SWAINS LOCK (The River Trilogy, book 1) by Edward A. Stabler Read Free Book Online Page A

pull himself past the frame
but something held his ankle. He kicked with both legs and his
chest began to burn. He could move his left foot a few inches, but
whatever held his ankle would not let go. The water grew colder and
darker.
    He let himself float for a second and felt
the chilled water flow past his chest and forehead as he stared
upward at the receding light and the pressure mounted in his ears.
His upper arms flexed violently against the window frame as his
legs flailed. Three seconds. Four. Five. Rest. Can’t rest. Lungs
burning. Motherfucker! He pulled his head back into the car and
twisted toward his ankle, which felt like it was trapped somewhere
under the front seat. All of the beams were askew now, floating
randomly inside the falling wagon. Two of them were wedged against
the underside of the dash, and he drove his shoulder into them as
he groped downward to find what was holding his leg. Rest for an
instant. Reach around the beams! No use. He twisted back to grab
the window frame, then yanked fiercely against the vise that
gripped his leg. Once. Again. Again! Goddammit! Lungs on fire.
Exploding now. Hold. One. Two… release. The fire subsided as he
exhaled a shower of bubbles. Don’t blow through your straw, Miles.
He almost giggled when he realized he’d accidentally drawn a small
stream of water into his mouth. He swallowed it, then instinctively
took a full breath, and the river filled his lungs. I’m dying. The
dugout floated across his field of vision, a strange symbol on its
face. One last trickle of bubbles, then a crushing pain he could
not expel. Waiting for the bus and Carlin said cry me a river. The
tension on his ankle slackened momentarily as the wagon’s tail
found the ancient riverbed. I said unchain my heart. His irises
relaxed and his fingers unfolded toward the fading light.

Chapter 4
Candles
    Sunday, October 22, 1995
    Vin examined the bottles on the medicine
rack in the pantry. “Doxycycline. Ivermectin. Diazepam.” Then
“Gentamicin. Nicky Hayes, DVM. Spray affected area twice per day
for 7-10 days. 04/19/96.” He shook the bottle to feel its contents
slosh around – over half full. Must be part of Nicky’s stash from
her residency at Tufts. He took the bottle back to the foyer.
    Kelsey had stepped further into the room
during his absence, and she smiled weakly at his approach. From a
discreet distance she’d been studying the photo of Lee and K. Elgin
on the table top. “That looks like an old shot of Great Falls,” she
said. “Could I take a closer look?”
    Her voice sounded thinner, almost strained.
“Sure,” Vin said, handing it to her. “I found it behind some planks
in an old wall.” He felt a transient annoyance that he’d left it
lying face up on the table. Why does that bother me, he wondered.
Was he already feeling attached to Lee and the girl? Or was it
because he knew nothing about this woman standing in his house?
    “This is interesting,” Kelsey said, her
normal voice returning. “I’m a photographer and I’ve taken lots of
pictures of the Falls. You can tell that this wasn’t shot from the
observation deck on the Maryland side. It has a slightly different
vantage point.” Vin stepped around to her shoulder as she centered
the photograph and focused intently. “This must have been taken
from the end of the old path across Olmsted Island.”
    “We just moved here, and we haven’t been out
to Great Falls yet,” he admitted. “We’ve started biking the towpath
on Saturday afternoons, so maybe next weekend...” He gently took
the photo from her and returned it to the table, feeling strangely
relieved that she hadn’t flipped it over to read the names on the
back.
    “You should take the walkway out to the
observation deck,” she said. “It’s spectacular.”
    Trying to redirect the conversation, he held
out the Gentamicin. “I think this is what Nicky wanted me to give
you.” As she scanned the label, he processed her previous