Sunlit Shadow Dance
Crocodile Spirit Dreaming Book 5
Novel by
Graham Wilson
Copyright
Sunlit Shadow Dance
Graham Wilson
Copyright Graham Wilson 2015
Smashwords Edition
ISBN 9781311005922
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.
If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favourite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Author Note
This book series has been a labour of love, assisted by many people along the way. You are too many to name and some do not want to be named, but you know who you are. I thank you all. Telling this story has been a long journey, for me as for the story. It is both satisfying and sad to be at the end.
For readers who have enjoyed the series, thus far, I thank you for your time spent in reading. Special thanks for those who told me of enjoyment through reviews and other means. I hope this final part lives up to your expectations. For those who have not found it to their liking, and said so, I thank you for this too, both for your time to read and to let me know. Soon I will revise these books and this feedback, both good and bad, will help.
Final thanks to so many people from across the place called Australia’s Northern Territory. You, and its vast landscapes in their ever changing hues, have given me the ideas which grew in my mind to become this story.
Prologue
It was a small hour of the morning, number around 3 or 4. Her mind was sharply awake in an instant but she did not know where her body was, except that it was in a bed and the bed was unfamiliar.
There was the sound of another human drawing breath, in and out, regular but not loud. She moved her arms around to explore the bed space. There was another body lying not far away, source of breath sounds, it was a hard and angular shaped, a body of elbows and bony protuberances. It must be a man. She had no idea of this man’s name or face. She knew only that she was here and he was there, sharing this time, space and place.
Who was she and who was he? Her mind held no image of an identity, hers, his or other. It held no image of a future or a past; she knew only that the present was an unfamiliar place.
She willed her return to sleep so as not to have to discover a present reality, feeling a hope for a morning reality where memory and perspective again became clear, where knowing was returned.
Chapter 1 - Daybreak
It was early morning when she awoke again. She knew where she was and she knew her name was Jane, she was Jane Bennet. That was the name she had been holding in her hand when she had discovered herself, a person without a past, some months ago. The name was on a baggage label, written in crude marker pen writing. It was attached to the small overnight bag that her hand was grasped around. The bag held a dress, a pair of loose track pants and top, some underwear and canvass shoes. And it held an envelope with cash, Australian dollars to a value of around seven hundred. Her person had no other label; her memory held none and the name Jane seemed to fit. Jane rhymed with plain; plain Jane, an ordinary person. So she took the name and used it.
That first morning of her remembered life she had awoken in a bus shelter, lying on a bench seat. The shelter was built from four timber posts with corrugated iron on three sides and a roof. The fourth side was open to an empty dirt road which had seen no traffic since she awoke. It looked like a place built by a local farmer to shelter his children from sun and rain while waiting for a school bus to come. Its furniture was two planks of rough-hewn timber, bolted into a seat shape and standing on four timber legs which rested on bare red dirt. That was it, her temporary home; it had been a place to sleep but it was not a place to stay.
She knew she was in Australia, somewhere. It was not cold so it was probably somewhere in the northern half. And it was not desert as there were good sized trees growing nearby, though the ground was dry and the grass was dead and brown not green. But that was as far as her knowledge and memory could take her beyond having a name, which she was determined to hold to. It was the one thing that felt solid.
She looked at herself. There was no mirror so she could not see a face, but she had thin pasty arms and legs, objects long hidden from the sun. Her hands were soft and free of calluses so they must have done little manual work of late. Her hair was shoulder length and when she pulled it to her face it appeared to have a dark brown or black color. It smelt unwashed. A loose fitting smock, like any other cheap dress, covered her body in a shapeless manner. It had a pale floral design and was otherwise indistinct. It gave no clues. As she ran her eyes over her dress she saw that her belly protruded greatly. She smoothed her hands over it. The realization came she was well and truly pregnant, expecting a baby and the baby was not far off.
As she contemplated this new fact, and what it signified, she heard a distant sound. She saw a plume of dust coming towards her, it was a sedan car. As it came close she saw its occupants were an aboriginal woman driver and another aboriginal woman passenger. She waved to the car and it pulled to a stop.
These people evidenced little surprise in seeing her, not a greeting of recognition, but a casual welcome. It seemed this was a place where people came and went. She was but one more.
They spoke in broken English, “You want ride?”
She nodded; then held out her hand, saying “Hello, I am Jane.”
The driver nodded, pointed to herself and said “Me, Rebecca, that one Suzie.” They took her proffered hand in their own. Suzie opened the back door and pushed a dog off the seat to give her a place to sit. After perhaps an hour they came to a place where people lived, other black people. It had a shop, petrol station and signs for a hospital and school. The ladies let her off at the petrol station and waved goodbye before driving on through the town.
Now she had to decide what to do and say. She did not feel lost, she did not feel scared or as if she was running away from something. She just did not know how she came to be here. She had no memories of a life before today. She felt reluctant to say she did not know why she was here or where she came from, it sounded weird to talk that way in plain daylight.
So she found a twenty dollar note in the bag and walked into the petrol station checkout. She purchased a coke and a bag of crisps, then asked for directions to the toilet. In the toilet she washed her face and tidied herself in front of the mirror. Sure enough she had dark brown black hair, with a wavy Mediterranean look, and bright blue eyes in bland but not unattractive face. Her face did not trigger any recognition in her memory, it was a face that could have belonged to a hundred people walking along any city street, a plain Jane face.
She wondered if she had actually been on her way here, offered a job. Maybe she had bumped her head and lost her memory which would return in a day or two. She decided that was the most likely explanation for being in the middle of nowhere on her own. So, perhaps, she should just ask the man behind the counter at the petrol station about any jobs going, say she had been told they were looking for someone to work in the community and she had made her way here in hope that a job was on offer. So she asked the attendant if he knew of any jobs here.
He looked up at her, showing little surprise and was not unfriendly. “Well we are not looking for anyone here right now, but I hear tell the shop just across the road is. They were expecting someone to come from the town the day before yesterda
y, to do some bookwork and ordering along with stacking shelves, but the lady never showed. Perhaps they got their days mixed up. It may be the job you heard about. So why don’t you head over there and ask about it. The lady in charge’s name is Matilda, maybe she is expecting you.”
So she walked across, carrying her overnight bag. An aboriginal lady was serving at the checkout and she asked if she was Matilda. Instead she was directed into a small office at the side. Another older aboriginal woman, sitting at a desk, looked up at her with a smile as she came to the door. She introduced herself and said she understood that they were looking for someone to work here doing bookwork and ordering, along with other work, and she hoped they might have a job for her.
Matilda explained that the local employment service in the main town had been seeking a book keeper type person for her. The last one had fallen through, so now the job was hers if she wanted it. It seemed straightforward. There was a detached building, a one bedroom cottage, behind the shop. It went with the position. The salary was $40,000 for working five days a week as a shop assistant book keeper. She agreed and the job was hers.
They would sort out the paperwork later but Matilda was glad to have engaged the services of Jane Bennet. She was shown to a second desk with a computer in the office. It was hers to use along with a set of files to maintain.
Matilda suggested that she go to the cottage, have a shower and a walk around the town to get familiar with her way around, then come back after lunch when she would be taken through their systems for an hour or two before she began proper work tomorrow.
Matilda called out in an unfamiliar language to the lady at the checkout. She brought in a set of keys to the cottage which she handed to Jane.
Now almost a year had passed, she was Jane Bennet, she lived on a small aboriginal community on a place called Cape York in north Queensland. She had two children almost a year of age, delivered in the local hospital with a minimum of fuss, she had given them the names Anne and David Bennet, children of Jane Bennet, father unknown. She knew Anne and David were their right names, though she had yet to choose middle names. She thought she should know what these were but could not remember.
A year on her new life was beginning to create its own new memories and joys. She was planning a birthday party for her two babies in a month’s time, a time when her extended friends of the community would come and celebrate this landmark with her.
Only occasionally, like last night, did she wake up with fragments of another life somehow running through her mind and body. But, as always, with the new day her current and simple reality returned.
It was a reality where hers was the only body alone in the bed, except sometimes when her children cuddled with her. It was a reality where she felt almost no curiosity about what had been before. It was a reality where, if someone had asked her if she was happy, she would have said yes. She could think of nothing else she wanted or of any other place she wanted to be.
Chapter 2- A Gulf Muster
Vic had spent a week mustering on Vanrook Station, way up towards Cape York on the eastern corner of Gulf of Carpentaria in North Queensland. It was a huge block, several adjoining stations under the same management running to over four million hectares with somewhere around a hundred thousand cattle. They had a few dry years but last wet and this had been good and they were now putting together lots of export steers to go out of Karumba for the South-East Asian markets, Indonesia mainly.
It was further east than he knew or had ever worked before, but beggars could not be choosy, he had a big loan to pay back for his new helicopter. So he had sucked up the offer of this block of work and ferried across from Borroloola after two days of work for Macarthur River Mine, looking at prospective sites, just over the NT border. Next week he was booked to work in the Barkly Tablelands and the week after Buck had booked him to do work in the VRD.
So he had two solid weeks of mustering after this job before he was taking a week off to go to Darwin to meet with Anne and Alan and see how the investigation into Susan and the other missing girls was proceeding.
He had flown to Darwin a week before in his helicopter. He had spent that weekend in the town, as they had opened a memorial to five Lost Girls on a headland looking out over Darwin. It was a peaceful place with a beautiful view, but the ceremony had been absolutely gut wrenching. Five sets of parents and other friends crying over their lost daughters, along with other families searching for missing sons and daughters too. Everyone had their own story, every story was of devastation for those concerned. He felt for them all though his heart really only had space for one missing person.
It was now heading towards eighteen months since Susan disappeared. He still felt a raw ache in his chest every time he thought of her, one day she was there and it was wonderful, the next day gone, just utterly and totally vanished. It felt like a huge piece had been torn from his insides.
In his wildest dreams he could not imagine what had happened to her since that day when she had never come to the hospital, first him ringing Alan and asking him to go and check his flat for her, thinking she would be fine but he was just being safe. But the flat was empty, her few things were still there, but no her. It was like the movie “Gone Girl”
Then, a month later, they had found the pair flat shoes, borrowed from Anne, she had been wearing. They were beside the Mary River billabong, a bare kilometre from where Mark was eaten by that huge crocodile. Anne was sure, or at least as near as she could be sure, that the shoes were her own. If this was right it could only mean that Susan had gone back to the billabong where she killed Mark, a place full of lots of huge crocodiles.
So, with that discovery, other people said that Susan had deliberately gone there to return to Mark and that her body, if any of it was left, was somewhere there. Some thought she had swum out to meet him, some that she had been pulled off the bank. But there was no other trace, no footprints, no scuff or drag marks, just two shoes in a plastic bag lying in the dirt about ten meters from the water’s edge. Some said they should shoot the big local crocodiles and open them up lest her body was inside; some said they should search the bottom of the billabong in the same way they did to find bits of Mark. But as the shoes had been found more than a month later and with no other evidence it had seemed pointless. So that never happened.
Instead Alan had brought that old man, Charlie, the one who had first found Mark, and who had now found the sandals, back to the place and asked him what he thought, whether her body was here too?
Charlie had sat by the water, with him, Alan, Sandy, Anne and a few others all watching on. After a few minutes he had stood up and shook his head. “Maybe, maybe not, She not here now, no crocodile spirit here,” was all he said. When they tried to question him further about what he meant he just shook his head emphatically.
Vic did not know what to think. He could not be sure it was not true, that she had not returned to the crocodiles and Mark, she was pretty messed up from everything that had happened. But in his heart of hearts he refused to believe it and give up hope that he might one day see her again.
He did not really know what love was supposed to feel like, but he had spent four nights holding her body next to his, and the wonder of that memory was burnt into his brain. Now there was just a great big empty hole. He had had plenty of girls over the years but it had never been like this. It was both her dependency on him and how she had somehow reached deep inside him, mind to mind and spirit to spirit, in a way which made him feel whole. It was as if, in the same way their bodies were joined so too were their souls, become a fused person. He had loved her totally; that body, her body, filled with another man’s children, that face with the laughing blue eyes, that smile that charmed angels.
So now, sometimes, he would dream of her but she was fading and it was getting hard to remember. So, mostly, he worked non-stop. Often he would have an extra beer of two to try to sleep and forget. And when he got the chance he would go to Darwin and meet with Sandy and
Alan and see if there were any new leads or anything else he could do to help them find her. He would not admit to her being dead, he had rescued her once, he would do so again. But first he had to find her and he had no idea where to look.
No one else had any ideas either, endless dead end sightings. At first they had felt hope when these sightings came in. But now they realized that these people, who saw a girl in her twenties with dark hair and an Englishy accent and would report this person as a new maybe Susan sighting, were never right. Too many people who looked vaguely like her were walking around the towns and cities of Australia. So, while not dismissed out of hand, it was easier not to keep hope through these false alarms.
But if Susan was alive she must be somewhere, and Vic refused to contemplate the alternative, therefore he must keep trying to find her. So he was looking forward to getting to Darwin even though it was still over two weeks away. The idea of this trip gave him hope and kept him going with all the day to day flying. He planned to finish here this afternoon and ferry home to Borroloola tomorrow before going down to Anthony Lagoon for a daylight start the day after, the beginning of his week of Barkly work.
But now, just as he was fuelling up and getting ready to leave Vanrook and fly to Normanton for the night, on the way home, a telephone call came in asking him to do a job further up the Cape tomorrow; nothing too big. It was an aboriginal station, out along the Staaten River somewhere. It had a few hundred cattle in a back paddock that he needed to put together then bring to the yards for their yearly branding muster, as well as some steers to muster for the boat.
He had been tempted to say no. If he took the job he would miss his day at home and have to ferry straight to Anthony from here. But it was hard to keep up with the bills for his new chopper when most months he went to Darwin for a week to continue the hunt for Susan. He could not afford to lose this chopper, it had been hard enough to get the loan for this new machine when the insurance came up short from the crash in the Fitzmaurice, and flying his chopper was the one thing that kept him sane.
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