Shattered

Chapter One

Etta Princeton, self-proclaimed Shoshone princess, always painted her nails while she sold lift tickets to early bird skiers. The shade varied, but the basic color was never anything but pink.

I peered into the kiosk window. Hey, Etta. What’s today’s color?

You won’t believe this. Pocahontas Pink. I had to try it, right?

Etta made me laugh. She was one of most upbeat people I’d ever met. Absolutely.

She took her time sizing me up. Wow, I’m loving the lime green suit, Libby. Stunner. She made a final stroke of Pocahontas Pink on her nails.

It’s my treat to myself. Have to look good if I get that ticket to Europe. But I knew I had the slot.

Etta dipped the nail brush into the bottle and closed the top. So half day?

I’ve only got time for maybe one run. Can you make me a deal? I crossed my fingers. I was already way over budget, and I didn’t want to have to ask for another loan from my dad. He’d done so much for me as it was, and while money wasn’t a huge concern in the Brown home, my parents had cut back on a few luxuries to make my dream of the Olympics come true.

Etta blew on her fingertips, then, keeping her hands extended so as not to muss her fresh polish, she handed me a pass. My treat. Just wave to me from the games, okay?

I was about to say I’d be sure to do that when a skier slid up next to me and almost elbowed me out of the way.

Before I had time to tell the jerk to watch what he was doing, he was screaming through the glass at Etta.

Get the patrol up on Blake’s Crossing. There’s some screwball snowboarders doing crazy crap. One of those brats almost ran me off the side of the mountain and into a tree! 

I held the pass up and mouthed thanks to Etta, who was already on her cell.

It was only a little after eight, but things were already busy on the slopes. I should have rolled out of bed earlier and caught the first shuttle, but I’d overdone it on the slopes yesterday and skied a lot longer than usual. I’d had a major case of nerves about the final tryouts. Tomorrow I’d know if I’d made the U.S. slalom team—if I’d be on my way to Austria.

The line for the lift wasn’t too bad. Only ten stood ahead of me, so I’d be fine. I might even squeeze in a second run from Lower Limits. That was always a good, short challenge. I wished Ben had pulled his lazy body out of bed and come with me. We wouldn’t get to ski together until I got back from the games.

As I stepped onto the platform, the lift circled behind me and I slid onto the seat, once again enjoying the bounce and rock of the chair carrying me up into the sky. It was always a thrill to rise above the white shrouded mountain and look down at where I’d soon be skiing through the powder and feeling the rush of cold air against my cheeks. To me, the ride up to the top was like gently soaring through the sky. It relaxed me. But it wasn’t the same as when my skis caught the air and I rocketed down to the finish line. That way of flying super-charged me. It gave me wings.

Two skiers traversed the slope and disappeared under the lift. I sat back listening to the cable hum, followed by the jolt and clank over the pulleys at each tower, thinking how I missed my dad right now. It’d been a long time since we’d had one of our rare, uninterrupted rides to the top of the mountain while we talked about a little of this and that, nothing we couldn’t have said with others around, but saying those things to each other alone, dangling between the sky and the mountain, almost like hovering birds, made whatever we shared special. And since Mom hated snow and anything to do with skis, she was never there to slice into our time.

The lift began its last leg and soon I was skiing across the ridge. After adjusting my goggles, I pushed off and started my run toward the bottom. Today the snow was flat because of the overcast, and I slowed a little at Blake’s Crossing before taking the sharp turn. No sense in taking chances that some screwball snowboarder was in off-limits territory. But whoever’d been snowboarding out of bounds wasn’t here now.

I pushed hard and was well into the dog leg when a loud shout came from beside me. I started to pull right when a force slammed into my left side. Suddenly my skis were above my head, planted against the hazy sky, and I was out of control just the way I remembered from when I was learning and Dad had to pull me from a snowbank, collect my scattered skis, and set me off down the slope.

Like back then, I hung suspended between the sky and the mountain upside down and flailing. Looking beneath me, I caught sight of red streaks shooting off down the slope. Then I plunged onto my back and something inside me splintered and bundled me inside a terrible, dark pain. 

Chapter Two

A raspy sound pulsed in time to my heart, but it was outside of me, lurking somewhere nearby, somewhere I couldn’t see. The air had a bitter tang, like medicine, and I felt a steady and painful throb behind my eyes and at my temples.

Where was I? Not heading down the backside of Stover's Mountain where the morning wind blasted my face. There was no wind and the air in my nostrils was warm. It was the reused air of an interior space, not a ski slope.

That can’t be right. I’d pushed off from the top a few minutes ago. I’d just hit the first switch back and started the dog leg at Blake’s Crossing.

I flexed one hand, then still keeping my eyes closed, I felt for my goggles.

No goggles. Only my eyelids. Only … I touched the side of my head, feeling for my wool hat, but instead I felt something thick and gauzy, a soft helmet. When I traced my fingers across my forehead it was as if my head was numb. I tried to move but couldn’t. Something like a stiff jacket wrapped around my middle.

The smallest sound came from my lips. It wasn’t a sigh. It wasn’t a gasp. It was only a whispered, Oh. Oh should bring with it an understanding, a sudden realization, but I had neither. All I had was this darkness inside me and a huge lump of fear lodged in my throat. I’d never felt so alone or so disoriented.

Come on, Libby. Open your eyes, find out where you are. But fear had glued them closed. This had to stop. I’d fallen, and not for the first time on that run. All I had to do was get up. So do it.

Before I had a chance to move, someone touched my shoulder and I flinched, squeezing my eyes even tighter as if I needed to protect myself from something terrible. When I’d been five and monsters lurked under my bed, I’d kept my eyes closed just like this and called for my dad. If I couldn’t see the danger, it didn’t exist.

I was almost nineteen, so I couldn’t still be frightened by monsters under the bed.

Libby, can you hear me?

What a stupid question. Of course, I can hear the woman. I’m not deaf.

Libby? The voice I didn’t recognize was close to my ear now.

What? My own voice seemed loud and raspy.

Let me get your parents. They want to talk to you, sweetheart.

The sound of footsteps from padded soled shoes crossed the room. A door opened. There were more hushed voices. Two I recognized—Mom and Dad. Some hurried steps followed, this time coming toward me. There was the scrape of a chair, and then my mom’s familiar lemony scent and the brush of my dad’s lips against my cheek.

Finally, I opened my eyes and stared up into my mom’s teary face.

She held my hand to her lips, sobbing. Oh, Libby… Mom’s voice cracked. We’ve been… Again my mom couldn’t finish what she started saying.

Dad leaned over me. He tried for a smile, but he couldn’t fake it. I knew that look. It was the one he had whenever tragedy hit the Brown family. The day Dad’s favorite cousin drowned. Grandma Brown’s stroke. Terrible life events that altered our world forever.

What’s going on? I was surprised at how slurred my voice sounded. What’s … what’s happened?

I winced at my mother’s raw sound, a gasp with teeth along its edges.

You’re at Crescent Lake Hospital, Libby, my dad said. A snowboarder ran into you. You’ve been unconscious for a few hours."

A few hours? I’d lost hours, but that wasn’t possible. Dad, get me out of here. I’ve got to get ready for the finals tomorrow.

My dad disappeared from my side and walked out of my range of vision.

Mom clutched my hand. Hard.

What’s wrong? The fear I’d felt shot up the scale to the terror mark.

Mom swiped at both cheeks, then between tight lips whispered, Libby, you can’t ski in the games.

I knew hearts didn’t stop beating until you died, yet I was certain mine had just stuttered to a halt. I couldn’t breathe. My lungs refused to expand. My throat went dry. I’d planned most of my life for this one year. I’d worked out, built my strength, gone to ski camps, kept at it until I’d made it through the selection process—until I’d almost made the US Olympic slalom team. I had my passport. I’d packed my bags weeks ago. Now, my mother was telling me I couldn’t do what I’d lived for all these years?

My heart kicked in and air filled my chest. Shut up! Shut up! In my mind I screamed, but that’s not the way I heard my voice. Shut up sounded like a whimper.

Libby, stop. Dad was back, his hand on my shoulder, his face filled with pain. Please, stop.

His calm presence and the terrible sound of his plea brought me up short.

I gulped back the ragged clutch that filled my throat. Why? Why can’t I ski with my team?

Then I glanced down. Mom was lying across the foot of the bed. She was lying across my legs, and I didn’t feel the weight of my mother’s body. 

The Arrangement

She spotted Marcus, his skateboard leaning against the park bench, and charged across the wet grass toward him. He smiled up at her. When they’d first met, she’d expected an enforcer type with nose rings and bulging muscles. Now the way he looked felt like a rasp against her skin. It still bothered her that he was so young, so fresh. Maybe seventeen. Plump. A sweet-faced, evil cherub. 

He smoothed back his neatly trimmed hair and grinned.

A sudden wave of nausea rose from her stomach. More than anything else about him, his sleepy, brown-eyed gaze unnerved her.

Her voice was sharp, but even if they were the only ones in the area, she kept the volume down and ground out the words. I told you to only make it impossible for her to compete. I didn’t say to really hurt her.

Marcus crossed his arms and leaned against the bench, a smile uncoiling across his lips. Accidents happen. That’s why people buy insurance.

He might have looked like a high school student, but he didn’t act or talk like one. She was doing business with someone who had a much older head for business than she did.

Her heart drummed fast, then faster. She had to deal with this and right now. If he talked, her life as she knew it would end. She inhaled the cold air. She could wind up in jail. She gulped at the thought of how much she’d given up for this shot at the Olympics already.

You’ve ruined everything. What if someone finds out—

He cut her off. I have a reputation just like you do. Nobody’s going to hear about it from me. Marcus patted the space beside him on the bench. Better sit down and let’s talk.

All of her energy gone, she obeyed, and sank down next to him. Covering her eyes, she leaned onto her thighs and tried to hold back the panic that bubbled to the surface.

She wished she could reel back time to a few weeks ago. Back to when she’d overheard a conversation in the mall parking lot. One of the boys had been a neighbor she’d known for years—the other, someone she’d seen on the school campus a few times.

Marcus can scare the you-know-what out of that guy, her neighbor had said. And he’s no narc. Trust me.

Okay, give me the number. I want to teach the jerk a lesson. No more coming on to my girl. I’d pound him myself, but I’m already on probation. My dad’ll toss my ass out with one more call from Principal Fathead.

Then put this number in your contacts.

She’d had Notes open on her phone, and before she thought about what she was doing, she’d keyed in the number. One thing she knew was that, like that boy, she couldn’t do it herself. She wasn’t that kind of person.

She felt Marcus’s palm at her back and stiffened. Don’t. Anger and fear formed a knot in her chest, and she slid down farther on the bench.

Hey, I’m only trying to help. He held his arms overhead. No concealed weapons, see? He laughed. It’s just you’re looking kind of sick, you know?

Straightening, she stared directly into his eyes. "Why did you text me? What do you want?

His smile was not friendly. Why did I text? Very simple. Money. A couple hundred. He pretended to smother another laugh. I don’t take Visa.

Money? I gave you money to do something, and you didn’t do it right!

I wouldn’t say that. Snow’s tricky. Lots of white. It can make you blind sometimes. I did my best, you know?

I don’t have a lot of money. I don’t—

Just think about it, okay? You get a trip out of this. Europe, right? Be grateful.

Hearing those words brought bile into the back of her throat, and she swallowed, stifling the urge to throw up.

Now he scooted to the opposite end of the bench. Whoa, there. Get a grip.

She looked away. Shut up! You’re a moron.

He shook his head. I’m kind of disappointed. Is that a way to talk? I mean look at what I did to help you out.

You’ve ruined everything! Everything. She got up and trudged away.

I’ll be at the Burger Hut on the fifteenth around noon. You’ve got time for that trip and some extra—more than three weeks. Bring me the money when you get back. Hey, Be grateful. I’m not rushing you.

She didn’t look at him as she hurried away, keeping her head down and trying to control the panic that threatened to overwhelm her.

Chapter Three

Time blurred. A day might have gone by. Maybe a week. Or more.

The sun filtered through the blinds, spreading its warmth across my face. It wasn’t until I tried to turn toward the window that I remembered the word surgery, that I was in the hospital only a mile from the ski lifts, that my body was encased in a rigid brace, and I had no feeling in my legs. 

The terror of where I was and why cut through me like ice. I might as well be dead if I couldn’t walk or ski or do anything that I loved. I couldn’t imagine how it would be to be trapped in a wheelchair the rest of my life, and I willed that image to disappear. Thick bandages were still wrapped around my head, and I dreaded what I’d find under them. 

Good morning, Libby. The deep voice that had shaken me out of my inventory of fears came from a stocky, curly-headed man in a white coat. It’s Dr. Rubio again. Let’s see how we’re doing this very fine morning. He took my wrist and held it, looking at his watch.

I glanced at the clock on the wall that said six. It irritated me that he always came just after sunrise. It was way too early for pushing good humor. I tried to keep my eyes closed to shut him out, to shut out the horror of this new world I’d been hurled into, but he would have none of that.

Let’s check those beautiful brown eyes. He lifted my eyelids one at a time with a thumb and shined a pinpoint of light that blinded me into them. Looks very good, Libby. I want to take a look at that cut on your head. He picked up the surgical scissors and slipped the cold metal between my forehead and the gauze, then snipped until the layers separated. He slowly peeled away each section.

I felt like a mummy being unwrapped, and the ambient air chilled one side of my head.

Nice. That’s healing very well. You’re lucky it wasn’t too deep. Doctor Rubio grinned at me. 

He was trying to find something to cheer me up, but I wouldn’t answer him.

I’m not playing into his everything’s-great game.

He moved to the end of the bed and lifted the thin hospital blanket from my legs. For a moment I expected that same chill I’d felt on the side of my head, but when it didn’t happen, when I felt nothing, I held my breath, trying to keep the swell of panic from choking me. He could be stabbing my feet with a butcher knife, and I wouldn’t know it.

He laid the blanket back over me and went to the computer next to the bed.

I wished I could read what he was typing. Then I wouldn’t have to ask him any of the questions I yearned to know the answers to.

Is there any chance I’ll get the feeling back into my legs?

What about the surgery?

What about some therapy?

What about skiing…?

I couldn’t even think the word skiing without the space around me closing in, sealing me inside a dark cave. I had to set that thought aside or suffocate.

I can’t answer your questions yet, he said.

I haven’t asked you anything. I sounded snappish. Well, to hell with it. I felt more than snappish. I had a right to sound any way I wanted.

You don’t have to ask. You want to know if you’ll regain the use of your legs. That’s the first thing everyone wants to know when they experience paraplegia. It would be mine.

I’d heard that word before when it had no meaning except something horrible that happened to other people. Now it stopped my breath in my throat, and I choked.

Dr. Rubio handed me a glass of water.

I took my time swallowing the liquid, hoping it could wash down the fear so it wasn’t sitting on my chest with crushing weight. Okay, so why can’t you answer the questions I didn’t get a chance to ask?

The shock to your spine was severe, but the spinal cord’s intact. What we’re waiting for is some sensation to return. That can happen in hours or days. Sometimes it can take weeks. Let’s give it some time before we say there’s no chance. He clicked the keys on the computer. You’re moving out pretty soon, young lady. We need this hospital bed for sick people.

What happens to me next? I hated the whimpering sound in my voice that marked me as a victim and weak.

You’ll go the acute rehabilitation in town for a few weeks and undergo therapy to help you transition to home. Then I’ve asked for another specialist to review your case. He must have given this speech many times, and I wondered if the others who’d heard it felt as desperate as I did. We’re not giving up, Libby, so you shouldn’t, either.

After he left, I touched the side of my head. My hair was gone on the right and I felt the jagged stitches that started near the top of my ear and ended at the crown. I hadn’t seen my face since before the accident, but I sensed I looked more Franken-Monster than girl. I pressed the button that hoisted the bed upright. Reaching to the side, I pulled the table across my lap and lifted the top so the mirror faced me.

The right side of my face was swollen and had yellow and bluish bruises, but if I turned so only my left side was reflected, I looked like the Libby Brown I used to see in the mirror. My dark hair hung to my shoulders, and my skin was clear except for that stubborn dusting of freckles across my cheeks. I was half the girl I used to be. The sting in my eyes said something different. 

You’re not at all who you used to be.

I slammed the mirror shut and shoved the table away just as the door opened and the orderly entered with a breakfast tray. Behind him were two people I’d never seen before. The man knocked on the doorframe and entered. A woman followed. They were both wearing the khaki uniforms of the sheriff’s department.

Good morning, Libby. I’m Sheriff Davidson and this is my deputy, Angela Lopez. We won’t keep you long. Don’t want your breakfast getting cold. He nodded at the tray with hot cereal sending steam into the air. We’re trying to piece together what happened up there at Blake's Crossing. Hope you can help us out. He flipped open a small notepad and clicked his pen.

His deputy remained behind him.

I turned my gaze away, wondering what they must think of my horrid face. Someone ran into me. I remember losing control of my skis and landing on my back across something hard. I touched the scarred side of my head. I guess I hit my head on something, too.

You didn’t get a look at who ran into you?

I shook her head. No. I saw my feet over my head, one ski missing. Nothing else.

There were other people on that run. We’ve contacted a few, and we’ll be talking some more to them. He closed his notepad and tucked his pen into his shirt pocket. If you do think of something later—anything, even the color of their clothes—give us a call. We’d like to find the person who ran you down. He handed me a card.

I’d like nothing more than to meet the rotten human being who’d done this to me face to face, but I couldn’t identify someone I’d never seen. You’ll let me know if you find the person, right?

Of course we will, he said.

The sheriff and his deputy left, and I shoved my breakfast tray to the side. 

Chapter Four

The ambulance ride from Crescent Lake Hospital down to the rehabilitation center in town seemed to take forever. Only a few weeks ago,