Rick Mofina - Free Fall

“No one said it was pilot error, Captain,” Cashill said.

“That’s what you’re implying, from a preliminary perspective .”

A few long, tense seconds passed before Jake Hooper spoke.

“Our analysis is not complete. We still need to download the data and conduct a full examination of the aircraft, along with other aspects.”

Another moment passed as Irene Zimm flipped through pages of a file folder then looked over her glasses at Matson.

“Captain, I’m looking at the results of your blood analysis.”

Matson met her gaze and braced himself.

“It shows traces of antidepressants.”

“Yes, I’m taking medication prescribed by my doctor.”

“Yes,” Zimm said. “I see that, and in keeping with airline policy you’ve reported the prescription and that it arises from therapy you’re undergoing as a result of divorce proceedings.”

Matson cleared his throat and swallowed hard at having his life exposed to the painful core.

“Yes,” he said.

“It’s my job to be familiar with the impact of substances,” Zimm said, “and I’m familiar with the adverse side effects of some antidepressants. Did your doctor tell you that the medication you’re taking can, and I’m not saying this happened in your case, but can, in some instances, cause you to become agitated, emotional, suffer insomnia and confusion?”

“Yes, she did. But she indicated-and it should be in the file-that in my case, the medicine and dosage put me at a very low risk of exposure to those adverse effects and she green-lighted me to fly.”

“Yes, I see that in your file.”

Zimm tapped her pen and went around the table for follow-up questions.

Half an hour later, Matson was free to leave.

Since he was pulled from EastCloud’s roster to fly for at least a week, he went to Manhattan and walked through Central Park until early afternoon. Amid the splendor of the trees, the ponds, the lawns and the gardens, he felt the walls of his world closing in on him.

He knew what was coming.

Matson went to Saddle River, ended his marriage and asked his divorce lawyer to recommend a criminal defense attorney.

Manhattan, New York

Kate woke up angry.

In the shower she scrubbed until her skin reddened, as if she could wash away yesterday’s indignation.

I can’t believe what Sloane and Reeka did. Are they setting me up to get rid of me?

Toweling off, she tried to calm down but it was futile.

Senior management knew about Reeka’s incompetence, her arrogance and her mean-spiritedness, but they were afraid to do anything about her because of her family connection to the board. And now here she was building her own fiefdom with minion jerks like Sloane.

Kate had had enough.

I could leave Newslead.

Sure, news jobs were scarce, but she had friends at Bloomberg and Reuters who could help her land something.

I could call them today .

Still, the thought of walking away from a news agency she revered, a job she loved, of leaving behind all that she’d strived for, everything she’d invested, not only saddened her-it sickened her.

I’m not going to give it all up because of Reeka. I bled to get here.

As she wiped the steam from the mirror Kate looked back on the tragedies and triumphs of her life. After her parents had died in a hotel fire when she was seven, she and her little sister, Vanessa, had lived with relatives for a while, and then in foster homes. One summer, they’d been on vacation in British Columbia with their foster parents, driving through the Canadian Rockies, when their car went off the road and crashed into a river. That moment still burned in Kate’s memory.

The car sinking…rolling…windows breaking…the icy water…grabbing Vanessa’s hand…pulling her free…to the surface…the frigid current numbing her…fingers loosening…Vanessa slipping away…disappearing…

Kate survived.

The bodies of her foster parents had washed up on the riverbank, but Vanessa’s body hadn’t been found. Searchers had reasoned that it had got wedged in the rocks downstream, but Kate had never given up believing that Vanessa had somehow gotten out of the river.

In the time following the tragedy, Kate had bounced through the foster system until she’d eventually run away, spending most of her teen years on the street or in youth homes, while keeping a journal and wondering about the little sister she’d lost. Kate had managed to get back into school, and eventually pursued her love of writing. She took any job she could get to put herself through community college where she’d studied journalism, then found work in newsrooms across the country.

In San Francisco, she’d become pregnant by a man who’d lied to her about being married. He’d offered to pay for an abortion before dumping her. That had been the end of that. Kate had kept her baby, a girl she’d named Grace. She’d moved to Ohio and worked at a newspaper in Canton for several good years before downsizing cost her that job. But she never gave up. She got a short-term reporting position in Dallas with Newslead and did outstanding work there, which impressed Chuck Laneer. He offered her a job as a national correspondent at Newslead’s world headquarters in Manhattan.

Kate knew how blessed she was to have the Newslead job, and to have her daughter and sister in her life.

We’ve all come a long way.

For some twenty years, Kate had never given up searching for Vanessa, even during her darkest moments. The day Vanessa was found after she’d been held captive, the day they were reunited, was a day that had changed them both forever.

Now it had been more than two years since her sister had been back in her life, living with her and Grace. Vanessa had proven to be unbreakable. Her therapy was helping her heal and she’d gotten her high school diploma. She was working as a waitress and taking business courses, determined to open her own restaurant one day.

The book that Kate and Vanessa had written together on their lost years had done well, providing Vanessa with some savings and Kate with a college fund for Grace.

We’re hanging in there .

Kate glanced at the time. She was running late.

Pulling on her robe, she went down the hall to Grace’s room, taking in the stuffed bears and bunnies, the posters of Harry Styles and Justin Bieber. The corkboard held Kate’s favorite item: a drawing of three stick people with enormous smiles entitled “Mommy, Aunt Vanessa and Me.” The newest was a picture of Grace in the planetarium at the Vanderbilt Museum. She’d written on the bottom: “I want to live on a star.” She’s growing up too fast, Kate thought, as she gazed upon her sleeping daughter. She bent over the bed, gently brushed Grace’s hair aside and kissed her cheek, causing her to stir.

“Time to get up and get ready for school, kid.”

Grace moaned and pulled the sheets over her head.

“You better get moving, kiddo, or you’re gonna be late. Okay?”

Kate patted her leg. Grace’s head nodded under the covers and Kate returned to her room to get dressed. But she paused. She needed to know how the competition had done on EastCloud Flight 4990. She checked the New York Times , the Wall Street Journal , the Post , the Daily News and the other wires.

I’ve been pushed off this story. Why do I care?

Because deep down it was her story.

She had an emotional connection to it. The image of Diane Wilson’s farewell video to her family burned in Kate’s mind as she tried to imagine the horror of what the people on that flight had faced. One moment you’re living your life. The next moment you’re falling from the sky, expecting to die.