God Got Me Through It
I was just 8 years old when my life
got turned upside down. I was living in a nice little home out in the country
in Cheston, Tennessee. I had lived there with my mom, my dad, and my four year
old sister, Courtney. We had a dog named Bear and two cats, one named Cookie
and the other named Chip. I absolutely loved my home and loved my life, but on
September 23, 1993, everything came to a screeching halt and my life was
forever changed.
I got up for school that morning
just like any other day, and I ate breakfast, got dressed, gave my mom a kiss,
and left to walk to the bus stop at the end of the road like I did every day.
Normally, I walked down with my neighbor, who was my best friend, Anna, but she
was sick that day, so I was by myself. As I walked, my mom passed me in her car
on her way to work and I smiled and waved at her. That would be the last time I
would see my mom for twelve years.
When I got to my bus stop, I took
off my back pack and sat down on the grass and waited. I sat there a long time,
and I remember being afraid that I missed the bus. Then, a black car pulled up
a long side the road right next to me and the window rolled down, revealing a
man with dark hair and slightly tan skin. He asked me if I was alright and if I
needed anything, I then made the mistake of getting up and walking to his
window. I told him I was waiting for the bus and began to ask him if he had
seen it, when his arm shot out of the car, and he hit me with a funny looking
tool that made me feel numb throughout my whole body. I remember seeing his
face very briefly, he was smiling a very scary smile, and then I blacked out
and lost consciousness.
September,
23, 1993 started out as a normal day of being a detective at the Cheston Police
Department. I went in that morning grabbed my cup of coffee and sat at my desk
to work on paper work. No new cases had come in, and I thought it was just
going to be another boring day doing paper work and no real police work. Little
did I know that I was about to get a call that would be my police work for the
next twelve years.
At
about eight o’clock in the morning a call had come in from a bus driver who was
concerned that one of his pick-ups was not at the bus stop, but the back pack
was. Itching to leave my desk, I volunteered to take the call with my partner,
Lewis. We grabbed our stuff, hopped in the car and drove down to Preston Road,
where the bus driver remained at the stop, waiting for us.
When
we arrived, there was, indeed, a small pink back pack lying on the side of the
road with no owner. We first approached the bus driver, and asked him if he had
the information of the children who were supposed to be picked up at the stop.
He showed us the names, and there were only two little girls on the list. The
first one was Anna Courtland, so we called her home and learned right away that
she was home sick. The second name on the list was Rebecca Jenson, and since
Anna was home, we figured the back pack must belong to Rebecca. But just to be
certain, I pulled on a pair of gloves and opened the back pack to go through
its contents. Sure enough, little Rebecca’s name was written on every piece of
paper inside the back pack. The next step was to try and get ahold of her parents.
We first called the home number that was on the bus driver’s information sheet.
A man answered, and I asked him if he was Mr. Jenson and if he had a daughter
named Rebecca. He responded “yes” with a very confused tone, and then came the
gut wrenching task of telling him who I was and why I was calling. The man was
in disbelief and I told him to come to the bus stop so we could talk. After we
hung up, I had Lewis call down to the station to report a missing child and to
get back-up down there right away.
After
just a few short minutes, Mr. Jenson approached, holding his other daughter.
When I approached him, I told him that name was Detective Kevin Carlysle and
asked him, “Sir, did your daughter go to the bus stop this morning?” “Yes, she
should already be on the bus.” “Sir, the bus driver was running late and when
he got to the stop, all he saw was this back pack” and when I showed him the
back pack, all the color drained from his face and I knew then, it was his
daughters back pack.
He
right away began telling me that little eight-year-old Rebecca, who also
responded to Becky, would never wonder off and leave the bus stop. He also
pulled out a picture from his wallet of Becky and handed it to me. There I saw
a beautiful little girl with brown, curly hair, and brown eyes, and my heart
began to melt at the thought of what could be happening to that little girl
right at that moment.
When I came to, I had a burlap sack
over my head and I could just barely see through it. I was lying on the floor
of the car, and my hands and feet were tied together. The only thing I remember
feeling, was fear. I was so afraid; all I could do was cry and shake. The man
then yelled at me to be quiet and told me he was going to take me to a new home
with him and he told me we would be happy together. I was so paralyzed with
fear; I couldn’t even talk to him. All I could do was cry, and hope that
someone would come to my rescue.
It
wasn’t long before we had officers blocking the scene, so we could search it
for any sign of little Becky. I remained with the father, asking him questions
that would help us out. “What was Becky wearing today?” “S-S-She was wearing a
p-p-pink shirt with kittens on it and s-s-some blue jeans and pink t-t-tennis
shoes” he responded, very shakily. “I know it is difficult Mr. Jenson but every
detail helps us, now, is there anyone that would want to hurt Becky, or have
you seen anyone suspicious hanging around your family at all?” I asked as
calmly as I could, “No! Everything has been perfectly normal and everyone loves
Becky!” Mr. Jenson responded, breaking into sobs and begging for us to find his
daughter.
Just
then, Lewis came up to me and informed me that the only sent the dogs could
pick up from Becky was near where the back pack was. He also told me that
Becky’s mother had arrived. Mrs. Jenson ran straight for her husband and I knew
right when her husband told her that her little girl was missing, and it only
got worse when I had to tell them that because the dogs couldn’t pick up a
scent, meant Becky had been abducted.
The
parents both just held each other and sobbed, and I decided it would be best to
just give them a few minutes and start looking for any leads that could help us
in the search for Becky. On top of that, Lewis and I had to give a full report
to the media so we could get people on the lookout and get an Amber Alert out
there, too. We gave the media everything we knew about Becky and gave them a
number for people to call if they had seen her or knew any information that
would help. The only other thing we could do after that was continue the
search, keep talking to her parents, and wait for any leads.
The car ride was very long, and the
man remained very quiet and didn’t say a word. Finally, the car came to a stop
and the man got out. I heard the door open, and the man picked me up and
carried me. He kept the bag over my head so I couldn’t see anything and I had
no idea where I was. He opened and closed, what I know now, was a gate to his
backyard and then I heard him open and close the door to the place where he
kept me. I know now that he kept me in the shed in his backyard, but I didn’t
know that at the time. He then laid me down on a bed and took the bag off of my
head.
After my eyes adjusted to the light
in the shed, I got my first look at my captors face. He was very well-groomed,
and put together, and clean. He looked like your average businessman, and I
remember that he reminded of a boss at my mom’s work. He smiled at me, and then
spoke to me, “welcome to your new home, you can call me Darian. This is where
you will stay, and I will take care of you, and we will be best friends.” He
spoke to me in a very friendly tone, so I responded, “my name is Becky” but
before I could say anything else he yelled and told me I was never to say that name
again, and that I was to now call myself, Tessa. I nodded and began to cry
more. Darian ignored my crying and untied my hands and feet and put a device
around my ankle that would shock me if I got too close to the door, which he
always kept locked.
After he untied me he told me everything would
be okay and that he would take good care of me, then he left, and I was alone.
I looked around the shed, there wasn’t a lot, there was just a bed, a dresser,
a toy box with some toys in it, and a small refrigerator that had several large
water bottles filled with water. There was also a small table with a single
drawer that held the lamp that lit up the shed. Inside the drawer, I discovered
a large notebook and a package of pens. That notebook became my best friend,
the place that I wrote everything in, the one thing I could talk to when I was
alone. After discovering the notebook, I cried and closed my eyes and I wrote
this prayer: “Jesus, please hold me tight and protect me until my mommy and
daddy find me. Amen.” I would say that little prayer every day for the next
twelve years.
The
search for Becky was reaching two and a half hours when we finally got our
first lead. One of the neighbors came out and told us that she had seen a black
car, with all the windows tinted, drive up and down the street, several times.
She, unfortunately, didn’t think about taking note of the license plate. But we
at least had something to go on, and a place to start, even if it wasn’t much.
After getting that from the neighbor, we brought it straight to the media, so
people could keep a lookout for a black car with all tinted windows.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much more Lewis and I could do at the scene, so it
was back to the station we went to continue our work there, and just hope for
new leads.
I sat in the shed, crying, for most
of the day. Darian brought me lunch, and then later at night, brought me supper
and some pajamas. Where did I go to the bathroom? You make ask. Darian had a
commode in the shed for me to use that he emptied whenever he came in.
That first night was the hardest, I
was so afraid, that every time I fell asleep, I had a nightmare that woke me
up. Halfway through the night, I decided to open the toy box to see if there
was anything in there that would help me sleep. It was in that toy box that I
found my other best friend. It was a big, floppy, stuffed kitty that was black
and white, and reminded me of my cat, Cookie. So, I also called that stuffed
animal Cookie. That stuffed kitty helped me to feel more at peace, and I was
finally able to sleep.
I
spent a lot of sleepless nights trying to find Becky, but that first night was
by far, the worst. So many haunting images were going through my mind of what
was being done to that innocent little girl. And the fact that I was combing
through lists of sex offenders and child molesters wasn’t helping, either. I
kept looking at Becky’s picture and I began to get so overwhelmed with
disturbing images that I started to cry and I looked at the picture and said,
“I will find you, Becky, I will bring you home to your mom and dad, and I won’t
stop searching until I do!”
One week had gone by, and nothing
different happened, not until at night. Darian brought me supper as usual, but
this time he stayed and ate with me. He began to talk to me as if we were best
friends and told me all kinds of things, most of it my eight-year-old brain
didn’t even understand. After we ate, he asked me if I liked to dance. I told
him yes, afraid of what he would do if I said no. He smiled and stood up, and
then he walked over to me and picked me up, and forced me to dance with him. As
we danced, I remember briefly thinking it was actually fun, until he started to
kiss me. I told him I didn’t want kisses, and that immediately made him mad. He
then threw me onto the bed, like a ragdoll, and he began to take off his
clothes. I closed my eyes and huddled up in fear. He then came back to me and
started to rip my clothes off. I screamed and tried to fight him off, but he
was strong and held onto me tight, and once he got my clothes off, he began to
feel me, touch me, and kiss me all over. Being only eight-years-old, I had no
idea what he was doing to me. I just remember being in pain and I will never
forget the feeling of his bare skin hitting mine and sending a chill throughout
my whole body. I cried and screamed and begged him to stop, but he wouldn’t.
When I had no more energy to fight, I completely stopped and it wasn’t too much
longer and Darian stopped, too.
He got off me, put his clothes on,
and then left me alone. I was so frightened by the experience that all I did
that whole night was in shiver in my bed, naked, and cry. I couldn’t sleep,
because when I closed my eyes, the horrifying experience would start all over
again. I grabbed Cookie, and my journal and I wrote how he hurt me and how I
wanted my mommy and daddy. I once again prayed, “Jesus, hold me tight and
protect me until my mommy and daddy find me,” but before I could say amen, I
suddenly felt warmth, like someone was hugging me. I then relaxed, and said
“thank-you Jesus” then I managed to, finally, fall asleep.
By
the end of the first week of the search for Becky, we still had no new leads.
The trail went cold, and our last thought was being put into action. We called
Becky’s family and asked if they would be willing to plea for their daughters
safe return home to the media. We explained to them that it could bring someone
forward with new information, and that it was our only option at that moment.
They agreed to it, just wanting to do anything to get their daughter home
safely.
Lewis
and I then drove over to their home, bringing a couple news reporters with us.
Once we arrived, the cameras got set up by the news crews, while we talked with
the parents. “Just let people know the pain you are feeling right now, and let
them know that you just want your little girl back”. They understood, and then
the cameras began to roll, and so did the tears as the family spoke.
Becky’s
dad started, “Hi, we are the Jenson family, the family of little eight-year-old
Rebecca Jenson, also known as Becky. Becky was abducted a week ago, and we are
so frightened for her life, and we want her home. I want to just hold my little
girl tight in my arms, I want to hear her laugh when we have tickle fights, and
I want to hear say ‘I love you daddy’ to me as she drifts off to sleep”. Then
her mom spoke, “As her mother, I am always setting her a place at the dinner
table, and right now that spot is empty, and all I do is cry when I look at it.
Out of habit, I go to her room to get her up in the morning, and when I see the
empty bed, I cry. I want to see her smile; I want to be able to comb out her
beautiful hair, again. I want my baby back more than anything. So, please, if
you have any information at all, please call the police department and tell
them. We want to hold our baby again.” Then it ended with the little sister
saying, “I love you sissy! Come home please!”
By
the time the session was over, everyone in the room was crying, which was a
sign that it was a good, powerful broadcast. And as me and Lewis drove back to
the station, I silently prayed and begged God to keep that little girl safe
until we found her and brought her home to her family.
Time went by, day after day. Darian
would come in and bring me meals, and a couple nights a week, he would stick
around at night to “hurt me” as I always put it in my journal. I remember
having days where I would think about my friends, and school, and imagining
what they were doing and what they were learning. I longed so much for the
interaction of other people. Just to see smiles and happiness in their faces,
and to be able to talk with them. I also was desperate to learn new things, as
I hated being stuck with the knowledge of an eight-year-old that barely started
the third grade. But even more than all of that, I longed to see my family
again. To play with Courtney and give her a hug, and tell her I love her, and
to hear her squeaky little laugh as we goofed off. I wanted to hug my mom and
smell her sweet vanilla perfume and feel her squeeze me tight and give me lots
of kisses. I wanted to be scooped up into my daddy’s arms and thrown into the
air and caught again, and to hear his deep, joyful laugh as we had tickle
fights. I wanted to smell my mom’s homemade cooking and feel the comfort of my
own bed with my pets snuggled up next to me. I wanted to be home and I wanted
to feel happiness again.
I wrote a lot of prayers to God
that sounded like this: “God, can you please make me happy again? I don’t want
to be scared anymore. God, can I just be Becky and not Tessa? God, please let
my mommy and daddy find me! Amen.” Looking back, those little prayers are what
kept me going. Those little prayers gave me hope, and also gave me someone to
talk to. I felt safest when I wrote my prayers, because those were the moments
that God would just hold me and make me feel comfortable, and remind me that He
was always there and He never left me, not even for a second.
Four
years went by since little Becky had gone missing. I was given other cases to
work on, but at the end of the day, I would find myself back on her case,
combing through the very little evidence we had. Her parents never gave up the
fight, either. They called me periodically for updates, and most of the time I
replied, sadly, with nothing new. My heart ached constantly over the thought of
that little girl and all she had to have been going through. I found myself
getting burning hot with rage whenever someone would give me a new lead that
led nowhere. Becky’s image haunted me in my dreams and kept me awake at night.
The thought of her now being a twelve-year-old girl, possibly going through
puberty, made me shiver with fear at how she could be handling it and if she
was being taken care of.
Lewis
constantly kept my mind busy, to keep me from thinking about it too much, but,
part of me always was hurting, not only for her, but her family. I couldn’t
even begin to imagine the kind of pain they felt every single day. I could just
see in their faces that life was painful, and they, too, were spending many
sleepless nights hoping for their daughter and sister to come home. Every
night, I prayed not only for Becky and her safety, but for her family, for them
to find moments of peace and happiness in their lives.
I was twelve-years-old, and I had
been living in Darian’s shed for four years. I was using the commode, and I
noticed that there was blood in my underwear. I didn’t understand what was
going on and I was very scared that something was wrong. I was afraid to leave
the commode, and I sat there until Darian came and brought me lunch. I told him
I was peeing blood and needed a doctor, but he laughed and then began to
explain to me what was really going on. “No, Tessa, nothing is wrong, you have
just started your period and are going through puberty.” I was confused, but I
listened to him intently as he taught me all about the changes my body was
going through. I was thirsty for new knowledge, so learning about puberty was
actually interesting for me, and I liked it.
Later that day, he came back with
some new things for me like: pads, tampons, a razor, a few bras, and also a
book for me to read about puberty. After he left, I put a pad on my underwear
and then grabbed the book and began to read through it. I cried as I read it,
feeling a mixture of emotions. I was confused by it all and struggled to fully
comprehend the things the book tried to tell me. I was excited to be learning
something new and I was also overwhelmed with sadness, knowing that my mom
should have been the one to explain it all to me and not some guy who kidnapped
me and a silly old book.
Then, just a few short months
later, on the day of my thirteenth birthday, I was educated, yet again, on
something that I wish my parents could have talked to me about. When Darian
walked in that morning, I was hoping for something nice for my birthday, but
instead he had a small grocery bag in his hand and a look on his face that I
had never seen before. He seemed almost nervous and scared, but yet a little
bit excited. He sat me down on my bed, and then he sat down next to me and took
a deep breath before he began to speak. “Tessa, I have noticed that you didn’t
get your period this month and I think I know why.” I sat there, stunned and
afraid; I didn’t even notice that I had missed my period. “Tessa, I think you
might be pregnant, as in I think you are going to have a baby!” I felt
overwhelmed and was not sure how to process that information, and finally I
asked him, “But I thought only married people could have babies, how is it that
I could have a baby?” He then reached into his bag, and responded, “Before I
explain, I want you to take this pregnancy test so we can be sure.” He pulled
out a stick and told me I had to pee on it, and it would tell me whether or not
I was pregnant. So, I took the stick out of his hand and went to the commode,
and sat down and peed on the stick just like he told me too. He watched me the
whole time and when I was done he took the stick from me while I cleaned up a
little. I then went and sat back down next to him, and looked at his face
beaming with a Cheshire cat smile. He
then looked up at me and said, “Congratulations Tessa, you are going to be a
mommy” and that’s when I looked at the stick and saw a little pink plus sign,
meaning it was, indeed, positive.
Darian then explained to me what
sex was and that when he came in late at night and “hurt me” that is what we
were doing and that is how I got pregnant. He then gave me two new books to
read, one was about sex and what it was, and the other one was all about
pregnancy. He then wished me a happy birthday, cleaned out the commode, and
then left me. I just sat there in my bed and sobbed uncontrollably, holding my
stomach. I was not only afraid to have a baby, but I was afraid for the baby
and of what Darian would do to it. On top of the feelings of fear, I was
feeling violated and hurt, now that I understood what it was Darian was doing
to me. But, I decided that I was going to do all I could for the baby and
protect it and love it with all of my heart. So, I took the books Darian gave
me and I read them to educate myself the best I could.
For the next nine months, Darian
brought me all kinds of books on pregnancy and childbirth and he also gave me
prenatal vitamins and made sure I ate healthy. Obviously, he wanted the baby to
be healthy as much as I did. And on October 3, 1998 I woke up at 1:00am feeling
some pretty strong contractions, putting the pain at a five on a pain scale of
one to ten. Darian was in bed, and I had no way to reach him. I was scared, but
I decided it would be best for me to just lie down on my side in bed and try to
relax. The pain grabbed at my stomach, they were some of the worst cramps I had
ever felt. I tried to take deep breaths and relax the best I could, but it was
hard. I cried and prayed for God to protect me and the baby. At 6:00am I heard
a “pop” and lots of clear fluid gushed out of me. My water had broken. And then
I started to feel the contractions intensify and become even stronger. The pain
was a ten on a scale of one to ten and I began to cry and scream with the
contractions. Not only that, I was feeling a ton of pressure on my bottom. My
pants and underwear were soaked, so I took them off, and it wasn’t long before
I started to feel the urge to push. I sat up in my bed and got on my hands and
knees to try to relieve the pressure, and as soon as a contraction hit, I began
to feel my body push, and the urge overwhelmed me and I pushed right along with
my body.
The pain I started to feel as the
baby’s head emerged was by far the worst pain I felt in my entire life. The
burning was so bad; I felt as if I was being torn into two pieces. I cried and
screamed, just wanting for it to be over. And after forty minutes of pushing,
the baby’s head was finally out and I took some deep breaths and as soon as the
next contraction came, I pushed with all my might, and with one final intense
burning sensation, the baby slid out of me and onto the bed at 6:43am. I
quickly leaned back and sat on the bed and all I could do was cry. I looked at
the tiny baby lying on my bed in a puddle of amniotic fluid and continued to
cry as I noticed it was a girl. I picked her up and held her tight in my arms,
crying and listening to her crying.
A few minutes later, Darian came in
and saw me sitting there with a baby in my arms. He quickly ran back out and
returned with a bag full of supplies. He first cut her umbilical cord, and then
he took her from me and wrapped her in a blanket, and placed her inside a
bassinet that he had set up in the shed a week earlier. Darian then came back
to me and helped me out of the bed and placed me onto the commode. He told me I
had to push out the placenta while he cleaned up the mess on my bed. I was
still having some light contractions, so I obeyed him and pushed when I felt
the contractions. After just a few pushes, I felt another brief burning pain,
and the placenta slid out of me and into the bucket of the commode. I continued
to sit on the commode and cry, until Darian was done cleaning up the bed and
putting fresh sheets on it. He then came over to me, got me all cleaned up,
stuck a big pad in an underwear, helped me put it on, along with some pajama
pants, then laid me back in bed. I felt so weak and tired, that no sooner did
my head hit the pillow, I fell sound asleep.
It wasn’t until the following
morning that I woke up after having given birth. Darian was the one who woke me
up; because he wanted to make sure I was alright. “How are you feeling sweet
heart?” Darian asked, “I’m really sore, but otherwise I’m okay, where is my
baby?” I responded. Darian smiled and then walked over to the bassinet and
picked up the tiny little girl and brought her over to me. “She weighs five
pounds and six ounces and is fifteen and a half inches long and perfectly
healthy”, he said to me happily. I smiled and held her close and took in all of
her delicate features, from her light, soft hair to her cute little button nose
and big loving eyes. I was in love, and decided that I was going to protect her
from any and all harm. I then asked Darian if I could name her, and he told me
as long as her middle name was Grace. So after thinking for a short time, I
finally came up with a good name and looked up at Darian and said, “Brooklyn
Grace” he smiled and told me it was perfect.
On
the day of Becky’s fifteenth birthday, we released a computerized sketch of
what she looked like now that she was seven years older. We reminded people
that her family wanted her home and to call the police with any new leads. And,
finally, we got a break through on the case.
We
got a call from a store that told us they had a regular costumer that always
claimed to be purchasing things for his wife and daughter, and had shown them
pictures of his supposed daughter. I saw it as a good potential lead, and Lewis
and I went and checked it out together.
When
we arrived, the cashier welcomed us, had someone take over for her, and then
brought us into the employee break room to talk. “Hello, officers, my name is
Lucinda, I happen to be the store manager here and most of my time is spent
running the cash register. I called you because we have this guy that comes in
regularly and always is purchasing clothing for a female and also things like
feminine products, and even baby supplies, but never has his wife or child with
him.” Lewis got out his notepad to take notes while I began to ask questions.
“Can you describe this man to us in full detail, Lucinda?” “Yes, he is tall, at
least six feet, has an average build, not really muscular, but not really
skinny, either. He has short, dark hair, slightly tan skin, brown eyes, and is
clean shaven. He is always dressed nicely and is always very well put-together
and friendly, almost like a businessman.” Lucinda replied to us, “I would offer
you security footage, but all the footage he is in, he has his back turned.”
Now that seemed suspicious and I finally felt like we were making a
breakthrough in the case.
“Do
you know his name, or address, or even know what his car looks like?” I asked,
excitedly. “I have never seen his car, and I also do not know his name because
he always pays in cash and never buys anything that requires an ID.” That made
my heart sink a little, but I continued the questions. “You said on the phone
that he always says he is purchasing things for his wife and daughter and that
you had seen pictures. Can you tell us about that or do you have a copy of the
pictures?” “He has never shown a picture of his wife, he just tells us that she
is busy and that is why he is always getting stuff for her. But, his daughter is
only a year and a half old, and he, actually, tells us that she looks just like
his wife. He told us his daughters name is Brooklyn, and I don’t have a picture
of her, but I could describe it to a sketch artist. The picture of his daughter
has a lot of similarities to the aged photo of Becky that is why I called.”
With that, we knew this was a definite solid lead, and Lucinda agreed not only
to describe the picture of the man’s daughter to a sketch artist, but also the
man who now became our suspect. Having this lead not only gave me hope, but it
also gave Becky’s family a lot of hope, too.
On the day of Brooklyn’s second
birthday, I found out I was pregnant, yet again. Darian was elated and told
Brooklyn that she was going to be a big sister and got her excited. That is one
thing I was very grateful to God about, Darian was very kind and loving to
Brooklyn. He took good care of her, and always took her out of the shed
whenever he wanted to abuse me. That was the only time she would be out of the
shed, otherwise she always stayed in the shed with me. I would tell her stories
about my parents, and Courtney, and our animals. I also would tell her about
God and that He was protecting us and that one day He would help us to get to
see my parents and sister again. I also taught her to pray, and together we
always prayed for our health and safety, and that we would one day be found and
brought home.
Then on May 23, 2001, while Darian
was eating breakfast with us, my water broke. Darian took Brooklyn out of the
shed, came back, and at 1:03pm, after enduring the same unbearable pain I
endured with Brooklyn, a small six pound, sixteen inch long baby girl was born.
Darian told me he wanted to use the name Rose somehow, and then I told him the
name Bella Rose, and he liked it. A few hours later, he brought Brooklyn back
in and she got to meet her new baby sister. And when Darian left the three of
us alone that night to sleep, I cried and prayed to God to get me and the girls
out of there and home so I wouldn’t have to endure the pain of childbirth,
again.
With
our huge lead, came other smaller leads. A lot of people came forward saying
that they had seen the man, but never got his name. And some of them even told
us they had seen the photograph of his daughter. We were able to figure out a
lot of the places he would stop regularly, and that allowed us to narrow down a
general area of where he, most likely, was living. Then, on May 24, 2001, we
got a huge lead.
A
small store that sold baby supplies called us and told us that the man we were
looking for was just in buying things for a newborn daughter. They also told us
that he was driving a black car with all tinted windows and they even were able
to give us the license plate number. My heart was pounding, and the second I hung
up the phone, Lewis agreed to take a couple officers to the store and get what
they could from there while I looked up the license plate number and get what I
could on our guy.
Once
I punched the number into the computer, low and behold, a picture of our guy
popped up on the screen, one Darian Traverse. We never could find a place of
employment on the guy, and now I knew why. Darian was a millionaire that never
worked because his millions were left to him by his parents when they died. He
was an only child, and was thus left everything. The only thing was the guy had no criminal
record, just a reputation of being lonely, which I found in old school records
on him. But nowhere could I find anything about him ever being married and
having kids. This raised some red flags, so I wrote down his address and then
met Lewis at the store, and then went to talk to this Darian guy.
When
we knocked on door, he answered us with no problem and invited us in. “Mr.
Traverse, we are investigating the disappearance of Rebecca Jenson and we have
been getting told that you supposedly buy things for your wife and children a
lot, but you never have them with you, not only that, we have no record of you
being married and having children.” He immediately responded, “Well, I am not
actually legally married to my wife; we just say that we are married without
going through legalities. And as for my children, the oldest comes from a
previous relationship and is not legally mine. The youngest was just born
yesterday, so is not in the system yet, and even when she is put into the
system she will put under her mother’s last name.” “And what is your wife’s
name?” I asked, and again Darian responded, “Tessa Barnes”.
We
then asked if we could have a look around, and he told us to go right ahead. We
opened every door in the house and looked in every room and closet. When I
looked in the backyard, I noticed a shed, and when I asked about it, he told me
he never could find the key and that it was locked. To prove it I asked if I
could try all the keys on his key ring on the lock. He handed me the key ring,
and I tried all the keys in the lock, none worked. And I tried to listen for
any sound coming from the shed, and heard nothing.
We
left empty handed, but something told me that Darian was still our guy. And
when we got back to the station I looked up his wife, and found information
that collaborated with everything he told us. We even found a current record of
her being in the hospital for childbirth. I still couldn’t help but think this
was the guy; I just had to find more evidence. And I wasn’t going to give up
without a fight.
I wasn’t going to give up without a
fight. I was going to get me and my daughters out of there somehow. I was done
just waiting, and I finally prayed for God to help me find a way to get us
home. And the opportunity came in the summer of 2005.
While we were eating breakfast, I
was looking at the newspaper that Darian was reading, and I saw an ad about the
local county fair. That gave me the perfect idea. “Hey, Darian, can I ask you
something?” “Sure, Tessa, what do you want?” “Well, you know, I am
twenty-years-old now and I have not been out in twelve years, no one would
recognize me, and the girls could use a day out to do something fun. So do you
think we could go to the fair with girls?” He looked at me in shock, and he sat
back in his chair and thought for a minute. And then he spoke, “I think that
would be a good idea, and fun for the whole family, but only under one
condition; you must stay by my side the entire time”. I agreed to his
conditions and we planned our outing to the fair the following week on July 15,
2005. And the night before, I took a piece of paper from my notebook and wrote
on it: “My name is Rebecca “Becky” Jenson, I was kidnapped by a man named Darian
when I was eight-years-old and he forces me to go by the name Tessa. I am
locked in a shed with my daughters, Brooklyn and Bella, please help us!” And
the next day, I put my plan into action.
The first time stepping into
sunlight in twelve years was wonderful. Tasting the fresh crisp air and feeling
the gentle kiss of the warm sun on my skin was so magical. It was the best
feeling in the world and I couldn’t wait to get to the fair. Once there, and we
got out of the car and I saw all the people, I suddenly became overwhelmed and
afraid of all the people. I had not had any contact with people in twelve years
and I was not sure what I would say if someone approached me.
We went about the day and saw
animals, let the girls go on rides, watched a couple shows, and then we decided
to end our stay by getting something to eat. Darian had me and the girls sit at
a nearby picnic table and he tied my ankle to it, so I couldn’t run off while
he got in line at the food stand. I watched him closely to see how often he would
turn to look at us. Then, I noticed a couple of police officers just walking
around to keep an eye on things. They were heading our general direction and as
soon as Darian started to order our food, they got close enough that I was able
to tap one of them on the arm and get their attention. They turned to me and I
quickly handed them my note and turned away from them, focusing on the girls.
The policemen continued to stand there and soon Darian came back with the food
and he asked the officers if there was anything wrong. They said no and walked
away. That is when Darian decided it was time to leave and we could eat at
home. So we packed up and went back to the shed, the whole time, I prayed that
the letter would be enough to get us found.
On
July 15, 2005 I got one of the best phone calls ever in my career as a
detective. It was an officer calling from the fair grounds to say that he just
received a note from Becky Jenson to come rescue her. I told him to stay where
he was at, and I then hung up, got Lewis, and we left for the fairgrounds. When
I got to where the officer was, he said that the girl who handed him the note
looked just like the computerized updated photo of Becky. I took the note, and
read it. No sooner did I get done reading it, I got on the phone with a judge
to talk about an arrest warrant for Darian Traverse. With this new evidence,
the judge didn’t have to think twice, he signed off on the warrant right away,
and then we picked up the warrant and went back to the home of Darian Traverse.
When
we got there, we knocked on the door, and when he answered, I got to say the
words I have wanted to say since the case began, “Darian Traverse you are under
arrest for the kidnapping of Becky Jenson!” Lewis strapped the cuffs on, read
him his rights, and me and the other officers went to the shed, broke the lock
and swung open the door. And that is when I was finally able to breathe a sigh
of relief.
Because,
huddled on a bed was, indeed, Becky Jenson and two young girls. “Becky, my name
is Detective Kevin Carlysle, your safe now, I am here to bring you to your mom
and dad and sister.” She then smiled, jumped up, and hugged me, crying tears of
pure joy. After cutting shock collars off their ankles, we took the girls to a
waiting ambulance. I told Becky that the ambulance was going to take her and
the girls to the hospital to be looked at and that her parents and sister would
meet her there. She smiled and nodded, and off they went in the ambulance,
while I stayed behind to help process the scene, one of the most gut wrenching
tasks of my career. Especially since I knew that anything we found was going to
go along with making Darian also guilty of sexual abuse and child endangerment.
The tears ran down my face as the images of Becky’s pain and torture raced
through my mind.
When we were finally found by the
police, I was so overwhelmed with joy and happiness that all I could was hug
the detective and cry. God answered my prayers, and I was going to see my
family again. The whole way to the hospital I was telling my girls that were
going to find their grandma and grandpa and Auntie Courtney. I also told them
not to be afraid of the doctors because they were just going to check them over
to make sure they were okay.
When we got to the hospital the
doctors and nurses asked me a ton of questions, and I answered each of them,
telling them my story of the past twelve years of my life and Brooklyn’s six,
going on seven years of life, and Bella’s four years of life. After a whole
battery of tests, I and the girls were left to rest. And it was only a couple
of hours later that detective Carlysle came in with good news that the doctors
found I was completely healthy and so were the girls. And then, behind him,
came in three people I had been longing to see for twelve years. My mom, dad,
and my little sister Courtney came in, looking teary eyed.
As soon as I saw them, all I could
do was smile and stare. The tears began to well up in my eyes and the memories
began to race through my mind. And after just a few brief moments, I spoke:
“Mom, Dad, Courtney, it’s me, it’s Becky!” The next moment, I was feeling the
warm, comforting, loving embrace of my family hugging me. A feeling I had been
aching for, for the last twelve years, and it made me burst out in tears and
all I could say was how much I loved them.
After hugging, I told them to catch
me up on everything and that I wanted to know everything. Mom and dad told me
they were doing the same old, same old, and Courtney raved how she just got her
driver’s license, that she is a straight “A” student and is playing volleyball
on the varsity team. They also told me that my bedroom was still the same and
Bear, Cookie, and Chip were all waiting for me to come home as well.
After they got done with catching
me up on everything, they went silent for a moment, looked at each other, then
looked back at me. My mom then spoke, her voice shaking just ever so slightly,
“w-what about you honey? W-w-what did that man do to you?” I looked down;
trying to hold back tears, then took a breath, and looked back up at my
family’s curious and fearful faces. “Well, let me start from the beginning.”
Turning
over that shed where Becky remained a prisoner for twelve years, made my heart
ache and made me burn with anger. The CSI’s found a lot of bodily fluid in the
bed, along with some small blood stains. There was evidence found of childbirth
having occurred at some point, and the commode was enough to make you want to
gag. But the most gut wrenching piece of evidence, was a journal that Becky had
written everything in. There were prayers, cries for help, and just some plain
journal entries that were, obviously, Becky’s way of telling her story and what
was happening. I cried as I read through the journal, and even had to step
outside to vomit once. It was a terrifying story of a little girl’s pain, pain
that was solely caused by, one, evil man.
After
getting done at the crime scene, I went to the Jenson house, and gave them the
happiest news of their lives, Becky was found, alive. They all burst into tears
of joy and immediately asked for me to bring them to her. So, they piled into
my car and off we were to the hospital.
On
arrival, we went up to Becky’s floor, where I first got all the information I
needed from the doctor, and then returned to the family. “All right, the doctor
said that Becky is completely healthy, but they are going to keep her overnight
for observation to be sure. And, before we go in, you guys should know that
Becky was raped and dealt with sexual abuse. She also went through childbirth,
twice. She has been traumatized and will need therapy to help her deal with it;
she will also need your total love and support. So, now with that in mind,
let’s go see her.” They all nodded and I led them inside Becky’s room where I
witnessed a beautiful, heartfelt reunion. The love, joy, and happiness were so
abundant in that room, that even I began to cry along with them.
Then,
came the moment of truth, the family asked Becky what happened to her. After
she collected herself, Becky began to tell her story from start to finish. I
pulled out my camcorder and taped her telling the story for later use in court.
Becky told how she was raped night after night, how she had to be educated on
puberty, sex, pregnancy, and childbirth by a total stranger. She also told the
horrific stories of having to endure painful childbirth at the ages of thirteen
and fifteen and trying to raise them. But, what really got me was when she said
that through the whole experience, she relied on God to protect her and return
her home. She said that she felt that God always had his hands on her
shoulders, reassuring her that everything would be okay.
That
got me thinking, I prayed a lot to God to keep Becky safe and bring her home,
but I never really felt that he was actually doing it; and at that moment, I
realized he was protecting her and just waiting for the right moment for us to
find her. At that moment, I felt as if God was patting me on the back, and I
collapsed on the floor, on my knees, and looked up to heaven and thanked God. I
thanked him for protecting Becky, for helping us find her, for helping me and
giving me the strength to never give up on the investigation, and I thanked him
for this glorious moment of a happy reunion and for showing me how almighty he
truly is.
Seeing the pain and horror on my
family’s faces as I told my story made me realized, even more, how real the
situation was. But it also made me realize how thankful I was to God for
hearing out my prayers that at least my family didn’t have to go through the
pain of dealing with my death. It also made me realize that Brooklyn and Bella
were my gifts from God to love and cherish out of the whole ordeal, and that
they were the reason I had to endure what I endured, which made me feel a
little more at peace. Not only that, I could tell my faith in God restored my
family’s faith and strengthened it. Not only that, I witnessed Detective
Carlysle drop on his knees praising God, so I knew my story inspired him, too.
So, I waved Detective Carlysle over
to me, and he got up and walked right up. I took his hands into mine, and I
looked right at him and said: “Detective Carlysle, if it wasn’t for you, I
would have never been found. You never gave up looking for me, and God used
your skills to do something wonderful for all of us. I can’t thank-you enough,
so thank-you a million times over; you’re a great man of God.” With that, I
gave him a huge hug, which my family joined in on.
Becky’s
words to me were the most heartfelt words I could have heard. All I could say
was, “Your welcome”, and hug her, and cry tears of joy.
After all that, I got to introduce
my family and Detective Carlysle to Brooklyn and Bella, and vice versa; and
what then? Well, I went home with my girls the following day to my true home.
With all the evidence against him, Darian confessed to everything, even
creating my fake identity to trick the police into thinking I was his wife, and
was sentenced to death for all he had done, and I continued my life.
To this day, I continue therapy to
help deal with trauma, but most of all I use my faith in God. Detective
Carlysle is like a second father to me and my daughters and has helped me so
much in life. I have since gotten my GED, and have gone to college and have
become a detective, myself. I also have my own home where I live with my two
beautiful daughters, who are growing happy and healthy, also attending therapy
to help them cope with how their lives began. I thank God every single day for
how far I have come and where I am at. And, I couldn’t be happier and more
blessed than I am now!
THE
END
