Page 60 of The Spiral

Madeline’s crying as she clings to him, her naked frame shuddering in the dank air around us. Rivers of tears pour down her face as she mouths words, screams them in fact, as I gaze on, but still I hear nothing other than Selma’s soft breaths. I stand closer to them, still scanning for my dogs and wondering where they are.

“I can’t hear her,” I mutter, scowling. “Why can’t I hear her?”

I swing my eyes to the crow, wondering why I can’t hear him either anymore. He jumps and flaps silently, pecking the stone, and then suddenly lifts as Selma throws her hands upwards and laughs. I watch as he flies higher, wings stretching up towards the sky with each laugh she delivers.

“Because you’re home, Jack. You’re here now, finally with me.”

I still don’t understand, but the words make me look back at Madeline, questioning where here actually is. Her here, or my here? Here has become a jumble of light and dark lately. Fog and daylight, warmth and freeze. Perhaps here isn’t even here anymore. Perhaps it’s somewhere else, somewhere we haven’t all found yet. “You wouldn’t let go, would you? My tenacious husband. Never one to be beaten. All of this to get you home.”

I chuckle at the sound of her laughter, unsure what the fuck to think, but the ground seems to weaken as she carries on laughing, bubbles of slathered soil inching along Madeline’s legs. She barely notices in her misguided grief, too absorbed in whatever pain she’s feeling to see what’s happening in the ground she rests on. Stupid girl. She’ll sink here if she doesn’t move. She’ll die as she wails incoherently over something that deserves nothing but hatred from her.

I barge around the tall stone lying between us, ready to lift her from the ground before she gets sucked under the bog. She doesn’t falter one bit as I get in her sights. She just lays her head on his chest and weeps more, bestowing some chant from her lips that I still can’t damn well hear.

“Madeline, get up.” Nothing, no movement other than continued heaves of her back as she sobs out absurd anguish, one hand still scratching the stone. “Madeline?”

She doesn’t flinch at my forthright tone. There’s nothing but Selma’s laughter carrying on, her dress fluttering in my eye-line as I try to get Madeline to move. And where the fuck are the gashes and gnarls my dogs would have left on this body she cries for? Where?

I stand again, irritated at my sudden confusion. Why are there shots in his body at all? She didn’t shoot him; she shot my dogs so Selma could come home. I watched it happening in front of me, saw her fire the gun at them and walk over, triumphant in a job well done. She was so damn fierce, Selma’s face haunting her own as she took those steps.

“I don’t understand,” I spit out, annoyed at whatever the hell this is. “Selma, make her get up.” The bog slathers again, making me more anxious of the ground that begins sucking the body she’s resting on downwards. “It’ll swallow them both. Why won’t she get up?”

She only smiles at me and begins walking backwards away from the situation, a peaceful look on her brow as she reaches out a hand and beckons me back to her.

“Don’t worry, Jack. It’s not our concern anymore,” she whispers, mist starting to form around her again. I stare, bemused at what the fuck she’s playing at. Madeline will die here if I leave her. She won’t make it out of this bog. The fact that Selma’s so cold towards her turns my stomach, making me question the bitch I know she can be. “Come on, Jack. We’ve got some catching up to do.” She winks, her hands pulling her dress higher as she continues backwards.

“The hell is wrong with you?” I spit, circling in front of Madeline and reaching down to drag her from the bog if need be. “Madeline, get up. The bog. Hold onto me.”

“He’s coming, Jack. Leave her now. You’re mine. Come remind me what I’ve been missing.”

I growl at her, aroused in a flat fucking second and yet unable to leave Madeline alone here to die. She’ll get her fucking. She’ll get it and moan my damned name for days because of it, but not until I’ve got the woman who made this possible away from her own demise. She deserves more from me, more from us. Life is what she deserves.

A life free of concern.

“Mrs. Blisedy?” The words come from behind me somewhere. I swing round, searching the ground for the voice as it climbs the headland behind me. It’s distant, the tone of it muffled by the bank hiding us. I stare into the distance, waiting for a sight of whoever it is on my land. No one should be here other than Bob. It’s not Bob, and the thought of someone seeing her naked pisses me off, some latent part of me clinging to the memory of touching her even though Selma stands ten feet from where I am. “Madeline Blisedy, are you up here?”

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