Chapter 4 - Booking and Backlash
The sun had completely dipped below the jagged silhouette of the Montana foothills by the time the county police cruisers backed out of my driveway, their red and blue lights painting the living room ceiling in rhythmic, sweeping strokes.
Denise and Walter had been hauled away in separate vehicles—Denise sobbing hysterically about how this would ruin her social media standing, and Walter maintaining a stony, belligerent silence that spoke volumes about the toxic narcissism that had governed our family for decades.
Officer Halloway stayed behind for another thirty minutes to take my official statement, photograph the ransacked bedroom, and log the scattered documents and spilled jewelry as evidence of attempted burglary and breaking and entering.
"You did the right thing, Dr. Bennett," Halloway said gently before stepping out onto the porch to close his notepad. "Family or not, breaking and entering with forced entry is a felony. Based on what your daughter witnessed and the documents they were targeting, the District Attorney won't have any trouble pushing charges."
"Thank you, Officer," I said, shaking his hand firmly. "Let me know when the paperwork is filed. I want a restraining order processed immediately."
"Already flagged in our system. They won't be coming back here anytime soon."
When the patrol car finally rumbled down the street and the neighborhood sank back into an eerie, heavy quiet, I locked the front door—deadbolting it twice—and turned back to the living room.
Lily was sitting quietly on the couch, wrapped in her favorite fleece blanket, watching cartoons at a low volume. Her tears had stopped, but the hollow, hyper-vigilant look in her wide brown eyes broke my heart all over again.
I walked into the kitchen, heated up a mug of chamomile tea, and brought it out to her.
"Here you go, bug," I said softly, sitting down beside her and pulling her into my side.
"Are they coming back?" Lily asked, her small voice barely audible over the television.
"No," I answered, keeping my tone absolute and unshakeable. "The police made sure of that. And even if they tried, I wouldn't let them within a mile of this house. You are completely safe here, Lily. I promise you."
She leaned her head against my arm, sipping the warm tea. "Grandpa looked really mad."
"He was mad because he got caught trying to take things that didn't belong to him," I said honestly. Children deserved the truth, especially when adults tried to muddy the waters with excuses about "family."
Just as Lily’s eyelids began to droop from the exhaustion of the evening’s trauma, my cell phone buzzed violently on the coffee table.
I glanced down at the screen.
An unknown number with a local area code.
I let it ring. It went to voicemail.
Three seconds later, it buzzed again. Same number.
Then a text message popped up on the screen, lighting up the dim living room.
From: [Unknown] Text: "How could you do this to your own family? Your mother is beside herself in tears, and you’ve got your father and sister locked in a jail cell like common criminals. Call me immediately or you'll regret it."
I stared at the screen, a cold, humorless smile touching the corners of my lips.
My mother. Of course. Sybil Bennett had undoubtedly been sitting at home, orchestrating the whole scheme from the sidelines while waiting for Walter and Denise to bring home the spoils.
I didn't call. I didn't text back.
May you like
Instead, I tapped the screen, selected the number, and hit Block Contact. Then I added it to the county sheriff's active investigation file as digital harassment.
If my family thought a text message and a guilt trip were going to make me back down, they severely underestimated the woman who spent her days cutting open chests and stitching shattered bodies back together.
