came to my house and helped me pick out something to wear. I wore long black slacks with a red quarter-sleeve shirt that was more on the conservative side. It was obvious that I had lost a ton of weight. I used to have a butt, and it was definitely gone. It was only because I was so sad and lonely and stressed out that I just couldn't eat. I showed up at the Court House and waited in the lobby for everything to get started. Lilah’s step mom, Trudy, was nice enough to bring a pizza and tried to get me to eat. Small things like that made a big difference for me.

That day I learned who truly loved and cared about me no matter what. Sadly, it was only a small handful of people. One of those people was definitely not Megan. Megan and her dad ended up giving Donnie and Derrick a ride to the Court House. I was disgusted and in complete disbelief. I thought she knew me better than anyone, and for her to actually help the enemy, in any way, was just a complete slap in the face. Donnie and Derrick walked in with Megan. They all had a presence about them like they thought it was a big joke. They were quick to talk about irrelevant topics, and make lighthearted statements about random crap. As I was called into the Courtroom, Donnie made a remark that caused me to turn around and flip him off. “Wow, someone is sucked up. Looks like that lady just couldn’t get off the pipe.” Of course, I was the target. For them, Zoe and what happened to her was never the concern. It was all about the drama. It was one, big, shit-talking contest.

I took my seat at the Defendant’s table alongside my Public Defender. She mentioned to me that she had not decided if she was going to put me on the stand or not. She wanted to question other people on the stand first. I honestly did not have a clue what was happening. I knew that I was in a Courtroom, and I knew we were there because of what had happened to Zoe, but I didn’t really comprehend that this was an actual trial to determine who was at fault for the injury and to determine if I would ever get the girls back in my custody.

Although this was a trial, it had no significance when it came to criminal charges or proceedings. The Judge made it clear that any statements made in the Courtroom would not incriminate me or anyone else and that they were simply gathering the information to determine the placement of my daughters. I wished it could have had criminal consequences, because I knew the truth would come out, as exhausted and confused as I was. I trusted in God to get me through this. Everyone I had ever come in contact with as a teen mom was subpoenaed. My Attorney and I quickly read through the new report that CPS had made for the Court. They did a thorough investigation. They were looking for any indications of abuse inflicted upon both of the girls. The girls even had full-body x-rays, which I know must have scared them horribly.

The report stated that Zoe’s left foot had a fracture that appeared to be old. “The fracture is one appearing to be purposely inflicted by another person, such as a hammer slamming down to shatter the bones.” This was crap, and it made no sense. If a hammer was taken to her foot, why was it only a fracture? And how is it that her foot was never swollen bruised or even red? She never had a limp either. Zoe had been in daycare since she was three months old. One of the teachers would have noticed. I WOULD HAVE NOTICED. At this point, it was clear that the Social Workers were adding in tidbits of crap to paint a picture of me as a psychopathic mother. They could not provide a copy of the x-ray (not surprising) so the Judge removed this charge. The Social Workers had the girls do a hair-follicle-drug-test as well to track exposure to any drugs that they may have had in the last three to six months. The results for Chloe were fine, thank God. But the results for Zoe were confusing. The test showed that she had traces of cocaine in her system, not methamphetamine. The hospital originally said that they discovered meth in her system, not cocaine. Why didn’t the meth show up on the hair test? There is no question that it would have if there had been traces in her system. At this point, I didn’t know what to believe, and I started to feel like I was being set up. The report was loaded with lie after lie, but I could do nothing about it. I hoped that, in time, the truth would reveal itself.

As I sat in my seat, with a blank stare on my face, the Judge began to explain what was about to unfold. I knew that he was speaking about the trial, but I did not absorb any of the information that he announced. I don’t know if I was in a state of shock that this was happening or whether I was just in denial. The first person that was called to the stand was, of course, Derrick.

My Attorney questioned Derrick first, followed by the Attorneys for the CPS, and then the Attorney representing the girls. They all asked him a number of diverse questions. I thought some of the questions were irrelevant to what had happened. He answered all of the questions with confidence and even cracked a few jokes. What sickened me the most was that the Attorneys even laughed at his sick sense of humor – this wasn’t funny. He raised his hand during one of the questions about drug abuse and asked, “Can I plead the fifth?” The Courtroom roared with laughter. I thought this was appalling.

The next person to be called was Lilah. She took the stand and I couldn't tell if she was on my side or not. First, she told the Court that when I had brought Zoe over to her house she felt like I was a mother bear trying to protect my cub. Then she turned around and explained the graphics of her injury, and I really didn't think that was necessary. It was already horrible enough, and I didn't know why she had to add that.

The next person to be called was my mother. She just looked lost and confused. She answered the questions to the best of her ability, but I think the whole thing was just way too stressful for her. I was worried that it was going to cause her Muscular Dystrophy to flare up. Stress is one of those things that can cause MS to get worse. I was worried for her.

The next few people called to the stand were teachers from my high school and the public health nurse, Valerie, whom I had known and almost began to trust. The teachers played dumb, not really answering the questions. I don't know if it was because they were confused, or if it was because I was in the room and they didn't want to hurt my feelings. Valerie especially played dumb. She was questioned about her statement in the CPS report about me telling her that I “drank as a teenager and I drank when I was pregnant.” I never drank while I was pregnant. She didn't confirm or deny the statements. Then Megan was called to the stand. As she walked down the aisle of the seating area that led to the stand, she looked over at me with a strange look on her face. She sat down, looked at me again and smiled, like she thought this was a game. She had that smile on her face that I knew all too well. The one that came just before she was going to burst out laughing. She answered the questions and said nothing to help or harm me. I’ll never understand or forget that smile at such an inappropriate time.

The last person called to testify was Allie. The reason I asked my Lawyer to call her to the stand was because she was a character witness. She saw me as a mother quite frequently, and she knew how I interacted with my daughters. She saw past the drug use and understood that I always loved and cherished my little girls. Whatever was going on with me, she probably thought I was just lost and with the wrong crowd. Allie was probably the person who testified the most and completely on my behalf, and I'll never forget that. She was the only person that made me feel worthy and like I was a good mother. Allie was through making her last statement, and as she stood up to leave the stand, she made a hilarious remark about a local real estate agent who was buying cocaine from Megan. I thought it was absolutely hilarious. It was definitely irrelevant, but it was hilarious, especially when one of the Lawyers stood up and said “Hey! That's my friend who owns that business!”

The entire trial lasted for three days, from 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. It was long and brutal. In the end, the Judge made the determination that it was Derrick who was responsible for what had happened to Zoe. The Judge ordered CPS to give me visitation and offer me services so we could eventually be reunited. This was a good thing, but I was still so confused. If the Court believed me, and they believed that Derrick was guilty, why were the detectives treating me so badly and seriously convinced that I was either responsible or knew what had happened?

This is the chapter of my life that is unforgivable. They say that in order to completely heal, you need to forgive yourself. That will never happen. I have come to realize that it is just something that I will have to live and cope with for the rest of my life. I hate myself for letting bad people back into my life. There is no excuse, and I will never try to make one. I will always regret it, and I will always desperately wish that I could go back in time and make different choices. I know I can't go back. It is what it is, and I'm about to tell you about the biggest regret and most horrible mistake I ever made. It's one of those mistakes that can make you hate someone. It's one of those mistakes that can make you have zero compassion for someone and what they might be going through. This could explain why I lost everyone in my life at that time. I can't honestly say that I blame people for walking out of my life, but I do wish that I could have better understood my situation from an outsider’s point of view. After reading this chapter you may no longer view me the same. That’s okay. I’m writing this because I have to release it from my system. My mistake will never go away, but I am coping and living with it by using one of my outlets - writing.

After Court, I resumed the routine that I had come to know but would never get used to. I went to work a few times a week and tried to stay busy, but there was really nothing to stay busy with. I eventually stopped talking to Jesse. I don't know why, because he treated me like a total princess. One night after picking up some macaroni and cheese, I went back home and sat on my couch. I had been alone that whole day and was just miserable. I decided to turn on the TV. There was a video of a country song playing that reminded me of Derrick. The song started to make me sad. I didn't know exactly why, but I was sad that I was so in love Derrick and had been betrayed in the worst possible way. I was angry with myself for being sad over him being gone because that wasn't right. I didn't understand my feelings, and I didn't know why I was feeling this way. I didn’t acknowledge my feelings - instead I shoved them away because I thought that only a sick person would be feeling the way that I was. I should have just let myself grieve and be sad. I had lost my daughters and someone whom I was in love with. I was not okay with this kind of grief for him. I wanted to stay angry with this guy. I did not want to feel sad about him. I wanted to be so mad that I wanted him dead.

The next day the detective called me on my cell phone as I was aimlessly driving around, trying to stay distracted. He told me that Derrick passed his voice analysis stress test with "flying colors." "Okay..." I said, "What is that supposed to mean?" "I don't know, you tell me. I'm convinced that you have more answers than he does," he blatantly replied. I hung up on him. I was too upset and irritated with the mixed messages that I was getting. I didn't think that it was fair that one side of the law could determine that he was guilty, while the other side of the law was convinced that he was not. A part of me still wanted to believe that he was not guilty. When I got home later that day I began to think. The only people who actually thought that he was guilty was the Judge in the Family Law Court and maybe a few other random bystanders. Everyone else from the detectives to Megan, to our circle of friends, and to what seemed like the entire community, thought Derrick was innocent. I knew that I didn't have any information, and if he didn't have any information and truly was innocent, then that meant that one of the other two men who were in my home was responsible. There were three other men, but from what I was told, one of them was only around for breakfast that morning. I didn’t know when the others had arrived or how long they had been hanging around. I was truly angry that the detectives didn't question every single person who was in my home. I was angry that the detectives didn't come to my house and gather as much evidence as they possibly could.

I didn't understand why they wouldn't do these things, and no one could give me an answer. I thought that might have been something that would have solved the entire case.