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Lucille P Robinson resides in Rayne, Louisiana, with her husband, Theodore, and invalid daughter, Pamela. Ms. Robinson is a retired school teacher who has been writing for twenty-five years. She's published in "Short Stories That Kill Time", a self-published anthology, UNCOMMON BONDS, the 1994 Acadiana Writing Program anthology, and Crime & Suspense Ezine. Ms. Robinson loves to read mysteries and crime stories, write, and crochet.

Trapped by Lucille P Robinson

I straightened my aching back and mopped the sweat from my face and neck. Too hot for night, I thought, pulling my shirt over my head. Should've done this in the winter and not waited for August. I ran my fingers under the edge of my bra and tucked my shirt into the waistband of my knee-length shorts.

Bending back to my chore, I grabbed my husband's ankles and struggled to pull him along the uneven ground. It was dry and hard-packed, despite the rain that'd fell during the last two days. Bits of twigs, knobs sprouting up from buried tree roots, and rotten pieces of tree trunks lay scattered along the way. I headed for the bayou that ran behind our farm. The bayou was raging, thanks to the rain. When I'd first arrived here on my wedding night ten years ago, I learned how alligators loved to come for a visit when the bayou flooded. They'd help get rid of the evidence tonight.

Sadness spread through me when I recalled how I'd sat and waited with Ted's pistol––waiting for him to come home from work. It wouldn't have gone this far if another solution would've presented itself. I had no job, no money, no place I could run to, or Ted would be alive right now. Trapped was what I was.

I dropped Ted's feet and wiped my face on the shirt I'd pulled off. Wearing nothing but my bra, underwear and shorts with dirty white canvas shoes didn't help cool me any. I went back to pulling on Ted. Glancing toward the bayou revealed only a few more feet to go.

With no body, there was little danger of my crime coming to light. Being an interstate truck driver, Ted was gone for days at a time. Some said there'd come a day when he'd never return since he had a mistress waiting in one of those towns he visited. When he did come home, he drank too much and turned into a hotheaded, good-for-nothing wife-beater. But no more, honey, no more of that now. In a few minutes I'd be free.

Reaching the rain-soaked bank of the swollen stream, I pulled Ted into a position parallel to the water and walked around to his side. I placed my hands under his shoulder and lifted as much as I could. A blinding flash of light caused me to drop him and cross my arm in front of my eyes.

"Just back up slowly, Mrs. Johnson," a deep voice said to my right.

I peeked from under my arm and looked directly into a bright light seconds before it was pointed at Ted. Blinking my eyes, I squinted toward the man holding the light. A glint on the right side of his chest, the outline of a hat on his head, and the barrel of the gun held in his hand told me all I needed to know.

Trapped, that's what I was.

THE END