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At least she’d see her parents soon.
The ground zoomed toward her. Too fast.
“No!” she screamed.
A current caught the thin fabric of her sail and swooped her back up. She might live one more moment, but death, or at the best every bone in her body broken, was imminent. Cold sweat covered her skin. Why had she trusted Franz?
She’d met him a couple weeks ago at some party in London. He’d promised her the ‘most memorable and picturesque summer of her life.’ So far the hiking, biking, and adventuring throughout the Alps had been out of this world. As usual, she paid for everything, and she’d placed lots of boundaries. Franz had honored her rules, only occasionally trying to steal a kiss or a hug. He’d been a decent guy and travel companion.
The only fault he’d shown so far was claiming he knew how to paraglide, could ‘easily’ teach her, and that today would be a safe adventure. Lies. Well, maybe he knew how to paraglide, but he had failed as an instructor. It was highly possible she stunk as a student, too—she’d never been known to listen well or follow instructions. Maybe the wind had simply been more vicious than he’d foreseen. At the moment, she chose to lay all the blame on Franz. He wasn’t around to defend himself.
The fact that she couldn’t see him or hear him frantically screaming instructions to her any longer didn’t bode well for his teaching abilities, his paragliding abilities, or his promise of safety. He also had her phone, credit card, cash, and her favorite lip balm in his fanny pack that she loved to tease him about. ‘Safekeeping’ them for her since she had no zip pockets on her shorts.
Safe? Ha!
The wind had been vicious and separated them quickly. Now she was pulling, tugging, and screaming. Sometimes she’d catch a wind current and drift up, but sometimes the wind current would fling her down. She hadn’t hit the ground yet, but that event was in her near future. How to make this stupid sail float her down nice and calm? She had no idea. If Franz had told her in his brief instructions she hadn’t listened.
“Help!” she hollered, knowing no one could help her now.
Pray. Her mom’s voice.
“I love you, Mom,” she said to the wind, trying not to look down as she horrifically bypassed the meadow and the lake. Wouldn’t water be better to crash into? She was now swooping toward the thick forest of trees and the steeply sloping mountainside. “But I am not praying.”
Pray. Her cousin Sadie’s voice.
“Dang you, Sadie!” she screamed. “You know I’m a lot of things, but a hypocrite isn’t one of them!”
She hadn’t prayed since she’d unwittingly taken part in and witnessed a murder in Traverse, Augustine, over five years ago now. The innocent Jane had done nothing to deserve being stabbed through the heart by a jerk-bait loser on a dare. Treven Rindlesbacher was in prison, but only as an accomplice to murder. Hattie had been framed as the murderer. Two Augustine police detectives had found her knocked out on Jane’s body, holding the knife. They had miraculously believed her tale, and spirited her out of the country. She’d never breathed a word of the heart-wrenching nightmare to anyone, not even Sadie.
When her saintly and charitable and never-failing-to-believe parents died two and a half years ago, it had sealed her conviction that heaven didn’t care about her and she might as well embrace her wealthy, spoiled, playgirl lifestyle and pretend to enjoy life.
Heaven had refused to help her when she’d needed it, with the exception of Detective Jensen and his nameless partner rescuing her from a life in prison. Sometimes she wondered if that would be any worse than the emptiness and loneliness of traveling and never knowing if anyone was a true friend or only wanted her around to pick up the tab.
What was up with all this philosophizing? She was going to die. She could pick her bone with her Father above when she got there. She actually doubted she could charm her way past the pearly gates. That had never bothered her … until this moment.
Those trees were coming up really fast.
“No, no, no!” she cried out, squeezing her eyes shut but unable to block the sensation of rushing wind, her body hurtling too fast, and her certain demise.
Pray. Her dad’s voice.
“Dang you, Dad!” she screamed. She opened her eyes and screamed louder. She was above the tree line but dropping. She was going to hit a tree, and soon.
“Heavenly Father,” she said solemnly. “I’m sorry for blaming You for everything.”
That was it. That was all she had. She wasn’t going to beg. She wasn’t going to do some deathbed repentance. An apology was the extent of her prayer.
Was she slowing down? Possibly floating a little bit?
No. That was too much to hope for.
Tree branches caught her legs, scratching her skin, and she was flung forward.
“Really sorry!” she screamed.
Hattie struggled against hands lifting her. The sound of helicopter rotors. Where was she? Opening her eyes, she saw young men and women in black pants and shirts, the red cross symbol on their chests. The sound of helicopter blades stole their words, but their faces were full of concern and purpose.
“Calm down, ma’am. We’re here to help you,” someone yelled close to her ear.
