Chapter 30 Teen Perspective (Bethany Eric POV)
The safe house smells like old carpet and Lysol. I'm lying on a twin bed that's too small, staring at my phone while the Wi-Fi icon spins. One bar. ONE.
"Are you serious?" I groan, rolling onto my back.
Mom pokes her head through the doorway. "Everything okay, sweetheart?"
"The Wi-Fi here is trash."
"Language, Beth."
"Trash isn't a swear word."
"It's not nice." She steps into the room, arms crossed. She's wearing her "worried mom" face—the one where her eyebrows scrunch together and her mouth gets all tight. "Why don't you read a book? I brought some from home."
"Mom. It's 2025. Nobody reads books."
"I read books."
"You're old."
"I'm forty-two."
"Exactly." I turn back to my phone, refreshing Instagram for the millionth time. My feed's moving at a glacial pace. "This is literally torture. How long do we have to stay here?"
"As long as it takes." Mom sits on the edge of the bed, smoothing my hair. I pull away. "The police are doing everything they can to keep us safe."
"Safe from what? Some random psycho who killed Uncle Robert and Margaret?" I sit up, crossing my legs. "No offense, but I'm sixteen. Nobody's going to kill a teenager over some old cop drama."
"Bethany." Her voice sharpens. "This isn't a joke. Two people are dead. Your uncle thinks you're in danger, and I believe him."
"Uncle D's paranoid. He's been paranoid since Rachel left."
"That's not fair."
"It's true though." I unlock my phone again. Two bars now. Progress. "He treats everything like it's life or death. Like the world's out to get him."
"Because sometimes it is." Mom stands, walking to the window. She peeks through the blinds even though there's nothing to see except the officer's car parked outside. "Your uncle's been through a lot. He's just trying to protect his family."
"By locking us in a house with terrible Wi-Fi and no TikTok? Yeah, real protective."
She turns, her expression softening. "I know this is hard. But please, just trust us. Okay?"
I don't answer. Just nod and go back to my phone.
She leaves, closing the door halfway. I hear her in the kitchen, talking to someone—probably the officer outside. Their voices are low, muffled.
I pull up my group chat with my friends: Madison, Tyler, and Jasmine.
Me: guys. GUYS. this safe house situation is insane
Madison: omg are u ok???
Me: yeah but like. the wifi here is TERRIBLE. literally one bar
Tyler: that's the real crime
Jasmine: wait why r u even in a safe house
Me: family drama. someone's killing ppl related to my uncle
Madison: WHAT
Tyler: that's dark af
Me: ikr. but like. it's prob not even that serious. my mom's just freaking out
Jasmine: dude if ppl are dying maybe u should freak out too
Me: nah. they're targeting old ppl. not teens. i'm fine
Madison: beth ur literally in a SAFE HOUSE
Me: which is BORING. do u know how much homework im missing rn
Tyler: priorities lol
I send a string of crying-laughing emojis, then switch to my texts with Uncle D. He hasn't responded to my last message from this morning. Typical.
I scroll up, reading our conversation from yesterday:
Me: uncle d this safe house has the worst wifi. literally a hostage situation 😂💀
Uncle D: ❤️
That's it. A heart emoji. Not even a full sentence.
I type: update: still alive. still bored. wifi still sucks. when can i go home
Send.
Three dots appear almost immediately. Then disappear. Then reappear.
Uncle D: Soon. Promise. Just hang in there.
Me: easy for u to say. ur not trapped with my mom
Uncle D: She's worried about you. Cut her some slack.
Me: she won't even let me go on a walk
Uncle D: Good. Don't.
Me: ugh. ur as bad as her
Uncle D: Stay inside, Beth. I mean it.
I roll my eyes and lock my phone. Adults. Always so dramatic.
My stomach growls. I wander into the kitchen, where Mom's unpacking groceries. The officer, some young guy with a crew cut stands by the front door, radio clipped to his belt.
"Can I have a snack?" I ask.
"Help yourself." Mom gestures to the counter. "I got your favorite, Goldfish and those spicy chips you like."
"Thanks." I grab both bags, tearing into the chips first. "How long's Officer Boring gonna stand there?"
"Bethany." Mom shoots me a look.
The officer smirks. "It's fine, ma'am. I've been called worse."
"See? He's cool with it." I stuff a handful of chips in my mouth. "You got a name, Officer Boring?"
"Miller."
"Cool. How old are you?"
"Twenty-four."
"Wow. That's like, ancient."
He laughs. "You're sixteen, right? Everything seems ancient at sixteen."
"Facts."
Mom's phone rings. She glances at the screen, then steps into the other room to answer. I hear her voice—low, tense. Probably Uncle D or the police captain or whoever's in charge of this mess.
Officer Miller shifts, adjusting his radio. "You doing okay? I know this isn't fun."
"It's fine. Just boring."
"Better boring than dangerous."
I lean against the counter, crunching chips. "Like, what are the odds someone actually comes after me? I'm nobody."
"You're Detective Eric's niece. That makes you somebody."
"Barely. I see him like, twice a year. Christmas and my birthday if he remembers."
"He cares about you. That's why we're here."
I shrug. "I guess."
My phone buzzes. I pull it out, expecting another text from Madison. Instead, it's a notification from Instagram: @VanessaCrossNews.
"What the hell?" I mutter, opening the app.
Vanessa Cross. The reporter who wrote that trash article about Uncle D. I scroll through her latest post—a photo of Uncle D leaving the precinct, looking exhausted. The caption reads: As the Eric family murders continue, questions mount. Who's behind the killings? And what is Detective Donald Eric hiding? Link in bio for full story.
The comments are brutal.
xtina_92: bet he did it himself for the insurance money
jake.tanner: cops always protect their own. this guy's guilty af
lisam1990: my heart goes out to the victims families. justice for robert and margaret ❤️
I scroll further, my chest tightening. Then I see it, someone tagged me.
user_4473: @bethanyeric16 your uncle's a murderer. how does it feel?
My hands shake. I type fast, anger flooding through me.
@user_4473: he's not a murderer. he's a good person who's trying to solve this case. maybe get ur facts straight before u come for my family
I hit post, then keep scrolling. More comments, more accusations. I reply to as many as I can, defending Uncle D, calling out the trolls.
@jake.tanner: u dont even know him. he's literally risking his life to protect us. show some respect
@xtina_92: yeah bc insurance fraud is def the reason someone would kill their own family. use ur brain
Mom comes back into the kitchen. "Beth, what are you doing?"
"Nothing."
"It doesn't look like nothing." She reaches for my phone, but I pull it away.
"I'm defending Uncle D. People are saying horrible things about him."
"Bethany, you can't engage with those people. They're trolls. They don't care about the truth."
"But they're lying! They're saying he's a murderer when he's literally the one trying to stop this."
"I know, sweetheart. But arguing with strangers online isn't going to help." She holds out her hand. "Give me the phone."
"Mom..."
"Now."
I hand it over, scowling. She tucks it into her pocket.
"You can have it back tonight. After dinner."
"This is so unfair."
"Life's unfair. Get used to it." She turns back to the groceries, her shoulders tense.
I stomp back to my room, slamming the door behind me. Officer Miller glances my way but doesn't say anything.
I flop onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The popcorn texture is weird, little bumps and divots like a moonscape. I count them for a while, then give up.
My laptop's on the desk. At least I still have that. I open it, the screen glowing to life. The Wi-Fi connects and I pull up Instagram on the browser.
Vanessa Cross's post is still there, comments multiplying by the minute. I scroll through them, my stomach twisting.