Just Visiting

by Graham Wilson

  Chapter 22 – Crocodile Destiny – Day 29

  Susan didn’t know when she’d gone to sleep, but she woke in the early dawn light. Amazingly she had slept well and felt refreshed, despite the limited time and the discomfort of the handcuffs and chain. As her awareness returned, she felt a deep knot of terror in the pit of her stomach. How could this man, who had loved her so tenderly in the night, now be her executioner this very next day?

  She felt like a prisoner on death row, knowing that only an hour or two of precious life remained, and there was an inexorable path forward to the end. She wondered if other prisoners still had hope at this point

  She knew it would happen sometime this morning; she just didn’t know when. He would want to pack camp and be away early, before there might be others around. She wondered if he would feed her breakfast. With the bubbling terror flooding her mind she doubted she could eat.

  Mark was squatting by the edge of the water looking out, his body almost motionless, but with a look of intense concentration. It seemed he was communing with the crocodiles before he offered her as a sacrifice, following an ancient ritual to placate the spirit beings.

  Should she pretend sleep and try to delay the moment? But now the terror rose high, almost overwhelming her with panic. She made her mind retreat to a place of calm. She wanted cry or just die quietly in her sleep.

  There was something so utterly horrid in this way. He really was a callous and hateful bastard. He could have just hit her on the head while she was asleep and she would not have had to endure this.

  The anger came surging back and with it a ruthless coolness, allowing her to keep her mind in a calm place. While her nerve held she had to finish this. She must try and create a chance. She felt to her side, having to roll her body and move both hands, handcuffed together.

  There it was; that piece of sharp metal, the old blade of a knife. It gave her a thread of hope.

  She now slid the knife into her knickers, laying it flat on her belly with the point facing down, sitting over her pubis. She just hoped he did not want to give her a last bang before he got rid of her, one last quickie for good measure. She didn’t think it likely. Susan sensed that his mind and body had now moved on to another place where she, the living breathing Susan woman, no longer existed.

  She made herself sit up and rattle her chain. Mark looked her way. He seemed agitated; perhaps he was surprised she was awake so soon - not ready for her and the day, when the dawn had barely come.

  She tried to smile. A quick plan came to mind.

  She would ask him to release her so she could relieve herself. She would do it with her back turned but remain in view. Then, still wearing her track bottoms and T-shirt, she would say she wanted to clean up and needed the cuffs off to wash herself. She would ask him to bring a bowl of water and a washer for her ablutions.

  Then she would take off her T-shirt and track pants, putting the knife under her clothes pile, and start to clean herself. She would give Mark a thorough view of her naked buttocks as she washed herself.

  She knew he would watch her and she would make sure it turned him on. Then she would call him over, saying she needed his help to wash her back. She would pass him the washer over her shoulder, keeping facing away. As he began to wash her back she would take up the knife and turn to him, keeping in close, with the knife out of sight. She wanted her breasts to be in his face, let his eyes focus on her nipples.

  This was her best chance, her only chance. She would drive the knife into his belly, upwards, just below the ribs, into that soft unprotected skin.

  She also needed a second weapon close at hand, should the knife not be enough, what could she use? She surveyed the site and located a piece of wood, a short piece of broken branch about a foot and a half long and three inches thick. If she could stand next to it then she would have a chance to pick it up and use it, if needed.

  She knew she had to create real lust in her own mind to play the part convincingly. She must not rush the scene, so as to let his desire build and make him careless.

  As she made her plan she felt as if her mind detached from and moved outside her body. She observed herself, as if from a great distance. She was a second Susan, one who watched and waited. Far away, another Susan, her body double, was acting out her own part. It was as if her mind had now occupied a separate reality to her body.

  Seen from afar Susan felt surprise at how simple it was to set her plan into motion.

  Mark released her body double when she asked. It walked away and relieved itself looking out across the water.

  Then it said she needed to wash herself and asked for a basin of water, a washer and soap.

  He unlocked the other Susan’s hands. He gave her a washer and soap. This Susan walked away and stopped at the place she had chosen. Mark poured warm water into a basin and carried it over to where she stood.

  She watched as this Susan took the basin and placed it in front of herself standing alongside the stick. Like her this Susan understood it was best to have it close by, just in case.

  Mark stepped back a few paces. She saw that he watched this Susan closely as she took off her clothes and got ready to wash. She watched her hide any view of the knife with her body as she took it out and lay it on her pants, covered by her top with just the tip of the handle visible.

  As she began to wash a sudden wrench pulled her mind back into the body below. Now it was just her and him and she was really scared again. She knew she had to do this all by herself; she could no longer hide away from the reality of the actions she must take.

  Mark seemed distracted, but once Susan started her wash down she could feel his eyes on her. She thought of their lovemaking on that other river, the Robinson River. She let it arouse her body, all the while keeping her mind locked away in a place of cold rage.

  She spared a glance over her shoulder, Mark was watching her intently, and she could see a bulge in his pants where his arousal was growing.

  She waved the washer and called out, “Could you come over and wash my back please? She could hear a husky sound in her voice, as if a throaty arousal blended with her fear, giving a tremulous quality.

  Mark walked over. She passed him the soaped washer, and then rinsed her hands for a good grip. She took the metal blade in her stronger right hand, knowing that her body hid it from his view. She could feel her hand shake as she held the knife. She forced her mind to become calm again and her hand steadied.

  She felt the washing cloth, his firm but gentle strokes, working down and lingering on her buttocks. She felt his other hand reach around and fondle a nipple, god that felt good.

  With her mind in a totally detached place she turned slowly towards him, her breasts almost brushing him as she came around. His free hand stayed on her breast; she could feel his panting lust. His eyes were totally on her erect and pointy nipples. His second hand was now caressing her bottom.

  She brought her elbow in under his arm. It was now or never. She focused all her attention on the one movement she must make. With her eyes turned down she looked at her target, that soft skin just below the left side of his rib cage.

  She took a deep breath. With all her force drove the blade in.

  It was harder than she thought. Her wrist twisted and buckled with the impact. But she saw the knife go in, almost all the way.

  She felt the huge flinch of his body as he arced back, bringing his hands up in shock. It seemed to all happen in slow motion, a slowed silent movie without sound. His hands were grasping for the knife handle, she knew she must do more.

  She ducked below his arms, looked to the side to locate the stick. Grasping it with her left hand, she turned and started to swing, then added her right hand for more power.

  If he had been quicker he could have blocked her. But his two hands were grasping the short butt end of the blade that protruded, as if he would pull it out. In the last second he looked up. He saw what was coming. He looked to throw up a hand, b
ut it was too late.

  There was a look of puzzlement on his face, it seemed he could not comprehend how it had come to this. A trace of a smile creased his eyes, as if in admiration. His lips started to move but the word died unsaid.

  The wood hit the side of his head with a dull crunch, it sounded like something had broken, whether within the wood or in his head she did not know.

  Mark fell backwards, onto the ground.

  He did not move.

  Susan looked down at this man; she felt an awful horror at what she had done. She did not know if his injuries were terminal, or if she had killed him, but it couldn’t end like this. She couldn’t just leave his body lying there for another to find, even rescue.

  In a flash it came to her. He would take her place with the crocodiles. Perhaps his crocodile spirit would bring the big one out of hiding and his body would be its feast. It was awful to contemplate, yet fitting. Susan looked at him again; he hadn’t moved.

  There was a trickle of blood from his head and ear, and some more blood around the knife end, but not much. Was he still alive? She didn’t know, she hadn’t seen him breathe, but he was still pink.

  Susan felt like she was carrying the weight of four dead girls on her shoulders, she was acting on their behalves, as well as her own.

  It was about five metres to the water’s edge. She lifted Mark’s feet in her hands and tried to drag him, without success. He was too heavy to pull that way; her hands kept losing their grip on his thick ankles.

  Susan came to his head and lifted him to a half sitting position. She was terrified he would wake up and grab her. Should she hit him again to be sure? No, that seemed too horrible.

  She passed her arms under his shoulders. Knotting her fingers together on his chest, with his head lolling against her, she used her legs and pushed herself backwards, moving them both a few inches, then a few more; dragging him slowly. Now she was within a metre of the edge. She twisted and rolled his body until his legs were in the water. Then she pushed his head and shoulders with her feet until two thirds of him was in the water, but his head and shoulders still lay on the bank.

  In her panting efforts she had almost forgotten the danger that crocodiles might pose to her, so near the water’s edge.

  She looked up. There, watching her, no more than ten metres away, were two nostrils poking out of the water, and a little further back a pair of eyes. It was definitely interested.

  Susan backed up, back to the place where she had stabbed Mark. She looked to the crocodile, then to Mark. Was it her imagination or did his chest just rise and fall? There had definitely been some sort of movement in the water where he lay.

  But she knew it was too late to worry. The crocodile was swimming purposefully over to investigate. It nudged its nose alongside Mark. It was big, she thought, around five metres, not quite as big as the one on the Robinson but a good half-tonne. The crocodile bit at, and shook Mark’s legs a couple times with its mouth, then moved farther up the bank, now standing over his body, on raised forelegs.

  It twisted slightly sideways, and grasped Mark around the abdomen, pulling him farther into the water. Now Mark was floating free, limbs lolling about. The crocodile released its grip and manoeuvred his body in the water, turning him parallel to the bank. It opened its huge mouth and closed it down over his chest.

  Snap, then crunch as ribs gave way.

  With almost leisurely ease the crocodile swam away trailing the upper body to one side and the legs to the other. It was half way back to where it started when there came a sudden swirl. Another large crocodile, similarly sized, had come alongside and grabbed Mark’s head.

  They were now tearing at his body pulling in opposite directions. Blood stains were spreading in the water as Mark was torn open.

  Just when it seemed that neither could win, a huge splash and swirl came crashing into both their bodies. A new crocodile grabbed Mark’s protruding waist and flung him in the air, half lifting the two other crocodiles from the water as they hung on. Now there were more tearing and ripping noises. Pieces of muscles, organs and blood floated in the midst of a thrashing and swirling cauldron. None would give a quarter but weight was with the big one.

  Susan knew this was the big one that Mark had talked about. It dwarfed the other crocodiles, half their length again, and double their combined weight. It was clear who would win.

  A leg was pulled free and one swam away with its spoils. Then there was a mighty tearing contest around the head and upper body. First the head disappeared, now there remained only a mangled torso, which the two crocodiles tore at.

  With another loud rip, an arm and shoulder came free. The second crocodile abandoned the contest, departing with its prize.

  The remaining crocodile, contest winner, cruised around the just floating body, pushing it a bit this way and that. Then, with the upper torso just in front of its nose, it opened its mouth, grasped and flipped the body into the air as it tipped its head back, mouth open wide. The body disappeared with a single huge swallow.

  The crocodile did a leisurely circuit of the area, a victory lap it seemed. Then it submerged and was lost from view.

  The water was still.