Backwards Into Hell

Part One: The Lodge

Saturday 23rd October

'So you're a lawyer then?'

I turned to Lily as we marched up the last flight of stairs. It took me a minute to answer—no one was ever interested in the courts.

'Yeah but I'll warn you—it's nothing like TV.'

She laughed. It was a nice sound and bolstered my confidence.

'I saw you drawing on the coach earlier,' I said.

'Oh,' she said, and I worried I'd overstepped the mark. 'It's for a painting. Want to see it?'

I grinned.

'My room's a bit of a mess right now, but you can come by tomorrow?'

'Sounds good.'

She smiled, a little red-cheeked, as we parted ways. Looking back, I'm not sure what I was thinking.

I unlocked the door to my room and stepped inside, breathing the musty smell deep. It was only nine pm, but it seemed as if most people were hitting the hay and I decided to join them—I'd need all the energy I could get for the coming days.

But as I lumbered over to my case to find a set of pyjamas, a soft, ticking sound filled the room. It was so faint I could barely hear it as my feet creaked over the floorboards—only when I stopped was it obvious.

I turned back. The room was empty.

As I shrugged it off, someone cleared their throat by the window, and I jumped three feet in the air. He was sitting on my armchair, perching on the edge of it like it disgusted him, and grinning widely as he fixed his toga.

'So, how is it?' he asked with that booming voice.

'Fine.'

'And who is it?'

I winced. 'The Chef.'

'Ah! Harriet! Brilliant choice.' He got to his feet, animated beyond his years. 'She's done plenty of bad things, that one.'

My heart climbed into my mouth as I took a subtle step back before he could come too close.

'So it's true?'

'The poisoning? Now—' he shook a finger and took to pacing around the room— 'that would be telling.' He circled me like a shark. 'How are you going to do it?'

'I don't know,' I stammered.

'Oh. That's not like you.'

It's true. It wasn't.

Up to this point, every part of my life had been planned to a tee—my next case, next house, number of kids, cars, everything. The man with a plan, Rachel would call me.

Not anymore.

'Just give me a few days to—'

'No,' he said firmly. 'I'm an old man, and I'm impatient. If she isn't dead by Tuesday morning, the deal is off.'

'But what about the police?'

'I'll handle them.'

My blood turned cold. 'Tomorrow night.'

At once he lost his icy glare. 'Good man! I look forward to it.' He stopped pacing. 'It took me a long time to find someone like you, you know.'

What did that mean?

'Wait—' I started, but The Old Man was already gone.

My stomach swirled like the storm outside as I got ready for bed. This was real. I was doing this. For Rachel.

But could I pull it off?

Maybe I shouldn't have taken his rotten deal. Nevertheless, if I could have gone back to that night in the flat, I would have chosen the same every time. Because what did these nine people matter, when I compared them to her?