A wedding.
“Oh god,” I breathe out through our lips. “Selma.”
Just hold on.
It’s freefall from there, all the feelings and emotions she’s got somehow propelling their way through me with no stopping them. It’s not me here anymore. I’m barely holding onto any reality at all as I let her consume me without fight. And it’s so cold now. So very cold I can barely catch my breath as he pushes and hoists me further up. Every touch is like ice across me, somehow whispered through me until I’m numb to anything other than his fingers biting in and holding on.
He shoves again, making me howl at the pain as my back grates and grinds against the trunk. It should hurt, I know it should, but instead it feels euphoric, some part of me screaming for more of it even though I should be running from his hold. The negligee gets pulled from my skin, thrown somewhere. I’m not even sure if I did it or he did, or maybe it was her.
Oh god, Selma. She’s screaming at me, moaning and calling his name, pushing it through my lips without my consent. It’s panted and groaned, as if she’s here rather than me and there’s nothing I can do, or want to do, to stop this insanity taking hold.
“Baby,” he says, grunting as he finally tugs my hips upwards and seats himself inside. My eyes fly open, lips trying to say something I can’t find in my mind. “I’ve missed you so much,” he says, grinding into me and cutting through any inch of separation that was left. “You’re home, baby.”
I do nothing but stare into hazel eyes as he pushes deeper inside me, waiting for something to tell me this is normal, that it’s okay for him to be fucking a ghost through me. I can’t find anything to say, nothing of my own anyway. It’s all her and him. Her moaning. Her clawing at him. Her whispering his name, pulling him closer with my hands.
“Tell me, baby,” he mutters, long slow thrusts building their rhythm as he wraps an arm around me and lifts me from the trunk. I don’t know what to say, or even if I should, and the moment he drops me to the floor, covering me with himself and still driving in, I know I don’t have to. They’re not my words to say. They’re hers.
“I love you,” murmurs from me, barely able to separate my own thought from hers. “I love you, Jack.”
Winds whip the air, a crackle of thunder following them as he keeps pushing in, his lips moulded to mine the entire time. It’s timeless, precious. Them together. Me breathing for her, feeling every inch of him for her. It’s all so serene, a connection coming from them that I feel privileged to be in the middle of. And then that fog comes. I can’t see it. I don’t need to. I can feel it smothering my icy skin, feel it warming the space around us and bracing me against him with no route for escape anymore. It’s calming, levelling me into him at the same moment as she begins to cry. I can feel that, too. It send ripples through my skin, making the orgasm coming chase itself quicker for her. And now I’m crying. I can feel the tears tracing my face and telling me stories about them. Love, honour, respect. It’s all so intense, so penetrating. Every emotion they feel is flooding me and wetting his face as his stubble grates my cheek and he keeps up the rhythm.
“Jack, I love you.”
I wish I knew who said that. It’s not her anymore; it’s me I think. All I can feel is he and I, some part of her disappearing as my orgasm crashes and I grip on tighter. He shunts me downwards, forcing my back onto the deck, and rises up to watch me groan out the orgasm. I pant at him, letting the ebb of other worlds fill me with the love they talk of until he lifts one of my legs and tips it over his shoulder.
“One was never enough for you,” he says, a dirty smile leaving me breathless at the sight of it, let alone the thought. “Tell me you want more.” His belt rubs against me, small nudges of it heightening every freefall towards crashing orgasms. “Let me hear you, baby. Remind me.”
I groan again, or I think I do. I’ve given up caring who’s here anymore, more consumed in the feel of him on me than anything else. And I want to see him all, I do. My hands are reaching forward to tug his shirt off before I consider whether it’s appropriate. I don’t care about anything but this, here and now. He helps me instantly, clawing at his own clothes until he’s as naked as I am, neither of us caring for the fog that surrounds us, the freezing temperature, or the darkness that’s once again come from nowhere. This is us, the three of us, for better or worse doing whatever the hell this is.
“Jack, please. More.”
He levers down, his lips brushing mine peacefully at the same moment as he deepens the drives again, filling me so completely all breath leaves me. Love drifts again—a love that I can’t comprehend, yet understand so intensely that my mind nearly explodes at the richness of it. So many memories. So much joy and happiness, all of it coming through her and into me with no fear of me seeing such intimacy.
“Our son.” I gasp at the words leaving my lips, another tear pricking the corner of my eye as he covers my body with his and groans. I can smell him—Lenon. I can even see his boyish eyes as this man carries on driving in, filling me with thoughts of carrying our child and loving him, loving them both. And before I know what’s happening, I’m sobbing, my hands scratching at his back to pull him in deeper, find something that’s lost between us even though I’ve never known him. But I have known him. I know that now. I’ve known him for so long I don’t think I knew anything before him, nothing that makes sense anymore, anyway. “Oh god, I love you.”
He grunts on the final forge inwards, his mouth smothering the last of the words until there’s nothing left but the two of us balanced in this fog, barely conscious to any known reality and continuing to linger in this experience with no desire to leave it.
That’s all there is now—her, him, and some small part of me clinging onto them in the hope that I might survive whatever this has become.
Chapter 17
Jack
S he moves quicker than I’d like, instantly bringing the daylight with her as she heaves at me and rolls away. Fucking daylight. I want my dark back. Selma’s there, and Madeline isn’t denying me or her anymore. She’s here now. Alive again.
“You should get back down here,” I mutter as I grab for her leg. She should. She should forget about any reality she knows and come live this fucked up one with me instead, enjoy it.
She sidesteps out of my hand, reaching for the fur coat and shrugging it around herself.
“Maybe, but that’s not getting me or Selma inside that room, is it? And I know now. I do, Jack. I know it all. I can feel her.”
Before I’ve processed what’s she’d said, she’s running, her feet nimbly negotiating the treehouse as if she’s been on it a thousand times.
“Selma,” I call, rolling myself onto my knees to grab at my jeans and shirt.
Fuck. Conniving little bitch. This is Selma’s doing, not Madeline’s. She’s inside her now, moulding the two of them together, both of them using each other to get their own damn way. She laughs somewhere ahead of me, causing me to shrug into my jeans quickly and discard the shirt in favour of catching up with her.
My bare feet sprint, not caring for the ground that undulates beneath them as I crash though the undergrowth to get to them before either of them see my dogs. I’m not ready for it, and neither is Madeline. And although Selma’s clearly already seen inside it, what the fuck she needs Madeline to see for I don’t know.
“Madeline,” I shout, finally seeing her coat trailing behind her as she scampers through the woods, feet covered with mud as she leaps a brook.
She doesn’t reply, just keeps going until she manages to find the main driveway and veers along it, her feet picking up speed again.
“You can’t stop this, Jack,” she screams back, more laughter following her words.
I career on, pushing every muscle I’ve got to get to the house before she does, and swerve off to the left to cut through the small wood that lies to the east of the house. Thickets and brambles hang heavy inside it, hindering my path, but the shortcut proves useful as I watch
her come into view again. She’s to the right, her own feet still powering her along towards the main steps.
She looks across at me, knowing she’s not going to make it first. She scowls and suddenly swerves right away from the front of the house, confusing me. “More than one way in, Jack,” she calls. Bitch. I watch her negotiate the terrain, her feet nimbly crossing the stepping stones towards the cellar’s entrance. The same entrance that will lead her straight to the spiral. It’s as if she knows the damn house better than I do all of a sudden. “You’ll have left this open, too, won’t you?”
Selma.
“Don’t, Madeline,” I shout, barely containing my animosity for a wife who’s managing to outmanoeuvre me.
I turn sharply, trying to get to the main door before her, but I’m not going to make it along the hall in time. I know that. She’s beaten me because of Selma’s knowledge of the building, not hers. She knows nothing of this place, but my wife? She knew it better than me. All those damn days rebuilding the decrepit monster, turning it into our home, showed her parts of this place no one even knew existed.
A noise rumbles in the distance, causing me to swing my head behind me and look back up the drive. A car’s coming. I can see the dust over towards the headland. I whip back to look for Madeline, noticing as she grinds to a halt by the cellar door and swings around, too. She seems confused as she peers at the dust, and then her face drains of colour regardless of the sprinting she’s been doing. Her hands fly to her mouth, feet stumbling over themselves to back her towards the stonework. She looks scared, the laughter of moments ago disappearing with every breath she pulls in.
“Jack,” she says, her eyes widening as the car keeps coming and kicks up gravel in its wake. “You’ve got to go. Run.”
“Why?”
“That’s Lewis’ car.”
My eyes narrow at the vehicle, annoyed with its presence for multiple reasons and about ready to kill the man who dared mar the beauty of my wife’s face. It causes enough anger to rise that I’m walking in her direction and blocking her from him before I’ve thought any more of it.
She shakes her head at me, eyes wider than before as she shivers against the stonework and then glances back at the vehicle.
“Don’t be stupid, Jack. He’s come for me, not you. You have to go. Leave.” She walks from the wall, pushing at my chest and pointing towards the main steps. “Go, Jack. Hide.” I stare at her, unsure what the fuck she thinks a snivelling little abuser can do in front of a real man, then smile at the prospect of showing him what real men actually do to protect the women they love. “Oh God, Jack. I’m not going back. I’m not. Not again. I need the gun. Where’s the gun?” She turns and bolts into the cellar, the door opening after a shove so hard it crashes against the side of the building. “Go, Jack.”
I turn slowly to watch the car continuing towards me, little care for her analogy of him. He’s a fucking abuser is what he is. A weakling. I’ve been training my dogs for too long to care about something as insignificant as a wife beater and his threats. Perhaps he should join them in their cell, learn what real pain feels like from the hands of someone who gives a damn about delivering it correctly. I’ll wait here for him. Show him how real men behave.
The wind makes the dust drift as the black SUV closes in on me. It reminds me of Selma’s fog, amusing me as I wait for whatever this fucker thinks he’s got for me. It felt so good to hold her again, hear her voice coming at me as she moaned her love for me.
“JACK.”
I swing back to the door, my feet instantly picking up speed at her alarmed voice, and head into the cold confines of the cellar. She shouts again somewhere ahead, making me run up the stairs quicker to get to the door by the spiral. It’s open when I arrive, no sight of her.
“Madeline?” I call out, trying to gauge her position. She doesn’t answer, but I can feel the chill already coming from the black carpet of the spiral. “You here, baby?” I whisper, watching and waiting for the frost to ebb down to me. No answer from either of them again, but I hear the crackle of ice that comes with her, sense it pull me towards the both of them. “What are you up to, wife? You want me to hurt him like I do those dogs?”
The windows fly open behind me, the bluster of wind swelling the curtains into the room as I watch on then turn for the stairs again. “A little dramatic, baby, don’t you think?” I snark, chuckling to myself at her theatrics and beginning to climb. “You just need to damn well talk to me. Ask.”
Jack.
“Madeline, where are you?”
The old doorbell chimes back along the corridor, half halting me as I consider just going and grabbing the fucker and pulling him up this spiral so he can rot with the others, but I suppose there could be more than just him. Madeline might be right with her thoughts of the guns.
I swing back and head for the hall table, ready to swipe the revolver, but it’s already missing. She must already have it, which amuses me more than I’d like to admit. She’s ready to kill. She sure as hell wasn’t when I first met her, but then she has Selma now. Selma’s courage. Selma’s animosity and hatred, and fear and pain do strange things to people. Just as they did to me. She can join me in her quest for madness. Join us.
We’ll rid the planet of vile thugs and their needs.
“You still here, baby?” I ask, my feet climbing the black carpeted steps again to get to my dogs. I snort, wondering if I should set them loose, let them hunt something and kill prey. They haven’t eaten properly for weeks, not that they damn well deserve anything to fill their repugnant stomachs, but maybe this could amuse us all.
I chuckle again and watch the frost creep over the floor as I keep turning the spiral, ready to let it consume any thoughts of reality I had left. This is what we’ve become now, a torrid disarray of half in, half out. It’s Madeline we both want. Madeline we need. And no one’s taking her away from us.
Before I reach the top, I hear the main door being kicked at, its one catch holding fast against whatever intruder is trying to get in. Stupid fucker. He only needs to turn the damn handle and it’ll open, just like it always does. We’re all ready for him in here. All of us are ready for anything that dares take my sanctuary from me again.
The door to my dogs is open by the time I’ve arrived, Madeline hovering in the entrance and staring into the room. I watch for a minute, wondering how she opened it, and then decide not to care anymore. There’s no point in hiding it now. If she doesn’t know already, then Selma would have soon shown her what my life has become about. She probably feels it already regardless of my attempt to shield her. Like she said, she knows now.
My hand eventually reaches for her shoulder, the fur of the coat reminding me of the fucking that ensued on top of Lenon’s treehouse—beautiful, rampant fucking, all of it happening in our son’s favourite place. She doesn’t even react to me as she carries on staring, a strange sense of shock written all over her beauty until I push on her to make her step into the dimly lit space.
She might as well smell it as well as see it.
“Jack?”
“Dogs.”
“But…” She looks at me with eyes full of confusion, her hand covering her mouth and nose as we walk in.
“They’re here because of you. You’ll understand soon enough.”
Footsteps echo in the hall below us, making me look back at the door and then close it quietly. Perhaps if we wait in here he’ll come find us and let me show him what happens to intruders.
“Will he be armed?”
She glances at me, and then walks forward a few small paces until she reaches the metal bars.
“I don’t know,” she mumbles, too intent on the sight in front of her to care.
Dog three cowers in the darkened corner like he always does, whimpering and whining, waiting for dog one to show him what to do. I sneer at him, thinking about what use he’s ever been to me other than for amusement and revenge. Two waits patiently, his nearly torn off clothes dropping from his p
iss stained frame as he sits like a good dog, knowing his damn place. But one, he’s as intent as he always is as he creeps closer to her. I watch him sniffing the putrefying air, hoping for a taste of something other than me. Some element of pride mixes with the loathing I feel for them, perhaps chased with the memories of what they’ve meant to me all this time. They’ve given me credence up until Madeline came here. Given me purpose.
He lunges unexpectedly, an enthusiastic grimace idling his features, causing Madeline to scamper away, his face coming to the bars and hands grabbing at them.
“Jesus,” she pants out, quietly backing into me and pulling her coat tighter around her.
“Hardly,” I mutter, looking at his filthy face at the bars as I reach for the zapper.
His tongue licks the side of the caging they’re behind, nose sniffing again to pull in Madeline’s perfume. It pisses me off that he’s even trying to smell her. He smelt Selma enough when he raped her, and sniffed the blood pooling on Lenon’s chest when he shot him. Fury wells inside at the mere thought, but I quiet the havoc I want to let loose, knowing this isn’t the time with other intruders in the house.
“What is this, Jack? This is… I don’t know what to…”
“Memories and death,” I mutter, listening to the continued echo of footfalls below us, a few voices coming with them. “The past. My present, until you.”
She looks at me, just stares, barely noticing anything other than me in this room of rot and hatred. And she’s so beautiful like this. She’s all I ever wanted. Her and Lenon. All of us together, filling this place with more children and harbouring our love. “They took you away from me, baby, Lenon too. You must remember that.”
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