Dead if You Don’t

98

Sunday 13 August

17.00–18.00

The water level was over his stomach.

When were they going to come back to get him out?

Were they coming back at all? Ever?

The water was lifting him, constantly now, and he rose and fell with the swell. Each time he fell, he tried increasingly desperately to regain his position on the ledge. Twice, in the past minutes, his feet had missed the ledge and he’d had a moment of panic about being garrotted by the wire noose, until the swell lifted him up again.

Help me! Help me! Help me!

He closed his eyes in prayer. Please God, please, please, please, I’m sorry. Please help me.