Page 32 of The Spiral
Chapter 11
Jack
These damn hands become rawer by the second as I plunge the ring beneath the flow of water again. I can’t get it clean, can’t see the engraved markings. No matter how much I scrub the surface it just won’t come clear of grime.
I grimace, grinding the metal between my fingers, hoping for one small flick of soil to dislodge. Nothing does, but I know this ring. I can feel it in my heart. It drops onto the ceramic surface, my feet stumbling away from the sink and nearly giving way as I continue to falter in thought. Her wedding band? Why? And what fucking crow?
My teeth grit, bearing down on my clenched jaw as I glare at the sink, trying to build the momentum to go back to it. I need to get to it again, but the stone slabs seem endless as they layer the space between it and me.
Tugging at my shirt collar, I slowly scan the room, willing someone to come and help. As always, there’s no one there. Empty. This whole fucking place is empty. Unused, unloved, somehow now sick and fucking tired of grieving. It putrefies around me, just as they are doing beneath the ground. She’ll be nothing but decay and rotted flesh now, her glow extinguished by dogs who came in the night and took what belonged to me.
I half heave, swallowing the bile down, and yet again attempt to move. My foot hovers, locking my leg in place and disabling my ability to move onwards. So I lean on the wall, my head banging against it as I close my eyes and try for logical thinking. It’s a fucking floor, that’s all. Nothing to concern myself with. I just have to move. One step in front of the other. It’s only four or five paces. Simple enough.
My eyes focus again, my muscles steeling for another attempt. Nothing moves. I just freeze again, my whole body refusing to move until I just slide down the surface and give in to this pathetic response. Even in death I can’t reach her. Can’t help. I couldn’t stop the dogs, and now can’t even hold the ring that I gave her when I promised her the world.
Gazing at the old light blue cupboards and tracing the woodwork up to the top of the white ceramic sink unit, I imagine her standing at it. Selma. I can feel her in this room more than any other. She loved it in here, often spending hour upon hour cooking, creating our perfect family meals. And I can hear her voice now, too, calling me to peel potatoes, or help her get something out of the ancient stove. I smile at the thought then hear her babbling to Lenon, trying to get him to eat the last of his vegetables. He never did, often times throwing it over her rather than letting any of it past his lips.
Jack.
My head shoots up, searching for her presence as my name is shouted loudly into the air, sounding almost scared. I scramble upright, desperate to help her and try to set the past straight.
“Selma?” I call, turning from the kitchen and launching into the hall as I glance around wildly. “Baby, where are you?”
I love you, Jack.
I speed up, running the halls and searching the space for her to no avail.
“Where are you?” I call again, running for the ballroom.
All becomes silent as I slide into the room and stop. I listen intently, waiting for noise, a signal, anything to give me a hint at her whereabouts. There’s nothing but the usual. Large ornate chandeliers swing slightly above the wooden expanse of floor, the spread of sprung boards reaching to the far end. I frown, trying to work out if the sound was real or not, and then watch the red baroque curtains at the end of the room billow under a heavy breeze that should not be there.
My brow furrows further, my eyes searching the floor to ceiling windows for one of them to be open. None are that I can see, so I tentatively step forward some more, pocketing my hands and scanning the area again. Nothing occurs of consequence. No ghouls, no apparitions. No blinding lights or darkened corners. It’s as it always is. A huge expanse of memories.
Nothing more.
I smile at the first few that come to mind, letting them wash around inside and remind me of her, then glower at the argument that happened in here once. I deserved the scolding she gave me as she talked about our son’s needs, telling me that life was not the same now and that I’d have to stop working so late.
She pleaded through her tears of anger, her knees sinking to the floor as she clung onto me, begged me to be home more, be a father more. And then I remember the outcome of that kneeling and begging. It’s as crystal clear as the droplets hanging in the lights above. Her breath, her moans. The way her eyes hardened as we argued then softened at the first strike of her ass. A snort breaks from me as I watch the floor beneath me, vividly replaying the fucking that came after the quarrel. She was always testing me, pushing, arguing and bickering, but she was my wife and held every right to put me in my place.
I smile again and spin slowly, embracing the need for her to show herself as I wait for something to happen. Whatever the hell this is, I want more of it.
“Selma, if this is real somehow, it needs to stop, or you need to talk to me and explain,” I say, wondering what the fuck is happening in this house. I might be mad, probably going fucking insane in all honesty given the dogs upstairs, but I won’t be played with. Not even by her and her return. “Much as I love you, you’re being a devious fucking bitch now.”
I swear I hear her laugh. It’s enough to broaden my lips as I wander into the middle of the ballroom and open my arms wide. “Are you here? Show me.”
Nothing moves. Even the curtains stop wafting into the room, but I see the light decrease for the first time, actually notice its fall around me. It comes down the windows in stages, cascading gently and falling to the ground along the framework until it eventually makes it to the ground.
I chuckle slightly, staring out into the black night and imagining her switching the lights off as the shadow creeps along the highly shined parquet towards me. “You never did like the lights on, did you?”
The last of the brightness disperses instantly, vanishing from the huge breadth of the room and leaving me with little more than the slight influx of light from a full moon. I chuckle some more at the thought of her defiance, or guidance. Neither of us knew what we were doing. We weren’t so much young, just naive, immature maybe. But days had turned to weeks, weeks to months, months to a year or so. Something changed with us after Lenon came along, changing our needs along with it. She talked of needing space, but not wanting to be away from me. It was something neither of us understood, nor found comprehension in until we finally found our balance together.
“Will you answer if I ask? Is that how this works still?” That’s how it all worked before. She’d call me a good man—a good and decent man. The master of her fears and tears for giving her room to breathe again. The only one to hold her together in the middle of her storm. “Why are you back?”
Wind whistles through the room, flashing by my face and causing me to step away from its freezing chill. I turn to the mirrors lining the inner side, hoping to see her reflection in them, or even just a ghostly mirage to make this seem plausible. She isn’t there. Only my own image looks back, alone in the room and dwarfed by its vastness. I gaze at myself, wondering what she saw in me, and watch my frown deepen. A scowl she called it. A permanent scowl. One that only she could remove with her idea of humor.
“How’s this going to work, Selma? You going to haunt me for the rest of my life, or are you trying to tell me something?”
Something moves in the reflection. I can’t really tell what it is. Maybe the light changes, or perhaps the curtains flicker again. I don’t know, but something happens as I stare into the mirror. So I stand still and wait for whatever she chooses to bring. There will be no more running from her little games or taunts. I’ll ask and she’ll damn well answer, just as became our way together. I’ll have her on her fucking knees again if I have to, force the answers from her, irrespective of the fact that she’s dead.