Page 63 of The Spiral
Chapter 23
Madeline
Soft 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.