A Neat Mess

41 When the Truth Breaks

Nine weeks and three days after that fateful day, Ben finally returned to the house.
The front door was unlocked. He stepped inside, instinctively flicking on the lights but quickly dimmed them, as Sam's voice echoed in his mind: "Dim the lights, please."
Sam and Jenna had left hours ago.

Over the past few weeks, Ben had been staying in an Airbnb, torn between returning home to salvage their relationship or finding a permanent place to discuss divorce. Jenna's therapists suggested that separating might ease the tension in the house and improve her mental health. Since his departure, Sam had been mostly unresponsive, her attention consumed by Jenna's worsening condition. Ben had only seen Jenna twice, and she didn't seem particularly affected by his absence.

He kept the lights as dim as Sam could tolerate. Gently, he picked up a tall stool that had been left by the breakfast bar and returned it to its place. Shards of a broken vase and scattered flowers caught his eye—gifts from Sam's colleagues wishing Jenna a quick recovery.

He headed toward the staircase.

At the spot where Lucille had fallen, Ben noticed a small, crumpled rug, creased as though someone had been dragged across it and then hastily shoved aside. He straightened it before ascending to Jenna's room. The door stood wide open, revealing a scene of utter chaos.

Drawers were yanked out, clothes scattered across the floor, and broken toys littered the space. The walls were clawed with nail marks—clear evidence of Jenna's frustration, knowing how much it got under Sam's skin. Ben could vividly picture her rage: the destruction, the reckless emptying of drawers, the removal of anything breakable. Fly screens had been installed to stop Jenna from hurling things through the windows.

He could visualize Sam struggling with the little brat, she must have tried to stuff clothes into a suitcase while Jenna defiantly pulled them out, the suitcase's movements visible in the rug's displaced folds. The room must have echoed with yelling. Ben remembered Sam's brief phone explanation: Jenna had leapt onto her back, clawing at her chest, and face. Sam had reassured him it was her own blood—not Jenna's.

The chair, once meant to intimidate Jenna, now loomed in the corner, facing the wall—its position was changed, perhaps to enhance its menacing presence. Leather straps formed a tight X across the front, clipped securely behind the seat, out of Jenna's reach. Ben realized that Sam must have had help with this sinister setup.

He fetched a mop to clean the floor. In the bathroom, he discovered stained disinfectant wipes scattered across the tiles. As he tossed them away, he noticed more in the bin, hinting at injuries far worse than just a few scratches. What he didn't know was that after Sam had briefly restrained Jenna in the chair to finish packing, Jenna had pretended to be calm, luring Sam closer. In a sudden twist, she had headbutted her, causing Sam's nose to bleed. Simone had then intervened, assisting Sam in securing Jenna to the chair and attempting to administer medication, which Jenna spat out before urinating on the chair.

Simone, trained for emergencies like this, bolted downstairs to the fridge where she kept a shot of Lorazepam for critical situations. She quickly administered the injection to Jenna, and within moments, Jenna was sedated. With her subdued, they hurried to finish packing and set off on the long drive to their destination.

Meanwhile, Ben, unaware of the recent events, was drowning in guilt. He couldn't understand why Jenna had been so eerily calm when Sam had called him during their drive to Piscean's Children's Mental Hospital. Sam had asked him to check the house for unlocked doors or anything dangerous Jenna might have left behind. Ben complied, feeling more disconnected with each moment.

Back in Jenna's room, Ben started to tidy up. The scent of Jenna's clothes lingered as he folded and returned them to the drawers. For the first time since Lucille's parents had made the heartbreaking decision to pull the plug, tears welled up in his eyes. As he continued cleaning, he noticed something small on the floor: the head of a Barbie doll. He picked it up, holding it for a long moment, recognizing it instantly. It was the same doll Jenna used in her games, the one she had "sacrificed" to snakes. Its short hair stood out—this particular Barbie had been a gift, not something Jenna had ever chosen for herself.