Backwards Into Hell

Part Two: The LFG

Abigail's Diary

Friday 29th October

I got to the Cafe at nine o'clock but upon seeing the same girl behind the counter, couldn't muster up the courage to go in.

Instead, I stayed outside, close to the stone walls, and kept my head down. My face was all over the news, after all.

And, unfortunately, it was all they had to report on because for the past few days, there'd been no new developments. Two bodies had been found, with little sign of the others.

I hadn't told Sam where I'd gone. Instead, saying that John had offered to take me in for a while so we could work on the campaign together and help out the LFG. It wasn't strictly false, I suppose.

As the weather turned to a sprinkled drizzle, John sauntered along the road wearing a black cap with the logo of a lamb on it. He handed me one with a grin.

'Put this on.'

I didn't bother asking why and shoved it on my head, rearranging the strap to sit under my ponytail.

'How are we doing this?'

John glanced toward The Lodge, just visible on its high outcropping near the end of the street.

'We'll just walk in, confident as possible, okay?'

I nodded and took his hand as we paced up the road.

'They'll trust me,' he said.

As our feet struck the pave-stones, a knot grew in my stomach. If the police caught me out here, I'd be thrown under a whole lot more suspicion.

But it was worth it. For Caleb. Dead or alive.

As we neared the wall of press at the end of the road, I shoved the rim of the cap over my eyes and looked down. Several people waved to John, hoping for interviews or having recognised him from TV. His face—apart from mine—was the most well-known of the family members.

It was good protection, because no one would suspect the mild-mannered son to be sneaking me in. I gave some of them a polite wave without raising my head.

The police tape still plastered the grounds but the garden was easily accessible once you fought past the crowd of reporters. I could see the tents. So close.

We hit the reporters. By some miracle, they took no notice of us and we passed through the masses with relative ease. John flashed a concerned look.

If they weren't focused on us...

'Let's get to the tents,' he said through the noise. People were shouting.

We broke free and continued. There were just a few metres until I was back at the pink tent that once looked so wretched. At that moment, I could've mistaken it for a tropical oasis. A haven.

As we paced the final metres, I risked a glance at The Lodge. That's when I saw it.

A group of firemen lowered something from a window—another body bag. We hadn't seen it in the thrall of the crowd, too many microphones and cameras waving in the air.

'John,' I said, voice shaking as I grasped his shoulder.

'What?' He turned impatiently.

'Look.'

As soon as he saw it, John abandoned the plan. He forgot about me, The Lodge, and everything as he charged back into the mess of flashing cameras.

I couldn't follow him.

But I couldn't leave him either.

Instead of taking advantage of the chaos and running to safety, I followed. John had already wormed to the front of the crowd, and his cap floated above the mess of heads. I pulled my own down further and shoved through.

Just like the others, they carried the bag into the back of a police van, and as I neared, John strained over the tape to get a closer look.

Thinking back to that day, he must have known somehow. Whether it was the shape of the bag or the way the firefighters carried it, John knew it was his father.

As my fingers brushed his nape, he leapt over the tape and dashed forward. Of course, John got nowhere near the body as two burly officers stepped forward and restrained him as easily as if he were a kitten.

Regardless, John resisted.

'Who is it?' he shouted, falling against the officer's shoulder. 'Who is it?'

He asked again and again and got no answer until, eventually, he ran out of breath and his voice grew thin and raspy. The two officers dragged him away into a waiting car next to the van.

I squeezed my fists tight around the tape. Jumping over would be suicide. But it didn't stop me wanting to.

As the body bag was placed into one van, John was taken to another.

I caught his face just as the doors closed. Red, wet, and angry.