Backwards Into Hell

Part One: The Lodge

Sunday 24th October

'Are you asleep yet?'

He was so close, his breath in my ear as I bolted awake, sitting up and choking on air.

'Relax,' he cooed, chuckling.

Then he clicked his fingers, and the lights switched on. The Old Man was in a better mood as he dropped into my armchair in brand new clothes. This time he wore a brown tunic with a white undershirt and leather shoes, and his hair was longer, cropped to just above his ears. But his eyes were the same, blue and cold. Like Caleb's.

'Thought I'd swing by and tell you what a good job you did—not everyone goes that far for the ones they love.'

My heart pounded.

'Not so talkative tonight, eh?'

I cleared my throat. 'Sorry,' I tried, but my voice was raw and it came out in little more than a whisper. Could he tell I'd been crying?

'Now,' he continued, 'I should explain what's going to happen next.'

Had I failed? I briefly wondered what he'd do to me if I did.

'For you to have a fighting chance, I've cut this quaint little island off.'

'Cut it... off?'

He grinned widely. 'I've trapped everyone here—all of your targets—in a little bubble. All of you—' he paused for effect— 'are a second behind the rest of the world, running to catch up.'

I frowned. I'd never been good at physics.

'From the outside, it will seem like you've disappeared. Poof.' He clicked his fingers. 'But really you're here. Stuck.'

He eyed me, waiting for a compliment while I pieced it together.

'A second behind...'

'Everyone else,' he finished impatiently. 'Don't worry too much. Just know it gives you the time you need and when you're done, bang!' He snapped his fingers and my stomach flipped. 'You're back in the present.'

When I looked at him blankly, he sighed.

'You'll understand in time. For now, get some rest. You've a busy day tomorrow.'

With a final, Cheshire grin, he was gone.

I checked the time. It was already midnight, but I didn't get back to sleep for a long time.

What did he mean about tomorrow?

As I gazed at the cream ceiling, the shadows began to move on their own, carving out the whites and blacks of a chess board. This whole thing was a little like chess—each move had to be calculated ruthlessly if I wasn't going to be caught.

I could see Dad pointing out an exposed queen or a trapped bishop. You've got to step up your game, Son. Otherwise, how are you going to win?