“What?” He pecks again, feet jumping in front of me, then moves to the side and pecks again.
“Don’t let go of him ‘til I get there.”
Who? The crow?
Something grabs at my ankle, grasping it tightly and beginning to pull. I slide backwards a little, causing reality to come crashing in around me as wet ground sluices my lips. My leg kicks out, fear tearing through my body as I haul on the stone to pull myself away from whatever it is. The crow flies up, his wings flapping, talons reaching towards my face and then over my head.
“What the fuck?” the voice shouts behind me, a sudden aggressive lilt to his voice. I spin sluggishly to the sound, watching as the man tries to bat my crow away. “Just hold onto that damn stone until I can get to you.”
His tone makes me peer at him through the cacophony of wings and arms. It’s so familiar, like an embedded resonance from my past. I can’t pinpoint it, though. It’s suppressed somewhere inside me, a memory carved into my mind that I can’t see. I grab the stone again, heaving my tired limbs forward to cling to it rather than have another man ever touch me again. Ghosts and guns are all I have left for men now. That and the reality of my life without anyone in it.
I feel dormant as I watch the silhouettes fight with each other, the crow bouncing between the light of the sky and the pitch black soil beneath them both. The man defends his position as he tries to get across the bog, arms striking at the crow as he keeps coming for me. The bog? I scan the ground, suddenly realizing where I am, and watch as the earth lathers and quivers around me, nothing but this stone somehow standing firm in the middle of it. There’s nothing else. Not even Lewis.
I frown, my hand reaching for the ground he was on a minute ago.
“Lewis?” I whisper, unsure what’s happening. Where’s he gone? I stretch further out, testing the sodden ooze of oily blackness, only to find nothing but more of it below the surface. “But he was here. He was. Where...” My eyes tear around the area, both hands reaching around me, searching for his body. I was lying on it. I was. I saw the bullet holes, felt the heat of his skin against mine. It was here. It happened. And where’s the gun gone? “Selma.” Her name whispers out of me quietly as I slowly move out into the bog, still searching for Lewis, fear I’ve lost my mind completely pushing me towards the only image of reality I have. “Are you still here?”
“Jesus. Don’t let go of that. Fuck.” His voice startles me back to the present as he latches onto my wrist and starts tugging. I stare straight up into blackness, his looming shadow casting into my face. “Just stay down. I’ll have to drag you out. Hold onto me.”
Hold onto him.
Time seems stagnant as I hear those words. Hold onto him. Just hold onto him.
I’ve heard that before. Moments ago, or perhaps years ago. I don’t know. I frown into the shadows around me, trying to remember when I heard it, or who I heard it from. It’s familiar again, like this man’s tone. He hauls me, my body sliding over the mud and ooze underneath us, powerful arms seeming to pull me along without any fear of this bottomless ground.
“Nearly there, just hold on. Can you push through with me?”
My free arm reaches for him weakly, my feet trying to propel me against the slippery surface, but I haven’t got anything left to push with. And why should I anyway? I probably deserve to die in here with Lewis. I should let this bog suck me under, let it drown out the last memories I have of a life lived inadequately.
Just hold onto him.
Get up, Maddy.
Real time comes racing back before I’ve taken another breath, her voice exploding in my ears. My vision swims round, bright colours erupting from the grey shadows I’ve been in, making me squint and hold my arm up to stop the brightness. I can’t move, though. I can’t. It’s pulling me back down, the pressure dragging me. I claw at him feebly, fingers trying to hold on as I feel my legs sinking back into the bog. It sucks at me, trying to yank me back regardless of his heavy pull on my arms and my pathetic fight against it. It doesn’t matter how often I push, or how hard I seem to try, I’ve got nothing left to try with.
I’m done.
Get up, Maddy. We need you. The future.
Something lifts my hips. I feel it, and the abrupt forward surge of my body has me clambering onto firm ground, looking back for whatever pushed me here. Nothing’s there. Nothing but the stone a few metres out and the sluice of bog I’ve come through.
I pant, weary limbs heavy against the grassy bank I’m on, and curl up into a ball again to stare into daylight, searching.
“Are you alright?”
Warmth dowses me, something soft landing against my skin and blanketing me. I shake under it, still staring back towards that stone and wondering what the hell just happened. There’s no Lewis to see. No gun. No sign of the men I thought I’d shot either. There’s only daylight, a bright spring day casting nothing but sun onto what was gloom and shadows a minute ago, birds chirping in the trees around me.
“Madeline?” The voice moves in front of me quietly, his tone lighter now he’s stopped shouting and yelling. “Are you hurt?” I don’t know if I’m hurt or not, nor do I care. I’m just a ball of nerves and sensations, barely registering anything but this daylight I’m in as I stare at the stone and finally see some reason for it. My fingers reach forward a little, unsure what I’m trying to reach for until something small lands in my hand. I bring it closer, suddenly understanding what it is and looking at the glass screen caked in mud. My phone. “Come on, let’s get you warm. Just hold on.”
I feel his arms pick me up, feel him shrug me into him and move, but I can’t take my eyes off the stone behind me. It’s the words I’ve just seen carved in. They’re words I didn’t see before in the gloom. Words I wish I wasn’t seeing now. And tears I thought had run dry come as I keep reading them over his shoulder, my head bobbing with his movement. They’re tears that threaten to spiral me into a madness of a loss I didn’t know I’d feel. Didn’t realize I’d have too.
Three names and dates. All of them together on a blackening stone.
The last one a man I loved.
Chapter 23
Madeline
S oft hands put me down at the front of the main house, gently lowering me onto the steps. I stare out towards the gravel, barely holding the covering around me. I haven’t looked at him yet. I chose to close my eyes and imagine Jack as we came back, remember him. And now I feel bruised somehow, my limbs all but exhausted as I gaze onto the parkland we’ve just come across. It’s all so bright, sunshine pouring onto the fields and valleys, the tall redwoods bathed in a sprinkling of glittering gold, but I feel empty of the warmth I should feel because of it. Lost.
“Wait there. I’ll just unlock the door.”
“It’s open,” I mumble, searching the skyline for him. “It’s always open.”
“What?”
Shoes walk around into my view, mud still covering them from his heroics as a tall frame blocks my view. Not that he pulled me out entirely. I know that now. I knew it the moment I saw their names on that stone, the dates of their deaths engraved next to them. It was Jack who lifted me out. Jack who offered that final shove to get me free as my own will faded.
“I think we need to get you to a doctor,” he says, alarm in his voice.
I smile at that and look past his legs, the curve of my lips creeping up from somewhere deep inside me. A doctor couldn’t tell me what’s happened here. No one can. I’m not even sure I know, or if they even do, but it has happened. I can feel it all as I look around for Lewis’ car, knowing it won’t be here. She’ll have made that disappear along with him, leaving me free to go on as I please without his menace controlling my life.
“Do you think they’re happy now?” I ask, slowly climbing to my feet and bypassing him to aim for the old redwoods, perhaps hoping I might get a glimpse of them together.
“What are you talking about?” he says behind me, feet crunching the gravel to catch up.
My own bare feet hardly feel the sharp indents as I peer into the glade, smiling at the bluebells and lush green grass. It all seems so alive here now, as if the last however long was held under a cloud, waiting for spring to bring the sun and start life again.
“Jack and Selma. You think they’re together again now?” He slides to a stop, grabbing my arm harshly and swinging me back to him. I shrug him off and keep walking, intent on my destination and refusing to see anything other than my thoughts. I want to see them, thank them maybe. I don’t know how, or even if I should, given me killing my husband, but I need to tell them it’s okay now, that all of this is okay. “Maybe they’ve found Lenon, too.”
There’s an infuriated huff behind me, one that reminds me of a man I made love to. It’s the type of sound that would have once had Maddy shaking in fear, her limbs shivering under the thought of malice and bruises, but it’s not enough to stop me walking away anymore. I’ll walk where I damn well please, certain in the knowledge that they did all this for me. And I want to find them because of that, thank them and see something I helped make happen. They’re alive to me, still here somewhere, maybe inside of me or really out there, running free. Perhaps if I go up to the treehouse again I’ll see her fog, find her in it.
“Mrs. Blisedy, my brother’s dead. What are you talking about?”
Brother?
The thought piques my interest back to him, a sneer touching my lips at the thought of that name. Blisedy. I’m no longer Blisedy. I’m Cavanngh again now. Fully. The death of my husband proves it. How and when I’ll explain that to the world I don’t know, but I will. Somehow.
I turn slowly and hope beyond all hope that I can see Jack hiding in him somehow, see his smile coming for me to remind me what all this has been about.
My stomach convulses at the first glimpse, part of me wanting to run into his arms, the other needing to sit down and take him in. Tall, dark, the frown I know so well covering heavy set eyes. He quirks a lip at my stare, hands faltering at his sides under my scrutiny until he pockets them and lowers his gaze a little. I keep staring, suddenly unsure if I should keep walking away from him towards Jack and Selma, or stay here and let whatever they’ve both been playing at carry on interfering with my life.
“Twins,” I murmur, still musing over every identical feature on show. My legs inch me closer, the long Mackintosh I’m wearing hugging my frame in a show of decency. “Or maybe you’re not you at all. Maybe you’re him.” He raises a brow, brightening his dower look into the mischievous man who smiled at me when ghosts starting appearing in my life. “Who are you?”
“I’m pretty certain I’m not my brother, Mrs. Blisedy. You definitely need a doctor.”
“Really? You look like him.” I edge closer again, noticing every line that seems to make him more like Jack the nearer I get.
“I don’t see how you’d know that,” he says, his brow folding again as he stares me down.
It’s a fair point, one I’m struggling to explain other than simply blurting out the truth. He’s been dead for two years apparently. That’s what the dates said. Selma and Lenon a little over a year before that.
“You recognize me, too, don’t you?” He shakes his head and reaches for me, beckoning me back towards the house, his hand outstretched as if wanting to guide me. Oh, he’s so like him. Handsome, that slight look of superiority waiting in his features, showing the world he will not be pushed into conversations he’s not ready to acknowledge.
“Please, if I get you inside I might be able to find you some clothes.”
Clothes? I’m not sure I want any. I tug the coat a little tighter, still able to feel Jack’s last touch on my skin in the treehouse, some element of me desperate to leave any trace of it on me that I can. I look back to the headland, missing the sensation now I know it’s gone, and search the ground for any kick of spring leaves that might flutter up. There’s nothing, though. Nothing but a tranquil landscape stretching on for miles and miles, the air as clear as they’ve made it become.
“How did he die?” I eventually mumble, sighing as I turn back towards the steps and wander past him into the house.
He catches up as I weave along the hall, my fingers running through the dust on the surfaces in the hope of feeling them somehow. It’s all so familiar, all so engrained in me, just like it was when they were here. I stop by the bottom of the spiral, eyes flicking to the rug we made love on, and then stare up the black steps. They turn as elegantly as they always have, the carvings of the bannister flowing upwards like a temptation, but this time they seem brighter, as if the darkness has left.
“Are you alright? You sure we don’t need a doctor?” I swing back, irritated with his concern, and peer into his face.
“I asked how he died.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, another Jack scowl descending, which makes me giggle slightly and look back at the spiral again.
“Look, I don’t know what’s happened here, or why you’re naked for god’s sake, or even what the hell you were doing up there in the bog, but can I suggest we get you some clothes and then get you home?” he says, walking away from me through to the kitchen. “I’m sure there must be some of Selma’s clothes here somewhere that you can wear.” Clanking and banging reverberates back from him as I keep looking up the stairs, wondering what’s up there now that the men are gone. My foot inches onto the first step, then the next, ready to go look for cages and work out what was real and what was not. “The buyers will be here soon, and if you’re okay I’d really rather you weren’t naked when they arrive.”
My head whips back towards his voice coming from the kitchen.
“What buyers?”
“Blandenhyme is being auctioned off this afternoon.” Every nerve I have rushes through me at the thought, violently tingling and telling me something I don’t understand. He walks back into the circle around us and holds out some clothes “That’s the reason you’re supposed to be here, to value the antiques before it’s gone so we can empty the place.” Anger suddenly explodes inside me, the image of any of this being removed sending shivers of disgust across me in waves.
“How much?” I snap out, feet storming back to him as I reach for the clothes in his hands and snatch them from him.
“What?” he says, confused at my abrupt hostility I’m sure.
“How much is it being sold for?”
“A lot.” My eyes narrow, unsure how much I have in my bank accounts.
“How much is a lot?”
“Look, Mrs. Blisedy, I’m–”
“HOW MUCH?” He startles, his hands coming up as he backs away and crunches over the very rug I made love to him on. What the hell was that thought? I shake my head, snorting. Not him. Jack. His brother. He glowers at me, clearly infuriated he’s not in on whatever joke I’m thinking about, his mouth clamped into a line of unamused consideration. “I’m sorry. Just, how much do you want for the house and land?”
“One point three million, at least. It’s a substantial property. Now, please. If you could…”
My shoulders slump, his words trailing off as I think about that much money, and my legs reel back towards the stairs. Any thought I had of being able to get the place falls away as quickly as my shoulders. I might be wealthy in my own right, but that much is out of reach without Lewis’ backing, no matter how well my business does. And he’s gone now, no help available to save this house from whatever development will ensue.
The dust in the air flickers past as I quietly pull my legs into the trousers, blanketing the area with visons of what I’ve been involved in here. I smile weakly and shrug into the loose fitting jumper, wondering if they’re Selma and Jack, the particles little flecks of them still wandering around their home.
“What’s your name?” I ask as I get up, melancholy flooding me with memories that still aren’t mine to remember.
“Toby Caldwell.”
I nod at that and walk towards the hall, remembering Lenon in this very room, fire trucks scra
ping the wooden floor. I can almost hear Jack’s voice from the other end of the building, too. He’s calling out for him, telling him he’s home and ready to play. They both make me smile and giggle slightly, the sentiment as vibrant in my heart as it was when I first felt them.
“And you’re positive you’re you, Toby?” He laughs at me, his hand reaching around me to open the main door.
“As much as you’re sure of who you are.” I snort at that, not sure who any of us are anymore, but knowing there’s nothing left I can do now regardless. I suppose at least they’re together now. And Lewis is dead. They’ve done that for me, helped me pull a trigger I never would have pulled on my own. “As I was saying, Bob’s fixed your car now. I’m sorry I was late—traffic, you know? Perhaps you wouldn’t have been wandering around in the bog if I was on time. Might have kept your clothes on. Not that that was too much of a hardship for me to witness. What happened to them by the way?”
“Late?” He frowns and hovers, his hand on the door.
“You’re more bothered about me being late than the loss of your clothes?” He chuckles. I stare, focusing my point. What does he mean late? “It’s three o’clock. My secretary told you one, didn’t she?”
“But I’ve been here for days.” I gaze at the hall table, trying to work out what he’s talking about and find some sense in it. “I met Jack here at the door and he took me to the ballroom first.” The thought hovers, searching for reasons even though I know I must sound idiotic. It’s just the timing’s not right, regardless of if he was alive or not. Too much has happened for only a few hours. “The Hopper sketches. They’re in the study. I saw them. And then we danced after that. He held on too tight, frightened me.” A hand rubs my back, seemingly trying to soothe my ramble. I snatch away from it, hands grabbing onto the table to focus me into sane thought and search for answers.
“No, you arrived around one, via the lower bog according to Bob, and you were meant to meet me here. Toby Caldwell? Bob said you wandered off when he started fixing the car.” No, that’s not what happened here. It isn’t. I hold up a finger at him, remembering the drive back home, the smoke that filled my lungs as my house burnt down around us.
The Spiral Page 24