Let's visit Officer Bennett

A few days later, I’m loitering on the sidewalk just down the block from Officer Bennett’s house, trying not to look like a total stalker. My feet ache from walking here straight from the office—thanks, heels—but it’s not like I have a car to hide out in. Honestly, this whole plan feels a little insane. But here I am.

It’s unsettling how easy it was to find her. Officer Leslie Bennett. One quick search and I had her whole life story laid out: single mom, two kids, loves to overshare on social media. Between the proud mom posts, the rants about work, and the cringe dating app screenshots, it only took fifteen minutes to figure out where she lives, what she drives, and that she’s one of those people who calls jogging “me time.”

And that’s when it hits me—how much could someone find out about me in fifteen minutes? Probably more than I’m comfortable with.

Her car’s been gone most of the day, parked at the station, just like I figured. Now, as the sky starts turning that soft purplish-blue of dusk, I spot her sedan crawling down the street. My heart rate spikes. Showtime.

She pulls into the driveway, and I watch as she gets out, juggling her keys and a grocery bag like every other tired, overworked mom. She moves fast, probably just wants to get inside and check on her teenage kids.

But I can’t let her.

I square my shoulders, take a breath that does nothing to calm me, and step out from where I’ve been pretending to text on my phone.

“Officer Bennett!”

She stops dead, halfway up her porch steps. The second she recognizes me, her whole vibe shifts—tired mom vanishes, and in her place is the hard-ass cop.

“This is private property. You need to leave,” she says, voice sharp enough to cut glass.

I hold up my hands, like that’ll magically make me seem harmless. “I know, I know—I’m sorry. Just hear me out. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

Her eyes narrow. “I’ll call the police.”

The irony of that makes me want to laugh, but I manage to swallow it down.

“I get it. I do. And you have every right to be pissed that I showed up like this. But you have no idea what it felt like that night—knowing I was seconds away from...” My throat tightens, the words sticking. “Look, we’re both women. You must understand that I need some answers. Please.”

There’s a flicker of something—hesitation, maybe—in her eyes. She exhales through her nose, shoulders sagging just the tiniest bit. Finally, she sets the grocery bag on the porch with a soft thump.

“Fine. You've got a minute.”

“Thank you.” I stay where I am, not wanting to push my luck by crowding her.

“Talk.”

“It’s that guy, Trevor,” I blurt. “What really happened to him? How did he die? Did that man kill him? Is he even dead? And who was that guy? Is he dangerous? I need to know what’s going on-”

“Whoa. Slow down,” she snaps, holding up a hand. “First off, Trevor’s dead. I saw the report myself.” She glances down the street, like she’s checking if anyone’s watching. “The rest? I don’t know much more than you. But I’ll tell you this—whatever’s going on, it’s way bigger than me. Bigger than the department. We’re told to follow orders. That’s it.”

“What kind of orders?” I ask, because I can’t just let that slide.

Her voice drops, so low I have to lean in a little. “Any time we get a victim with... certain injuries, we’re supposed to mark it as natural causes. Close the case. Don’t ask questions.”

I feel my stomach twist. “What do you mean, certain injuries?”

She looks like she’s trying to decide if she regrets saying anything at all. “It’s not always the same. Sometimes it’s little punctures. Other times...” She grimaces. “It’s messy. Bloody. I don't know the details, coroners don't share info in these cases.”

I take a step back, like distance will help me process the gut-punch of that. “And you’re just okay with that? Pretending like it’s nothing?”

Her jaw clenches. “You think I’m okay with it? But I’ve got two kids, lady. People who dig too deep—they either disappear, or they end up just like Trevor - dead of ‘natural causes.’ You picking up what I’m putting down?”

The chill that runs through me is like ice water in my veins.

“So you’re saying—”

“I’m saying drop it.” Her tone is steel now, no more cracks in the armor. “Go home. Live your life. Stay away from strangers. Especially the ones who seem too good to be true.”

She snatches up her grocery bag and heads inside, but pauses long enough to give me one last glare.

“And don’t come back here.”

The door slams shut, leaving me on the porch, feeling like the ground just fell out from under me.

I don’t know how long I stand there like an idiot before my legs remember how to move. I finally start down the block, glancing over my shoulder more than once. The night feels colder now, darker.

And just when I think maybe I’m being dramatic, I notice headlights flick on behind me.

Shit.

My heart jumps into my throat. Am I being followed? Or am I just losing it?

The car stays at a steady distance, not speeding up, not slowing down. Could be nothing. Could be something. Better find a cab.