Page 13 of The Spiral

My fingers begin to indent her skin, testing my resolve to remember the woman who is actually here. Even her flesh feels the same beneath my hands, malleable and ripe, ready for devouring, loving in my own way. I rest my nose above her hair, breathing in the scent of a newly formed Selma and relishing the thought of the first drive inside her. Just to feel her again, fuck her, be inside her so the world will right itself, and then we can bring Lenon back, too. All of us together again, living, breathing. “Jack?”

The sound of my name coming from her mouth again makes me smile, the tone resonating deeply and engraining itself. “Jack, please?” I know how she feels. I can feel it, too, this desperation to make love. To make us whole again so we can be free of the last year or so, be a family again.

I kiss the top of her head, circling us around the floor once more and readying myself to put her down on it. Just here. We’ll fuck right here and remember our wedding night so I can imagine the feel of white silk in my hands and tear at it. “Mr. Caldwell!” Something slaps out at me, bringing me acutely back to the present. “Jack, for God’s sake!”

I stop and frown, sliding us to a standstill and looking down at what appears to be an angry woman. Selma? No. Madeline.

I shake my head and let go, backing away instantly and wondering what the hell just happened, again.

“What the bloody hell is your problem?” she spits out, swinging herself away from me and heading for her bag. The music abruptly cuts off just as quickly, causing me to scowl. “Do you often hurt women for fun?” I scowl further at that, my feet backing away. “Let me give you some advice. Don’t ever touch a woman unless she asks.”

“You did ask,” I mumble, confused at the lack of Selma as I glance around the room. Where has she gone? Was she ever here? I move towards the windows, frowning some more as I listen for voices. “You asked me to dance with you. We danced.”

“I danced. I’m not sure what you ended up doing,” she snarls out.

I turn back to see her rubbing her arm again and snatching her bag from the floor. “And stay the hell back,” she snaps again, pointing at me and glaring some more. “This was a mistake, Mr. Caldwell. I’ll wait outside until my car’s out of the bloody bog.”

She storms out of the room, leaving nothing but irritating emotions, feelings, and hatred behind as she goes. I stare at my hands, not knowing what they’ve done and feeling widowed again for the lack of her gripping them. So much so that I fume after her, entirely disposed to get her back in my arms as soon as feasibly possible.

“Sel...” I halt my fucking mouth, shaking my head as I pass the kitchen and hurry on to the hall again. “Madeline, wait.”

All the response I get is heels clattering and an open front door, the house damn near rattling with her fury. I storm straight out to her, more than intrigued by what she thinks I’ve done. If she only knew what I could have done had I chosen to, or perhaps had more time to think of my dead wife, she might just be a little more pleasant with her fucking tone.

“Don’t touch me,” she says, her hands splayed in front of her as she backs down the steps and sniffs back tears. “I have mace. I’ll scream.” She’s right, she damn well will, but that will be at the moment I actually do something worth screaming for.

I hold my hands up and slowly put them in my trouser pockets, signalling the surrender of whatever evil she thinks I might become.

“I haven’t done anything, Ms. Cavannagh. Calm down,” I say quietly, walking down the steps towards her and giving her the room to breathe she’s asking for. “We just danced, which you requested if you remember. You’re a beautiful dancer. I might have become engrossed in you.” Or the memory of Selma and the way she felt within my grasp.

She sniffs again, raising her hand to her face and wiping at the tears that are beginning to stream from her eyes. It’s at that moment that a smear of makeup is wiped clear, highlighting the blue yellow tones around her bloodshot eye. “Who did that to you?” I ask, infuriated by the vision enough that I move forward again thoughtfully.

She widens her eyes, her hands coming up to her face.

“It’s none of your business,” she snaps, shielding the bruise and turning to start walking off down the lane towards the garages. I follow and watch the swing of her ass again, intrigue now beginning to piss me off. “Please, Mr. Caldwell. Leave me in peace. I’ll just get my car and go home.”

I watch her pull her dark curls across her eye, trying to create a fringe to mask the bruising as she carries on, which causes resentment to well inside. Someone has done this to her, beaten her intentionally. Perhaps that was why she reacted so fiercely to me touching her.

I gaze past her, noticing the black Range Rover ramped up on the stands in the workshop, Bob beneath it and liquid pouring out all over him. Seems little Ms. Madeline won’t be going anywhere without support.

“You won’t be going anywhere,” I say, still watching her ass move. She turns and storms up to me, hovering her finger in the air and about to pounce with that attitude of hers. I hold my hands up again and nod at the workshop. “Your car, Madeline. It’s broken. I can assure you that’s not my doing. Quite the opposite.”

“What?” she squawks, spinning back around and hurrying over to where Bob is fucking about with bits of metal. “Oh god, what’s happened?”

“Oil coming from your suspension, lassy. You right crunched her up. It’ll take a while yet.”

“Jesus, it was just a fucking field,” she bites out, throwing her bag on the floor and sinking to her ass alongside it. “It’s supposed to go off road.”

I smile at her language, temper, and ire, and then stare at the bruising around her eye again as she gently runs her finger over the area in thought.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Oh, go away,” she whispers, dropping her head into her hands and resting them on her knees, only to pick them up and then knock them against her knees again. It brings back memories of Selma again, the same spit of annoyance coming from her on occasion.

“Madeline, this is my house, my road you’re sitting on, and thankfully my ass you’ll have to kiss to get yourself out of this mess.” Her head shoots up, first flushed with a frown of annoyance as she glares at me, and then suddenly brightening into one of her ill offered smiles. “Which cheek would you like?” She frowns again and wrinkles her nose, obviously disregarding the idea. “Then stay here by all means,” I reply, walking to Bob and levering myself down beneath the car to see the suspension. “I could use a distraction like you.”

I chuckle at the thought of using her as I check out the damage. Nearly destroyed is a fair analysis of the situation.

“How did she do this in the bog?” I ask Bob quietly, noting the mangling along the suspension rack. The man shrugs his shoulders and throws the last bit of metal to the ground as he begins wiping his hands. “The kitchen needs a good clean. You could work off your board and lodgings until the car gets fixed,” I call up, nodding my head at Bob to carry on as I climb back out.

By the time I’ve gotten out of the pit and back up onto the road, Madeline is nowhere to be seen. I swing my body round searching for her, eyes narrowed at where the fuck she’s gone as I scan the parkland. She can’t leave. Can’t.

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