Bitter Retribution

by Rachel Sharpe

  Around me, members of the crew appeared to have relaxed as everything fell into place. From a distance, I could have sworn I even saw Heather smile. It looked like Alson’s antics would not cost the studio more money or my best friend more of her sanity. When Trip was halfway down the mountain, he approached a large mogul with silent determination. This was his big moment. And that’s when it happened.

  As he hit the mogul, his left ski flew off. It sailed high into the air. Although skis are designed to fall off as a safety feature if a skier loses control, even I could tell in the moments before he landed that something went terribly wrong. When he lost his ski mid-air, Trip attempted to roll to his left in order to avoid severe bruising or a possible sprain. This reaction was normal, especially considering Trip’s obvious ability as a skier.

  Unfortunately, even the greatest athletes alive are human. When he did land, he sailed directly into the trees where I stood. Head first. The incident itself took less than five seconds. As I stood there, though, it felt like the horrific scene was unfolding in ultra-slow motion.

  When he collided with the tree, his neck flew backwards at an unnatural angle. That’s when time sped up with a frightful, snapping sound. People flooded the area like a swarm of frantic hornets. I was shoved aside amidst yelling, cursing and a symphony of inaudible cries. Everyone lost their heads at the sight of the unconscious man crumpled in the thick, pure-white snow. Someone, thankfully, had the sense to call for help. Within minutes the emergency crew for the resort arrived with medical equipment and a snowmobile pulling a gurney-styled sled.

  Their presence served to further elevate the panic level. It took them more time than it should have to force the onlookers back. Precious time. Once they did, they began to work on stabilizing Trip. I wish I could say that I had the quiet resolve of my sister, the surgeon. I wish I could say that the sight of a grisly accident did nothing but instill in me an inherent desire to help those in need. But that wasn’t the case.

  I felt queasy at the sight of Trip’s limp body. Taking a step back, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Icy air filled my lungs and I felt rejuvenated. When I opened my eyes again, only one thought filled my mind. What the hell just happened? With no clear answer in sight, I did the only thing that came naturally to me in a time of disaster, I began to investigate.

  After removing my skis, I studied the area and decided the best place to start was the site of the accident. It was easy to trek across the snow-covered mountainside because everyone else was holding vigil around Trip’s body. Sustained by short, shallow breaths, I climbed up the steep incline to the spot where Trip lost his ski. Kneeling down in the snow, I began wiping the powder around in search of obstructions or objects that may have caused his ski to come loose.

  After a quick albeit thorough search of the fated mogul and its surrounding area, I was frustrated to discover there was nothing out of the ordinary that might have caused the accident. Dusting snow off my gloves, I climbed to my feet and looked around again.

  Panic levels increased exponentially when the emergency crew moved Trip’s motionless body to the clearing and waited for the helicopter that had been radioed to airlift him to the nearest hospital. The brief glimpse I got of him strapped to a gurney with his head packed in ice made me recoil and I turned from the macabre sight.

  It was then that I noticed something thin and shiny poking out of some snow near the trees. Hiking towards the object, I found myself looking at Trip’s missing ski. No one was paying attention when I yanked the ski from its resting place along the embankment. Lifting it with both hands, I carefully studied the item. It was an expensive, designer-brand alpine ski used by professionals during competition.

  With both a narrow tip and tail, it was clear this ski was meant to be used by an experienced skier and I found myself wondering why the crew would pick this type of ski for someone like Alson Andrews. I was about to carry the ski over to a nearby crewmember when several small scratches caught my eye. On the top side of the ski in the center of the binding were tiny marks near the screws used to tighten or loosen the binding based on a skier’s ability and boot size.

  Upon closer inspection, I realized that the screws themselves had been fiddled with. One of them was nearly stripped. My heart began to race at the implications of my findings. I glanced over at the crew, most of them wearing distraught expressions and my suspicion mounted. If what I was holding in my hands was a ski that had been deliberately tampered with, Trip’s unfortunate accident would become attempted murder.

  The sound of the approaching helicopter was so deafening I could barely think as I watched it maneuver through the brush and land in an open area near the mountain’s base. The medical crew worked swiftly and carefully to load Trip on the helicopter. As quickly as they arrived, they were gone. Once Trip was no longer there, people began talking about the accident. I clutched the ski to my chest and watched as Heather emerged from the crowd. Silently, she made her way over to me.

  It would be safe to say that Heather is one of the calmest, most sane influences in my crazy life. She is the best friend I’ve ever had and will ever have and because of this, we can read each other better than anyone else. To most, Heather appeared to be both calm and collected as she made her way across that snowy incline. However, I could tell the instant our eyes locked that nothing could be further from the truth.

  Crossing her arms tightly, she muttered, “I can’t believe what just happened.”

  “I know.” I nodded, staring down at the marred ski. “How is he?”

  “I don’t know,” she muttered, shaking her head as she rubbed her rosy nose. “It doesn’t look good. I heard the medics say something about brain swelling . . . I just can’t believe this. Trip’s an amazing skier! How could this have happened?”

  I continued to glance down at the ski, debating whether or not I should offer up my theory while Heather was still in a state of shock. As I considered my options, several crewmembers began heading back over to their equipment and checking everything with meticulous precision, as if they feared they, somehow, had something to do with Trip’s ski coming loose.

  “I wish Dr. Rosie was still here,” Heather lamented, twisting a loose strand of her curly hair between her thumb and index finger. “She could really calm down the crew right now.”

  “Still here? You mean she’s gone? Where’d she go?”

  “Huh?” she blinked. “No, she’s still here,” she motioned toward the resort, “but she’s not right here. She was on set earlier. At least that’s what Bob said.”

  Although I still didn’t agree with or like Heather’s sudden support of a shrink, I decided this wasn’t the time to discuss it. I was still clutching the ski when Nancy breezed over, bubbling with a manic mix of energy and anxiety.

  “Heather, we’re going to need some rewrites,” she exclaimed hastily, her eyes wild with apprehension. “What happened to Trip threw us completely off schedule. We found Alson and he’s on his way here now. What I was thinking is—”

  “Are you kidding?” Heather interrupted, her eyes and mouth open in astonishment. “Nance, Trip was just airlifted in critical condition to a hospital and you’re worried about rewrites?”

  “Excuse me?” Nancy bellowed, her eyes narrowing as her nose flared in indignation.

  “I, um, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Heather backtracked, her face suddenly as red as her nose. “That was completely out of line . . . it’s just . . . it’s just—”

  “Excuse me, ma’am?” A paramedic had appeared out of nowhere and approached Nancy with the utmost caution. When she stared at him, he cowered, but staring down at the phone in his hand, he took a deep breath and met her gaze. “Are you in charge?”

  “Yes, what is it?”

  The man, dressed in a bright-red parka with a medic’s cross embroidered on the back, removed his black skull c
ap and replied in a low voice, “I . . . well, I hate to tell you like this, but . . . the man . . . the one who was airlifted from here . . . he, well, he didn’t make it. I’m very sorry. Do you know who his next of kin is? We would like to notify them as soon as possible.”

  “Excuse me?” Nancy stumbled back, her eyes wide. “What did you just say?”

  “Uh,” the paramedic paused as he studied her bewildered expression. When it didn’t change, he glanced at Heather and I. “Look, I really need to know who I can call about this. I know this is a movie set or something, and we’d hate to have a story like this get out before his family knows.”

  Without the ability to offer any insight, I just stood there, feeling sudden nausea as the realization of Trip’s death struck me full force. Nancy’s state of shock somehow left her speechless and useless in this dire situation. Realizing this, the paramedic continued to stare at Heather until she replied quietly, “You’re going to have to talk to Mandy. Come on. I’ll show you where she is.”

  The paramedic thanked her as they hurried across the frosty embankment. Suddenly, Heather whirled around and asked that I wait with Nancy until she returned. I nodded and with that, they were gone. As we stood there in silence, I felt an urge to offer some words of sympathy, but unfortunately, I couldn’t think of anything. Nancy, thankfully, was either unaware or unconcerned by my presence. Absently, she scrolled through the datebook on her cell phone. She began muttering how far this incident could set back production and how much it might cost the studio.

  While some might have been appalled by her callous behavior, I sensed her response was more of a shock-induced autopilot than a cruel afterthought. Ten minutes later, Heather returned with Jon, Alson, and Tox in tow. Jon had a concerned look on his face as he hurried over to me. He trekked through the thick powder until he stood before me. Without a pause, he embraced me. The scent of his cologne was so overpowering that I coughed. He released me, but remained close.

  “You okay?” he asked, brushing my hair behind my right ear. “We were in the lobby when your friend came in. We heard what happened.”

  I stood there, speechless. Jon’s behavior did not resemble that of a friend, but more of a boyfriend. From the corner of my eye, I saw Heather staring at us with her mouth agape. I knew what she was thinking without her saying a word. As I pushed Jon’s hand away, I felt my face flushing. I couldn’t deal with this again. Not now. I hurried over to Heather. Nancy continued to mutter to herself and make adjustments to her datebook.

  “Uh, Heather?” I whispered, tapping her sleeve as I clutched the ski. “We really need to talk.”

  “Jordan, I really don’t have time to deal with . . . that,” she hissed, glancing over at Jon. “I’ve got my own problems. Real, serious problems. Nancy . . . I don’t know, she’s totally out of it . . . and someone has to deal with Trip’s . . . how could this have happened?”

  When she mentioned his name, the word caught in her throat and she stared up at the overcast sky, trying to blink away a stray tear. Although I was embarrassed to realize my best friend thought me so completely self-focused that I couldn’t see her despair, there wasn’t time to argue about it. Shaking my head, I held up the ski.

  “This has nothing to do with Jon,” I insisted. “It’s about Trip.”

  “What?” She frowned, glancing at the ski and then at me. Suddenly, her eyes widened. “Is that Trip’s ski? Oh my God. It’s faulty? Is that what happened? Did he—”

  “No. Well, yes.” I hesitated, tapping the ski face and staring down at the deep marks and stripped screws. Leaning in close, I muttered, “I don’t know. You’re gonna think I’m insane.”

  “Jordan, I don’t have time for this,” she groaned. “If you have something to say, say it, but if you don’t—”

  “I don’t think what happened was an accident,” I blurted a little too loudly.

  Looking around, I realized several members of the crew were staring at me. Heather studied my eyes before turning her attention to the ski. Suddenly, she grabbed my wrist and tugged me over towards a cluster of trees far away from the groups spread across the clearing. “All right, I’m listening. What makes you think this wasn’t an accident?”

  Taking a deep breath, I exhaled slowly. I was relieved that Heather didn’t automatically discount my theory. Quietly, I explained to her about how it looked watching Trip lose the ski midair from where I stood and how difficult it was for me to believe someone that talented could crash the way he did after watching him regain his balance when I crashed into him seconds after we disembarked the ski lift earlier that morning.

  I concluded by pointing to the obvious markings on the ski itself and how it did not resemble usual wear marks, but instead looked like someone had tampered with it. She listened to everything I said in silence. When I finished, she extended her hand and I gave her the ski. She took it and turning it over in her hands slowly, studied it.

  “For the sake of argument, let’s say you’re right. Let’s say someone did tamper with this ski on purpose. There’s still one question you haven’t answered. Why? Why would anyone want to hurt Trip? He’s . . . he was . . . one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. Everyone loved him. This doesn’t make sense.”

  As she trailed off, I saw tears welling up in her eyes. Sniffing, she put on her sunglasses and turned away. I stared at her for several moments before glancing back at the assorted members of the crew. From what I could tell, she was right. Everyone appeared genuinely distraught as they huddled together for support.

  As far as I knew, no one else was even aware that Trip was dead. They still believed he was in critical condition and on his way to the nearest hospital. If someone did sabotage him, it would have to have been someone with both a means and a motive to do so. I couldn’t think of anyone with both or anyone with a reason to do that to a random stunt performer.

  It was at that moment that Alson skied over, nearly sliding into us in his haste. Tox marched across the snow, huffing to catch up to him, a deep frown plastered across his face. It looked like he was muttering something under his breath, but even if he had been yelling it I might not have heard him above the deafening roar of the arctic winds. Shoving his ski poles deep into the fluffy powder, Alson flipped his hair back and groaned. He then glared at Heather until she reluctantly met his gaze.

  “I’m bored,” he declared, leaning on his ski poles. Motioning toward the crewmembers standing in small clusters, their faces twisted with concern, he added, “This crap doesn’t involve me, and as far as I can tell, shooting’s been postponed. Today’s been a waste of my time. I’m out.”

  With that, he skied past us, nearly running over Heather’s foot in the process. She clenched her jaw and fists, but said nothing. That’s when it hit me. Grunting, Tox marched up to us just in time to watch Heather and I exchange a knowing look. One of the greatest things about my friendship with Heather is that we are on the same wavelength. We both glanced down at the ski in her hand and then back at Alson as he disappeared amongst the trees.

  “Maybe no one wanted to hurt Trip,” I muttered quietly, “but I can think of someone a lot of people would.”

  “You may be on to something,” Heather agreed. “After all, those skis were meant for someone else.”

  12

  Heather sprang into action. She instructed Tox to find Alson and get him back to the hotel, keeping him out of sight until they knew what was happening. Tox didn’t reply, but taking a deep breath, began trudging in the direction Alson left.

  “I give up,” Heather sighed, shaking her head as she stared at the ski. “I can’t think of anyone who’d do this.”

  “Really?”

  A loud cry echoed across the clearing. I turned in time to see Tox emerge from the brush carrying Alson over one shoulder and his skis over the other. Tox scowled, but said nothing as Alson kicked and scr
eamed, trying to wiggle out of the larger man’s grip. With each crewmember he passed, the flailing teen superstar threatened termination and lawsuits if they didn’t help him.

  I turned back to Heather. “You can’t think of anyone who might have a problem with him?”

  “Anyone who spends five minutes with the little creep has a motive, but I can’t think of anyone who would actually act on that impulse.” She began to walk over to the small group that formed around Nancy then hesitated. “What should I do now?”

  “Huh?” I blinked.

  “About this!” she hissed, tapping on the ski with exasperation. “Should I pull Nancy aside, show her the ski, and, you know, explain the situation?”

  I watched Nancy as she interacted with various members of the crew. Her mannerisms appeared more casual than they had when the paramedic broke the tragic news. She seemed to be herself again. I kicked my ski boot back and forth until it was buried beneath a thick mound of white powder.

  “Call the police.”

  “The police?” Heather stared at me. “That’s your advice?”

  I shivered as a sudden gust of wind whipped through the snow-covered trees, accosting me on its journey skyward. “Well, yeah. What do you want me to say?”

  “I don’t know,” she frowned, her brow furrowing. “I thought there would be more to it than that. Jordan, you’ve solved, like, murders and stuff. I thought there was going to be a little more umph in your words. What you just said . . . that was just . . . lame.”

  “Lame?” I gaped at her. “Are you kidding me? That’s good advice, Heather. You’ve been so immersed in the Hollywood scene, you assume everything should be a big production.”