Page 23 of The Spiral
“I don’t, but I won’t have you killing yourself either. Keep it close to you. Look down the barrel for precision.” He shoves my head forward, lining it up with the barrel correctly. “Your left hand will help keep you level and straight. You’re right is for trigger pulling and aim.”
“Okay.”
“And you need to calm your breathing. You’re scared of it. Don’t be. It’s nothing without someone holding it. Just think of it as a piece of iron, useless unless you power it.”
I breathe out slowly and then inhale again, letting his body move me around as we aim at things in the hallway—a vase, an old locket in a picture on the wall, the dotted moulding around the cornicing. Each time he believes my aim’s true, he nods, then swings me to a new angle, bracing his foot behind mine to ensure I’m straight. Eventually, he lets me go and backs away. I keep pointing at things, finally getting used to the feel of it and the way I need to hold myself, until I end up pointing at him as he leans on the wall, arms and legs crossed.
He stares, doing nothing else. The look is enthralling in its untroubled attitude. There’s no fear or concern etched in, no worry that I’ll actually pull the trigger. I need to find that emotion, use it. I need vague and blank, or cocky and self-assured. Having said that, I don’t suppose he needs to be worried or bothered. It’s not loaded, I’m sure. Either that or there’s one of those safety features on it that hinders the mechanism.
I creep closer to him, staring down the barrel and watching his lips lift a little.
“You going to shoot me, Madeline?”
Still he stares, relaxed as ever with the beginnings of a grin. My own mouth twitches into a half smile, overly consumed by his attitude. It’s not like Lewis’s. It seems justly superior in some way. As if he’s earnt his stripes, worn them well and deserves his respect. What for, I don’t know, but it makes me see Lewis for what his brashness was: childish. “Or should we get on with the fucking now?”
My frown descends again, annoyed at my lack of power given that I’m aiming a gun at his face.
“I’m holding a gun, Mr. Caldwell. Could you be anymore stupid? I’m the one in charge.”
There’s utter silence for a minute or so, nothing but air floating around as I half pace and he stands perfectly still staring at me like I’m something unusual. I don’t see why. Nothing’s changed as far as I can tell. Only the fact that we’re back to talking about sex rather than killing. My, how my life’s changed since I met this man. Sex and killing.
How clarifying.
I gaze at him, inching my feet over to the left in a charade of escape, all the time readying myself for giving in anyway. There’s no way this thing’s loaded, and I wouldn’t shoot him even if it was. He knows that. And for whatever reason I’m about ready to capitulate to sex. Maybe it’s the stalking I’m doing, or the fact that for just a few minutes he’s managed to take my mind off my miserable attempt at freedom and make me smile. Either way, Callie’s dead. There’s nothing I can do but make Lewis pay when I’m done learning to use this thing in my fingers.
“On the stairs,” I blurt out, flicking my gun towards the large spiral like I’m in a movie. He continues with his slight smile, probably now because of my moves as I cross my legs towards the first black step, but I see the falter in his eyes. Whatever those stairs are, or however unsafe they might be, they make him nervous. He’s bothered by whatever’s up them. That, and the fact that I’m holding a gun, makes me feel alive for once, completely in control of what’s happening in my life.
I tighten a small smile, interested by the thought that I’ve set him off balance.
He kicks himself off the dark wooden panelling suddenly, uncrossing his arms and still smiling as he makes his way to me. I back away, rapidly increasing the length of my strides from his to avoid capture.
“You’ve got a gun. Why are you backing up, Madeline?”
“It’s not loaded,” I reply, feeling every inch of power and control drain from me as I quickly glance around.
“How do you know?” he says, quickening his stride until he’s directly in front of me, lifting my hands and pushing his forehead into the barrel. “You’ll never know unless you pull the damned trigger, will you? Pull it.”
“I... “ I have nothing for this. My hands shake, jiggling the gun around on his forehead, to the point of him pushing against it harder to keep it still.
“You don’t know how to fucking kill, do you?” he says. No, I don’t suppose I do. The thought of those words makes my body sag as his finger comes up to my face, surprising me and tracing down the right hand side of it. He smiles softly, crinkling his eyes. “You wouldn’t know how to. You shouldn’t either. You’re too flawless for that sort of endeavour. Look at yourself. Beautiful, elegant, graceful.” He looks my face over again. “Vicious promises aren’t for you. Vengeance either. That’s my job.” He sighs and licks his lips, looking at mine and pushing the gun into his head some more. “Your future should never have been taken from you like this.” I stare at him, bewildered by what’s coming from his mouth. “The sun should still rise and set with your smile.”
I back away, drawing the gun with me and removing it from his head as I gaze at him, stunned at this romantic version of normal that has no business in this room.
“What?”
“Do you know how faultless you are? It wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I’m so sorry.”
What the hell’s going on? What’s he talking about? His fault?
He moves again quickly, lifting the metal back into his head regardless of my attempt to halt the movement, both hands holding it still against him. “I miss us, baby. Pull it. Set me free.”
There’s nothing but space and silence as we stand there—me, holding a gun to his head, and him looking so utterly peaceful and at ease with that fact that it makes me wonder what he’s thinking about as I stare at him.
“Jack, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Say it again,” he says, closing his eyes and crawling his hands to my cheeks again, tentatively brushing his thumb back and forth. “Pull the trigger and say my name, baby. I want you safe again.”
I gaze at his strong, stone-like jaw, a carefree lilt of happiness caressing his mouth. He seems sentimental, as if he’s remembering another time and happily relaxing in it. His dark hair’s tousled, roughed about and lazily framing his face, and the morning sun glints off the gun, streaming in through the windows behind me and sending splinters of light over his chest as his ribs heave in slow, deep breaths.