The Snake Camera

The farmhouse was silent, but it wasn't empty. Marcus unlocked the front door and led them into a small living room that smelled of woodsmoke and dog hair. A massive Great Dane thumped its tail on the rug but didn't get up.

"This is Gus," Marcus said. "He won't bother you."

He led Elias to the bathroom. "There's a shower. Clean clothes. I'll make some food."

Elias hesitated at the threshold of the bathroom, staring at the white tiles as if they were a trap. Iris put a hand on his arm.

"It's just a shower, Elias. Hot water. Soap. No one is going to lock the door."

He nodded slowly, then stepped inside. He left the door open a crack.

Iris went to the kitchen. Marcus was already pulling eggs and bread from the fridge. He moved with efficient, practiced motions, but his hands were trembling slightly.

"The vet is on his way," he said. "He'll be here in twenty minutes."

"Thank you," Iris said. She sank onto a stool, her legs suddenly unable to hold her weight. "Marcus... back at the house... you said we had ninety minutes. What happens after that?"

"After that," Marcus said, cracking an egg into a pan, "Julian realizes the bird has flown. He checks the trackers. He checks the cameras. He realizes you're not in your car."

"And then?"

"And then he starts hunting."

A sound came from the bathroom. Not the shower running. A thud.

Iris ran. She pushed the door open.

Elias was on the floor, curled in a fetal position. He wasn't hurt. He was staring at the wall.

"The writing," he whispered. "Where is the writing?"

"What writing?" Iris asked, kneeling beside him.

"The dates," he said. "The weather. I have to write it down. If I don't write it down, the day doesn't count."

He was looking for a pen. He was looking for the wall of his cell.

"It's okay," Iris said, her heart breaking. "You don't need to write it down anymore. The days count. You're free."

He looked at her, his eyes filled with a terrifying emptiness. "But if I don't write it down... how will I know I'm still here?"

Iris helped him up. She turned on the shower. "Wash the mud off, Elias. Wash the basement off. Then we'll find you a notebook. A real one."

She left him in the steam and went back to the kitchen. Marcus put a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her.

"Eat," he said. "You're going to need it."

"I can't."

"Eat."

She forced a forkful into her mouth. It tasted like ash.

"We need to see what's on the camera," she said. "The snake cam. Before the battery died."

Marcus pulled the small monitor from his bag. He set it on the table and powered it up.

The screen flickered to life. Grainy, green-tinted footage. The camera moving through the drilled hole. The darkness of the void.

Then, the room.

The bed. The bucket. The walls covered in writing.

Iris leaned in. The camera panned across the text. Thousands of dates. Thousands of weather reports. *Rain. Sun. Clouds.*

But there was something else. Lower down. Near the floor.

The camera focused.

It wasn't a date. It was a list.

*J. Vance. S. Vance. M. Gable. Dr. Thorne.*

And one more name. A name Iris didn't recognize.

*L. Sterling.*

"Who is L. Sterling?" she asked.

Marcus froze. He stared at the screen.

"That's the lawyer," he said. "Julian's personal attorney. The one who handles the trust."

"Elias knew him?"

"No," Marcus said. "Elias didn't know him. Elias heard him."

He pointed to the screen. Below the name, scribbled in frantic, jagged letters:

*He talks about the girl. He says they moved the body.*

Iris felt the room spin. Elias wasn't just a witness to the murder. He was a witness to the cover-up. He had heard them planning it through the vents.

And if they moved the body... that meant they knew where it was.

The bed was made. But the room was empty.