Trapped: A Narrative Fiction

“Maaaaadge,” a small voice cried from the direction of the street. Both women swiveled around to see five-year-old Callie Coleman rushing up the stone steps to Madge’s prominent Victorian home.

Stepping onto the porch Callie lurched toward her, gasping for breath.

Madge caught the little girl and steadied her, “What is it, child?”

“Please, I need your help. It’s Poppy. I can’t get to her.”

“What do you mean, you can’t get to her?”

Callie grabbed Madge’s arm, tugging at her in vain toward the steps. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

Madge glanced at Bitty who was staring at Callie, an expression of concern and annoyance crossing her face.

Callie, determined to move Madge, seized her leg and awkwardly lifted it.

“Good Heaven’s girl,” Madge said,

Madge did not stop. She ran across the street to Callie’s house and leapt up the porch steps. Reaching for the doorknob, she risked a glance behind her. The man was crossing the street.

“It’s locked. We use the back door,” Callie cried, grasping Madge’s neck. Madge swiveled around and spied a four-foot tall planter box off to the side of the porch. She flung Callie down behind the planter box and then slipped in after, blocking Callie from view.

Footsteps thudded up the front steps and stopped.

Madge glanced back at Callie and rested her forefinger on her lips. Callie’s eyes were all pupil and she held her breath.

The footsteps grew closer and stopped again. Madge turned to see the barrel of a gun pointed at her.

Madge swung around and covered Callie with her body. The gun fired, echoing throughout the porch. Nothing happened. Another shot rang out. Again, nothing happened. Madge heard the man let out an expletive.

When she heard loud voices coming from the street, the man jumped over the iron porch railing and disappeared into the neighbor's backyard.

Madge closed her eyes, grateful-not for the first time- that she couldn’t be killed. As she straightened she lifted Callie into her