Crocodile Spirit Dreaming - Possession - Books 1 - 3

by Graham Wilson

  Then it came the turn for her side. Her legal representative called witness after witness. The judge was limiting the time for people to ensure he finished today, he said he normally would have limited this component to a couple hours but in view of the level of support for Susan, he was prepared to allow continuation until a maximum time of 2 pm, after which both parties would have a short time to sum up before he made his ruling. The case was to be concluded by 3 pm, the end of normal court sitting time.

  The morning drifted away, a lunch recess was called. She could see it all drifting away from her side. After lunch it was only Anne and her parents still to be called. She knew this part would be really hard for her to watch, it had been hard enough to watch when David had come to the stand but it must just be borne and she would do her best to close her mind and emotions.

  It was funny, normally without the crocodile stone in court she found herself very distant, like someone watching proceedings from on high. But, despite her disinterest of the first part of the day, somehow this final part of the trial had captured her attention. This was her life they were talking about, and slowly as they talked it started to flash before her eyes like a fast running movie camera, and she had this huge sense of loss. Was this all the life she would get to live? It seemed such a waste.

  After lunch was much worse than she had imagined; Anne had to stop herself from crying on several occasions, her Mum was the same, and her father, even though without a tear, had been even more excruciating as she watched him put everything in to fight for his daughter. She had even seen a couple of prosecution members dab their eyes a couple times as they watched and listened, though their senior counsel sat stony faced.

  Then it was closing submission time for both sides. The argument for the prosecution only took five minutes, just a quick reiteration of their previous points.

  Her counsel was just standing up to speak. She saw an orderly pass him a sheet of paper, signalling he needed to give this urgent attention. He looked annoyed at the interruption. He was looking around as if waiting for something and then picked up the piece of paper as if to start reading it. She looked at Anne; her face was white with tension. She knew in an instant. The paper was a transcript of the texts but her barrister did not know their contents. He looked like he was about to start reading it but was still distracted as if waiting for something else to happen.

  Susan felt for the syringe strapped to the inside of her upper leg. It was there, she fumbled as she pulled it clear and then pulled off the needle cap. She was hidden from sight where she sat on her own. Her prison warder sat behind her. She only needed another two or three seconds to plunge it into her thigh and inject it. She gave a quick glance down yes it was all in place and ready.

  Once that was done she would let out a big scream to draw all the attention to herself and clutch her belly, saying her contractions had come. She looked up and took a deep breath to steel herself for the last roll of the dice.

  As she looked up, the back court door was opened and two people walked in, one she recognised as Sergeant Alan Richards. Why had he suddenly arrived so late? Of course he had come for the same purpose as Susan, so nothing was changed there.

  She turned her eyes to the other man. It was an almost skeleton of a man, so thin and emaciated, and he hobbled with a severe limp. His hair was long, ragged, unwashed, and his beard was long and straggly. His clothes were clean but hung on him like bags. There was something fierce and uncompromising in his face and eyes.

  At first Susan could not comprehend what it meant.

  Then suddenly recognition came. The eyes turned towards hers and looked at her with recognition and penetrating intensity, and then she knew. This walking skeleton was Vic, suddenly returned from the dead, yet so obviously alive. She put her hand to her mouth and let out a muffled gasp. The syringe fell from her hand to the floor. Susan spoke his name, loudly and clearly so all could hear her.

  Vic raised his hand in acknowledgment and gave her a trademark grin. She wanted to run to him and hold him but she was restrained by a handcuff which attached her left hand to the rail.

  Alan glanced at her and nodded but then immediately turned his attention to the bench.

  “Your honour, I am sorry to interrupt. I am not normally in the habit of barging into a court in session. But something really significant has happened in this case. “I have just obtained information today which I consider has a vital bearing on this case and any sentence you impose. I ask that you order a short recess to allow me to inform your honour of it on a one to one basis.”

  She saw the prosecution barrister start to rise to object, her side seemed less surprised but then perhaps they had known something. Alan walked over and spoke briefly to the prosecution counsel. This barrister nodded then said, “Your Honour I would agree to a short recess as I accept this is relevant and of great importance.”

  The judge then looked at the defence barrister and he nodded his assent. So the judge ordered a 15 minute adjournment and he, Alan and the two senior counsels walked out. Everyone else stood there dumbfounded.

  Part 2 : Escape from the Empty Place

  Chapter 23 - The Crocodile Watcher

  Vic had a vague sense of being still alive and hurting, really hurting. His mind seemed to be unable to focus, but he had a vague awareness of being wet and cold and also that one of his legs felt like it was on fire. He seemed to drift in and out of awareness over and over again. He had this woolly memory of the helicopter refusing to respond to the controls and then a smashing and tearing impact as it hit the cliffs.

  Based on this his mind said he should be dead, people did not survive crashes like that. But his leg hurt like hell, and the rest of his body and head hurt in lots of places too – now his mind formed a muddled thought. I hope this is not hell, with all this endless pain; this would be a seriously bad place to end up if I have died. And he was so thirsty, he badly needed a drink and soon. Apart from the pain in his leg he thought his thirst was the thing forcing him to wake up.

  At last his mind seemed to get enough clarity to open his eyes and try and look around. He realised that was lying tipped back and to the side and his body was held against something that was behind him. He tried to look up but his vision was blocked by a huge wall of rock and something on his head. He looked down towards where the pain in his leg was coming from. His leg seemed bent back under whatever he was lying on at a funny angle; that did not look good and no wonder it hurt.

  As his mind began to clear he tried to feel his hands. He brought one up to his face. With it felt for the other squashed under his side and pulled it free. It seemed to work too. Now he looked at them both. Neither looked too bad, a few cuts on the knuckles of his left hand, but the other hand looked just fine. This left hand, on the side underneath him, transmitted pain to his shoulder when he moved it but the other, the right one, seemed to move OK and did not even hurt to move.

  With this right hand he started to explore his surroundings. First he tried to feel his face and work out what was blocking part of his view. He realised that it was his helmet which was still on his head. As he felt around towards the helmet’s left side he realised that his head was resting up against an uneven rock and there was a series of cracks and fissures running through this side of his helmet, like a broken egg still held together with sticky tape. He felt under his chin, sure enough the strap that held the helmet on his head was still closed. It took a few goes but finally he managed to click it free.

  Now he needed to try and take the helmet off his head so that he could see properly. First he tried with just his right hand. That brought pounding pain into his head as the helmet twisted sideways while staying in place. Nothing for it but to bring his left hand into action too. This hand seemed to be able to move OK but Christ his shoulder hurt as he tried to grip the other side of the helmet at the same time. It felt like something had pulverised the muscles of that shoulder. He touched rock below this shoulder. He was lying pushed into the ro
ck and had probably landed hard that way, bruising lots of muscles. But he could move it so he did not think anything was broken.

  He took a deep breath, this was going to hurt, whatever he did. He might as well get on with it. He gritted his teeth and with two hands together managed to pull the helmet free of his head. Both his head and left shoulder felt like they were on fire and waves of fog flowed through his brain along with the surges of pain. He lay still for a minute, willing the pain to stop. As it receded the thirst and pain in his leg came flooding back. He knew he had to keep going.

  So now he explored his head with his fingers. There was a bit of sticky stuff that felt like dried blood on the side of his head next to the rock and some parts that really hurt to touch. But nothing felt like it was broken there either, so perhaps the broken helmet had saved a busted skull and instant death.

  Now he used his hands to feel what was behind and under him. It was flat and smooth and slippery. As his brain slowly processed this information it came to him that he was still strapped into the helicopter seat. He and the seat were lying on a rocky shelf at the base of a huge rock cliff.

  The realisation dawned on him that the helicopter seat, with him strapped into it, had torn free from the rest of the helicopter and fallen down the side of the cliff until it hit this rocky base. He made himself lift his head and look around. Now he could begin to get his bearings. As his eyes travelled upwards they followed the line of a huge rising cliff, going almost directly up for what looked like hundreds of feet. The only things that could get up there would be birds and ants. It was beyond all ordinary animals to climb this rock face, well beyond a rock wallaby or even a cat. He tried to look over his shoulder and behind him. His view was blocked by something that must be the seat.

  He could hear a roaring and gurgling noise from behind him, it must be the river, bare metres away. His body was wet and cold, his clothes were drenched. He wondered if he had been in the river. But that seemed unlikely if he was still strapped in and the seat had landed here. More likely rain had made him wet. As he had this thought a huge flash of light, followed by an almost instantaneous crash bang, told him he was in the middle of a great thunderstorm.

  As the flash died away he realised that it was approaching dark, only a small amount of light remained in the sky. He must have lain here since mid-morning, probably over eight hours. No wonder he was thirsty, despite the rain, after lying in this valley for most of a hot wet season’s day. Rain came cascading down onto his face, huge cold splashes. He turned his face towards it and drank in the large drops, not enough to quench his thirst but the moisture cleared his mouth and helped him to think more clearly.

  First he must unstrap himself from the seat; then he must try to extricate and attend to his leg. After both these things he would get a proper drink and try and work out what to do. He felt for the belt release in his waist and pressed the release mechanism. It popped free and his body slumped sideways coming to rest hard against the rock, sending spasms of pain through both his leg and his shoulder.

  He felt towards his foot, trying to determine the source of the excruciating pain. He realised it was twisted at a strange angle and trapped under part of the seat. He discovered that by turning his body further to the side and facing down the pain in his leg was eased. In this position he could get both his hands underneath him. He pushed himself upwards and, as his weight came fully off the seat, a spasm of pain shot through his leg, like boiling water tipped on it. His body dropped back towards the hard rock but that set off another even worse pain in his leg. This time he cautiously lifted himself, inch by inch. It eased the pain up to a certain place and then it started to increase again. He watched what happened. Initially his lower leg straightened which reduced the pain. But then it started to twist the other way bringing the pain surging back.

  What he needed was a way to lift the seat base clear of his leg so that he could get his leg out from underneath and put it straight. The bones in his lower leg must have broken to let it twist like it had. So he got himself into a half kneeling position on his opposite hand and knee. With the other hand he gradually levered the seat out of the way. At last its weight took over and it fell sideways, away from his leg. As it moved it was accompanied by another pain spasm, but now his leg was clear.

  He moved his body to bring it into line with his foot. Using a half kneeling gait he slowly dragged his body away from the edge of the cliff and towards the water. This was visible as a phosphorescent glow in the near dark, as it thundered its way down the gorge. At the edge he used his good arm to scoop up handfuls of water into his mouth. He was tempted to shove his face into the water to quench his thirst but knew it was best to drink slowly. After a few minutes of sucking handfuls of water his thirst eased.

  He lifted up his head to gaze out across the wild white water. It was an endless thundering cascade that stretched to the other side of the gorge where another similarly sheer cliff rose, maybe 200 metres away. His place by the water was sheltered by a protruding rock, a couple of body lengths in front of him. It was three times his height and about two metres wide. It jutted out into the cascading water, and gave a relatively calm edge for him to access.

  A movement at the periphery of his vision caused him to look down river. Barely a metre away two eyes sat in the water watching him. He realised it was an enormous crocodile. With one swish of his tail it could have lunged forward and grabbed him, finishing the work of the crash.

  But it did not move, it just stared, motionless in the water. It seemed to be watching him with purpose but not with malicious intent. He almost felt it was guarding him; perhaps it was not hungry now and would look to feed later. As imperceptibly as he was able he eased back from the water. His leg protested but that was secondary to survival. The silent watcher remained.

  Now that he had drunk and relieved some of the pain in his leg he could barely move. Every muscle and bone in his body felt bruised. Each crawled step took great effort. It was barely five metres from the edge of the water to the cliff face and the back of the rock ledge was little more that a metre above the flow.

  He realised if the crocodile decided to come after him there was nowhere he could go. Slowly he dragged his body back as close to the cliff edge as he could go. It was raining still and now he was shivering with cold. He pulled up the remains of the seat and propped it against the rock wall forming a roof and barrier of sorts from the river. This gave some shelter from the torrential sky. He curled his body under it as best he could.

  He slept fitfully. Every time he moved spasms of pain shot through his leg, his shoulder throbbed continuously and the hard rocks dug into tender parts of his body. But he needed to rest and this was his best option for now. He woke in the early predawn light. The sky was still a heavy grey but the rain had stopped. In the night the river had risen and half of his rock shelf was now gone. He realised he could not stay here. If the water rose two more feet all his dry land would be gone.

  He eyed off his options as the light slowly brightened. The cliff on the other side of the river seemed slightly less forbidding. But there was no way he could cross over two hundred metres of thundering water, even if his leg was not broken and, with only one leg to kick with, it was totally hopeless. If his dry land was taken by the river it would claim him anyway and he would let it wash him where it willed, until rocks smashed him apart.

  But for now he was still alive. When he contemplated his survival it felt miraculous; to have landed in a way where his seat and helmet protected him from death and to have found shelter on a tiny rock ledge just beyond the water seemed remarkable despite everything else about his circumstances seeming totally grim.

  It reminded him of the story Mark had told him of the bullet wound to his arm, and how he had to patch himself up and make the best of it for many days without medical attention apart from a bandage and a few antibiotic tablets. He felt a kinship to Mark in this place; he did not understand why. As he thought about it more he remembere
d the crocodile from last night. He felt as if it had been sent by Mark to guard and protect him, perhaps help him to find a way out of this mess.

  He looked around the water’s edge, wondering where the crocodile had gone while he slept. At first he saw nothing. Then he made out a shadowy outline in the stiller water. It was still there, sheltered by the jutting rock. As he watched, first a few scales along the back and tail broke the surface and then more of the head and body emerged. This animal was truly monstrous, he had nothing to work from to measure its size, but when he thought about the length of his helicopter from tail rotor to nose, it did not seem to be much different. That was well over twenty feet in length, way bigger than anything he had seen before.

  Funnily enough the crocodile’s head was now facing the other way from last night, facing down river. Vic was tempted to try and head up river. It seemed the most logical way to go, in the direction of civilisation. There was a rock ledge five metres upstream which ran about five metres above him where the sheltering rock joined the cliff. He looked at it wondering if he could scale it. It would bring him higher above the water which seemed extremely desirable with a rising river. But as he surveyed it, he could see no way up its smooth edge. He may have managed to climb it with two legs and two properly working arms but with one good arm and leg he could not.

  He looked at the crocodile again. Was it his imagination or did it seem to be waving its head and tail in a way which pointed down river. It must be my crazy imagination, he thought, but there did seem to be something of Mark in it which was trying to direct him; a whispered message from Mark’s crocodile brother saying, “Come this way.” He tossed up what to do.

  In the end he decided to defer his decision while he checked the helicopter seat more carefully in case it held something useful. Then he needed to examine his broken leg properly and see if he could find something to splint it with. His glance in the half light had shown a massive area of purple bruising six inches above the ankle and he could feel the bone ends move and his foot flop around when he moved his leg, with stabs of shooting pain. So it was clearly broken, but at least the foot still seemed to have feeling and the skin was not broken, so those were good signs.