Backwards Into Hell

Part Three: Everybody Dies

Abigail's Diary

Sunday 31st October

I sat in the Cafe for a long time, just gazing, rain patting the window, ordering more coffee and praying for a miracle. As the day dragged on, however, there was little sign of Caleb, and my heart began to sink.

There was nothing left to do but hold on. To keep my fingers twisted around that last fragment of hope.

It was just after noon when I checked the news for the hundredth time, setting my third cappuccino on the table. The story about Sam had broken, but there was nothing new about The Lodge. It seemed like everything was changing so slowly, the investigation progressing without Caleb as the journalists finally lost interest.

But what about me?

What about the family members left to pick up the pieces?

I read the story about Sam again. It was mainly about his disappearance, but there was a tiny mention of me at the end.

Sam Hudgens is also thought to have taken in Abigail Jones, mother of Caleb Jones (one of The Barra Ten), after meeting her on the Island. With Jones recently released from police custody, could she be involved?

I scoffed. Involved in what? And how could they be so cruel?

Any parent would do what I did.

One good piece of news had been John's release. I'd watched it on the telly in the Cafe as he'd left the station. All the staff had gathered around, remarking on his messy hair and tired eyes.

'Do you reckon he did it?' One of them had said, and it had taken all my self-control not to slap her.

The papers, meanwhile, had been kinder to him—the unfortunate son, never meeting his father.

While I sat and moped, a reporter came in. She was a pretty woman and ordered something so complex it sounded like coffee from a sci-fi movie. She waited and scrolled through her phone, weight on one foot, and as the barista slid the drink over, it rang.

She answered. I watched as anticipation and excitement chased each other through her face. The reporter spoke a few garbled words before running into the street, leaving her drink behind.

Something had happened.

I leapt after her, the soft scent of smoke hitting my nose as I reached the street.

Caleb? Another body?

Whatever it was, I joined the thrall of dashing reporters and curious tourists as we raced to The Lodge and inserted ourselves into the crowd. Everyone clamoured to get a closer look, but in the time camp had been dismantled, the police tape had moved out further. The crowd was kept at a safe distance, spilling out into the street. Regardless, no one could hide what was happening.

Black clouds erupted from The Lodge.

People shouted and screamed, pushing against each other as I slipped in and out of the crowd.

My heart pulsed. What if Caleb was in there?

A gap formed at the edge of the police tape, by the trees. I moved into the undergrowth that surrounded The Lodge and, after shoving a young, bean-like man out of the way, got up front.

The Lodge was burning.

Flames licked the ground, and smoke billowed from the windows above. The air felt warmer as the police struggled to hold back the surging crowd. But we wanted to get closer. I needed to get closer.

'Stand back!' Officers shouted. A fire engine blared up the street, sounding its horn as the crowd struggled to part. People clamoured to get out of its way, screaming, but it was moving too slowly to hit anyone.

I didn't care. I kept watching The Lodge, searching for signs of life.

That's when I saw him. A small figure emerged from the field of trees to the left of The Lodge. They weren't tall enough to be an adult, and staggered on tiny legs.

Caleb.

Even from afar, I knew it was him.

I didn't care about getting hurt. My son was alive and he was in danger.

A primal scream erupted from my throat.

'Caleb!' I ducked under the tape and broke through, using the chaos to get past the police line as the fire engine pushed the crowd.

I would reach The Lodge first.

'Over there!'

They'd spotted me.

Luckily, most of the officers were in their fifties and pot-bellied—and I'd won the Lancashire half-marathon last year, running against David.

I paced through the grass, lungs burning with the fat smoke that covered the grounds as Caleb stood, stock still, and gazed into the forest. What was he looking at?

Regardless, he was outside. He was alive. I had to focus on that.

There was a thump as one of the officers tripped and hit the ground, and a gleeful laugh caught in my throat. I was so close. It was over. It was all over.

Still, Caleb didn't look away, but it didn't matter because I was there. I swept up his small body with all my might and pulled him to me, crying into his curly hair soaked through from the rain.

He was alive, and I had him.

'Mmm.' He struggled under my tight grip, so I let him go, kneeling and placing my hands on his shoulders.

'What is it, darling?'

His head flicked to the trees. This time, my gaze followed his as the Officers caught up with us, the one who'd fallen now limping. I wasn't shocked.

There he was—The Spirit.

An Officer grabbed my arm, ready to arrest, but she stopped when she saw him.

The Spirit gave us a final wave and was gone.