Page 1 of The Spiral

Chapter 1

Jack

The pad vibrates in my fingers, an enthusiastic yelp coming at me from the distance because of it. I scowl, enough energy left in the sound to make me wander through the woods towards it. I don’t need to. Two more presses against this pad and they’ll be rushing back to my feet anyway, but there’s still that obstinate element in me that enjoys the sound of their pained howls. Likes to see it.

Dogs.

There are three of them. I’ve let them out for their weekly run. One is bulky and stout. He’s the fighter, the one who pushes the other two off the food. The leaner one is crafty, forever hovering behind the stout one’s feet, waiting for his chance. And the last one is near starving, scavenging for any small scrap he’s left with, constantly whining. They’re hunting for rabbit now, foraging through ditches and headlands, hoping for something to eat. It’s their chance to open up and stretch, my offer of normality. Although, they won’t get any more freedom anytime soon.

I stare around the parkland, letting the warmth of the sun bask down on me in the hope I’ll feel it. I don’t. It may as well be the depths of winter for me. Everything is cold, pointless. It’s only these three dogs that keep me going. Feed them. Walk them. Train them. Remind them. That’s it. Nothing else exists for me other than those four disciplines.

My phone rings somewhere on my body. I ignore it, not caring for whatever irrelevant topic the caller wishes to discuss. I have no reason to talk to anyone now apart from these dogs and one member of staff, and he barely gets conversation. It beeps a message at me, one I’ll ignore further until I can be bothered to look at it later. The last message was from my brother, some counter topic about selling up soon. I ended the call before the message got a chance to finish. I’m not selling anything. Ever. It belongs to me and me alone now. No one is forcing anything from me, even if it is with the best intentions.

Another yelp sounds out as I turn into the ditch, my finger pressing the button in my hand so one of them shows themselves to me. A flash of brown darts around the corner, mud being kicked up as it runs and tries to hunt for rabbits again. I chuckle at the sight of it, and move branches out of my way as I clamber out the other side of the boggy ground. This one’s fast. He likes to play games with me, testing my patience with every break for escape. The others are slower, easier to keep up with, but I haven’t seen either of them since we made it past the border of the headland. They’ve probably turned back, given up the chase in the hope that this one will bring home the bacon. Either way, I don’t care. The buttons I’m holding will do the work for me when I need to call them all back.

I stroll my way through the marshy ground, picking my route carefully, and stare back at the house to look at its grandeur. It’s still as striking as it was the day we first saw it, imposing its presence on the parkland around it with little care for competition. It sits tall, casting a now ominous glow over the area and warning intruders to stay away. It never did at first. It was beautiful then, a perfect pretence of modern fairy-tales waiting for happy families and a king and queen to rule over their land, children in tow. Now it’s a mausoleum, one I create and allow myself to weep within. Happily.

A shriek of sound splits the air’s quiet meander, growls and snarls floating through the trees back at me. I turn and hurry along the paths, wanting to see the kill and watch the throttle of fur as he takes his meal. It feeds me somehow, gives me a sense of purpose or pride. Maybe it just gives me something to live for, something to witness and cling onto. They’ve become like my children somehow now. My purpose.

The trees clear as I round the corners, only the small bushes hindering my view of the cacophonous sound. I climb the bank, heaving my feet through the wet ground to get a clear line of sight, but I’m already too late. There’s nothing left but traces of blood surrounding his muzzle, and fur hanging from the carcass at his feet. I sneer at it, annoyed with myself for missing the entertainment, and press the buttons six times just to watch the fucking thing yelp in quick succession. His body quivers and thrashes under the shock that rides him, legs giving up bothering to stand.

Fucking dog. I should have moved quicker, kept up with it.

The thought’s annoying enough that I press the other buttons, too, listening for more yelps in the distance so I can punish them for this one’s indiscretion. He knows he should wait; they all do. They fucking wait until they’re told to do anything, eating included.

Howls sound off to the left somewhere, both of them agonised and tormented. I smile at that as I look down at this one still bucking about, some element of me feeling amused with the thought, and then release the buttons and turn for home. Their run is done now, called short by this one forgetting his training. Maybe they’ll get another one next week. Maybe they won’t.

Hard ground eventually crunches underfoot. I keep moving with little care for the continued whimpers that come from behind, and stare into a mist that’s come down. He can suffer the pain. It might make him think faster next time and remember his place. This is a partial freedom I allow them, not a chance at proving some attempt at superiority. Starving or not, they will not eat until they’re told to. They won’t do a fucking thing until they’re given permission.

They can all go back to their damn cages and wallow in their misfortune again. Wait until I give them another chance at escape, just so I can force them back to where they dared to once wreak havoc. They can sit in their place, staring at her photographs and learn some more about what it means to destroy something I love. They’ll rot in the poison I let them drink, eat the pungent meat I charitably offer them. Beg and whinge for decency as I hurt them for their rashness, all the time staring at the faces of those they destroyed. They’ll putrefy in their mistake, dealing with whatever fate I choose to deliver for as long as I deem necessary.

Damn dogs. Vile, insipid, treacherous fucking dogs.

If she were alive now, they’d know the benefits of protecting her at all costs, know how much more pleasurable life is with her around.

They’d know their manners now.

They’d kill for her rather than take liberties they never should have damn well taken.