Backwards Into Hell

Part Two: The LFG

Abigail's Diary

Friday 29th October

After a satisfying, although somewhat awkward, meal at the Cafe, I made my way back to Sam's, watching the sun skirt the skyline.

It was tea time, and my stomach growled as I completed my arduous, half-hour walk. My legs ached as I reached the porch to find Sam, blanket resting over his legs like a Texan Gunman and sitting in an old rocking chair.

He jumped up as I approached.

'Oh, thank Goodness.' He rushed onto the path, legs creaking with old age and met me at the bottom of the steps. 'The newspapers said you'd been released, but I couldn't figure out where you'd gone.'

He grasped my hands firmly, and it sent comfort through me.

'Sorry, my phone died.' A tiny lie. In reality, I'd needed some time alone.

'Cup of tea?'

I laughed. 'I'd love one.'

Sam led me inside and turned back to say, 'That young man of yours came round to look for you.'

'Who? John?'

'Mmm. Said something about needing to talk.'

I trudged up the steps and my heart sank. I'd betrayed him, hadn't I?

Well, I'd certainly lied. I rubbed my shoes on the welcome mat. Things between me and John were probably over now, I thought with a frown. Oddly, that worried me more than almost anything.

I'd only known him three days.

I followed Sam into his living room, relieved he was still so accommodating. The man was a saint.

As he prepared the drinks, I sat and took in my surroundings, noting, despite his hospitality, I'd hardly spent a moment here.

The house, while modern, was small and quaint and littered with Ikea furniture. The only item of note was an old armchair. It was in the corner of the living room with red fabric cushions and carved arms and was wholly out of place. Strangely, it suited its owner.

I began to sift through the text messages—starting with Mum—when Sam returned, two steaming cups of brown tea in his hands. He presented me with a thick-rimmed mug with a picture of one of the Island's birds on its front.

'So,' he began, sitting in the strange armchair. 'What happened?'

I looked down, playing with the tea bag.

'You don't seem the type to contaminate crime scenes to me.'

'I'm not.' I swallowed. It felt awful to lie, but Sam would be safer if he didn't know. 'I thought I saw Caleb in the window.'

He smiled and switched on the corner light. 'I see.'

'Don't think I'm mad?'

'Not at all,' he chuckled. 'I'm so old there isn't much that surprises me.'

I laughed with him before he came to an abrupt stop.

'Look, even if you're in trouble,' he started, running his thick fingers over his knee, 'you can stay as long as you need.'

Sam gave me a look to show his seriousness, and I nodded.

'Thank you.'

We chatted as we drank our tea, gracefully avoiding the subject, as Sam recounted tales of his glory days on the Island.

'I retired a few years ago—too stressful. I had to travel all the time, and, with the wife, it made things difficult. So we settled down here. I run a little loan business now.'

'Really?' Sam didn't seem like a loan shark.

He leaned forward to set his mug on the coffee table. 'I run it at cost, of course—no interest. It's not like we need the money, and it helps out the locals.'

I smiled, thinking it was a benevolent idea, but became curious as to how on Earth it worked. Sam didn't strike me as rich, so where did the money come from?

It was best not to pry.

'Do you mind if I make a call?' I asked.

'Of course.' Sam nodded. 'I'll clean up.'

I felt a little guilty having a man in his late fifties take care of me.

'By the way,' he continued, grabbing my cup before I could and catching my eye, 'you did the right thing earlier.'

A cold feeling grew in my stomach as he left for the kitchen. What did he mean?

Sam couldn't know about The Old Man or my rejection of his offer. Had I forgotten something? As I racked my brain, thinking back over what we'd said, my phone buzzed.

John.

I picked up.

'Hello?'

'Abi? Is that you?' I couldn't help but grin like a schoolgirl when I heard him.

'Yeah, it's me.'

'Jesus. We've all been so worried. Are you coming back to The Lodge?' His voice was tired.

'Police said I shouldn't.'

'Oh, don't worry about that,' he said playfully. 'I can get you in.'

'How?'

'Relax—it'll be easy. Meet me in the little Cafe by the bay in an hour. Do you know it? It's right by—'

'Yeah, I know it.'