Chapter 4: Part 2

A storm would be riding him hard by late tonight. Like the other predators prowling the globe looking for something juicy to claim as his own, he felt the pressure change and noted the change in wind direction.



He could ride it out, or find a place to dock. Maybe he could beat the storm, outrun the bastard and celebrate calm waters while he searched for his next kill.



The last girl was probably dead already. He should have stuck around to watch. Sometimes he did, other times it bored him. Especially when they lived for days, ignoring the pain and the humiliation of their body shutting down. Why couldn't they just figure out that death embraced their soul and wanted their cooperation?



There were a few islands near. The shipping lanes surrounded him but he would steer clear of the big ships. They might have video or maybe one of the crew would remember him being alone on the vast blue ocean. No, island hopping was more of his thing. He'd loved skipping from island to island in the Caribbean, eventually one of the cops would get wise to his game, and he'd be forced to move over to the Pacific, or maybe he'd try his luck in India.



Hunting in the Pacific was more challenging. Fewer people, fewer islands until you got to Papua New Guinea and then it got way more dangerous. Marshal Islands and the atolls running down to Tuvalu always intrigued him, but the locals would notice disappearances. He could take one girl from one of the smaller islands and then flip over to Fiji. There he would target the euro-trash on holiday.



The zealous side of him liked the odds. When the difficulty of the game increased it made him appreciate each kill more.



He laughed, remembering the last girl's face when she realized she'd never leave the boat alive. Too bad she'd been wrong, but what protection would one small dingy and two bottles of water offer her. Oh yes, and the snake. He'd thrown in that little surprise just for fun.



Maybe he should mix things up and take two at once. He thought about the complexity of having two bitches at his disposal. Running a tight operation was a hallmark of his kills. The ocean took away any evidence and he always used a condom. You could never be too careful these days.



Two women at once. As he tacked out of the storm's path he imagined the possibilities. One dark the other light. The art of the matter would please his soul. It would take more planning than usual. Women didn't really like to share. That was a man's fantasy. Women wanted to be the only one.



Not the next kill, maybe sometime in the next six months he could find two women who would be perfect together. Their height would need to be similar, their weight about the same. The proportions of their bodies were important. Usually breast size didn't play a huge role in his choices, but it would have to if he got two women. It would be a shame to have a flat-chested girl and one with big bazookas. Both needed to have huge tits.



The excitement of his plans distracted him. He needed to calm down. This kind of wild imaginations could get him in trouble. Control was important.



He looked out to the west, not at all surprised to see more clouds blooming in the sky. He tacked hard, forcing the sail into position. He'd out run the bastard, laugh in the face of danger and live to tell about it. That was his life now. Never again would he join the high society life that he grew up with. No, he was his own man now. The kind of man other's revered, and if they didn't he would cut them down.

* * * *

Heat raked across her aching body like a blowtorch. The cracks in her lips no longer stung when the salty water sprayed up on her face. Her body had dried out beyond what any human could endure. The blue sky offered no solace. Night would fall soon enough, but the sun had already turned every fiber of her being to misery.



Rain. That's what she needed. She would open her mouth and let it fall in.



Why can't I die already?



Her head rolled to the side and she saw two bottles. One empty. The other full.



She should drink, but not all of it. The drink pee thing wasn't working. Not enough liquid in her body to force any liquid out. Maybe she'd never pee again. Her body would bake and bake until she was an unrecognizable blob of meat.



Visions of picnics on bright green lawns filled her mind. Shade trees dotted the area, giving her relief from the heat. Lemonade would be her drink of choice then she'd find her Aunt Daisy and beg for some of her fruity pink drink. She'd fling herself into the nearest sprinkler and let the spray soak her from head to toe.



Water splashed over the rim of the yellow dingy, searing her skin with the salty mixture. The pain was sharp, no longer dulled. She hated salt. If she ever escaped this dreary coffin she'd banish salt from her house.



Pain cut through her belly, leaving her weak. She rolled into a ball and grabbed the water bottle. Two sips, that's all she took. With the lid on tight, she drifted into a fitful sleep where sea monsters attacked without provocation and evil men shot arrows at her, nicking her flesh off her bones.



Copyright Sara Thacker 2011