Chapter 3 - TRAINING BETHANY
I had spent most of my life believing Bethany was born cruel.
That belief had been convenient.
Simple.
She was the difficult child.
The volatile teenager.
The adult who insulted waiters, humiliated relatives, and turned every disagreement into a battlefield.
Bethany was Bethany.
Our parents had said it so often that it became family law.
Now there was a notebook in my parents’ basement titled Training Bethany.
Written by my father.
Officer Torres would not show it to me.
I asked three times.
The answer stayed the same.
“It’s evidence.”
“What does it say?”
“We’re reviewing it.”
“What does it say about my sister?”
“Michael.”
“What does it say?”
Torres looked toward Rosie.
“She’s waking up.”
I turned.
Rosie’s eyes fluttered.
She reached for me immediately.
I sat beside her.
“Hey, bug.”
“Can we go home?”
“Soon.”
“Is Aunt Bethany coming?”
“No.”
“Grandpa?”
“No.”
“Grandma?”
I hesitated.
Children hear hesitation better than adults hear lies.
Rosie saw my face.
“Grandma knew?”
My heart stopped.
“What makes you ask that?”
She looked down.
The stuffed rabbit was tucked beneath her chin.
“Grandma said don’t make Aunt Bethany upset.”
The room went cold.
“When did she say that?”
Rosie frowned.
“Wednesday.”
“Last Wednesday?”
She nodded.
“What happened last Wednesday?”
Rosie’s eyes filled instantly.
I almost stopped.
Every part of me wanted to stop.
But Leah had explained something earlier.
Do not interrogate.
Do not suggest.
Do not pressure.
Let trained people ask detailed questions later.
So I kept it simple.
“Did something happen that scared you?”
Rosie nodded.
“Was Grandma there?”
Another nod.
“Did she help you?”
Rosie looked at me with the heartbreaking confusion of a child who does not yet understand that adults can choose cowardice.
“She said I had to be good.”
That was enough.
I kissed her forehead.
“You’re not in trouble.”
“I cried.”
“You’re allowed to cry.”
“Aunt Bethany said crying makes people weak.”
I looked at the closed door.
My father’s notebook.
Training Bethany.
Suddenly I wondered where Bethany had learned that exact sentence.
At 7:18 PM, Rosie was taken for imaging.
I stood outside with Torres.
She had spoken with detectives at my parents’ house.
“We have more context.”
“Tell me.”
“The notebooks appear to document your father’s approach to discipline.”
“Discipline?”
“That’s the language used in the writing.”
“Don’t call it discipline.”
“I’m telling you how it is labeled.”
I nodded.
“Okay.”
“There are references to Bethany.”
“To you.”
“To Sarah.”
“And later to Daniel.”
I leaned against the wall.
“All of us?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“Some entries describe isolation.”
“Food restriction.”
“Physical punishment.”
“Stress positions.”
My stomach turned.
I looked toward the imaging room.
“How do I not remember this?”
“Trauma memory can be complicated.”
“I remember my childhood.”
“Parts of it.”
I looked at her.
“You think I blocked things out?”
“I’m not qualified to diagnose that.”
Of course.
Always careful.
Always exact.
I respected it more now.
“What about my mother?”
“Her notebooks begin later.”
“When?”
“1999.”
Sarah’s summer.
“Yes.”
“What does she write?”
“Some entries appear to record injuries.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because certainty matters.”
I rubbed my eyes.
“Does she admit knowing about Sarah?”
“Yes.”
That hit harder than expected.
“What does she say?”
Torres hesitated.
“An entry dated July 19, 1999 references Sarah threatening to tell her mother.”
I could barely speak.
“And?”
“Your mother wrote that Bethany had gone too far.”
I laughed once.
A terrible sound.
“Gone too far.”
“There’s more.”
“Of course there is.”
“She wrote that your father refused to involve authorities.”
I looked at her.
“Did she argue?”
“Yes.”
“Did she protect Sarah?”
“Not effectively.”
“Did she help cover it up?”
Torres did not answer immediately.
Then.
“There are references to changing the explanation for an injury.”
My mother had lied.
She had not simply stayed quiet.
She had participated.
I thought of her at the front door.
Families handle things inside the family.
She had been saying the same thing for almost thirty years.
My phone buzzed.
Daniel.
Can I come to hospital?
I typed.
Yes.
Then.
Bring everything.
His response took longer.
I can’t bring everything.
Why?
Because some of it is gone.
My heartbeat changed.
What does that mean?
No answer.
Daniel arrived forty minutes later.
He looked like he had aged five years.
His shirt was wrinkled.
There was dried cake frosting on one sleeve.
He saw me.
Stopped.
Then looked through the glass at Rosie.
“How is she?”
“Alive.”
His eyes closed.
“I’m sorry.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I know.”
“Tell me why.”
He sat.
I stayed standing.
“Three years ago, Dad asked me to fix his computer.”
I said nothing.
“There was a locked folder.”
“What was in it?”
“At first, tax stuff.”
“Old scans.”
“Insurance documents.”
“Then I saw a folder named FAMILY.”
My jaw tightened.
“What was inside?”
“Photos.”
“Notes.”
“Videos.”
“What videos?”
Daniel looked at the floor.
“Mostly old VHS transfers.”
“Of what?”
“Us.”
I stared at him.
“Doing what?”
“Being punished.”
My chest tightened.
“Punished how?”
He rubbed his hands together.
“You really don’t remember?”
“No.”
He looked up.
“There was a room behind the garage.”
“The basement.”
“Yes.”
“Dad would take us there.”
“All of us?”
“Bethany more than anyone.”
I thought of the notebook.
Training Bethany.
“What did he do to her?”
Daniel swallowed.
“He made her hold heavy things with her arms out.”
“For how long?”
“Until she dropped them.”
“He’d restart the timer.”
“He made her stand facing the wall.”
“He locked her in the dark.”
“He used tools.”
My stomach turned.
“What tools?”
Daniel did not answer.
“Silver?”
His face changed.
“Yes.”
I sat down.
“Rosie called it the silver thing.”
Daniel covered his mouth.
“Oh God.”
“You knew.”
“No.”
“You knew Bethany had been doing this before.”
“With Sarah.”
“Yes.”
“So why the hell would you let Rosie be around her?”
“I didn’t know Bethany was there on Wednesdays.”
“Neither did I.”
The guilt hit both of us at once.
Daniel stared at the floor.
“I should have told you.”
“Yes.”
“I thought I was protecting the case.”
“What case?”
“The one I was building.”
“For three years?”
He nodded.
“Against Dad?”
“Against all of them.”
“All of who?”
“Dad.”
“Mom.”
“Bethany.”
“You had evidence and did nothing?”
“I sent things to Sarah.”
“Why not police?”
“Because the last time Sarah’s family tried, Dad buried it.”
“That was decades ago.”
“He still knows people.”
“He still has money.”
“And he still knows how to scare us.”
I leaned closer.
“What did he threaten you with?”
Daniel did not answer.
“Daniel.”
“He knew about Emily.”
I frowned.
His ex-wife.
“What about her?”
“She had a pill problem after the miscarriage.”
I remembered.
Vaguely.
The family explanation had been that Emily was unstable.
Daniel had divorced her a year later.
“Dad photographed her buying pills illegally.”
My eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“He told me if I went to police about the basement, he would make sure Emily went to prison.”
I stared at him.
“You believed him?”
“He had proof.”
“She was sick.”
“She needed treatment.”
“I know.”
“So you let him control you?”
Daniel’s face crumpled.
“Yes.”
I regretted the cruelty immediately.
But not enough to apologize.
Not yet.
“What’s gone?”
He looked at me.
“What?”
“You said some evidence is gone.”
“Dad’s hard drives.”
“When?”
“Today.”
“How?”
“When police arrived, one desktop was missing.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who took it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bethany?”
“Maybe.”
“Mom?”
“Maybe.”
“Dad?”
“He was inside the whole time.”
My mind went back to Bethany fleeing to a motel.
“What’s on that computer?”
Daniel’s voice dropped.
“The recent files.”
“Rosie?”
“I don’t know.”
“Daniel.”
“I don’t know.”
He looked terrified.
“I stopped checking six months ago.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad caught me.”
The hallway seemed to narrow.
“What happened?”
“He walked into the office while I had the folder open.”
“What did he do?”
“Nothing.”
That sounded worse.
“He just stood there.”
“Then he asked me if I’d learned anything useful.”
I felt cold.
“He knew?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did he say?”
Daniel looked at me.
“He told me every family needs one archivist.”
I said nothing.
“Then he said I should be careful what I saved.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A text.
YOU SHOULD HAVE KEPT THIS INSIDE THE FAMILY.
I showed Daniel.
His face went white.
“Dad?”
“I don’t know.”
Another message.
A photograph loaded.
My house.
Taken from across the street.
Tonight.
The porch light was on.
The timestamp showed 7:46 PM.
Two minutes ago.
Rosie and I were at the hospital.
Nobody should have been home.
Then a third message.
SHE HAS A BEDROOM WINDOW TOO.
I stood.
“Call Torres.”
She was already walking toward us.
I handed her the phone.
Her expression changed immediately.
She called dispatch.
“My house.”
“Yes.”
“There’s somebody watching my house.”
Daniel stood.
“Could it be Bethany?”
“She’s with police.”
“What about Dad?”
“At his house.”
“Mom?”
“At the house.”
“Marcus?”
I froze.
Marcus.
The birthday boy.
Our cousin.
The party had been for him.
Thirty years old.
He had disappeared from my mind the moment I found Rosie.
“Where is Marcus?”
Daniel’s face changed.
“I thought he left.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was he questioned?”
“Yes.”
“Did he stay?”
“I don’t know.”
Officer Torres ended her call.
“Units are heading to your residence.”
I looked at her.
“Who sent the message?”
“We’ll trace what we can.”
A fourth message arrived.
This one contained no words.
Just a video.
Seven seconds long.
My front porch.
My door.
A gloved hand holding something close to the camera.
A pale-blue hair ribbon.
Rosie’s.
She had lost it two weeks ago.
I remembered searching the whole house.
I had assumed it disappeared at preschool.
Daniel whispered.
“What the hell?”
Then the gloved hand turned the ribbon over.
Written on the back in black marker were four words.
ASK ROSIE ABOUT THE CLOSET.
I looked through the window at my sleeping daughter.
May you like
And for the first time, I realized the bathroom might not have been the first place she had hidden from my family.
It might only have been the first place I found her.
