The Tourist – Part 2
Woodford, New South Wales
Picture It Competition Entry – Picture B
Continued from this morning …
A whip bird’s call woke her from her reverie and she prepared how she would present her confession. Sissy organised herself and the items required for her confession, took a deep breath, and commenced to rehearse her admission of her crimes that she would present to the police. For five minutes she spoke in a calm voice of how she murdered her four lovers. Why she had perpetrated the crimes was now to follow. Taking another breath she continued.
‘My father was a musician; a very well-known professional musician who everyone thought the world of; except my mother and myself. In the rare times he did come home he took out his anger on us both and treated us with a complete lack of respect. My mother knew he had many women in his life, and my father let her know about them, and what he did with them, at every turn. One night he brought three of his new found friends home, musicians from another state, and they drank long into the night, with my father ordering my mother around to cook and clean up after them. My father’s old band mates had been warm and friendly, but as my father retreated into alcoholism, they slowly faded away and never returned. My father’s new friends this night were evil looking bastards, and talked my father into smoking ice.
My mother stood up to him that night and told him she was leaving, but my father beat her so badly he broke her jaw and she lost most of her front teeth. I intervened and he threw me across the room and nearly broke my arm. In the early hours of the morning while my mother had gone to sleep, with the help of strong pain killers, and with my father unconscious and drunk on the floor, the three men entered my room and … and … I never told my parents. My mother, my very brave mother, told the police of my father’s brutality and my father was arrested. At his trial he pleaded that he was on drugs and didn’t know what he had done, and with his clean record and public reputation, the judge gave him four years in prison. I know now that even before my rape I had a psychopathic personality. I always manipulated people and couldn’t help being cruel, even to my dog. I confess it was me who pushed Graeme Dawson into the river during our school camp in 1995. I knew he couldn’t swim, and he was always teasing me anyway.
I tried to find my father’s friends, to take them out one by one, but I wasn’t successful. Everything is almost clear now: except I still cannot comprehend why I took my revenge out on those innocent men. I told myself it was because they were musicians. I made a promise to select four musicians for my revenge; my father and his fucking rapist friends. God help me I don’t know and I prob-’
Sissy stopped mid-sentence as a searing pain crushed her chest. Looking down and reaching up with her hands she couldn’t comprehend that her fingers surrounded a bloodied pointed metallic object. In her head the sound of the bellbirds faded and a blackness swiftly clouded her vision and she tumbled off the rock ledge onto the ground.
Folding up his portable crossbow, Hans placed it in his backpack, and whistling softly, moved through the bush towards his fallen prey. Following Sissy from her home, he had been laying not far from her as she sat by the waterfall, only standing up to listen as she recited her confession. Hans shook with rage as he realised that he had been number four in Sissy’s list of slaughter. Hans too, had been reminiscing on the night he nearly became Sissy’s fourth corpse. How fortunate that a homeless girl, down on her luck with nowhere to stay, had seen Sissy leave by the fire escape and decided the apartment may have been empty and that Sissy was possibly a thief. Again so lucky that she found Hans and rang for an ambulance.
A woman like Sissy deserved a punishment far worse than the court could bring, and now with three men before him murdered Hans felt revenge for them all. Perhaps Sissy had forgotten the family photo she had placed on the lintel of the fireplace in Hans’ apartment. It displayed them enjoying a picnic at this very location. She had also forgotten that the name of the waterfall, together with her Australian phone number and address, were penned on the back.
Reaching Sissy, he kneeled down, and removing his woollen balaclava, turned her over to see she was nearly on her last breath. Bright red spittle bubbled from her mouth, and her eyes barely registered that she recognised him. As he reached down he was aware Sissy was trying to talk. Holding his ear to her mouth he heard her final words and sat back in shock. There were only two words, but they were words that Hans couldn’t believe he would hear from someone he had just brutally slain.
Hans stood up, looking down at Sissy with pity. She had been the victim of a terrible crime, but her crimes were far worse, and Hans was resolute in meting out of his brand of justice. Dragging Sissy’s body into the bush, he returned to the scene of his crime and scraped his boot along the dirt to integrate Sissy’s blood into the soil. Looking up at the trees and the sound of the bellbirds, Hans whistled softly and departed. Perhaps he’d stay in this beautiful country for a while.
Fluttering down from a tall eucalyptus tree, a few minutes later, a magpie landed on a flat rocky ledge, not more than two metres from where Sissy had been sitting. Giving the camouflage covered Go Pro camera a peck, he jumped back for a moment as the memory card on the camera gave out—emitted a little beep—and stopped recording.
From the bush track a little boy ran towards the magpie, who flew away in panic, as the child shouted out to his mother of his important find.
‘Mum! There’s a waterfall.’ A split second later his mother flinched as her little boy screamed out in amazement. ‘Mum! I’ve found a camera. It’s a Go Pro!’
Bio: David says he wrote this story because of an idea he had while bushwalking, where he met and chatted with young tourists. Some asked about the dangers of the bush and travel in Australia.