The Spiral Read online

  The flapping and struggling stops enough to give me time to squeeze my fingers around his toes, pressing them together and pushing at the ring as I do. Wings flap again as I lose my hold on him slightly to give me room, battering me around the head and flicking about in my line of sight. But I keep hold of the leg, letting him scramble about on me to get away. “It’s coming,” I snap out, trying to avoid his frantic fluttering around. “I’m sorry, but if you’d just stay...” The final tug sends me reeling onto my backside, letting go of his leg and clutching at the thing I’ve managed to pull off.

  I land with a jolt on the wet gravel, snorting at myself and searching the ground for him to make sure he’s okay. He’s nowhere to be seen. There’s nothing but the mist still hovering around and a distant caw resonating in the air somewhere. Gone. Great.

  “You’re welcome,” I muse, lifting my hand to get a look at the ring. It doesn’t sparkle or glimmer. It’s as soiled as it was when I first saw it, so I rub my fingers over it to clear some of the mud off. There’s an impression on it of some sort, travelling the circumference, but again I can’t see clearly enough here. If the sun would come back it might be helpful.

  I pick myself up and walk back around to the front of the house, staring at the sky and still wondering what’s happening around me. Crows and mist. Night time in the middle of the day. Sex sessions with someone I hardly know. It’s all completely odd, and all I should be thinking about is getting out of here, but for some reason all I want to do now is go back in the house and wash the dirt off this ring. The thought hurries my steps, making me swish through the fog until I’m back in front of the entrance again. The caw sounds above me somewhere, so I turn back, gazing at the tall trees and searching for him as I climb up the stone steps to the house. The sun instantly starts to break in the sky behind the redwoods, spreading itself luminously out on the horizon and brightening everything around me. I stare open mouthed, bewildered by its sudden arrival again, watching the dense fog surrounding the ground ebb away to nothing as the colours of summer bleed back into the area.

  “What the hell?”

  “I said stay inside,” Jack’s voice says calmly from behind me.

  “I know. I just…” I wander back down the steps again, not believing what’s just occurred as I rub the ring in my fingers to make sure it’s all real. “The sun. Look. It’s back again. Where did it go?”

  “Come inside, Madeline,” he says again. I shake my head, trying to put some semblance of normality into what’s going on as I turn to look at him. He’s there, standing just behind the door, the light now cascading into the porched area and making him glow as he lurks in the dark.

  “What’s happening here? It was dark… and then the sun… I found a crow and he–”

  “Madeline, come inside.” Yes, maybe that’s a good idea. Although, as I stand here looking at him, the sight of him confusing me yet more, I can’t quite work out whether it is or not.

  “I need to wash the ring off,” I say for no particular reason as I look at the circle of dirty metal in my hand. “The crow was wearing it and…” I can’t find words anymore. Nothing seems real. But this ring in my fingers is real, isn’t it? That means the crow was.

  Confusion wracks me again as I hover, unable to make a decision. Perhaps I should just go and wait by the car until it’s fixed. Nothing odd happens there. It’ll be normal and then I can get out of here, ridding myself of this strange place as I go. “I think I’ll just go and wait by—”

  “Inside, now!”

  His tone makes me jump, the ring tumbling from my hands as his shout sounds out. I immediately lurch down to the gravel to find it, for some reason desperate to clutch onto the reality of it in my fingers. It’s the one thing I can hold onto in the middle of this strangeness. It’s solid, dependable in my grasp, not unlike the house. I scrabble around, lifting and turning gravel to find it until I finally see it glinting back at me and scoop it up, then waste no time turning my back on him to head back to the car. There’ll be water in the garage. I can clean it there. I have to leave and find normal again, no matter how appealing he looks standing there waiting for me.

  “What’s that?” he says, yanking at my arm out of nowhere. I stop, trying to pull my arm from his grasp as I wonder how the hell he got to me so quick. My fingers close around the metal, hiding it behind my back to keep him from taking it from me. It’s my one piece of rationality here.

  “It’s nothing. Just an old ring I found. The crow landed and asked for my help.” That sounds outrageous. Even in this scenario.

  I stare at him as he frowns at me in reply, not knowing what else to say. It’s the truth. It is, outlandish as it might seem. And I don’t have to explain anything to him anyway. It’s not like he knows what the hell’s happening around here either. Some time passes with nothing but silence in the air. I don’t know why, but I can’t think of one thing to say. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what to say anymore.

  “Show me the ring.”

  “No. I’m just going to go.”

  His grab at my arm, then wrist, has me spinning into his hold within seconds. He prises at my hand, levering it open with little effort and then shoves me away from him with a gasp as my hand unfurls. We both watch as it tumbles to the ground again, bouncing on the gravel and nearly disappearing before he chases it down frantically.

  “Where did you find this?” he snarls out, turning his back on me and quickening his strides back into the house.

  “Hey, that’s mine. I want it back,” I call out, my feet hurrying to catch up with him as I reach out for his arm. He shoves me away again with little thought as he continues onwards up the stone steps and rushes into the house. For the life of me I can’t stop myself from following him. I know I shouldn’t, but I don’t even try to stop myself keeping up with his strides as he heads straight for the middle of the house. He halts as the spiral comes into view, glaring at it a little and then muttering to himself about something.

  “Why did you fucking come here?” he snaps at me, rounding on me so suddenly I falter backwards on my heels. “You shouldn’t fucking be here.” I open my mouth in reply, confused. The antiques. I came for the antiques. He knows that. Antiques he doesn’t want to sell. “You’re... You should leave. You’re not supposed to be here. Go.”

  He strides on again, leaving me shaking in the middle of the hall, staring at the spiral and not knowing what he’s talking about. He doesn’t want me to leave and now he does?

  Right. I will then. Screw all of this. And screw that ring, too. I’m going. He’s right, I shouldn’t be here. It’s clear he doesn’t want anything valuing, which was the intention of me being here. I suppose he’s right. I tug the gun from my pocket and place it on the table, knowing I’ll never have the bloody balls to pull it anyway. Whatever this is, or has been, is pointless and stupid.

  My eyes flick to the Chinese rug, remembering a short while ago when he lay on top of me, made love to me. The sun spots dapple the floor again on the very place we lay, and the smell of metal still hangs heavy in the air from the fired gun. What was all that? If I shouldn’t be here, what happened there? And why is this mist and darkness hanging around half the damn time? And why the crow? It’s baffling, bothersome. It feels incomplete, like I’m lost in a world I can’t regain strength over.

  I sniff the air again, letting the tinge of metal remind me of what he was about to do. Would he really have shot himself? Why? I stare back at the spiral, suddenly too interested in its endless curve for rational thought to interfere anymore. Who is he?

  And why can’t I go up those stairs?

  My feet have me turning towards it instantly, determination welling in the pit of my stomach as I follow the stripes of light that filter in from the windows opposite. I’m going up them. I’m going to find out what’s happening around me. I’ve got time before that car’s fixed. Perhaps I’ll find out what’s going on, or perhaps I won’t, but I’m damned if I’m going to leave without findi
ng out why I feel like I’m falling in love with a man I don’t know. And he told me he loved me, that he’d always loved me. Why did he say those things? And I know he meant them, I felt them, deep inside where truth exists. They were real. They were the tangible I’m trying to get to.

  Well, in the strangest sense of the word, anyway.

  Chapter 11

  Jack

  T hese damn hands become rawer by the second as I plunge the ring beneath the flow of water again. I can’t get it clean, can’t see the engraved markings. No matter how much I scrub the surface it just won’t come clear of grime.

  I grimace, grinding the metal between my fingers, hoping for one small flick of soil to dislodge. Nothing does, but I know this ring. I can feel it in my heart. It drops onto the ceramic surface, my feet stumbling away from the sink and nearly giving way as I continue to falter in thought. Her wedding band? Why? And what fucking crow?

  My teeth grit, bearing down on my clenched jaw as I glare at the sink, trying to build the momentum to go back to it. I need to get to it again, but the stone slabs seem endless as they layer the space between it and me.

  Tugging at my shirt collar, I slowly scan the room, willing someone to come and help. As always, there’s no one there. Empty. This whole fucking place is empty. Unused, unloved, somehow now sick and fucking tired of grieving. It putrefies around me, just as they are doing beneath the ground. She’ll be nothing but decay and rotted flesh now, her glow extinguished by dogs who came in the night and took what belonged to me.

  I half heave, swallowing the bile down, and yet again attempt to move. My foot hovers, locking my leg in place and disabling my ability to move onwards. So I lean on the wall, my head banging against it as I close my eyes and try for logical thinking. It’s a fucking floor, that’s all. Nothing to concern myself with. I just have to move. One step in front of the other. It’s only four or five paces. Simple enough.

  My eyes focus again, my muscles steeling for another attempt. Nothing moves. I just freeze again, my whole body refusing to move until I just slide down the surface and give in to this pathetic response. Even in death I can’t reach her. Can’t help. I couldn’t stop the dogs, and now can’t even hold the ring that I gave her when I promised her the world.

  Gazing at the old light blue cupboards and tracing the woodwork up to the top of the white ceramic sink unit, I imagine her standing at it. Selma. I can feel her in this room more than any other. She loved it in here, often spending hour upon hour cooking, creating our perfect family meals. And I can hear her voice now, too, calling me to peel potatoes, or help her get something out of the ancient stove. I smile at the thought then hear her babbling to Lenon, trying to get him to eat the last of his vegetables. He never did, often times throwing it over her rather than letting any of it past his lips.

  Jack.

  My head shoots up, searching for her presence as my name is shouted loudly into the air, sounding almost scared. I scramble upright, desperate to help her and try to set the past straight.

  “Selma?” I call, turning from the kitchen and launching into the hall as I glance around wildly. “Baby, where are you?”

  I love you, Jack.

  I speed up, running the halls and searching the space for her to no avail.

  “Where are you?” I call again, running for the ballroom.

  All becomes silent as I slide into the room and stop. I listen intently, waiting for noise, a signal, anything to give me a hint at her whereabouts. There’s nothing but the usual. Large ornate chandeliers swing slightly above the wooden expanse of floor, the spread of sprung boards reaching to the far end. I frown, trying to work out if the sound was real or not, and then watch the red baroque curtains at the end of the room billow under a heavy breeze that should not be there.

  My brow furrows further, my eyes searching the floor to ceiling windows for one of them to be open. None are that I can see, so I tentatively step forward some more, pocketing my hands and scanning the area again. Nothing occurs of consequence. No ghouls, no apparitions. No blinding lights or darkened corners. It’s as it always is. A huge expanse of memories.

  Nothing more.

  I smile at the first few that come to mind, letting them wash around inside and remind me of her, then glower at the argument that happened in here once. I deserved the scolding she gave me as she talked about our son’s needs, telling me that life was not the same now and that I’d have to stop working so late.

  She pleaded through her tears of anger, her knees sinking to the floor as she clung onto me, begged me to be home more, be a father more. And then I remember the outcome of that kneeling and begging. It’s as crystal clear as the droplets hanging in the lights above. Her breath, her moans. The way her eyes hardened as we argued then softened at the first strike of her ass. A snort breaks from me as I watch the floor beneath me, vividly replaying the fucking that came after the quarrel. She was always testing me, pushing, arguing and bickering, but she was my wife and held every right to put me in my place.

  I smile again and spin slowly, embracing the need for her to show herself as I wait for something to happen. Whatever the hell this is, I want more of it.

  “Selma, if this is real somehow, it needs to stop, or you need to talk to me and explain,” I say, wondering what the fuck is happening in this house. I might be mad, probably going fucking insane in all honesty given the dogs upstairs, but I won’t be played with. Not even by her and her return. “Much as I love you, you’re being a devious fucking bitch now.”

  I swear I hear her laugh. It’s enough to broaden my lips as I wander into the middle of the ballroom and open my arms wide. “Are you here? Show me.”

  Nothing moves. Even the curtains stop wafting into the room, but I see the light decrease for the first time, actually notice its fall around me. It comes down the windows in stages, cascading gently and falling to the ground along the framework until it eventually makes it to the ground.

  I chuckle slightly, staring out into the black night and imagining her switching the lights off as the shadow creeps along the highly shined parquet towards me. “You never did like the lights on, did you?”

  The last of the brightness disperses instantly, vanishing from the huge breadth of the room and leaving me with little more than the slight influx of light from a full moon. I chuckle some more at the thought of her defiance, or guidance. Neither of us knew what we were doing. We weren’t so much young, just naive, immature maybe. But days had turned to weeks, weeks to months, months to a year or so. Something changed with us after Lenon came along, changing our needs along with it. She talked of needing space, but not wanting to be away from me. It was something neither of us understood, nor found comprehension in until we finally found our balance together.

  “Will you answer if I ask? Is that how this works still?” That’s how it all worked before. She’d call me a good man—a good and decent man. The master of her fears and tears for giving her room to breathe again. The only one to hold her together in the middle of her storm. “Why are you back?”

  Wind whistles through the room, flashing by my face and causing me to step away from its freezing chill. I turn to the mirrors lining the inner side, hoping to see her reflection in them, or even just a ghostly mirage to make this seem plausible. She isn’t there. Only my own image looks back, alone in the room and dwarfed by its vastness. I gaze at myself, wondering what she saw in me, and watch my frown deepen. A scowl she called it. A permanent scowl. One that only she could remove with her idea of humor.

  “How’s this going to work, Selma? You going to haunt me for the rest of my life, or are you trying to tell me something?”

  Something moves in the reflection. I can’t really tell what it is. Maybe the light changes, or perhaps the curtains flicker again. I don’t know, but something happens as I stare into the mirror. So I stand still and wait for whatever she chooses to bring. There will be no more running from her little games or taunts. I’ll ask and she’ll damn well answer, j
ust as became our way together. I’ll have her on her fucking knees again if I have to, force the answers from her, irrespective of the fact that she’s dead.

  Jack.

  I don’t answer the sound in the air, or perhaps in my head. I won’t, not until she shows herself again or at least gives me some answers to my questions. I stand still, tilting my head at the image of myself and considering how mad I am. Insanity is a new experience for me, regardless of my dogs who drive me there. I’ve wallowed until now, happy to stay within these walls and let the world outside rot as I punish the damned, but now, this new madness is becoming amusing, something to be toyed with. Harnessed. Enjoyed even.

  Another chuckle bursts out at this new insidious nature of hers, sneaking back from heaven’s gate to show me something. It’s just like her, just like her beauty. She was light and dark. She was effortless and hard work. She was tears and laughter and summer days. Deviancy and niceties. The nimble caress of gentle rain on skin, and the sneering possession of hell’s fury.

  Light begins to brighten up the glazed expanse of one window pane behind me. It spreads outwards from a pinpoint as I stare at it through the mirror. Cream tones began to change and dilate, casting a shape of kinds as I watch on in wonder. Still, I don’t move, nor change my stance or scowl. I’ll wait until she shows me what she came here for.