Week 1 Word: Labyrinth
Word Count 498
By G. Ackman
He had it all planned. A quiet romantic walk on the beach after dinner. She wouldn’t suspect a thing. He wasn’t even that nervous, not like you would think. They had dinner at their favorite Italian restaurant. It was good – light conversation, free flowing wine, and she smiled that beautiful smile at him. Afterwards, he suggested the walk on the beach and she readily agreed. They had done that before, even making love on it once or twice. Tonight’s moon and sky was perfect for romance. Once there, walking hand in hand, he knew she was relaxed and comfortable. Perfect.
Without warning, he pulled her towards him and she lifted her head slightly to receive his kiss. Instead, she felt his hands around her throat, tightening. “Did you think I didn’t know” he ground out between his teeth. “Did you honestly think I would let you divorce me?” She struggled in his grasp, trying desperately to pry open his fingers. Surely he wasn’t really going to kill her. But he was. When she lost consciousness, he held her head under the water for a long while, surely long enough. He pulled her limp body from the surf and was surprised at the low gurgle that came from her throat. A bit of foam dribbled out of her mouth and she moaned a bit. That shocked him. He had been sure she was dead. But she wasn’t and there was no going back now. He looked up and down the beach, making sure no one was around. He dragged her back up the sand towards the boardwalk, held her up against the rail and shot her once in the face, letting her fall. She didn’t move or moan anymore. She was dead.
Now to take care of the other part. He didn’t want a divorce, that was for sure, but he didn’t want her and he certainly did not want to go to jail. He had a plan. Steeling himself, he positioned his right palm against the gun barrel. His hands shook and he felt faint. I don’t think I can do it, he thought, as his finger spasmed and the gun fired. An incredible bolt of agony went through him, but he quickly repositioned the gun and fired off three more shots – to his shoulder, his side, and his other hand. Stumbling to his car, not sparing a glance at Cara, he drove towards town, stopping to fling the gun in the wild coastal grasses. He had his story all set. A man interrupted their romantic walk on the beach, demanding their money and jewelry. Cara refused and he shot her. I grappled with him and he shot me four times. It will work, I know it will. I will have her life insurance, be free of her, and will gain sympathy as the grieving husband. No one will ever suspect me. No one shoots himself four times. No one. It will work. It will work