The axe finally pulls free and I swing it high again, aiming better and letting it fall again with yet more power. Who the hell did he think he was treating me like that? What right did he have? How dare he abuse me with no reason? I was the perfect wife. Always. I looked after him, cared for him. Put up with his family, his temper tantrums, his moods. What the hell have I been doing all this time?
The axe lands again, jolting pain through my arm as it hacks at the wood again, splinters falling as I tug at it to get it free for my next strike. It becomes a frenzied attack at some point, my whole body raining blow after blow at the wood with no thought attached, only hatred and pain as I bash carelessly at the old solid surface. I can feel my limbs aching with the effort as I double more exertion into it, hoping to get in. I’m almost not here. Mads certainly isn’t. This is pure venom, levelled at anything that will take it. I don’t give a damn about Jack or who Selma is, or this fucking door. I don’t care about anything but smashing this thing in two. Wrecking it. Breaking something and owning that damage. It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it. He does. He hurt me. Caused pain. Turned my skin into nothing but a rainbow of purples and blues, all at his own whims. He destroyed me. He took something I gave him and made me beg for it to stay in one piece as he ripped it apart daily.
“FUCK YOU!” I scream out, the bellow coming out of the depths of my hatred for him and what he did to us as I land another blow at the wood. Tears erupt, causing my vision to blur as I tug at the handle again and try to catch my breath. “Fuck you and your hands.” More tears stream as I remember the nights, the pain, and the effort of smiling through the next day, still too much in fear to actually say something or challenge him.
“Madeline, stop.” Jack’s voice barely cuts through my frantic attack, making me swing my glaring eyes towards the stairs again, axe hovering in the air above my head ready for another blow at the door. He’s stood there, one hand resting on the banister, as he watches me from the step just before the top. “Please.”
“Please what?” I snap out, ready to let this axe swing the instant he doesn’t answer me properly.
“Stop. You shouldn’t see what’s in there.”
“What do you mean? Why not?” He sighs and looks at the next step in front of him instead of at me as I grip the axe tighter, still rage filled and intent on causing more mutilation to anything that moves.
“What’s in there isn’t for you,” he says, eventually looking back up at me and tentatively raising his leg to the next level, hovering it there. “You should stop attacking the door.”
“I want to see what’s in this damn room, Jack.”
I’m not entirely sure what happens in the next few moments, but watching him, sensing the amount of composure he has somehow calms my hatred of anything that moves. I feel the tension leave my fingertips first. Then I feel the relaxation slowly migrate through the rest of me, filling me with a cooler air than the heated one I’ve created for myself. It’s like just his demeanour is reassuring now he’s stopped his raging and swearing, a bit like it was in the ballroom when he stood proud and tall above me and made me do things I didn’t understand.
“Is this what you need from me?” he says, but I don’t think it’s to me. He’s looking anywhere but at me, his eyes slowly searching the landing area as if he’s looking for someone or something. “Is it? Talk to me?”
“I don’t know…”
“You don’t know what?” he asks firmly, finally getting his feet onto the top of the landing and glancing at his hand still attached to the bannister. “Come here.” Does he mean me?
“Me or…” He raises a brow, slowly tipping his stare back in my direction from its ambiguous gaze around the place.
“Who else do you think I’m talking to?”
“A ghost.”
I can’t believe I said that out loud, but there are ghosts here, aren’t there? At least one anyway. There must be—either that or I’m going mad and this place is a lunatic asylum. The thoughts make me glance back at the door, seeing the splinters of wood scattered around the bottom of it, and wonder if that’s the best description of this building.
He’s smirking by the time I look back at him, his hand reaching for me as he turns to look at the door behind me. “Same thing, Madeline. You’re the same thing.”
Chapter 15
Jack
S he stares at me as if I’ve gone mad, challenging these feelings inside. I might well have done, because I can feel Selma’s breath on my neck as I watch Madeline gawp at me. Her hand still hovers with the axe, as if she’s ready to attack me with it, but it seems so clumsy in her fingers, just as it always did with Selma.
“What?” she says, lips quivering around the words. “What does that mean? What do you want?”
My lips smile at her, finally seeing the blend of the two of them and mapping out how we make this happen.
“Selma?” I ask, turning my eyes down the hall again to see if she appears. She doesn’t. There’s nothing but dusty old furniture and the darkness of this third floor looming back at us.
“What’s in this damned room, Jack?”
“The past.”
It’s all I’ve got to give her. The past that I’ve kept in my every day, forcing it to continue in my memory so I can wreak my vengeance on their skin and bones. “I used to do that for her,” I continue, nodding at the axe. Still she looks confused, her body backing towards the door as I take a step closer to her. “You’ve made as much of as a mess as she would have done.”
“What?”
“Chopping wood.”
She looks at me again, then at her hand, then back at me.
“It’s a door, Jack. What’s behind it?” she snaps.
I sigh and walk away from her along the corridor, running my fingers through the dust that covers the tables along the way.
“Why do you want her to see that?” I ask into the air, unsure what my wife is up to and unclear about whether it’s the right thing to show her or not.
The air immediately turns as frigid as it was when I burst into the ballroom, making me glance back at Madeline’s naked frame. She shivers there behind me, still hovering around that one door that she seems to know holds all the problems beyond it. The thought of one of the dogs catching a glance of her pristine skin makes me glower at myself and open the door nearest to me, searching for a blanket.
I stop on entering, stunned by the room I’ve walked into without thought. All her things are in here, making her seem so much more alive than she is. It’s the place I put them into at first, hoping to hide from them somehow rather than face the truth. My breath halts, the last fog lingering in the dimly lit gloom as I stare into the space and will my feet backwards. They don’t move. Nothing moves. No sound. No offer of her ghost to make this comfortable. It’s just her dresses. Her shoes. Her jewellery. All of it neatly and carefully laid out on the bed and furniture, as covered in dust and grime as she is.
“Jack?”
I no longer care who said that. I can smell her here, and the aroma makes me smile wider as I move forward towards the bed and grab at something tangible to hold. Silk touches my fingers first, the lingerie laid out as if she were getting ready for a night out, or in. I chuckle at the thought of it, remembering her taste under my lips as I pick up the red garment and bring it to my face.
“Jack?”
It smells of roses, the blush of perfume still heavy even after all this time.
“Jack, the door… Oh.”
I pull the silk away from my nose and slowly turn my head to look at her. She gazes around, her mouth open as she takes in the luxury on show and stands immobile in the doorway. She couldn’t look more perfect if she tried, other than the colour of that pristine skin. “Is this…”
She trails off, unable to finish her sentence as she walks over to the far corner and I try to come to terms with her in this room. It feels as awkward as it was watching her batter the door, causing me to trail my eyes down to her ha
nd to see the axe still hanging there. Maybe she could put that to a better use, clear the angst out of her system on real life rather than hammer wooden splinters to dredge out the pain.
I watch on as she gingerly reaches out at a fur coat, her fingers barely touching the soft fringing that used to house Selma’s neck on cold winter nights.
“Is this her?”
I don’t answer. I’m too consumed by her to answer, and suddenly too miserable to offer her help understanding what’s happening here. Not that I know entirely, but this woman standing here, touching my wife’s clothes and letting her scent mingle with times past, must be a reincarnation of sorts. A ghost sent to haunt me, or renew me perhaps.
She smiles at something, a slight lift of her lip causing me to follow her gaze as she looks down at the floor.
“Nice shoes,” she says, reaching to pick the silver heels up.
They are. They were my favourites on her, especially when she wore nothing else with them.
“Put them on,” I mumble, unable to stop my dick hardening at the thought. She frowns and glances across at me as I discard the silk in my fingers and pick up a long satin, matching negligee instead.
“But this is her, isn’t it? Selma?”
“Just put them on, Madeline.”
She shakes her head a little, backing away from them and inching along the wall towards the door again.
“I need to know, Jack,” she whispers, looking around again. “I need to understand.”
“Why? It is as it is, regardless of why.”
She looks startled at my lack of information, her fingers gripping the back of a chair.
“This is... All this is not right. It’s…”
I hold the garment up, watching as she flusters around the words and tries to make sense of the situation.
“Ask for her,” I say as I take a step forward, pushing the satin at her. She glares at it in my hand, reminding me further of how my wife would get angry in her confusion. “Let her tell you to fuck me again if you need to.”
What was an unfocused glare becomes a look of shock as she backs away again, sliding towards the chest of drawers in the far corner. Time becomes as irrelevant as life as I centre on the shake of her limbs, licking my lips at the thought of what she could look like wearing these clothes.
“You believe this, don’t you?” she stutters.
I nod. I do believe all of this. There isn’t anything to disbelieve. She’s here, in this house, having come from nowhere offering the image of my wife. There’s no other explanation for what is happening around us, and the throb of my heart as it lurches closer to her burns inside to take and forget giving her a chance to remember. It’s alive in here again, waiting for all the segments to slot back together and prove the love I once knew.
I glance at the drawers, wondering whether I should open them and show her the pictures, let her see who she is as she stood there in her wedding dress.
“Can you tell me something, Jack? Anything?”
“Put this on, with the shoes, and I might.” The fabric slides through my fingers as she looks at it, her frown creasing again at the thought. “I’ll show you.”
“The room?”
“No. You don’t need to see that.”
A burst of light flashes in the room, blinding me enough that I stumble back a little and then reach for Madeline. She squeals as I grab onto her, her body folding into mine as I shield her and glance around the space for Selma. Frigid air comes just as quickly, telling me everything I need to know about my wife’s wrath.
“I will not show her until I’m ready,” I growl as I turn Madeline towards the wall, shoving the satin at her. “Put this on.” I reach for the shoes, too, pushing them into her hands and turning my back to wait for my wife’s eruption. “You’ll damn well wait, Selma.”
Hissing sounds out in the room, the door creaking along with it as it shutters back and forth, making me pocket my hands and calm myself. She can fuck around as much as she likes. This will happen at my pace, not hers. “You’re being a bitch again, baby.”
“This is crazy,” Madeline whispers, one of her hands braced on my back, clutching me. I turn my neck to look at her, raising a brow and smirking a little. “I am not mad, Jack. I’m not.” Maybe she’s not. “I think you might be, though.” I smile wider. It’s a madness I’m beginning to enjoy. She will, too, if she gets with the damn programme and puts the fucking clothes on.
“Dress, before I lose patience with both of you.” Her mouth opens to retaliate, but the sudden rush of wind that bristles through the room has her eyes widening in fear before she can. “Do as you’re told and we’ll see about showing you something.” She stares as I walk away, leaving her exposed in the corner as I head for the curtains. “Now, before my temper gets the better of this whole fucking situation.”
My fingers tip the curtains back to look out into the grounds, watching for the darkness to descend and warn me to stay inside. I chuckle as it creeps across the gravel, the low fog following it.
“I’m showing her, Selma,” I mutter, uninterested in her hatred of the thought. “That’s what she needs first.” The door slams behind me, a loud crack coming with the move. It makes me chuckle again, almost waiting for stamping footsteps to echo in the hall outside.
“Show me what?” Madeline asks.
“The past. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
I turn to look back at her, and am as stunned as I first was when I walked into this room. My face flattens under the sight, desperately trying to remember the need to do anything other than make love. Satin floats across her curves, highlighting everything that Selma was, is. Even her hair seems darker in this light, shadows casting a chocolate tone across it. And her eyes glimmer in the small shaft of light from the open curtain, emphasising pupils that contract and widen.
“I’ve known your eyes for so long I can’t see anything else but them.”
“What?”
“Your skin, your curves. Look at you. Still so beautiful.” I reach for the coat near me, desperate to see the auburn fur mingle further into her hair and prove all this is real.
“See, that. What does that mean? Do I look like her? Is that it? Who is she?” she says, lips quivering as I take a step closer and offer the coat to her. “Why do I need that?” I frown at her questions and walk away again, shaking my head and opening the door my dead wife slammed. Dead. She’s dead. A ghost. And Lenon is, too. Dead. Both dead. “Jack, where?”
I scowl at the hall as I walk out into it, glaring at the hacked up door as it comes into sight. Dead. All dead. And their innocent mutilated bodies come into my mind as I keep going. Bloody, open wounds seeping out onto carpet. Eyes lifeless and rigid rather than holding the vibrancy Madeline’s now show me. Bile sticks in my throat at the thoughts, making me grab onto the wall for support as I edge along the hall and bypass the room of dogs.
“What’s in that room, Jack? You haven’t answered me,” she says, her feet scuttling behind me as she catches up. “Jack, please. I need to understand this. I need clarity of some sort. Why do I feel this thing inside me?” I shake my head again, lifting my heavy feet and taking the stairs downwards the moment they come into view. “Jack, Christ, come on. Look at me. Why am I wearing this? Tell me, please.”
“NOT UNTIL I’M FUCKING READY,” I bellow, infuriated with the questions when I have no answers to give.
She gasps behind me, something crashing to the ground at the same moment. I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but getting away from this damn spiral and the dogs in that room. Nothing makes sense. It’s all confused, and I can’t see anything clearly anymore. The only thing I can see is their mutilated bodies.
Where’s my Selma gone?
“Selma?” She doesn’t answer as I turn onto the ground floor, eyes searching the corridor for a glimpse of her. I need her here now. I need her voice and some direction, not these unending questions that have no meaning unless she’s here. “Please, Selma
.”
“Jack?”
“Selma? Where are you?”
“Jack?”
Was that Madeline or Selma?
I turn back to look for Madeline and find nothing but the spiral looking down at me, so I spin again and head for the door. Perhaps she’s outside in that darkness and fog she likes so much.
The sun blinds me as I head out into it, confusing me as I search the tree line for something to clarify all this. Madeline’s right. We both need clarification. I need it. I need Selma here to mingle with Madeline again. The two of them as one. I need that.
“Selma. Come here, now.” Nothing happens other than a light breeze blowing the top of the old redwoods. “Fuck you,” I snarl out, as I walk out down the steps and onto the gravel. “You started this, you bitch. Get here and finish it.” Silence.
I snarl at the lack of an answer, wanting nothing more than her hissing, or the low hum of fog as it creeps the ground to get to me. My fingers roll her ring in my pocket as I think. It was so easy to pick it up after I’d been inside Madeline, like she’s a part of its platinum somehow. Maybe I should put it on her finger, wake the bitch back up like that. “Stop playing with me, baby. You know how dirty I can get when you piss me off.”
“Jack? Is this her?” I swing my head back to the door and find Madeline hovering there, a piece of paper in her hand as she gazes at me. My eyes narrow at the sight, immediately recognizing the old newspaper clipping. “This is her, isn’t it?” Fury rises inside me as I remember looking at that crumpled piece of paper. Weeks went past while I did nothing but decay in this house, holding onto that scrap of an obituary. “She looks like me.”
“Where did you get that?” I snap, my feet turning back to her. Her eyes widen as I storm over and snatch it from her hand.
“It was in the table. I knocked into it and it fell out. I’m sorry, but if you would just answer my questions maybe we could…”
The Spiral Page 17
