Life Support

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0849943744

Chapter One ; ;The female of the species is more deadly than the male. ;-- ;Rudyard Kipling ; ;Baxter Richardson pried the cork from the wine bottle and tossed it past Rena into the clear, rushing water of the narrow stream. It immediately bobbed to the surface and joined several red and orange leaves drifting unaware toward the nearby waterfall. A few feet before the waterway cascaded over the edge of the cliff a large boulder squatted in the middle of the stream and caused the water to divide in two. It then plunged over the precipice in equal explosions of foaming white that many years before had inspired the name Double-Barrel Falls. Seventy-five feet below, the stream splattered onto several large boulders before it coalesced and continued its journey through the forest toward Lake Jocassee, a cold mountain reservoir that on a clear day could be seen as a hint of blue at the edge of the horizon. Rena Richardson had visited the secluded spot many times, but it was the first trip to the area for her husband Baxter, a sandy-haired, South Carolina coast-dweller with light brown eyes and an easygoing smile. ; ;Baxter filled two clear plastic cups with the deep red liquid and set them on a flat rock in the autumn sun. He emptied his backpack and carefully positioned the rest of the food on a paper napkin beside the wine. The bread had been sliced by a chef at an expensive bakery where they'd bought it early that morning in Greenville. A light wind stirred the air. Rena ran her fingers through her blonde hair and pushed some wayward strands away from her pale blue eyes. She was a month past her twenty-fifth birthday. Baxter, a year older, sliced the soft cheese into chunks with a small knife while Rena watched in silence. ; ;The young couple were alone in the clearing at the top of the waterfall. It was the first hike of their marriage, and they'd not seen another person during the three-mile trek from the trailhead. Soon, as October began, the trees would fully bloom with fall colors, and the number of hikers and tourists coming to the area would increase. This afternoon Baxter and Rena had the wilderness to themselves. ; ;"I'm sorry I didn't bring a white tablecloth or silver candlesticks," Baxter said. "Too much weight for a hike." ; ;Rena didn't answer. She'd been quiet all day. While Baxter strolled along the well-worn path, her thoughts revisited secret images of pain more familiar to her than the bends and twists of the trail. The scars of her soul rivaled the depth of the gorge below them. ;Baxter handed her a cup of wine. "What do you want to toast?" he asked. ; ;Rena looked past her husband to the place where she and her brothers had camped with her stepfather. She spoke with an accent that revealed a hint of her Appalachian Mountain roots. ; ;"To the death of childhood monsters." ; ;Baxter gave her a puzzled look. "That's a strange toast. What do you mean?" ; ;"It fits," she responded simply. ; ;Baxter shrugged. Holding up his cup, he proclaimed, "To the death of childhood monsters. Send them over the edge, never to return." ; ;They touched cups and each took a sip. ; ;The bread was chewy and the cheese soft, but even average fare tastes better in the woods after a hike. Baxter quickly drank a cup of wine and poured another. Rena nibbled a piece of bread but wasn't interested in food or drink. ; ;She stared past Baxter. Glimpses of scenes from the past demanded her attention like a pack of wild dogs. ; ;~~~ ; ;Her stepfather, Vernon Swa