Backwards Into Hell

Part Two: The LFG

Jake's Diary

Friday 29th October

It was about one am—almost time for the evening extravaganza I had planned for my two favourite guests.

After a light dinner of tinned soup, we'd parted for bed early. Lily and I, having lost all thoughts of romance after the long day, lingered by our doors regardless, not quite wanting to shut them.

'Come get me in the morning, would you?' she'd asked with those big eyes. 'Just in case.'

'Of course,' I'd said and smiled, watching her go and wondering how she'd react if she ever found out the truth. She would eventually, I supposed, if I was ever going to reach the end of this thing.

I stretched my fingers and finished writing in the tattered book The Old Man had given me. Over the past days, I'd done my best to keep up with it, but the notes were fractured and out of order, and my entire account of matters seemed to make less and less sense. After this was over, once Rachel was here, and Lily was by my side, I decided to rewrite it all and make it perfect.

After that I wrote another letter.

Finally ready, I ventured downstairs, reflecting that I was becoming too used to creeping around at night, and checking behind my shoulder as I shadowed through the wooden halls and held the letter close to my thigh.

As I felt the paper between my fingers, a strange fragment of excitement buzzed in my chest. Was it wrong? To be looking forward to someone's death?

In the inky words, I'd promised Darren a reward for following my instructions: I'd let him escape if he held up his side of the deal. He could escape not just from his binds but The Lodge in its entirety.

As I reached the lobby, Darren sat with his back to me, head hanging limply over one shoulder as he slept. In a way, I felt pity for him. The only time he moved was to go to the toilet, because David wouldn't afford him a bed.

Too risky, I suppose.

I glided across the floor and flicked on the light. It flickered, struggling until the lobby lit in cheap yellow.

Still, Darren didn't stir. His chest rose rhythmically and I stood, just for a moment, to listen to his breaths. His mind was quiet. Dreaming.

My heart rose as I began moving again, sneaking up behind him and gently setting the letter upon his lap before retreating back.

Now it was time for the tricky bit.

I pulled a pair of scissors from the kitchen and, doing the best I could to avoid touching him as my fingers shuddered, started to cut cleanly through the wire. The scissors swept though easily, quickly, and hardly made a sound. I started at the top, removing the wire that bound his torso to the chair before working down his legs.

Throughout all this, Darren was quiet. Eyes closed.

I didn't trust him. A faint buzz of anticipation came from his mind.

After a few more minutes, the work was done. He was free-even if he didn't know it yet.

I pushed the scissors into my pocket, thinking they might come in useful later, double-checked the note was in place, and turned to leave as Darren's hand swept out and grabbed at my leg. He grunted, flinging his arm this way and that, but struggled to turn in the chair as his fingers swept my trousers.

I didn't even think.

I pulled my leg back and flailed. Something woodens snapped and Darren clattered to the floor as my feet pounded the stairs.