As she drew a deep sobbing breath on that fateful day, she felt this cloud of presence drift over her and she drew into herself some small part of this other being. Now it was within her and would continue to be. This being was a thing of pain in its fusion. Now a part lived within her, fusing its soul with her own. She did not want it but could not escape it.
She turned her mind away from this image and felt the others withdraw too, in sympathy with her pain.
Instead she looked towards the golden light and let her mind dwell only there. The other eyes followed hers; they were linked to her will and would follow whatever she did from here, three sets of eyes and hands as one.
In the centre of the light she saw the three crocodiles come. They were a long way away and small in her vision, but big in her mind. She realized that she was seeing not the physical creatures, but seeing their spirits as they came towards her. They were ancient beings, dreamtime spirits, for today temporary inhabitants of these physical forms.
Mark faded from her mind, she understood now that, because he was of their totem, when he died they had taken his spirit within their own, joined it to theirs. With the passage of time since that day his fusion with them was now complete, one soul whole and united.
And she saw too that in her grief at what she had done on that day, at the time when she had taken a part of his left spirit within her, in exchange she sent part of her spirit with him, as if to provide him with comfort on his soul’s passage. So she had given a part of herself away. It now lived with the beings who approached her and a part of them also lived on within her.
It was a fused part of her being now, it could never be removed. As Mark belonged to the crocodile totem, so she too belonged. She could no more remove it than tear out her soul. For her to keep living she must let this spirit inside her keep living too.
She was it and it was her. When it could not find her in her waking hours it found her in her dreams. When she held the crocodile stone in her hand its own spirit sat in harmony with it, providing easy passage to her soul so this spirit did not have to tear at and overwhelm her mind to gain entry.
In that moment she was one with these other spirits that came towards her and sought only to join them. She walked forward to where they came, the centre of the golden ball of light. The other girls walked with her, hands still on her shoulders, locked together with common purpose.
She came to the water’s edge and reached down and picked up the pig. She held it in her hands and walked forward further, now knee deep in the water. She held the pig in front.
Her mind spoke out. This is a gift, but if you prefer, take me too. There are three of you and three of us; you can each take one of us.
The other girls minds’ spoke alongside her own, “Yes, take us too.”
As if in unison, three crocodiles’ mouths opened wide, as if to say, “We accept your gift.”
She heard a scream from the back of her mind. “NooOOO!”
A body hit hers and knocked her sideways, along with the other two.
The pig fell forward, floating on the water. A huge set of jaws closed on it, slowly and with delicacy. It turned and swam away, parts of pig protruding from both sides of its mouth. It turned its head one way and a companion tore off a limb, it turned its head the other way and its other companion took another limb. It opened its mouth and swallowed what was left.
Three creatures disappeared as one, fading into nothing as the water flowed above them.
Now people were rushing in, pulling her from the water, pulling out her friends too, the three crocodile spirit sisters. The stone had fallen into the water, somewhere deep below. It had returned to the place of the crocodiles.
Susan sat, as in a trance, by the water’s edge. Faraway she could hear Vic shouting, screaming at her, shaking her to listen. But she could not hear the words and soon there was only her, lost in a crocodile spirit dreaming.
Part of her wanted to return to him but another being filled her soul and she was powerless to act outside of it.
Chapter 48 – Crocodile Man
Vic was shaking with rage. How could she do this, how could she be so stupid, throw away her life after all they had done together. He screamed at her, he shook her, he slapped her.
But she said not a word; she just sat there staring into another place that only her eyes could see.
The others sat there too. But slowly their minds cleared and their senses returned. They told of what had happened and of where they had been, to the place of the crocodile spirit dreaming.
They had not felt fear; they had not perceived any danger, but if there had been danger, in that moment, they had been incapable of care.
Now, after, they did not know for sure but thought the crocodiles were not seeking to harm them, only to link with their spirits. But yet, they now acknowledged, what they had done was crazy and the danger was real.
The four men had just stood and watched too, frozen to the spot and unable to move. It was as if a spell had been cast, rendering all other life immobile until something had passed. It was only Vic, in desperation, who had managed to break free, to scream and fling himself at where they stood, knee deep in the water.
Once he moved the others could move too. All knew, deep down, that if the crocodiles had sought to really harm them it would have been too late.
When Vic’s anger cooled he was distraught as he looked at his wife, lost in a trance. He took her hand and sat beside her, talking to her, telling her he was sorry, asking her to come back.
But she said not a word. She just sat there staring into space.
Alan walked across and lifted her up. Her body was an automaton and moved not itself, but did not resist him. He carried her to the car and placed her on a seat. Then he took Vic by the shoulders, walked him to the car and pushed him in so he sat him beside her.
At home she sat in a chair and said not a word, they dressed her, they fed her, they put her to bed. They woke her in the morning. She moved when they moved her, she did not resist, but it was the move of reshaping a doll.
Vic wished he had never returned to this God forsaken place.
A week passed, then another. He had to do something. The children wanted their mother back, he wanted his Susan back.
He asked Sandy and Beck if they could better explain what happened and how to reach her, but for them this memory and knowledge was gone.
Ross visited each day and tried to hypnotize her, and reach her that way. But she did not respond to anything he did. He took her to the hospital and ran brain scans and connected her to an EEG machine. Her brain showed no damage but it was working at the most basal level.
Ross said it was operating like a reptilian brain now, breathing, heart, digestion, just the basic functions, no signs of arousal in her higher brain centers, just the slow reptilian like brain waves of her brain stem which went on and on, unchanging.
He conferred with other specialists who suggested a range of drugs and electro-convulsive therapy which could be tried. But Vic would have none of this; he would let no one do things to her that may harm her more. Ross had no belief in their likely benefit either.
So Vic went and saw Charlie, saying there must be someone to help.
Charlie had been asking, he felt a share of the blame too. He sat silent for a long time, as if seeking guidance, then said, “We must take her to the place of the crocodile spirit totem, we will seek help from the medicine man of that tribe, the man who talks to the crocodile spirits. Perhaps he can talk to the spirits, ask the spirits to leave her.”
So they caught a flight to Gove, just Charlie, Vic and Susan. An old grey haired man, tall and thin with frizzy hair and a wise face, was waiting for them. He took Susan by the hand and she walked with him. He brought her to an old battered Toyota tray-back and sat her in the cabin. He did not speak and neither did she.
Uninvited, Charlie and Vic got on the back. They drove, no words said, for an unknown passage of time. First the road was good t
hen it got rougher. It ended in two wheel tracks which climbed up to a gap in the hills. They crested the rise and saw, open before them, a view of coast and islands. Just behind the coast, at the end of the wheel tracks, lay a round pool of water, connected by a small creek to the sea.
Still the man spoke not, and looked not towards them.
He took Susan by the hand and led her to the pool. He brought her to a place where a flat rock was lapped by the water. He sat her down and then sat down beside her.
From his pocket he pulled a Baru, like the one of Mark had once owned. He started a chant, tapping two sticks together. It was a crooning, pleading sound. It rose in intensity, keeping time with his tapping.
The sound rose to a crescendo then fell away to a whisper. Then it was silent, the silence continued. Then the crocodile came.
It was not so big, not as big as the last. But it was old, its teeth were worn, its body seemed spare of flesh, too small for its skin. It placed its jaw on the stone ledge, resting between their legs. The old man placed his hand on its head, just behind its eyes. Susan did the same.
Then the old man sang a song, it was a song like no other, no words but only clicks and grunts and barking noises, but as the sounds came and went they formed into a melody. As the melody swelled so too did the crocodile, growing in size and power, glowing with light. He filled the pool and still he grew as the melody grew. Now his tail touched the ocean and his head dwarfed the bodies beside him.
At the crest of the melody he opened his own mouth, teeth yellow, jaws gaping wide. Ever wider went his mouth, as if sucking the whole world into his being. To Vic it seemed his spirit had flowed out of his mouth and now enveloped Susan and the old grey crocodile man. Their bodies became shimmering outlines within this other presence. For a time that seemed to last forever this world stood still.
Then the crocodile barked. He barked the bark of a male reclaiming his territory. It shook the sky and the water like a thunder clap.
And then there was silence.
The man started tapping and singing again, loud first, the volume diminished slowly and then dwindled to nothing. As the music subsided, so did the crocodile, first growing smaller, then sliding backwards and down until all that remained was the water.
The man stood and took Susan’s hand. She stood beside him. He signaled for her to walk back to the others. She walked on her own, barefooted in the dust. Vic looked at her; she looked back at him and smiled. For a long time he had just held her smile, she was so precious to him. Then he reached out and touched her and she was returned to him.
After, neither she nor Vic could ever properly describe what happened on that day. But some things they knew, the old man had sung the supreme crocodile spirit and the spirit had come.
Then, as the music rose, the spirit of that crocodile had come into her mind. It joined with the other crocodile spirit which lived there, absorbing it into the greater being. It had filled her ever more completely, until it was all she knew. When it had captured the whole of her own crocodile spirit it had barked. In the bark it had reclaimed its own, a part of its territory reassumed.
With that done it slowly slid out of her mind, and then it was just her again. Part of her felt sadness for the thing she had lost, part of her felt peace that she had long forgotten. It just was not there anymore, but no longer was there a place of absence that restlessly searched to be filled, a void requiring presence. She felt empty but content. She was Susan or Emily no longer, she was only Jane again; she had chosen that name to be free of the spirit. Now it was gone that name belonged best to her.
Chapter 49 – The Places of the Lost
Now she was Jane but with more, a part Susan of old seemed to have come back too, driven to do things, to achieve, to catch up for her missing years. The memories had not returned, that must be something else. But in their place was a new found will.
She applied herself to the adoption of her new son, and in three months they greeted Nathaniel off a plane in Darwin. She applied herself to getting Vic to set up in his helicopter business, she employed a lawyer to draw up the contract for the lease of premises at Darwin airport, she sourced and leased two machines, a small one for mustering and a large one for the heavy lifting. She found a second pilot, someone that Vic told her he could work with.
Vic went along with her in all her endeavors, his heart overflowing with gladness. Maybe now she was a bit manic and bossy, but she was his Susan of old, oozing willpower and determination, unstoppable. He loved her so.
Her belly grew bigger with their second child but still she powered on. She bought a house in Darwin, big enough for her whole family and for all her friends to visit at once if they chose. She assembled and edited Vic’s Afghan ancestor’s story, a story of a man in whose footsteps walked her husband, someone who had abandoned his home for a woman he loved and made a new home across the sea to which his bride to be promised to come. But she had never come and he had never returned. The bride of his dreams married another. But then he had found a dark skinned girl and loved her instead. One day she would publish it, a story deserving to be told.
However, most of her time went into winding up her inheritance from Mark. She catalogued and progressively liquidated the properties and assets that Mark had acquired; only the stones she did not touch.
When it was done there was more than ten million dollars sitting in a bank account. All the debts and bequests were paid and enough remained in other places to meet any needs that she or Vic could foresee.
So she asked Anne to call for a meeting of the Trustee’s of the Lost Girls Trust. She asked Vic to come with her to the meeting in Sydney. When all were assembled she asked if she could speak.
She said, “The man who caused all this to begin was once my friend and lover. I knew him only as Mark Bennet. When he died he left me all that he owned. My husband was named the executor of his will and together we have made all the bequests he asked. Then we sold all the assets which were unneeded. Their value was a small amount more than ten million dollars.
“Even though I believe that Mark was overall a good man, I know he caused harm to others. So, I have decided to do two things.
“The first is to donate the money left from his estate to this trust.
“The second is to give his diary to the trust, on the condition that it is maintained for anyone who wants to read it to know of the man. I ask that it be kept somewhere safe, where anyone who wants to know of the man, can read it. The reading of it may give to some of those he knew, or those who knew them, some greater level of understanding or comfort.”
With that she laid the diary on the desk in front of her, hers no longer.
Vic took it from the place where it rested. There was something teasing at his mind, it was from the time when he had found the will.
He remembered there were other papers in that place too; another sheaf of several sheets. He had forgotten them in all that had passed since.
He opened the back cover and looked at the gap from where the will had come. It was still unrepaired. He eased it open and looked within. The sheets were still there. He took them out and laid them on the table before him. The first sheet was in Mark’s writing, saying:
In the event that this diary becomes the property of another after my death, I have decided that I should record the places where I buried the persons of whose deaths I tell in this diary.
I hope one day to have the courage to meet Elfin and Belle’s parents and tell them about their daughters and how and where their lives ended, but each time I have set my mind to do this my courage has failed me.
After this sheet each other piece of paper had a name and a diagram, a hand drawing with names and numbers. The first was labeled Elfin, the second was labeled Belle, the third was labeled Josie, the fourth Amanda. The fifth name was George Davis. Vic tried to place George Davis, the name had some ring of familiarity but he could not remember. Then, as he looked a second time it came to him. It was the man that Cath
y and Jacob had sought, the missing uncle of Cathy Rodgers.
Vic said to all assembled. “Just for now we need to keep these sheets of paper. From what I can see they tell of the places where Mark buried those he killed or who died while with him. This information needs to go first to the police and their next of kin.”
He handed the final sheet to Jane saying, “You should ring Cathy and tell her of this.”
*
Two weeks later Alan set off. The district police were happy to do the site visits locally and see what they found. But Alan wanted to be there himself, to see with his own eyes, to record each detail and come to his own point of closure with this man, Mark. He did not know if he hated or pitied him, but certainly it was a strong emotion that ran through him each time he thought of this name.
It had become much more personal since that day when Sandy had almost joined the crocodiles, the way he had been rooted to the spot and unable to move, except somehow Vic had the willpower to break free.
Before that he had a desire to help the girl Susan, and not have her blood on his hands. It had been personal, sort of. But when she had drawn Sandy into that crazy space, inside her head full of crocodiles it had become fully real for him. Now he knew just how powerful was the destructive force associated with this man. He had been dead now for three years, but yet he still shaped events from beyond the grave. And, although Alan could not see how, he sensed that there were yet more dangers, seen and unseen, in following this man’s trail to the end.
So Alan was determined that he, and only he, of them all, would go first to see. The others could make their own visits later if they wanted. Both Jane and Anne were heavily pregnant now, so he had David and Vic on side. Strangely neither woman protested overmuch; perhaps it had shocked them all to the core just how dangerous the last trip had been. Cathy and Jacob had protested most but they had their own trip to make to try and find the Uncle. He was the one where what happened was most clear but the location was not. Sandy had been unexpectedly quiet.
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