Backwards Into Hell

Part One: The Lodge

Monday 25th October

From the kitchen window, I watched progress begin on the boat. Anais was a dab hand, running from port to starboard with roughly drawn plans that risked being whisked away by the wind. Darren and David were doing their best to keep up with him, and I wished I could be out there. Maybe a bit of physical labour would take my mind off things.

Lottie handed me another soft onion.

'Cheer up,' she said. 'Nothing's ever completely hopeless.'

'Hmm?'

I dropped the knife—would I kill with a knife again?—and glanced at Lottie. She had a kind smile on her face.

'You look like someone's died.' She pauses. 'Well, suppose they have.'

'Sorry,' I say. 'I'm just rattled.'

Lottie's focus turns back to chopping. Earlier, she volunteered me to help her cook a big roast dinner.

'We need something to liven us up,' she'd said, and no one had thought to protest.

Despite the murder and the missing people, the other guests were coping well, and as we worked, Caleb ran between the planks of wood outside, stopping only to hide behind his Dad when anyone so much as glanced at him.

'Do you have family?' Lottie asked out of the blue as she took a carrot in hand.

I took a moment to think. 'Just my brother,' I said.

The others died a long time ago.

'That's nice,' she said. 'Are you close?'

'Yeah, see him every weekend.'

Lottie's smile widened upon hearing my lie because, to be blunt, Eric and I never get along—he's impatient, rude, and annoyingly, always the better twin.

Somewhere out there, maybe he's wondering where I am, and how I became what I did. I would have brought him to The Lodge, but he would only have gotten in the way—Eric had always been the sanctimonious type.

'The others will be waiting for you on the other side.' Lottie placed her hand on mine. 'All our families are.'

Did she really believe that?

                                                                                         ***

Lottie stayed in fine form throughout dinner as we gathered around the table and scooped steaming piles of food onto our plates.

'So, what do you think?' she asked.

I didn't like it: the meat was dry, the veg was slimy, and the potatoes were soft.

'It's great,' David lied, and Lottie's face lit up.

From the corner of my eye, I caught a smirk from Abe as the rest of us joined him in our compliments.

'My girlfriend would love this—she's a chef, you know,' said David, who was sitting next to Lottie, and a lot more amiable than he had been on our walk. As he said this, Lily tensed next to me.

Had David told her something? Or was there something between them?

'Oh, well, I'll have to meet her,' Lottie cooed obliviously as the friction washed over the table.

David began telling a story, and as we wolfed down the questionable meal, my right ear began to buzz. I felt my ear, but there was nothing, no bug, no bee, no Old Man. Yet the buzzing didn't stop.