Page 64 of The Spiral
“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 scraping 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.
“And my house. He took me there. He did. We went in the Porsche. The green one. Lewis burnt it down and then he came here looking for me. Jack showed me those men upstairs in the cage, told me they would protect me.” And they did, they chased Lewis up into the woods, and Selma helped me, made me kill him. “That’s why I was up there, Toby. Because of Jack.” Toby looks confused as I ramble on with my thoughts, trying to piece it all together.
I look back into the main house, peering for the stained glass window Jack stood under with a gun aimed at himself. I can still smell him. I’m right. I know I am. And I know he’s dead because I saw the gravestone but…
Both hands fly to my mouth, a gasp escaping before I’ve controlled it. “He killed himself, didn’t he?” Oh god, I saw him do it. I never took the gun off him, did I? I thought I did, but maybe I didn’t and all this is twisted somehow.
I look at my hand, the other grasping around on the table for some support against the image of him firing that gun into his mouth. I remember him holding me, remember the kiss that came from his lips as we hovered there in that strange light, remember his fingers entwined with mine as we made love.
“How do you know about the cage?” Toby asks.
I snap my gaze to him, back to the present with just the sound of him. He peers, aggression suddenly all over his face regardless of his cool demeanour. I watch the change, see the scowl develop to show Jack shining back at me.