Backwards Into Hell

Part Two: The LFG

Abigail's Diary

Friday 29th October

I didn't think my body could ache this much—even my toes throbbed as my eyes swept open to watch the sunlight melt through the iron bars.

At least there was a window.

I was expecting another interview so, knowing I'd spend another few hours cocooned in a tight metal chair, did some yoga. There wasn't much I remembered from pre-natal classes, but every time life got too much, or Caleb turned in my stomach and I thought he was about to crawl out of me, alien style, I would stop and do a little yoga.

As I came into a downward dog, someone cleared their throat.

At the door stood the same officer—the man who'd forgotten how to smile—and in his hands, he held a key.

'You're free to go.'

I came to my feet. 'Free to go?'

He shrugged. 'Don't ask me.'

I didn't.

I kept deadly quiet as he led me down the hall to the lockers, where I gratefully grabbed my belongings. They wasn't much, just my phone and bag.

My shoes squeaked on the plastic floor and I gave him a tight smile as I shut the locker and, feeling as if a siren was going to go off any minute, turned to the main doors.

Big mistake.

Through the shimmering glass windows was the throng of a crowd. Ten or so journalists with lumpy cameras and roaring microphones were just behind the line of the steps.

It hadn't even crossed my mind I could be in the news—the crazy mother who broke into The Lodge.

My cheeks heated. What had I gotten myself into?

Mr No-smiles stepped to the door and gave a nod to the receptionist.

'Prepare yourself,' he said and let the freezing air in with a sharp shove against the doors.

Much to my benefit, he guided me to the car waiting at the bottom of the front steps. He wasn't a superhero, however, and couldn't stop the tidal wave of microphones clamouring for a story. One particularly clumsy journalist knocked a camera against my shoulder.

'Why did you break into The Lodge, Mrs Jones?'

'Did you really see your son?'

'Did you kidnap him?'

Every aching muscle tightened. It took all I had not to lash out at the fancy equipment and shatter it against the cobblestones.

'Get back!' The Officer yelled, and to his credit, the crowd parted as I struggled into the car, which, as it happened, turned out to be a taxi.

I didn't know Sam's address.

'The Lodge, please.'

The Driver's eyebrows raised in the mirror, but he drove away regardless, reporters hammering on the back window with flashing cameras. While I wasn't officially banned from going near the crime scene, it sure would be frowned upon.

As the station faded into memory and I breathed a long sigh of relief, I found my phone in my bag. It was full of messages: Mum, Dad, Hannah—and John.

What happened? Are they going to charge you?

Why did you break in?

Just seen the news. Looks like they can't put you away with all the media attention.