Page 31 of The Spiral

“What’s happening here? It was dark… and then the sun… I found a crow and he–”

“Madeline, come inside.” Yes, maybe that’s a good idea. Although, as I stand here looking at him, the sight of him confusing me yet more, I can’t quite work out whether it is or not.

“I need to wash the ring off,” I say for no particular reason as I look at the circle of dirty metal in my hand. “The crow was wearing it and…” I can’t find words anymore. Nothing seems real. But this ring in my fingers is real, isn’t it? That means the crow was.

Confusion wracks me again as I hover, unable to make a decision. Perhaps I should just go and wait by the car until it’s fixed. Nothing odd happens there. It’ll be normal and then I can get out of here, ridding myself of this strange place as I go. “I think I’ll just go and wait by—”

“Inside, now!”

His tone makes me jump, the ring tumbling from my hands as his shout sounds out. I immediately lurch down to the gravel to find it, for some reason desperate to clutch onto the reality of it in my fingers. It’s the one thing I can hold onto in the middle of this strangeness. It’s solid, dependable in my grasp, not unlike the house. I scrabble around, lifting and turning gravel to find it until I finally see it glinting back at me and scoop it up, then waste no time turning my back on him to head back to the car. There’ll be water in the garage. I can clean it there. I have to leave and find normal again, no matter how appealing he looks standing there waiting for me.

“What’s that?” he says, yanking at my arm out of nowhere. I stop, trying to pull my arm from his grasp as I wonder how the hell he got to me so quick. My fingers close around the metal, hiding it behind my back to keep him from taking it from me. It’s my one piece of rationality here.

“It’s nothing. Just an old ring I found. The crow landed and asked for my help.” That sounds outrageous. Even in this scenario.

I stare at him as he frowns at me in reply, not knowing what else to say. It’s the truth. It is, outlandish as it might seem. And I don’t have to explain anything to him anyway. It’s not like he knows what the hell’s happening around here either. Some time passes with nothing but silence in the air. I don’t know why, but I can’t think of one thing to say. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what to say anymore.

“Show me the ring.”

“No. I’m just going to go.”

His grab at my arm, then wrist, has me spinning into his hold within seconds. He prises at my hand, levering it open with little effort and then shoves me away from him with a gasp as my hand unfurls. We both watch as it tumbles to the ground again, bouncing on the gravel and nearly disappearing before he chases it down frantically.

“Where did you find this?” he snarls out, turning his back on me and quickening his strides back into the house.

“Hey, that’s mine. I want it back,” I call out, my feet hurrying to catch up with him as I reach out for his arm. He shoves me away again with little thought as he continues onwards up the stone steps and rushes into the house. For the life of me I can’t stop myself from following him. I know I shouldn’t, but I don’t even try to stop myself keeping up with his strides as he heads straight for the middle of the house. He halts as the spiral comes into view, glaring at it a little and then muttering to himself about something.

“Why did you fucking come here?” he snaps at me, rounding on me so suddenly I falter backwards on my heels. “You shouldn’t fucking be here.” I open my mouth in reply, confused. The antiques. I came for the antiques. He knows that. Antiques he doesn’t want to sell. “You’re... You should leave. You’re not supposed to be here. Go.”

He strides on again, leaving me shaking in the middle of the hall, staring at the spiral and not knowing what he’s talking about. He doesn’t want me to leave and now he does?

Right. I will then. Screw all of this. And screw that ring, too. I’m going. He’s right, I shouldn’t be here. It’s clear he doesn’t want anything valuing, which was the intention of me being here. I suppose he’s right. I tug the gun from my pocket and place it on the table, knowing I’ll never have the bloody balls to pull it anyway. Whatever this is, or has been, is pointless and stupid.

My eyes flick to the Chinese rug, remembering a short while ago when he lay on top of me, made love to me. The sun spots dapple the floor again on the very place we lay, and the smell of metal still hangs heavy in the air from the fired gun. What was all that? If I shouldn’t be here, what happened there? And why is this mist and darkness hanging around half the damn time? And why the crow? It’s baffling, bothersome. It feels incomplete, like I’m lost in a world I can’t regain strength over.

I sniff the air again, letting the tinge of metal remind me of what he was about to do. Would he really have shot himself? Why? I stare back at the spiral, suddenly too interested in its endless curve for rational thought to interfere anymore. Who is he?

And why can’t I go up those stairs?

My feet have me turning towards it instantly, determination welling in the pit of my stomach as I follow the stripes of light that filter in from the windows opposite. I’m going up them. I’m going to find out what’s happening around me. I’ve got time before that car’s fixed. Perhaps I’ll find out what’s going on, or perhaps I won’t, but I’m damned if I’m going to leave without finding out why I feel like I’m falling in love with a man I don’t know. And he told me he loved me, that he’d always loved me. Why did he say those things? And I know he meant them, I felt them, deep inside where truth exists. They were real. They were the tangible I’m trying to get to.

Well, in the strangest sense of the word, anyway.

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