Life Support Read Online Free Page B

house. The front door rattled as he tried to turn the doorknob and then it shook under the dull thud of his boot as he attempted to kick it open. The locks held, and the wood didn’t splinter.
    It grew silent outside, and a glimmer of hope came into the closet. Her tormenter had given up and gone away. She strained to hear the sound of his truck backing down the gravel driveway. Seconds passed like minutes.
    Then a gunshot shattered the stillness, and Rena knew it was her night to die. Her aunt screamed. Rena opened the door of the closet and began walking slowly toward the living room. It would be better to end her life quickly than continue in the torment of anticipation. Before she reached the room, sirens filled the air as the police arrived. Louise saw Rena and screamed for her to lie down on the floor. Her stepfather shot wildly in the air several times before he was disarmed. He went to prison for five years.
    But Vernon Swafford’s threats weren’t held captive by prison bars. They were locked within the dungeon of Rena’s mind. Over the following months Louise did the best she could to salve Rena’s wounds, but all she had were band-aids. Rena needed major, reconstructive surgery.
    So, Rena stuffed the traumas of her childhood deep into the crevices of her soul and learned to pretend. Her grades went up, and she received a college scholarship. Outward circumstances improved. Inside, she remained dark and twisted. Nightmares choked out any hope of peaceful sleep. Classmates labeled her moody, but her good looks insured a level of popularity with boys and envy from girls. Attracting the attention of males was not a problem but building an enduring relationship was an impossibility. Nothing lasted. She had a bottomless mistrust of men. At the first sign of stress, Rena bolted or reacted with emotional violence that scared off her current suitor.
    She talked to a counselor in college; however, the well-meaning man only knew how to unpack a person’s internal baggage, not what to do with the dirty laundry it contained. She avoided contact with her stepfather after his release from custody, but past torment stalked her along paths of fear. Only an iron will kept her from insanity.
    Until now.
    Rena took a deep breath and felt a weight lift from her chest. Killing another person was a drastic step, but at the core of her being she knew she had acted in self-defense. Eventually, her rich, young husband would have tired of her and thrown her away or begun his own cycle of abuse. She stood and brushed a few specks of dirt from her knees as the calm after the storm entered her soul. She would never have to trust in a man again. Baxter’s money would insure security for the future. She could survive without needing anyone’s help and perhaps find a measure of happiness.
    She carefully cleaned the area where they had eaten their light supper and began to compose the story to tell when she returned to civilization. Baxter had already provided a logical explanation for his unfortunate slip and fall from the wet rocks. Analysis of his blood would reveal the presence of enough alcohol to impair balance and judgment.
    When everything was back to normal, Rena turned away from the waterfall. It would take more than an hour and a half to hike back to the expensive new SUV they had driven to the mountains. She followed the path through the low trees and bushes that grew in scattered patches of dirt between the rocks near the top of the waterfall. When she reached the bottom of a rough, earthen stairway cut into the side of the hill, she looked up and prepared to make the ascent toward a life without fear.
    Then she remembered.
    The keys to the SUV were in Baxter’s pocket. She stopped, and an overwhelming dread swept over her. She whirled around and looked back down the path toward the waterfall. The calm that had enveloped her after sending Baxter to his doom evaporated, and she knew a terror that made