He set me back down gently, turning his attention to Reed again.
Blood had begun to darken in his hair where the crowbar struck. His body lay limp, bound, mouth open—too still.
For a moment, he seemed almost peaceful.
Erich lifted him without hesitation, adjusting his grip to account for the rope.
“I’ve always wanted to drive a Rolls-Royce,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth as he carried Reed toward the door. Outside, Reed’s black Rolls Royce hummed idly as it awaited it’s owner that would not be returning behind the wheel.
And just like that—
We were moving forward.
Chapter 30 – June 23, 1994 – Camille
The drive to Belham, Mississippi, was long—about fifteen hours. That didn’t include the strategic stops for gas, food, and naps while my hog-tied brother lay in the backseat of his own Rolls-Royce, duct tape sealing his mouth to keep him from screaming.
We refined the plan somewhere past Missouri. Reed woke around then, groaning and thrashing against the tape, but we ignored him until he wore himself out and passed out again. Timing mattered. We needed to arrive after eight, when the staff would be gone for the night. The mansion sat in a secluded part of town, with the nearest neighbors miles away, so we didn’t have to worry about being seen. And since we were driving Reed’s car, anyone whodidsee us would assume he was coming home.
After that, it would be simple. Tie him to a chair. Do what needed to be done. Douse the dining room in gasoline. Light it.
Erich had raised the issue of the car, but I assured him Reed had several. We could take this one and dump it once we got back.
Still, the closer we got, the more the anxiety crept in. I hadn’t been back to Belham in over a year. I didn’t know what would hit me harder—the task itself or the memories waiting inside that house.
It was 9:15 at night when we turned onto the familiar red dirt driveway. My heart pounded like a war drum.
Erich parked at the base of the grand staircase leading to the wraparound porch. We both paused, taking in the mansion.
No lights. No other cars. Nothing but the heavy Mississippi air and the steady hum of cicadas.
He moved first.
Erich circled the car, opened the back door, and dragged Reed out by his ankles. He slung the extra rope over his shoulder while Reed struggled weakly, muffled sounds escaping through the tape.
I stayed frozen at the bottom of the steps.
Staring.
This is it, I told myself.This is the ending.
House and brother—gone. And I would be the last Chambers.
Erich passed me, hauling Reed up the steps. Before he could fumble with the door, I moved past him and turned the knob. It opened easily.
The smell hit me first—sterile, polished, untouched. The kind of clean that came from years of hired hands maintaining appearances.
Erich hesitated just inside, unsure where to go.
“This way,” I said quietly, the grandfather clock ticking in the entryway like a countdown.
I led him to the dining room.
The same room where everything had begun unraveling a year ago.
Nothing had changed.
If anything, it was preserved—frozen in time. I wondered, briefly, what Reed had done here alone. Whether he sat at that table each morning or avoided it entirely.
