Ben, a battle-hardened Marine veteran, has traded the front lines for a quieter mission—saving abandoned kittens. But when he’s cleaning up the aftermath of someone else’s darkness, he stumbles upon something far more sinister.
It was nearly midnight when Ben sat in his small cabin, sifting through the latest footage. He had just fed three puppies he’d picked up earlier that week—left in a crate with a note that simply read, “Can’t keep them. Sorry.”
His laptop buzzed with motion detection alerts. He clicked through the thumbnails until one caught his eye—something off. A man, early twenties by the look of him, was stumbling in and out of the frame. His shirt was torn, face pale. And his pants—his pants were soaked in blood.
Ben’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. He rewound the footage, heart picking up speed. The man was pacing. Back and forth. Looking over his shoulder. Muttering to himself.
Then, at 2:13 a.m., the man dragged something into view. A tarp. Long, heavy. At first, Ben thought it might be a large animal, maybe even a deer. But then the tarp shifted, and an arm slipped out. Pale. Human.
Ben sat bolt upright.
He watched as the man glanced around, then shoved the body behind a thick patch of trees just off-camera. The man staggered back toward the road and disappeared.
Ben stared at the frozen image. The timestamp burned into his mind. 2:13 a.m. September 12th.
He picked up his phone and dialed 911.
The Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department swarmed the scene within hours. Deputies hiked the trail behind the camera’s field of view. Just beyond the brush, partially buried beneath pine needles and rocks, they found the body.
The victim was later identified as Howard L. Ellison—a well-known Hollywood producer. His son, 22-year-old Nathan Ellison, had reported him missing just the day before.
When detectives brought Nathan in for questioning, he cracked within minutes. It was a domestic argument, he claimed. Years of resentment. Abuse. The final straw came during a fight when his father hit him. He claimed self-defense. But the body told another story—multiple stab wounds. Overkill. Rage.
But there was one problem.
The murder weapon was missing.
Without it, the DA’s office hesitated. Nathan’s confession, shaky and retracted twice, wouldn’t hold without the knife.
Detective Ramirez—no relation to Ben—called him two days later.
“We believe the weapon was discarded nearby,” she said. “You said your camera captures motion-based footage, right? Any chance you’ve got more?”
Ben nodded. “I’ve got everything from that night. I’ll pull it.”
He spent the next hour combing through clips, this time enhancing the low-light frames. And there it was—at 2:22 a.m., Nathan bent down just outside the frame. When he stood up, he no longer had the knife in his hand. Ben triangulated the moment with the coordinates of his camera. The police sent a search team to that exact location.
They found the knife buried beneath a small pile of stones not 30 yards from where the body had been dumped.
The following day, Detective Ramirez visited Ben’s cabin in person. She was tall, sharp-eyed, and carried herself like someone who’d seen too much.
“We wouldn’t have found it without your help,” she said, extending a hand. “You saved us weeks, maybe more.”
Ben shook her hand. “Just doing what I do.”
She glanced around the small yard behind his cabin. Five kittens played near a makeshift jungle gym fashioned out of driftwood and old crates. A three-legged puppy was sunbathing on a flattened sleeping bag.
“I’ve heard about you,” Ramirez said. “The animal guy.”
Ben chuckled. “Not much else to do up here.”
She looked thoughtful, then pulled out her phone. “Would you be okay if we posted about your rescues on the LASD Instagram? Maybe feature a few of the animals each month? We’ve got a lot of reach. Might help them get adopted.”
Ben hesitated. “You’d do that?”
She nodded. “You helped us catch a killer. Least we can do.”
Over the next year, the LASD Instagram became a quiet sensation.
Each month, they posted photos and stories of animals rescued by Ben—their before-and-after shots, their goofy names (“Sarge,” “Whiskey,” “Lt. Fluff”), their adoption updates.
A tiny black-and-white kitten named Pogo—found mewling in a shoebox—was adopted by a firefighter in Burbank. A skittish shepherd mix named Luna found a home with a retired couple in Pasadena. Every story ended with a simple credit: Rescued by Ben R., Mount Baldy.
Soon, people started messaging the department directly to ask how they could help. Donations came in. A local vet clinic offered Ben free checkups for his rescues. A group of college students drove up one weekend to help build insulated shelters for the animals.
Ben never sought recognition. He didn’t like crowds, didn’t do interviews. But he couldn’t deny the joy he felt watching the rescues find homes. Every new life saved chipped away at the shadows that clung to his past.
And sometimes, in the quiet hours before dawn, Ben would sit on his porch with a cup of coffee, camera feed open, waiting for the next box, the next broken thing that needed mending.
One Year Later
A soft knock came at the door just after sunrise.
Ben opened it to find a young woman holding a leash. At the end was a wide-eyed puppy with a limp.
“Hi,” she said. “You don’t know me. But I saw your rescues on Instagram. My ex left him on the mountain last night. I found him! I’m so happy I was able to find him. He needs water, and I think his leg is hurt… and I… And, I didn’t know where else to go.”
Ben knelt and let the puppy sniff his hand.
“You came to the right place,” he said softly. “Let’s get him some help.”
As they stepped inside, the woman wiped her eyes.
“Thank you.”
Ben nodded, then looked down at the puppy, tail thumping against the floor.
Author’s Note
This was based on a true story. However, extra story-telling magic has been sprinkled (or rather… dumped) into this piece for your entertainment. The facts are as follows:
Ben, the kitten rescuer of Mount Baldy, is a real person. As of the publishing of this story, he has rescued 55 cats and 1 dog. He is a marine veteran, though he never saw combat, does not suffer from PTSD and is not as dark as the main character of this story. He is actually a very jolly and goofy guy, but people who hurt innocent animals and vulnerable people infuriate him.
Ben does not work alone. He works with a wonderful network of people who just want to save these animals. One of their trail cameras did get footage of a confused young man, with his pants soaked in blood pacing back and forth. The video was turned over to the police. That’s as far as Ben and his rescue group are involved.
We do not know if they have ever been found guilty or any details of the case then or now.
Unfortunately, Ben was never asked to collaborate with the sheriff’s department on any sort of pet rescue Instagram project. It’s just nice to think about.
He does not live like a hermit deep in the forest alone. He enjoys his life by the beach with his 4 cats.
If you would like to donate to their rescue efforts, you can do so by contacting me directly… Or simply help the local animals in your community.