Backwards Into Hell

Part One: The Lodge

Sunday 24th October

When I returned, it was past noon and time had slowed to a crawl. That was good. I needed it.

The Lodge was empty—save for Lily and the staff—and Harriet wouldn't be on shift as she only did breakfast and tea, meaning lunch was the ideal opportunity.

The door to the lobby swung open with a light touch. Empty. Perfect. I picked my way through the patches of sunlight on the floor and when I reached the stairs, turned left through the dining room and into the kitchen.

Inside, all the pots and pans had been neatly cleaned and stacked away, and after rooting through a few cupboards, I found a tin of soup and a pretty white bowl. All the while, I kept an eye out for a knife rack, but the counters were frustratingly bare. So I chucked the soup in the bowl started on the draws.

The first was full of brightly-checkered tea towels—not what I needed—and the second was cutlery. Spoons, forks, and butter knives. Not deadly enough.

Just as I choose a spoon, I saw it, the glint of a blade in the light. Mixed in with the other cutlery was a short, sharp knife. So sharp that I nicked my finger trying to fish it out. I span it in my hands. It was almost too small, probably for onions and peppers, but it would do the job.

As I looked it over, the door clicked open, and I swiftly pushed it up my sleeve. It slipped down my wrist but miraculously didn't severe anything.

'Jake! What are you doing back so early?' said Darren.

My heart raced as he leaned against the doorway with a grin.

'The boat didn't agree with me and... well, thought I'd make lunch.' I paused. 'That is allowed, isn't it?'

Darren was gazing out the window, hardly listening to what I said. 'Yeah, of course. There's plenty of bread in the top left cupboard.'

I nodded as the knife's handle balanced delicately on my fingers, and, by some small mercy, he left, saying something about the laundry. As soon as his back was turned, I breathed hard, letting the knife slip back into my hand.

That was too close.

Darren didn't return. Once the soup was done, I grabbed some bread, buttered it, and staggered upstairs, keeping the knife inside the slices.

Then I hid it with the penknife under my pillow—a cliche, I know—ate my food, and began to wait.

Except it was impossible to stay put as my hands were shook and my head span into a mess. I needed to do something, but what?

There was no one in The Lodge apart from Lily. But she had invited me earlier, hadn't she?

***

Before I knew what I was doing, my knuckles rapped on her door. There was music playing inside, classical, but not the famous pieces.

After a moment, the door swung open and Lily, wearing messy blue overalls with blond hair in a bun, shot me a smile. I caught my breath. She looked good, beautiful even, but I couldn't get attached—that would make this game so much harder.

Then again, wouldn't you rather be killed by someone who cared?

'You okay?' she asked and I realised I hadn't spoken yet.

'Fine. I just thought I'd take you up on that promise.'

'The painting?'

I nodded.

'Well, come in.' Lily made an exaggerated bow as she pulled the door back and swept her arm to reveal the room.

It was a lot like mine—a double bed, beige carpets, beige walls—and in front of the single open window looking into the garden was a large canvas. I noted the mess in the room as I passed by the unmade bed and her suitcase, which was left open and full of clothes, in the centre of the floor