Freefall

by Kristen Heitzmann

  “I’m Dr. Long, the surgeon in charge of your care.”

  The heaviness in his chest and a smothering weakness muted any response.

  “As Ms. Fox may have told you, your leg was infected and had to be removed.” The doctor shifted from foot to foot, a motion so automatic the man could not realize the effect it was having. Foot … to foot. “As you can probably tell, we’re still fighting the systemic infection. Although this is a shock, you need to be careful to not overexert.”

  Overexert? Over— What did the doctor think he could do? Hike the world, ascend its peaks? The man grew blurry, the lines of his face melting with his words. Rob wanted to sleep. Sleep and forget this nightmare. He wanted them all to disappear, leave him alone—as in the cave? Yes, even that. In there he had hope. Not this warped reality. He wanted to forget, wanted to … sleep. Sleep and forget. Forget.

  Walking through the tropical landscaping outside the hospital, Gentry pressed her face into her hands. Soul-quaking sorrow burrowed deep inside her, sorrow beyond tears. Now that Uncle Rob knew what she had done to him, nothing would be the same. Why?

  Why hadn’t God healed him? He could do anything. As Okelani said, he’d poured out the world; why could he not stop the infection in her uncle’s leg? Bathed in sunshine, she could not purge the gloom from her mind. Bright, glorious blossoms glowed along the paths, yet she could only see the horror on her uncle’s face. If she had not been so selfish, if she’d not been a coward, hadn’t resisted when Cameron and Nica said go to the police—

  Her phone played “The Entertainer,” a ring she hadn’t heard for a while and one she wasn’t sure she should answer. But she took it from her purse and said, “Hello?”

  “Gentry, I just heard. I’m so sorry.”

  She didn’t ask how Helen had heard. Since she had humored Darla with a personal appearance for the press between Uncle Rob’s first waking and the next, everyone had now heard that the uncle she’d forgotten had lost his leg. She had hoped that telling the awful truth herself might soften their fangs, and the mood had been subdued, conciliatory. Why now, when she so didn’t deserve it?

  “He’s not doing too well. His fever’s still high.” Her throat clenched. “I’m so afraid he won’t fight.” She hadn’t intended to say that, to Helen of all people. Once, maybe. But now …

  “Oh, Gentry. I know how you’re feeling. But you can’t blame yourself.”

  Can’t? A gush of memories filled her gloom, Helen’s blame and disappointment. She had believed—Don’t. Don’t add on. Helen had been her best friend, and she was calling as a friend now. Of course she knew how she felt. Who better? “Thanks, Helen.” Silence pulled between them. Gentry said, “How’s the troupe?”

  “Not as fun without you.”

  That surprised her. She’d expected Helen to say how well she was managing it, how great the kids were, what a good decision they’d made to separate.

  “Are you doing okay?” Helen asked.

  Gentry slid her fingers into her hair. “I guess. Still have a hole in my memory.” The hole that had cost Uncle Rob his leg.

  “But your head is okay?”

  Gentry laughed. “As okay as before.”

  Helen laughed too. Oh, if she could cut-print the moment. A simple laugh with an old friend. How good it felt.

  “Rumor has it you’ve been offered another part. With Alec Warner.”

  Gentry let the breeze take her hair and cool her face. Darla had been adamant she drop enough hints to titillate the reporters. A diversion from the present fiasco to future success. “It’s on the table. Dave’s handling it.”

  “It’s really happening for you, isn’t it.” She couldn’t hide the hurt in her voice.

  Gentry cleared the hurt from her own. “It looks that way. All the publicity—Helen, it’s insane.”

  “You can handle it.”

  “I don’t know. I truly don’t. I mean, if it’s this bad after one part …”

  “You were fantastic.” Now her sincerity came through.

  “Thank you.” She swallowed. “You would have been too.”

  Helen sniffed. “I didn’t have what they were looking for.”

  She was too pretty for the part in Steel. Helen needed a lead in a romantic comedy, not a gutsy girl taking a stand.

  “Pete took one look at you and …” Helen’s voice trailed off.

  “Strange since you’re totally the pretty one.”

  They laughed, but they’d watched it play out party after party. Helen drew guys over, but they’d end up engrossed in Gentry Fox. The memory had a bittersweet tang. “Go figure, “ Gentry mused. And then a thought crept in. “You know, Helen, there might be a part for you.”

  The other side went silent.

  “Um … earth to Helen.”

  “You mean you’d get me a reading? Put it in your contract? I can only accept if my friend Helen—” The nasal tone of her voice made them both laugh.

  “I mean it. There’s no reason you shouldn’t read for a part.”

  “There’s the troupe.”

  “We can skip a season.”

  “Season?” Helen snorted.

  “You know what I mean. Think about it. I promise not to do anything scandalous.” Wrong thing to say, obviously.

  Helen cleared her throat. “Well, I just wanted to say how sorry I am about Uncle Rob.”

  Grief smothered Gentry again. “Thanks.”

  They hung up and she released a long sigh. For a while there, things had felt right. She crossed her arms and rocked. But how could they? All things are possible with God. How easy to think it. A great Pollyanna platitude that paled beside Cameron’s assertion. Hope didn’t keep its promise.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Cameron had used his resources and called in a few favors to get the information that brought him to the duplex in the less-thanaffluent L.A. suburb. The cool summer evening did little to cheer the dried-out strip of yard and rubbish stacked along the cracked driveway. The place had an unwholesome quality enhanced by what he’d learned of its residents.

  He went to the door and rang, guessing he’d timed it right to see the kid alone. Happy hour raised his odds. The young man who opened it was taller and heavier than the pictures in the papers, but he was half a year older and hopefully wiser. Recognition hit him too.

  “Hey, Troy. Cameron Pierce.” He extended his hand.

  “What do you want?” The kid didn’t join the handshake.

  “Thought we might chat.”

  “About what?”

  Cameron hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of his khaki slacks. “A mutual friend.”

  Troy looked past him as though Gentry might be there in his truck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do.” Cameron slipped the Baggie that held the note and photos from his shirt pocket. He’d taped paper over the pictures and labeled them Exhibits 1 and 2. “Do you know perpetrating a fraud is a crime punishable by law?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Doctored photos, come on.” He hadn’t brought them to a lab, but Troy didn’t know that. “They’re not even good fakes.”

  “I didn’t take those.”

  “And that note. You’re saying you didn’t write it?”

  He started to turn away.

  “You don’t care if Gentry and I continue our affair?”

  Fire flashed in his eyes. “She denied it. I read it in the paper.”

  “Yeah, well, she denied yours too.”

  His hands clenched.

  “But that’s not really the point. The fact is, you’ve given me everything I need to prove you were lying—both times.” He flapped the photos. “These are so clearly manufactured, no one will believe anything you said before. Pretty much kills your mom’s lawsuit.”

  Troy’s jaw muscles rippled.

  “Add that to the lies you told before, all the man-hours the police spent investigating and Gentry’s expense refuting it, not to mention damage t
o her reputation. Gonna be a lot of flack flying your way.”

  “I didn’t make the stupid pictures.”

  “You mean take?”

  The kid rocked back on his heels.

  Cameron pressed. “Which is it—take or make? Hard to keep the story straight, isn’t it. That’s what tripped you up before, why the police failed to believe your so-called evidence. They’ll tear you up on the witness stand when this goes to court.”

  He flicked the tawny hair from his darting eyes.

  “I know you didn’t take the pictures. You’re standing in one of them. But, hey, there’s a lot you can do with Photoshop. You good with computers?”

  “It wasn’t my idea.”

  He digested that. “Not your idea, but you went with it?”

  Troy didn’t answer.

  “She suggested you use the photos to break us up, didn’t she.”

  “Who … what are you …” The boy clenched his teeth. “I don’t have to talk to you.”

  “It’s me or the police.”

  Troy’s brows pinched. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You know what I think? This was a test. If Gentry was scared enough to cut things off with me, then next time she might pay to keep it quiet.”

  “I don’t care about her money. I care—”

  “About her? Funny way to show it.”

  His face flamed, but he didn’t break. “You don’t know anything about it.”

  He wished that were true. “I know what it’s like to get caught up in your feelings, to want something so much you’ll risk more and more, maybe listen to someone who ought to know better. Someone you want to trust.”

  Troy sagged against the doorjamb, looking away to keep back the tears.

  “Your mom’s done time for embezzlement. It’s not that big a step to blackmail.”

  “She doesn’t even know Gentry.”

  “But she knows you, your feelings for Gentry. If the tabloids get hold of fresh evidence, the story’s hot news again. Guess she forgot how hard it was for you when things got out of control.”

  His eyes hardened. “What else is new?”

  “You stopped her the first time, didn’t you. By going to the tabloids. When she saw your infatuation, all the pictures on your walls, she threatened to sue Gentry for causing pain and suffering to a minor. She knew it would settle out of court. She’d get lots of money. She’s done it before. But you resented being used. You didn’t want Gentry hurt; you wanted her to care. So you went public, let the whole world know how you felt about Gentry Fox. You’d save her and win her all at the same time. Not your fault it didn’t work out that way.”

  Troy dropped his chin.

  “Now here we are again. Your mom’s found a new angle. This time you were mad enough about me to go along.”

  Troy’s jaw cocked.

  “We can trace the e-mail back from Bette Walden to the source.”

  “Who’s Bette Walden?”

  “Come on, Troy.”

  The kid looked him hard in the face. “I don’t know who Bette Walden is.” Hope flickered in his eyes that maybe he’d been scammed.

  “Then who’d you send the file to?”

  “Why should I tell you?” His lip snarled. “Gentry’s lover.”

  Cameron expelled a slow breath and studied the youth. “Because maybe you do care about her. And you shouldn’t believe what you read. People will say anything.”

  Their gazes locked. Troy wet his lips. “I sent it to the person who helped me the first time.”

  Cameron waited.

  “To Helen. She was supposed to send them to Gentry. I don’t know that Bette person.”

  “I need that file.”

  “Are you going to the cops?”

  “Let’s just say it’s insurance. Against any future harassment.”

  Troy nodded and led him inside. He accessed his mother’s computer and copied the file of the photos that had been combined to create the prints.

  Relieved, Cameron tucked the CD into his pocket with the prints Bette had made. “You know, Troy, I think you’ve got a future.”

  “Gentry used to say God knows the plans he has for me, plans for good, not harm.” He frowned. “I’m not sure that’s true anymore.”

  Cameron landed squarely in his own doubts about God’s plans. “Well, it’s a coordinated effort. You can only do your part.”

  The side of Troy’s mouth pulled. “Guess this is a start.”

  Cameron nodded. “Quite a start.”

  Anger surged, fever feeding fear. Rob wanted to split open his body and get out, just get out. He had lingered long in the corridors of confusion, but now knowledge burned into his mind, pumped his sluggish heart in a chest of mud. If he opened his eyes they would see a stump, a useless half leg.

  Eyes closed, he remembered running track—that moment of release when he launched himself over the hurdle, then landed with fleet feet, bursting on to the next barrier and surmounting it. His strength resisting even the gravity that might hold him down. That was his life, his essence. Soaring over the roadblocks, the pitfalls. Finding the way and … and now …

  He clenched his hands. Days of praise in that pit of darkness turned to ash. God had not played fair. Rob shuddered. What had he done, or not done, to deserve this? He’d changed his life, given everything to the Savior he trusted. And this was his reward?

  No wonder so few made the effort. He grappled with the disillusionment, and fresh anger stirred. How had he failed—what detail had he overlooked? If you do not do thus and so, you will never walk on two legs again. Why? Why….

  He opened his eyes to the half-light of a hospital night, turned his head on the thin pillow. Gentry slept in the chair beside him, her face drawn, even in slumber. He knew her pain and regret, but it was swallowed by his encompassing anger. Why hadn’t she gone at once for help? Even if she hadn’t known—

  Again anger shielded the hurt. He had sung and glorified the Lord, trusting … trusting. And God had betrayed and abandoned him. The ache of separation seized him, even as he recognized that he was the one pulling away. He groaned, not wanting to see this for what it was. A setback. A hurdle. An opportunity.

  My son, my beloved …

  No! He didn’t want to be called on. He’d done enough. His experience of Christ had been so real, so personal. He’d given everything, lost … so much. Tears stung his eyes. Again he groaned. What had believing brought but pain and loss. Aching loss.

  Gentry stirred. He willed her back to sleep, but she opened her eyes.

  “Uncle Rob?” her whisper thick with worry. “Are you in pain?”

  Couldn’t she see the flames? “Yes.” Numb it. Kill it.

  Silence it. She pressed the button for the nurse.

  Silence Him.

  Rob sank back in the bed. Silence. Dark, empty silence.

  Cameron opened the paper to Gentry’s face. A side column, but front-page nonetheless. Unlike the previous drivel, the article had a sympathetic tone: Beleaguered Film Star Faces New Shock As Uncle Loses Leg. Her sorrow and self-condemnation must be extreme, but she’d cope. If there was any quit in her, he hadn’t seen it.

  And his news would help. With the disk in his possession, any further attempts at blackmail would land Troy’s mother back in jail. One down, half a million to go. It was too much to expect that people would stop taking shots at Gentry. She’d chosen the high profile, but he’d shielded her this time. He could rest easy in that.

  He tossed the paper aside and booted the computer. He had plenty of things to nail down for other cases, plenty to keep his thoughts far from the woman who’d touched something he’d buried deep inside him. Mercifully, there’d been no time for it to develop.

  He forked both hands into his hair and leaned back in his ergonomic chair, chosen to minimize the lower-back pain from a surfing injury. Not bad enough to keep him off his board, but bad enough to need to sit right when he worked.

  Things had gotten so crazy with Ge
ntry, he’d only surfed once on Kauai, the morning he’d startled her on the lanai. Why was every moment as crisp as Kodak? He closed his eyes and pictured her, then jerked them open and shook his head. He typed his password and brought up the Ponzi scheme he’d be reporting on for the FBI. He’d have to testify when it went to trial and made sure now that everything was documented and in order. Then he processed his bill.

  Opening the file for the whiplash insurance fraud, he thought of the Jeep on Kauai. They’d recover it as soon as Robert Fox could tell them where. He pictured the battered man they’d taken from the cave, fevered, delirious, with a mangled leg. He sat back and steepled his fingers against his mustache. If he had forced Gentry to talk to TJ after seeing the doctor, would that one day have made a difference?

  He ran his fingers down the line of his beard. Hindsight was lethal. It could kill confidence. But what had happened? There had to be more to it than Gentry remembered.

  Maybe he should have focused there and let the pictures wait. Even though it had seemed like a cold trail, he might have found something. People didn’t realize how much they left behind for someone like him to follow. But he hadn’t been hired or even asked. If a crime had been committed the police would pursue it. He’d done what Nica asked and more.

  So why did it nag him still? He sat back in his chair and sighed.

  Gentry sat with her face in her hands, glad that Uncle Rob slept. With the fever broken, he could begin to heal. The leg had been killing him, but now she could see strength returning. Even so, every time she looked at the stump where his strong leg used to be, guilt crushed her. Her pride, her self-preservation, and stubbornness had caused his loss. And it hurt.

  She looked up when Darla came in. This was not the time for another battle, but for once Darla didn’t stalk in like a commando. She held out a stack of publications and smiled. “You did it.”