Open Writing

‘Unit 16 - at the far end, second floor.’ The receptionist pointed the way and handed over the key. ‘I’m sure you will be very comfortable, Mr. Black, Mrs. Black.’

‘Thanks. We have a long journey tomorrow. We’ll leave early so I’ll settle now.’ Tony Ritori paid cash.

* * *

‘Are you sure this is necessary, Tony?’ Seems a shame to waste the opportunity and the king-size bed.’ Moving close, the woman reached to draw his head down, her lips parting, inviting his kiss.

‘Not now, Jan. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. And, yes, it is necessary. Let’s get it over with first.’

‘By God you’re a cold bastard, Tony.’

‘Sorry, darling, but it’s hard to be romantic in these circumstances. I’ll be all right. You get ready.’ He kissed her lightly and turned to open his suitcase.

Most of the room in the case was occupied by a folded travelling rug. Ritori unzipped a small bag and removed a small brown phial. Beneath the pharmaceutical brand name, a notice proclaimed, ‘For Motion Sickness. Adults, 1 to 2 capsules 30 minutes before travelling.’ He shook out two capsules. He examined them closely and appeared satisfied.

In a black negligee, her auburn hair falling free over her milk-white shoulders, Janet Arnett was breathtakingly beautiful. Her lover seemed oblivious. With one hand he offered a glass of water; on the other, two capsules.

The woman hesitated, ‘You’re sure they’re safe?’

‘For God’s sake! They’re sleeping tablets, not arsenic!”

Tears welled in the woman’s eyes. She ran to the bathroom.

‘All right, let’s get on with it. I told Derek I’d be home by one. She placed the capsules on her tongue and washed them down.

***

Tony Ritori laid the tray on the bedside table. He kissed his wife’s forehead before drawing the curtains aside. Soft morning light bathed the room as Sally Ritori stretched awake.

‘Look! A glorious day and the sea like glass. Come out with me. It’s no fun on my own.’

Sally felt a twinge of guilt. She should make the effort. Tony really was trying. The holiday away at Esperence was his idea. ‘A chance to fall in love again. We must try.’

This was the last day. He hadn’t asked her before. He’d let her sleep in while he went out by himself every morning. She found it hard to understand the obsession that took him out regardless of the conditions. To her remonstrations Tony had merely replied, ‘Cray pots have to be pulled every day.’

‘Look, I’ve even bought seasick capsules so you could come out with me.’ He handed her a small phial of capsules. ‘You just take two before we leave.’

What could she say? Sally wrinkled her nose, ‘You’re a darling. Of course I will.’

‘Fantastic! Wear your red bikini. And take those capsules now to give them time to act.’

Tony Ritori had prepared for this day with nineteen trips to the reef in three weeks. Everything was in place.

He had found the first shark on day three. It had followed the trailing lure like a dog chasing a rabbit. Ritori kept just a boat length ahead until he reached the reef. Only then did he reward the monster.

By the tenth day the shark pack had grown to nine. They were schooled to expect lunch at precisely 11.30 am. Today it would be something special.

With the last of the gear stowed aboard, Ritori went to fetch his wife. ‘A great day for a dive. Taken your seasick tablets?’

‘That’s the only way you’re getting me into that boat. They’d better work. Let’s go!’

It was a glorious day. A reflective ocean sparkled beneath a cloudless sky. Only the planing launch disturbed the dead-calm sea. The islands of the archipelago ringed the bay like a wreath of lilies.

Sally Ritori’s head slumped. She jerked awake.

‘You okay, Darling? Not feeling seasick, I hope?’

‘No, but I do feel sleepy. Hardly keep my eyes open. Cold, too.’ She shivered.

‘Go below and have a kip. I’ll wake you when we get to the reef.’

Tony Ritori cut the motor. 11.15 am. Good timing. He scanned a beningn sea unbroken by waves or fins. They’d come. The cabin cruiser rocked gently on an oil-smooth swell.

‘Darling, we’re there!’ Ritori patted his wife’s cheek. She stirred but didn’t awaken. He carried her up the steps to the deck, laying her on the teak seating of the aft cockpit.

The man fetched the last of the bait casks from the forward hold. He grimaced at the stench of the fetid blood, offal, fish and fish oil. The grimace remained fixed like a mask as he smeared oily juice over his wife’s legs.

As the man’s hand stroked her skin, the woman drew up her legs. ‘Derek?’ she murmured.

Ritori started so violently that he knocked the bait cask from the seat. The seagulls that always wait around anchored fishing boats in the hope of easy pickings were quick to seize the opportunity. The boldest swooped to pluck a mullet from the deck, avoiding the man’s face by centimetres as it swept upwards with the fish.

Ritori leaped aside. Off balance, he slipped on the oil-slick deck. He screamed as he toppled backwards over the railing. He swam frantically for the stern boarding ladder. He cried in utter despair when he saw that it was not in place. He pounded the hull, ‘Sally! Sally! The ladder! Let down the ladder!’

There was no response, only the screams of the gulls fighting over the spilled shark bait.

A dorsal fin broke the surface. It sliced in towards the boat, then scythed away. Another and another shark circled the boat. 11.30. Feeding time.

Ritori swam for his life. He grasped the anchor rope to haul himself from the water. His oily hands couldn’t support his weight. He screamed as the first shark struck. He didn’t feel the second.