The Greatest Story Ever Told - Prologue

         She wandered down the busy street under the hot summer sun; aimlessly, almost unconsciously. She looked ragged. Her clothes were dirty and hung loosely from her emaciated body. The strap of the greasy, navy blue tank top fell off of her shoulder, unnoticed by her. Her belt was pulled tightly around her bony waist, causing ripples around the top of her too-large capri pants. Her feet were dirty. Blisters riddled the skin where her beaten-up thong sandals rubbed between her toes and over the top of her feet. She didn’t seem to notice.

         It seems as though someone might have noticed her, but no one did. It was rush hour and all of the passers-by were far too eager to return to their homes, their families, and their lives. They saw her, of course, but not long enough to realize she may need help. If they weren’t too busy speeding down the busy main road, and had actually noticed the state she was in, they probably would have only assumed that she was a beaten housewife who finally got her wits about her to leave her husband.

         She didn’t know how long she’d been wandering. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know where she was going. All she knew was what she was looking for, and that she had no idea how to find it. She wiped sweat off of her brow. Her skin was saturated in sweat from minutes, days, weeks, maybe even months of walking. How long had it been? Her long, light brown hair was stringy, matted in grease and hanging from the nape of her neck in a loose ponytail. She grabbed her ponytail and held her bundled hair over her head to get it off her neck, then dropped it again – her atrophied and tired too weak to keep her arm in the air. She dropped her arm back to her side and let it hang there limply.

         She turned onto a side road and disappeared into quiet civility. She walked a few more blocks down side roads with less traffic than that of the main, even during rush hour. Children rode their bikes in the street, mothers put laundry out to dry, fathers lit up their barbeque grills. It was a scene she seemed to remember from long ago, when she had a family. Or had she ever had a family? She couldn’t remember.

         For the first time she noticed her body and how much it ached. Her face hurt. She gingerly pushed on the flesh around her left cheekbone. It was bruised, she could tell. She blankly wondered how bad it looked, but didn’t have enough consciousness to really care. Her muscles were sore and her legs tired. She noticed for the first time the stinging pain of her sandals digging into her skin. She took them off and walked bare foot, her sandals hanging by her side, the straps entangled with her fingers.

         She continued to wander up and down different streets, wanting to ask for directions, but too scared to approach anyone, too frightened by the horrors she had witnessed. She was aware of the sun sinking below the skyline.  The deep navy blue sky loomed above her as it had so many nights before, only tonight was different…

After a couple more hours of wandering aimlessly, she had her first conscious thought in who-knows-how-long. She was exhausted, and she was hungry. She needed a place to sleep, she needed food to eat. She headed down an alleyway. She found a dumpster and rummaged through it. Munching on a few morsels of food, she noticed an old, musty tablecloth covered in garbage. She grabbed it. It was too hot out to sleep with a blanket, but she bunched it up and placed it under her head. She had picked a spot a few feet from the dumpster, and found herself having to ignore the garbage smell of the tablecloth.

         The next morning, she didn’t remember falling asleep. She was shocked at how suddenly it must have happened. Though she hadn’t slept long, she had not expected to sleep at all.

         Rummaging through the dumpster again, she found more morsels of food. She munched while she watched the sun rise up over the tall buildings on the horizon. Many times, she had watched that sun come up over the houses in the neighborhood in which she had lived for four years, never able to sleep for very long. Over the course of the past four years, she hadn’t slept much at all, and she doubted she’d ever get a good night’s rest again.

         She stood, finding strength from deep within her to continue on. What she really wanted was to die, and forget about the past which would most likely haunt her for the rest of her life. She felt weak. Dehydration was taking its toll as the sun rose higher into the sky and beamed down on her in full force.

         After about an hour of walking, a car pulled up to the curb beside her. An elderly couple sat in the front seat, and the woman shouted out the window to her. She looked at them, indifferent to their presence. They both wore the look on their faces of people who regretted their decision to stop and talk to her. She thought that they must not have realized the condition she was in before they pulled over, but they had her attention, and they were scared to drive off.

         “Are you okay?” the woman asked.

         She didn’t answer. Instead, she nodded her head “yes”, although it was a lie.

         “I was wondering if you could help me find an address? We’re in town to visit our daughter. She just moved here, and we came to help her settle in and unpack.”

         “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice hoarse from the dehydration. “I can’t help you.”

         “You don’t even know the address,” the man reasoned.

         She looked off into the horizon, the sky now a morning blue color. When she looked back at the couple in the car she asked, “What city is this?”

         “You don’t know where you are?” asked the lady. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

         She didn’t answer. Instead, she weakly repeated, “What city?”

         “Well it’s El Paso,” the woman said, confused.

         “Texas.” There was a sense of wonderment in her voice.

         “Yes. El Paso, Texas. Well, thank you for your time.”

         The car sped away. She didn’t move. She stood for a few moments hearing the words over and over in her head. El Paso, Texas. She was still in El Paso. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t. Her body ached, her head hurt, and she needed water. She no longer carried her sandals. As she set off that morning, she had decided that it was too much of a burden to carry them, thought she didn’t remember where she’d left them.

         She had walked so long and still remained in the city. She contemplated giving up. She was so far from home, she didn’t think she’d ever see her family again. Then, she thought of the person she most longed to see. It had taken her this long to think of seeing him again. Had she really forgotten about him? She couldn’t remember the last time she had thought about him.

         Regardless, he gave her the strength to continue on, without him even knowing it. She continued walking down this street and that, trusting no one, not daring to stop and ask for directions.

         The sun burned in the sky right above her head. Her scalp, shoulders, chest, forehead, and nose were bright red. She guessed it was noon time. That’s when she found her destination – and collapsed in front of it.



---



         El Paso police officer Marco Mendez sat in the driver’s seat of his police cruiser with his partner, Shelbeigh Layton in the passenger’s seat. They had received a domestic violence complaint and were en route to the location. Shelbeigh hated domestic violence calls, but Marco did more. As a man, he couldn’t respect nor show respect to a man who would lay his hands on a woman in violence.

         It wasn’t the first time they had received this call. Neighbors had called the cops before, but police were always unable to arrest the suspect because his girlfriend denied that he had done anything wrong. This time was going to be different. This time, the girlfriend had called.

         The two cops went into the building down a long corridor of apartment doors. They found the one they were looking for, knocked and waited. A dark Latina with dyed blond hair timidly opened the door and peered at them through eyes that had been bruised, probably as a result from the nose that was broken.

         The first thing Marco asked was whether or not she needed medical attention. It was clear she did, but he needed her consent. She declined.

         “Ma’am, are you the one who called in a domestic violence complaint to the El Paso Police Department?”

         She thought for a moment, not sure if she should answer honestly. Then she said, “Yes.”

         “Is the perpetrator currently inside the residence?”

         “No.”

         “Do you know his location?”

         “He went down the street for some cigarettes. He may be back soon, but I think he knows you’re here.”

         Shelbeigh used the radio on her shoulder to contact dispatch and send someone to the drug store at the end of the block to pick up the suspect.

         “He didn’t do anything,” the woman said, as she usually did when police arrived. “I was angry so I called the police.”

         “From the looks of your face, he did a number on you.”

         “No, I fell down the stairs. I try to carry full baskets of laundry and it’s too much for me to handle. I lost my balance and fell.”

         “Ma’am, we’re the good guys here. I hate that I have to remind so many people of that, but unfortunately I do. We’re the good guys. We’re here to protect you. And if you don’t tell us exactly what happened, we can’t help you. You know what that means, right?”

         She didn’t answer. She looked down at the floor with tears welling in her eyes.

         Marco continued. “It means he’s gonna do this again. Judging by the pattern, it’s gonna be within the week. I’m guessing you don’t like to be hurt like this?”

         “No,” her voice cracked.

         “Okay, so I need you to tell me what happened?”

         The woman reluctantly related a story to the two officers about how her boyfriend had been upset to come home from “work” (the police suspected he was dealing drugs), to find that she hadn’t been grocery shopping. She had three kids and didn’t work because she “couldn’t find a babysitter.” There had been a mix up with her food stamps; they were going to be a day or two late that month. He didn’t care that it wasn’t her fault. He was high and hungry and there was no food. He beat her and threatened to beat her children, who were luckily with friends at the time.

         Her voice was weak and quiet. Half way through her story, tears began running down her cheeks. She stared at the floor, not at the officers. She kept her body hidden behind the door, as if she thought she was protecting herself.  Occasionally, she tried to see exactly what Marco was writing on his notepad, but the angle he was holding it at prevented her from getting a glimpse.

         Marco began to explain to the woman how things were going to play out now that they had her statement. As he did, the door to the hallway, opposite to the side of the building the officers had entered, opened. The victim’s boyfriend stepped through, unaware of who waited for him. He hadn’t seen the cars parked on the opposite end of the building, but when he saw the cops standing in the hallway in front of his apartment, he immediately turned and ran.

         Marco used his radio to report that the suspect was on the run as he and Shelbeigh ran to pursue him. He was a fast runner, but Shelbeigh was faster. She had been an all-star member of her high school track team and was still in peak physical condition. It took her a few minutes as the perpetrator had a good head start, but she eventually caught up to him and took him down a few yards down the street from the apartment complex.

         She cuffed him and led him back to the cruiser while Marco, panting in exhaustion, went back inside to get the woman to sign her statement. She hesitated before signing, then asked how much his bail was going to be. He had a previous record of violence, and she seemed to fret at the fact that she wouldn’t be able to afford his bail.

         Marco assured her that she had done the right thing and informed her that the police were going to put out a restraining order that would keep him from her in the instance that he was somehow bailed out. He knew that the suspect probably had friends who made good money in the drug industry. He’d be out that night.

         Marco drove the cruiser back to the police station while the man in the back seat spat insults at him and his partner. He insulted Marco in Spanish, a language both men understood. Shelbeigh was a white woman from Colorado who spoke only English, but she could tell that the man’s words were unfriendly and demeaning.

         The two were used to the antics used by people who were thrown in the back seat of a police cruiser. Marco had been on the force for fifteen years, Shelbeigh was a five year veteran. They had arrested many men and women together and with other partners. They had both long ago learned not to let anything the arrestee said get to them. Of course, that didn’t make listening to these people any less annoying, but it did make their jobs easier.

         Marco parked the car in front of the police station. He and Shelbeigh exited the vehicle. They laughed at the man in the back seat as he continued to spew insults. Sometimes, it was honestly hard to take the arrested seriously. They were too busy occupying themselves getting him out of the car that they didn’t take too much notice of the people on the sidewalk around them.

         They pulled the man out of the backseat and began pushing him toward the building. He resisted a little bit, stalling the officers on the sidewalk for a moment. Marco became vaguely aware of a small-framed figure to his left, but he was too distracted by the man on his right to take too much notice of anything else. He helped Shelbeigh struggle against the man who was fighting back.

         Just as the man decided the fight was useless and became more cooperative, Marco heard a groan from the figure next to him, and out of the corner of his eye watched it collapse.

         He turned to see a homely looking young woman lying unconscious on the ground. She looked dirty and was badly sun burned. Her hair was greasy and her skin was matted in sweat. He instructed Shelbeigh to continue with the suspect and call for help. She did as he said.

         He began to perform CPR on the young woman. Her clothes loosely fit her and her face, neck, arms and chest were covered in bruises. Marco thought to himself that she was a battered woman who had waited too long to report her abuse to the police, and now she was paying for it dearly.

         He continued to treat her until paramedics arrived. He sighed. His day, which had almost been over, was about to become incredibly longer. Shelbeigh had finished booking the perp, and the two of them jumped in their cruiser and followed the ambulance to the hospital. He phoned his wife, Emma, to inform her that he’d be late for dinner, while Shelbeigh phoned her boyfriend.



---



         She woke up in a strange hospital. She had machines and IVs hooked to her, and she felt uncomfortable. Her first thought was that she wasn’t in the right place, until she noticed the police man sitting in a chair to her left, playing with a phone. She groaned, the only noise she could make. It was enough to attract his attention.

         He stood and walked over to her. He was short and beefy. He had caramel colored skin, dark hair, and darker eyes. She felt oddly safe with him. It was odd to her that she could feel so safe with a stranger. She tried to remember a time when she had felt that safe before.

         He smiled and it comforted her. His eyes, though dark in color, were soft and welcoming. She felt like she should pinch herself to make sure this was really happening. She was safe. She was finally safe, and this man was going to help her. She couldn’t hold back her tears. She was overwhelmed. A flood of emotions rushed through her. She was happy, remorseful, scared, relieved, traumatized, and tired.

         “Good morning,” the man said softly. “My name is Officer Mendez. I have a lot of questions for you.”

         She nodded her understanding. She took a deep breath and found it within herself to speak.

         “Am I safe?” she asked. She had the suspecting feeling that everything was okay now, but she felt like no one would blame her for being skeptical.

         “You are safe. But I’m wondering, who is it you need to be safe from?”

         She didn’t say anything. She looked at the ceiling and closed her eyes. She allowed tears to fall down her cheeks. She was rejoicing at the confirmation that it was all over.

         “Well,” Officer Mendez continued. “Let’s start with your name.”

         She looked at him and for a moment, he thought she didn’t know her own name. She herself thought that she might have forgotten.

         “Alexia,” she said finally. “Alexia Tripp.”

         Officer Mendez wrote that down.

         “Alexia,” he repeated. “We found you badly sun burned, dehydrated, and bruised. Would you mind telling me what happened?”

         She looked at him. She wasn’t ready.

         “I’m hungry,” she said softly, her voice getting ready to crack.

         “Well how about we get you something to eat,” he said, smiling. “My partner went to the waiting room for some coffee. We’ll see if she wouldn’t mind going to the cafeteria when she gets back. How does that sound, Alexia?”

         She smiled and nodded. How she found it in her to smile at that moment, she would never know. She thought that she might never know how to repay this man for the kindness he was showing her. It had been so long since someone was kind.

         “In the meantime,” he continued, pulling his chair to the side of her bed. “Would you mind answering more questions?”

         She nodded slowly.

         “Alexia, how old are you?”

         “Twenty- four.”

         “Where are you from?”

         “Maine.”

         He looked up at her, startled.

         “Do you mean you were born in Maine or you live there?”

         “My last legal address was in Maine.”

         “And where is your legal address now?”

         “I don’t have one.”

         “Are you homeless?”

         “I guess you could say that.”

         He was puzzled. He stared at her skeptically.

         Slowly, he began to speak again. “Okay, so how long ago did you live in Maine?”

         She looked up, as if trying to remember.

         “Four years.”

         “How did you end up in El Paso?”

         “They drove me.”

         “They?”

         A tall, slim, blond woman in a cop uniform appeared in the doorway with two cups of coffee in her hands. The first thing she noticed was Officer Mendez sitting by the bed. When her eyes landed on Alexia, she smiled.

         “Hey there, sport!” she chimed.

         Alexia didn’t like her. She was too cheery, and Alexia felt so gloomy. Her entire body ached and she felt as if the world as she had once known it was over. This woman had the airiness of someone who had never had a single bad thing happen to her.

         “Alexia,” Officer Mendez said, “This is my partner, Officer Shelbeigh Layton.”

         “Hi, Alexia,” Officer Layton said, moving across the room to hand Mendez his coffee.

         “This is Alexia Tripp. She’s from Maine.”

         “Maine? Wow.”

         “Ms. Tripp is feeling a little hungry. Would you mind, Officer Layton, grabbing her something from the cafeteria?”

         “Of course! What would you like?”

         “I just want as many slices of pizza as you can get. And chocolate milk. And soda. Maybe some fries.”

         The two officers looked at her in disbelief.

         “Well, that’s not what I was expecting to hear,” Mendez said.

         “I’m sorry,” Alexia said in a tone that didn’t display any embarrassment. “I haven’t had anything good to eat in so long.”

         “It’s okay,” Layton said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

         She exited the room and Mendez began gently questioning her again.

         “If you don’t mind,” she said, trying her hardest not to sound rude, “I’d really like to eat before I get into this.”

         “Okay,” Mendez said, closing his notebook and returning it to his breast pocket. “Do you work?”

         “I use to be a housekeeper.”

         “Use to be? What do you do now?”

         She didn’t answer.

         “Where did you do housekeeping?”

         “At the Sea Foam Inn.”

         “I don’t recognize the name. Where is that?”

         “Ogunquit, Maine.”

         Mendez had so many questions to ask this girl, but he figured it best to bide his time until she was fed and ready to open up. He made small talk with her, though he wasn’t quite sure what to say. She didn’t seem to know anything about El Paso, or even about Texas. He tried talking local sports. It piqued her interest, but she still didn’t seem to be familiar with any of the teams.

         He was relieved when Layton returned with what must have been the girl’s first meal in a long time. Layton carried a bottle of soda, a bottle of double chocolate milk, a large serving of fries, and three slices of pizza.

         “I tried to stay reasonable,” Layton said. “I figured your eyes are bigger than your stomach.”

         “Probably not,” Alexia said, taking a bite out of one of the slices of pizza. She savored it. She closed her eyes and tasted it – really tasted it. It was the most decadent thing she could have imagined. She chewed slowly before letting it slide down her throat.

         As she ate, the officers tried to make small talk with her, but she was more interested in her food. She swallowed the chocolate milk in one gulp.

         “Amazing,” she said upon finishing the milk.

         She opened the soda, but decided to savor this drink. She finished her pizza and started working on the fries. Layton had put some vinegar on them. Alexia decided she like Layton after all. They were scrumptious. She couldn’t remember the last time she had tasted something so surreally wonderful.

         When she finished eating, she laid back in the bed, a look of contentment across her face. Mendez couldn’t help but to smile at her. She seemed so happy. She found her bottle of soda and continued to sip on it. It was still more than half way full.

         After letting her soak in the satisfaction of her meal, Mendez began the questioning again.

         “Alexia,” he said. “Are you ready to tell us how you came all the way from Maine and ended up unconscious in front of the El Paso Police Station?”

         She nodded slowly. “Where would you like me to begin?”

         “Start from the beginning.”

         She shook her head as if trying to remember where the beginning was.

         “I don’t even know where to start. It all seems so long ago. I use to be happy. I really did. But they took it all away from me. I still remember vividly the first day I ever saw them…”