The Spiral Read online

  “Jack. What happened here? Was it…” Something special?

  He stops his movements and turns to look at me, his deep hazel eyes narrowing as he frowns at me and sneers. I gaze at him, hoping maybe he understands because I sure as hell don’t. I’d like to, though. If only so that I can get it out of my head if I have to, before I put my clothes back on and get on with my life and plan.

  There’s no response other than some muttering about not letting someone down. Perhaps it’s just me then. Perhaps that was just sex and I should remember the reality of what’s happening here. I’m an over-night guest, one who, for whatever reason, just had sex with this man before I stopped him killing himself.

  That’s all.

  Nothing out of the norm.

  I sigh and relegate myself to the facts as I lift from the chair and look for my clothes. It’s time to get on with stuff. Callie, my house, and then Lewis. I’ve got revenge to get on with. I stare at the gun, ready to pick it up and do some real damage with it. It glints at me, reminding me of my new purpose as I try to rid myself of this whimsical feeling.

  “I’ll get dressed and call a cab,” I mumble, scooping my jeans up and shrugging into them. I don’t want to shower. I’ll leave him inside me for a while, think about mystical encounters that’ll help me through what’s to come. The thought makes me smile a little as I pick up the gun and wonder about safety catches. “Where’s the safety on this thing?” I ask, turning back to him and grabbing at my t-shirt. He’s busy searching the stairs still, his body tense as he scours the carpet.

  Oh, for god’s sake.

  I walk to the stairs, skipping the first three and tucking the gun into my back pocket. If finding the bullet’s so damn important then I’ll help. “I’m fine, Jack, and so are you. It doesn’t matter where the thing is.”

  “No,” he shouts, snatching at my ankle as I trot by and turn the curve past him.

  “Why? They’re just stairs. What’s the problem?”

  “I... They’re unsafe. You can’t…”

  Unsafe my arse. There’s nothing wrong with this spiral of stairs. It’s beautiful. Old, solid and dependable, it’ll probably last longer than either of us. My bare feet trip up another step, as I tug my t-shirt over my head, looking for the impression of a bullet as I go.

  “Madeline, don’t…” I spin to look at him, suddenly slightly concerned by his alarmed voice. He looks fraught with anger, his mouth parted and breathing heavily as his naked body reaches for me. I hover, flicking my eyes around for what could be unsafe about the structure. “Come back down. You can’t go up there.” I stare down at him, watching the way his whole being seems anxious about something, almost like he’s having a panic attack. “Please, Madeline,” he says, his glower deepening as he comes up a step further.

  “They’re just stairs, Jack.” He looks straight past me and sneers, barely acknowledging my presence in front of him.

  “Get off the fucking stairs. Don’t make me come for you.” Come for me?

  His vacant gaze slowly turns back to me, a chill somehow thrown in my direction with its intensity. I freeze to the spot, remembering the man who drank alcohol and frightened me last night, and any sense of power I was rekindling seems to disperse to the stupidity that lies in little old Mads. I quiver in thought, my finger coming to my mouth so I can chew on it as I move a step lower.

  “I was just trying to help you find the bullet.” Still he stares, making me feel more uncomfortable by the second. I lower another, hoping to make the scowl of annoyance disappear. “Not that I know why you need to see it so much.”

  “To make sure,” he barks out.

  “Of what? I’m alive, so are you.”

  “Are you?” I don’t know what that means. I look down at myself, pretty convinced I’m alive and fine. There’s no blood stains, no wounds on offer. Nothing hurts.

  “Of course I am,” I reply, edging closer to him. “Look, no holes, no injury. Madeline Cavannagh. Alive and well.”

  He eventually nods but doesn’t stop looking at me as he takes another slow step, a look of sadness now replacing his anger. It’s an almost palpable emotion that washes over him, reminding me of only a short while ago when he was so focused on me. I can almost sense those flashes again on the floor, feel him inside me, his lips on mine. It all felt so linked and true, regardless of the fact that it wasn’t, still isn’t.

  “Jack, listen. I don’t know what happened here, but shall we just get on with getting me gone so you can get on with your life, and me with mine?”

  “You can’t go,” he mutters, reaching his hand for me again. “I don’t want you to go anywhere.” Can’t?

  I nibble my thumb, watching his hand in front of me. What does he mean can’t?

  “Why?”

  “You just can’t.”

  My eyes sweep around the room, wondering if some new mystical thing is about to evolve. Nothing happens. It’s as bright as it was before, rays of gold falling through the glass windows.

  “This…” My mouth falters, unsure what I’m trying to say but entirely sure I’m mad for wanting to say anything. “I don’t know what this has been, but we’re not doing it again. It was strange,” I say, my hand waving at the space around us as if trying to search for reasons I don’t have. “I don’t need strange. I need stable and efficient. Real, tangible. I need to find a new home, Jack. Rebuild my life and find Lewis so I can end this once and for all.”

  “I love you.” My mouth gapes, my hand hovering mid swing around the room.

  “Don’t be stupid. You don’t know me enough to love me.” He continues his stare, no waiver in his words to recall them. “I know you said it before, but that was the heat of the moment and …”

  “I’ve always loved you. Come down the stairs.”

  This is utterly absurd. No one falls in love this quickly. I’m not even sure I want to love again. I haven’t got the strength for that yet, or the happiness regardless of this feeling I have buried inside aching to explode all over him. I need Lewis dead for that to come out. I need him gone and his threat removed.

  A glare glances over my face at his irrationality, and I consider just running past him and calling that cab, but my feet are glued to the spot beneath me. It’s like they’re not real, like I can’t feel them all of a sudden, let alone move them.

  The building creaks and groans as I stare at his face, disbelief wracking every part of me at his sincere expression. He means it, doesn’t he? Believes it. It makes me put my hand on the bannister, gripping it to make sure of the reality around me as his hand stays fast in the air, waiting for me to take it and accept his offer of love. Perhaps he’s hoping that we’ll be together forever, make babies for this big old house to endure and live happily ever after in some sort of dream.

  I frown, thinking of dreams that do not happen for me and pushing them away as I remember Lewis’ attacks. I screw my face around, still feeling the hint of bruising marring my eye and shuddering at the thought of another man telling me how to live. It’s not happening, regardless of this man and the way he makes me feel. Something’s not right here. Odd. I can’t think straight, and why is it getting dark again?

  Oh, enough is enough. I need to get out of here, deal with things. This is not real. I must be in some kind of nightmare I can’t get out of. In fact, maybe my car’s actually alright, and my house, and I’m really just asleep in my new home waiting to wake up. Callie will be waiting for me downstairs, probably having been out all night with some new man.

  “I need to go,” I mouth quietly, my feet trundling past him without thought for his hand, trying not to look at him anymore. Perhaps if I keep my head down I can avoid another declaration of love. I don’t know who he’s saying it to, or why, but those words don’t belong to me. I don’t deserve them or own them.

  My arms fold into each other as I walk along the corridor towards the front of the house. I’ll wait outside, or maybe even walk around to my car. If I could just get a phone signa
l I could call recovery myself and leave when they got here. Although, where I’ll go I don’t know.

  I snatch my bag from the side table on the way into the hall, and then push my feet into my still muddied shoes. I’m instantly haunted with visions of fields and dirt, which in turn make me think about the man walking up behind me. I can hear his bare feet padding along, sense his proximity long before he reaches me.

  “I have to go, Jack. Don’t try to stop me,” I call out, not turning to face him for fear of this rationale leaving me again.

  My hand grabs the bronze door handle, swinging it out wide to walk into the sun, only to find darkness staring back at me. I halt, confused as the wind whips past my face and a low fog creeps its way across the ground in front of me.

  “What the hell?” I mumble, as I gaze at it rippling the bottom of the stone steps. It’s like a sea of rolling waves, foreboding in its swirl around the gravel beneath it. And it’s daytime. It’s the middle of the day. Where’s the sun?

  I flick my eyes to the sky, wrapping my arms around myself for warmth as I search for the golden globe that was there five minutes ago. There’s nothing up there but clouds and a dim light casting over the top of the woods. Maybe there’s an eclipse I didn’t know about. “Where’s the sun?” I ask, gingerly lowering my feet into the fog.

  “Stay inside,” he says from behind me somewhere, his voice like silk again now that he’s away from the spiral. No, I can’t stay inside. I need to get my car and go home. I dig into my bag, hoping that maybe my phone will work this time, but I can’t find it anywhere.

  “I need to use your landline,” I muse, finding myself twirling around in the mist as it licks its way up my legs. He doesn’t answer as I wander further into it towards the trees on the far side of the drive, but then I don’t suppose he will. He doesn’t want me to leave, does he? He wants me to stay in this fantasy and pretend it’s real. It’s not. Can’t be.

  I touch the back of a tall redwood, staring up at the spread of branches as I circle its girth. It’s glorious as it towers above me and the mist swirls around its base, as are all the others around here. I look back at the house as I come round the far side of it, watching the way the lights dot the boundary and twinkle beneath the fog. It looks just like a ship below water sailing on by, and its beauty makes me smile as I gaze upwards and start walking towards the garages.

  The road seems shorter as I wander over. Perhaps it’s just that everything’s covered in this mist, I’m not sure, but I’m there before I know it, having trailed my hands through the billowing swirl of white as I went. The old man’s there, a small shaft of light illuminating the end garage as he walks around and tinkers with things.

  “How’s the car doing?” I ask, looking at it still up on ramps above the pit.

  “I’ve ordered the parts. They should be here soon, lassy.”

  “Oh, okay. And you can fix it then?”

  “Surely can.”

  “Good. That’s great.” Okay, I’ll just have to hang around a bit longer, which is a bit of a shame but there’s no point calling recovery if it’s nearly done anyway. “Thank you. What’s your name by the way? Sorry, I never got it first time.”

  “It’s Bob, lassy. I look after the old place. There’s only me now.”

  “Well, nice to meet you, Bob, even if it is in unusual circumstances.”

  I rock on my feet, and watch him continue to potter around as I wonder what to do. I can’t really go back inside. If I do it’ll get all odd again. It’s not something I want to deal with. I just want to get in my car and get out of here, perhaps find some sense of normal again. I snort at myself as the mist drifts around my feet again, and I glance back out into the darkened air. Normal? I haven’t even got a house to go to anymore, let alone any sense of normality. I suppose I’ll have to go to Callie’s place first, find her parents’ number and then find a hotel room.

  “Funny weather,” I say, inching myself onto an old chair to stare out into the beauty of the nightly vision. It’s haunting really, like one of those old creepy movies, but it’s got a real sense of calm about it here. There’s no trepidation or hostility, no fear. It’s just quiet and serene.

  “The old house sits in a dip in the land. We get all sorts here. Think the headland pulls the damp air through us,” he eventually replies. Oh. Okay. Must be reasonably normal round here then. Not that I’ve ever heard of it, but hey. If he says so.

  “You got some good prices yet?”

  “What?”

  “You said you was an antiques dealer?”

  “Oh, yes. There’s plenty in there to sell if he wants to sell it.” Not that he seems to. In fact, I’d almost forgotten that was what I was here to do in the first place. He didn’t seem very affable to the idea, though, did he? I’m not sure why I was ever called here, actually.

  He doesn’t speak again, and I get to a point after a while where I feel a little uncomfortable, so I get off the chair and amble back out into the mist again, ready to wander back to the house.

  The journey back takes me longer this time, or perhaps I make it so. I’m not sure, but the fact that I can’t stop gazing up at the massive place probably slows my pace. It’s magnificent as it rises from the mist covered ground. It dominates the landscape around it, giving the area a sense of strength at its centre. The frontage may look old but there’s no decay on the outside. It’s as solid as the principal spiral of stairs within it.

  That thought makes me question the stairs again as I keep my legs flowing through the grey expanse of low level fog. Why should he be scared of me going up them? Everything seems to be odd around them. He changes. I change. I feel something near them, something guiding me. A memory that isn’t mine maybe. It isn’t like me to have sex with strangers. It’s as bizarre as dancing in the ballroom.

  A shriek and sudden brush against my head has me ducking down, flustered at whatever’s hit me as I search the area. There’s nothing to see at first, only the continued shrieking and cawing as I back away from the noise. And then I notice the flap of a wing flitter through the fog a few feet away. I focus on it as it gently batters the mist around, trying to see what it belongs to and inching my way forward again. A crow appears as the density disperses, its wings still flapping about as it hops and jumps around. I smirk as it tilts its head, eyeing me up with its beady black eyes and snapping its beak almost noiselessly.

  “Where did you come from?” I ask, glancing around the area to see if there are any more of them. There isn’t, just this lone one who’s still prancing and ruffling out his jet black feathers. It’s only after a while of watching him move that I notice something around his right leg, a clump of mud maybe, by his foot, but it’s not clear enough to see. I inch forward again and bend down to him, willing the moon to come out and illuminate the ground beneath us, but that’s not being helpful at all.

  The crow dances again, and I realise that perhaps he’s not dancing at all—maybe he’s trying to dislodge the muddy clump.

  “You need help with that?” I ask. What is wrong with me? Now I’m talking to birds in this insanity? I roll my eyes at myself and stand back up, utterly perplexed by what the hell’s happening around here. My eyes sweep the area, looking for what I don’t know, but as they do I hear the crow cawing madly as his wings bat my jeans. “Okay, okay,” I say, still smiling at the sound he’s making and crouching back down.

  He stares at me, his feet hopping backwards away from me as he twists his head about.

  “Okay, let me help,” I mumble out, reaching my hand to him and flicking some of the fog between us away. “I’ll get it off. What is it? Let’s have a look, shall we?” His neck twists again, looking awkward on his body as he looks me over. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed a bird watching me before. It’s eerie really, slightly disturbing in the middle of this fog and darkness. He reminds me of horror stories and ghouls. I snort out a small laugh, glancing around me again to check for concerns. There’s none to speak of, other than this od
d weather. “Come on, birdy. Let’s get you free of whatever that is.”

  He’s huge up close, much bigger than other birds, and as I gently reach to touch him, I realise I’ve never been this close to one before. I think I went to the Tower of London once when I was little, saw them there and the Beefeaters guarding the place, but I don’t remember crows being so big. He dwarfs my hand as he lets me touch his wing, all the time twitching his head around ready to fly off if things don’t go his way.

  I gaze at him, slowly running my fingers along his frame until I reach his leg, which makes him instantly hop away again.

  “Come on, I can’t get it off if you don’t let me.” He inclines his head again, opening and closing his beak as he does. “You’ve got to trust me, yeah?” He snaps his beak again, offering nothing but distrust as he opens his wings and waves them about. I can’t say I’m surprised, but he’s the one hovering around. “Surely you didn’t fly over here just to wimp out on me? Because we don’t do wimping out, do we?” Not anymore. I’ve done my years of wimping out. The beady eye blinks a bit, his beak suddenly closing and stilling as he wanders closer again. “Okay, let’s get it off then. What have you got yourself wrapped up in?”

  He lets me pick him up carefully, and then rests quietly as I start picking at the clump around his foot. It’s sodden with wet mud and grime as I begin to tug, trying to cause no damage to his tiny bones as I do. “It’s really wedged, huh?” I say, continuing to talk to a bloody bird in the middle of the fog. Something is very odd around here. I flick at a bit and my nail gets caught, enough so that I’ve got to rip at it to get my finger out, but as I do the last glob of mud comes with it. “Oh,” I cry as I stare at what materialises. A ring. A filthy one, but a ring nonetheless. It’s not a ring like they’d put on pigeons. It’s a proper ring. “How did you get that around your foot?” I tap at the metal, not sure what colour it is and trying to work out if it’ll slide over his claw. “And how are we going to get it off without hurting you?” He squawks in response, snatching his foot away from my hand and turning his black eye on me again. “Perhaps if we…” He struggles in my grasp, pressure building in his wings as he tries to open them out. “Now, now. Stop being melodramatic. You’ll just need to squeeze your foot together a bit. It’ll slide right off if you’re brave enough. You’re brave, right?”