Short Story in pieces. The Black Widow

I wrote this 3-4 years ago. I'm sure it's full of mistakes, please just read it for the story. I am going to post the parts (5) on a daily basis until completed. I'm trying out the scheduling thingy. ;-)

Black Widow

-1-

The heat from the summer sun was intense, causing her pale skin to burn beneath her gauzy, peasant blouse. Beads of sweat trickled between her breasts, down her back, over her forehead and stinging her eyes. The tarmac she walked on felt as if it was burning through the soles of her cheap shoes, searing the bottoms of her feet. She tried to ignore the heat, focusing on the reason for her walk, as she pulled the heavy suitcase on wheels behind her. The old Ford Ranger sat on the side of the road about half a mile back, still belching black smoke. She wished someone would stop, offering her a ride, but the seldom-used country road was vacant and not a single car had ventured her way. The convenience store was in sight, though still quite a distance and she tried to move a little faster. She didn’t want to miss the bus that stopped there every day.

Knowing that she should notify someone that the old man was dead, she had hoped to call the police from a pay phone after she was safely out of town. If only she could get out of the area before they discovered his body. All of his money was in her pocket, even the change and his gold wedding ring, which she planned selling along with her own.

The convenience store did not appear to be any closer, like a mirage it was always in the distance beyond the heat waves rising from the tar. Three buzzards circled above her as if waiting for her to keel over for their lunch. A car was coming from behind her, slowly, she turned around to look, and an invisible pin poked a hole in her hopes and dreams. The car was heading toward her, and her uncle was screaming, “We have you now!” He swerved around and pulled the late model Lincoln in front of her, blocking her path.

“Exactly where do you think you’re going, Mrs. Vogel?” he growled.

“I’m leaving, the old man is dead, and I’m eighteen now. I can go wherever I damn well please,” she said.

“That’s not the way we do things around here and you know it. Put your suitcase in the back and climb in. You have paperwork to fill out. What will your folks say, you going off and not giving your loving husband a proper burial? It’s a shame you have so little respect after all that your parents have done for you,” he said, shaking his head in disgust.

Although tempted to run, she knew they would catch her, and make things even worse. She did as he said, climbing into the back seat as his buddy leered at her. He drove her to her parents’ house instead of the police station. He opened her door and grabbed her suitcase then he jerked her out of the car by her arm, shoving her toward the house.

“Don’t push me like that, Uncle Carl, I’m going in,” she said.

Her parents were sitting at the paper strewn dining room table. Mother seemed satisfied with herself as she tapped the numbers into her calculator with her blood red, fake fingernails. She was chortling, “Quite a tidy little package!”

“How much do you figure we’re going to get, Estelle?” her father asked, setting his beer bottle down on the table.

“Don’t forget my cut, you jokers,” her uncle said.

“Don’t get your shorts in a bunch, you’ll get yours, don’t you worry, Carl,” Estelle said.

“Who have you got lined up for her next, Carl?” her father asked.

“No! You can’t make me do it again. You are all sick in the head, this isn’t right, I want my own life,” she said.

Her father sprang from his chair, turning it over, and backhanded her to the floor.

“You will do as you’re told, or else!”

“Or else, what?” she taunted, “Are you going to kill me? Why not do it now? I say, you should go for it. My life isn’t worth living anyway. Maybe I will do it myself and save you all the trouble.”

“You know we have to do this. How else would we live?” Estelle asked.

“Did you two ever think about getting a job?”