by Curt F
Angela Morgan screamed as she felt the ground crumble and fall away beneath her boots. A horrible feeling of anxiety gripped her body at the sudden sensation of weightlessness as the air seemed to open up around her. Her eyes grew wide as she realized that she was falling, possibly to her death.
She could hear the panicked shouting of her director – the film’s director – Jonathan Harkins as he spurred the movie crew to life. Angela wondered why he was not screaming for someone to help her, rather than capture what might be her final plunge on film. More, she could hear the roar of the falls, thousands of gallons of water cascading over the edge of the precipice just as she was, just a few yards away, dropping almost fifty feet into the rocky churning pool below.
As Angela’s scream died in her throat, one anxiety was quickly replaced by another. Terror was pushed aside, and the will to live took over her body. She felt the cool spray of the waterfall washing over her even as grim determination washed over her face and set her brow. She kicked out as the face of the cliff rushed past, her feet ramming into the hard packed stone and dirt, her strong leg muscles pushing her falling body out and away farther over the seeming abyss.
Angela Morgan squirmed as her body arched out and down, tumbling and picking up speed in her ill-fated plunge. As a movie stuntwoman she had been in falls before, but each had been different than the last. Every new fall seemed more and more dangerous; a little bit higher, a longer leap, or additional trappings added to complicate the stunt. Her fall today had been a standing jump out and away from the cliff to grab at a concealed rope hanging far below and then to swing away to safety. All of which would have been easy enough if not for the fact that her hands had been bound behind her back, and she would have to free herself in the few seconds between leaping and the point at which she would make her grab at the rope disguised as a vine.
Normally, even that would have been no problem for Angela. She had trained since childhood to learn the arts and sciences of Female Escapology, being bound in different ways by friends and family alike over the years. Inspired by her childhood movie heroine – Gloria Swann, Queen of Escapes – Angela had studied hard, spending literally hours swathed in rope and wire and even chains with her mouth often tightly gagged and her sight cut-off by a blindfold. Angela had hoped to emulate her heroine, to become at least her successor in escapology, if not an equal in Hollywood as well. Though the spirit was willing, fate had other plans however.
Angela Morgan soon found that though she was an adequate actress, and competent in the arts of escape, she resembled her heroine far too closely to ever get a real job in the booming film industry. She was almost Gloria Swann’s twin it seemed, though Angela was fifteen years younger and had a streak of white in her hair that was absent from Gloria’s own locks. Still, it was not enough, and though she did get small bit parts as an extra in a few minor films, Angela was not happy until her agent had suggested getting a job at the studio of Gloria’s contract as the movie star’s understudy and stand in.
It was the obvious solution, and got everyone what they wanted in the end. Angela’s agent got his money. Various directors got a younger version of one of Hollywood’s most popular actresses to put through new and daring paces in another set of adventure serials. Gloria Swann got to be seen as still daring and beautiful as very few of the movie-going masses knew that it was not she who was escaping danger on a weekly basis. And Angela herself got what she wanted – to work with her idol, to act, to escape. Fame and fortune would have been wonderful of course, but even as a relative unknown she made good money and was doing what she wanted to do, what she had dreamed of for so long; living life on the edge in the fast track of ‘Tinsel Town’.
Thus she found herself falling; her hands bound behind her back as the rocky pool raced ever closer. Angela twisted her body, struggling to right herself even as she braced her body for impact just in case she could not get free. She struggled at the bonds as she squirmed, jerking and pulling at the special ropes that the stunt coordinator had earlier wrapped loosely about her wrists and knotted off just so, giving the eye of the camera the effect that the pseudo Gloria Swann was seemingly helpless and doomed as she fell over the edge of the cliff. It was all staged for the camera, and seemingly safe for the stuntwoman.
Something had gone wrong however. As Angela had been standing at the edge of the cliff sizing up her upcoming leap of faith, a pair of arrows had been fired, driving into the dirt at her feet and upsetting her balance. She had been watching the extras of the film, the only ones on the set that should have had a bow and arrows, and her final glimpse of the trio of women – dressed in skimpy, revealing costumes as Amazon warriors for the film – showed that they were just as shocked and surprised as Angela herself. They had not fired the arrows.
Someone had tried to kill her then, and was doing a hell of a job. Angela kicked at empty air as she fell, finally twisting her body into the proper position as she struggled at the bonds that held her wrists. Karl Braun had bound her wrists behind her back just an hour or so before, using the special rope that had been Angela’s own idea to begin with. Angela had learned by studying the secret works of the great Harry Houdini of a simple trick that he used in his own act of escape. He had developed a ‘break away’ rope; a hollowed out bit of cord that had been cut in two and reattached with a slender piece of wood or even a screw to seemingly hold the rope together so that it appeared as one piece. A simple look at the cord would reveal nothing, and even a tight inspection could be obscured by a master of prestidigitation, if the rope was inspected in only the areas that the escape artist wanted to be tested. Angela’s bonds were held together by a bit of wood, rather than a screw as she had only a few seconds to escape as she plunged towards the jagged rocks in the water down below.
Angela Morgan tugged at her bonds, the skin at her wrists pinching as the cord drew tight, the loosely tied loops closing. Her fingers danced over the cords, probing for the disguised break in the rope as the pool rose to greet her, expanding in her line of sight. She mumbled to herself, cursing under her breath as she fell, watching the rope disguised as a vine looming ever closer below her, inch by inch. She needed her hands free and in front of her in order to save herself by grabbing that rope and swinging to safety before she hit the water and sank like a stone. Growing up in Hell’s Kitchen, swimming had never been one of her strong points.
With a snarl and a straining of her muscles, Angela suddenly felt the rope binding her wrists loosen, the loops pulling apart and expanding. Quickly she brought her legs in, curling her body into a tightly packed ball and stretching her arms to their limit. She screamed, hoping that she had enough slack in the rope to pass the cords beneath her derriere and heels. With her knees pressing into her bosom and her arms straining, still she felt the rope graze her bottom as she forced her hands in front of her. Her body tumbled as the rope snagged on her heels, another second gone, another heartbeat closer to death.
And suddenly her hands were before her. Angela’s wrists were still bound but there was almost a foot of cord between them. She knew that the cameras would show that she was still securely bound, and it would have looked that she had dramatically forced her arms before her to save herself. Only a few of Gloria’s most ardent fans would notice the sudden additional length to the bonds, but even they would be happy if Angela made the stunt as dramatic as she possibly could.
Angela gasped as the rope that she was to grab swiftly came upon her. In the few seconds that had passed she had fallen almost two dozen feet, and her attention had been elsewhere. Angela stretched, thrusting her arms forward as she spread her body out as widely as it would go, hoping to slow her descent as much as she could in the remaining few seconds that she had. Groping, she reached out, the air whipping past her, the roar of the falls drowning out all but her own heartbeat thumping loudly in her ears. Her fingers clawed empty air for a second…
Two…
Angela closed her hands about the rope, her fists ripping off the leaves and moss that had been laced into the coarse weave as she slid trying to gain a grip. Friction burned and she felt her skin ripping away as her hands gained purchase. Her free fall abruptly halted as she changed direction and her body swung out and away towards the safety of the riverbank below. Angela gritted her teeth against the sudden burning pain but still allowed a whimper to escape as her arms suddenly bore the weight of her body and fall combined. She swung, an arch that jerked only a little as her initial fall had been altered from the initial jump. Karl Braun had set up the rope exactly, but her premature fall, despite her effort to push off of the cliff face had left her short. Her shoulders screamed in agony as her weight and speed of descent all forced down at once. She swung low, her toes actually trailing through the water of the churning pool before the rope drew up short and she was soaring through the air again.
She was almost through, the stunt almost over. At the apex of her swing, Angela was supposed to simply let go of the rope and land lithely on the rock encrusted bank of the river. Shoulders burning with the strain, she almost could not wait. Her fingers, suddenly slick with her own blood, scrabbled to hang on the last few feet of the swing. Her heart was racing, her body cool and clammy in the spray of the falls. She counted – one… two…
The rope snapped as Angela saw a shadow pass through her lifeline at blinding speed. It seemed an arrow, but Angela could not be sure as her attention had been focused on the small outcropping of rocks where she had been destined to land. She let out a scream of shock then, as she was suddenly flailing helplessly in the air, falling.
She hit the water as she thought, slamming hard and sinking like a stone…
Karl Braun pushed off against the bank, using the oar as a pole to get his small boat moving across the writhing pool of water at the base of the falls. His heart was hammering in his chest, had been since he saw his girl suddenly tumble over the edge of the cliff high overhead. He watched helplessly as she fell, a feeling of dread coursing through his body as he watched Angela squirming in free fall, trying to salvage something from the stunt. Damn her, he thought, and damn to hell Gloria Swann as well.
He cursed Angela as she fell, wishing she would just give up and hit the water, let him save her. Sweat poured from his brow as his girl twisted about, struggling at the ropes that he had bound about her wrists. Something was wrong, as it took her too long. She should have been free, and Karl fretted that she would hit the water wrong, still bound and helpless. But then she was free, suddenly, her hands still bound loosely before her and swinging across the water. She would survive…
Karl Braun had breathed a sigh of relief as he watched his girl swing up, up and away, then gasped as her line snapped and she was falling again, hitting the water as though dead.
Karl rowed for all he was worth, watching as Angela’s helpless body swirled about and twisted beneath the churning waters of the pool beneath the falls. He had to reach her before she became trapped in the grip of the current and was washed away further down the river into the Amazon. She would be lost then, gone forever.
Angela sank, her head ringing from the impact of hitting the water. She had slammed into the pool flat on her back, the impact making her see stars and forcing the breath from her lungs as well. Her eyes were wide, stunned to see the churning water close above her, the dimming light of the setting sun quickly fading as she sank.
She started to gasp, to scream, and too late she realized what she was doing. Her lungs filled with water and she started to choke. Panic washed over her, as cold as the roiling pool that was sucking her down. She thrashed about; straining at the loose ropes still wrapped about her wrists, kicking at the water. Her legs were lead, dragging her down. Spots danced before her eyes fading to gray.
A sudden jarring sparked her back to life, to awareness. She had hit the rocky bottom of the pool at the base of the falls and the pain in her own bottom had cleared her head. Still she gagged, struggling to get her bearings as she floated along, caught in the current. She twisted, her heart pounding in her ears, her lungs screaming to burst for air. Finding the riverbed again with her feet she pushed off, trying to pull off the trailing ropes as she kicked and paddled towards the surface. How far? Her sight was dimming. She could not see any light. Was she going the right direction?
Angela felt something snake down her back between her shirt and skin. If it was actually a snake, she was as good as dead. She had no fight left in her, no strength. She did not even gag as her shirt was hoisted up under her chin, constricting about her throat as the something jerked her up and out of the water. She felt a warm blast of dull, humid air as she gasped unable to catch her breath. Her chest was on fire. The world spinning out of control…
Her eyes popped open as awareness flooded back into her body. There was a face just inches away from her own, but it took a moment for her vision to focus and recognize the concerned face of Karl Braun. Then her stomach heaved and she felt sour bile rising in her throat. She tried to cough but gagged instead, rolling onto her side with Karl’s help as she hacked and vomited, spewing water from her lungs in a fit that would not seem to end.
Finally, her body heaving in agony with every breath Angela spit and lay still. Her throat felt raw and ragged, and her stomach muscles were clenched in a tight knot that ached with the slightest movement. Her body felt like a sack of jelly as she rolled onto her back, looking up into the clear blue eyes of her stunt coordinator and friend. She tried to speak, but her throat clenched shut and she started to cough once more.
“Shhh…” Karl brushed her matted hair from her eyes and tried to make her settle down. “You rest. I’ll get us back to shore.” It was only then that Angela realized that they were still in Karl’s small rowboat in the river. Her head was swimming and clogged, but she figured that Karl must have pulled her from the river and breathed some life back into her waterlogged body. Angela raised her arms as Karl began to row the boat back to the riverbank, all the while keeping one eye upon her. One bit of rope was still wrapped about one wrist, while the other bore the marks of her struggles. Red welts encircled both wrists, and her hands were skinned and still bleeding from sliding down the coarse rope in her fall. She could not feel the pain yet, it was just a dull, and far away ache, but she knew she would later. She struggled to sit up, but her head whirled, the dancing spots of gray blotting out her sight again. She felt a stab of pain as her head bounced off of the bottom of the boat. Then she felt nothing at all.
Angela sat in one of the fold up wood and canvas chairs scattered in haphazard fashion about the make-up tent. Her body ached all over, and she was trying her best to rest and recover as she leaned her head back over the large wash basin while the make-up girl, Carol Page, washed a colored rinse through her hair. It was a daily ritual that Angela had come to both dread and enjoy. It took almost an hour for the woman to get the tone of her hair just right, so that it matched the dye job of Gloria Swann, and Angela hated that hour of her life lost every day. She liked the attention though, as Carol always made her feel wonderful, massaging her scalp and making her feel more relaxed than any other time during her hectic schedule.
Angela Morgan sighed; fighting exhaustion as the woman ran her fingers through her hair. She remembered nothing after her brief encounter with Karl Braun in the boat, and had apparently slept through the entire night, awakening only to the gentle urgings of Carol trying to wake her for her morning make-up session. Her lungs still ached, as did her buttocks from bouncing off of the bottom of the river. Her hands hurt if she tried to make a fist, but that was almost impossible with the wrappings of bandages that the movie company’s nurse had applied after Karl had gotten Angela out of the river. Her wrists were still pink and raw, but the swollen welts had already almost healed. Now she was just sore and tired, basically. She felt as though she could sleep a week if they would just let her.
Angela had moaned and protested when Carol had shaken her awake at the ungodly hour of four a.m. Someone had undressed her, getting her out of her water sodden clothes and into something loose and warm; a long woolen nightshirt, and put her to bed in her own cot in her tent. She suspected Karl, but had hoped it had been her friend, Jennifer Higgins or some of the other extras in the film. She had seen Jennifer still asleep on her own cot in the dim light of false dawn, wrapped in several thick blankets against the night’s chill on the far side of the tent. Angela wondered how it could get so unbearably hot during the day and then be so freezing overnight that they all needed to be wrapped up against the cold. She had dressed quickly, suppressing the shivers, trying to be quiet until she heard the crack of thunder rolling in the distance. Seconds later it was pouring rain and she knew that it did not matter.
It was still pouring over an hour later as Carol wrung Angela’s hair of excess water into the basin. Jennifer was sitting in the chair next to Angela, peering into the tall stand-up polished metal mirror propped against the wall of the tent as she poked and prodded a mosquito bite that had swelled on her shoulder over night. On her far side sat another of the Amazon extras – Martha Johnson – trying to sew up a snag that had appeared in her tiger skin costume. Both were busty young women, and were hired mainly for that reason for the movie. Both were pleasant though, and Angela enjoyed their company in their off hours.
“—I thought Jonathan was gonna bust a gasket!” Martha continued, pausing only long enough to bite off the thread before going on about the day’s gossip after Angela had passed out. “He was runnin’ around like a chicken with his head cut off worryin’ about you.” Martha stood up and tugged at the hem of her skimpy costume, testing the strength of the stitching she had done.
“Really?” Angela said through gritted teeth as Carol gathered her hair tightly and squeezed with all her might.
“Oh yeah!” Jennifer agreed, scratching at the bump on her arm with a grimace. “Karl was pushing on your belly and pumping your arms up and down and everybody else was near frantic with worry. He finally stopped when you spewed about a gallon of water out of your lungs. Jonathan finally calmed down after Karl said you’d be all right. Karl carried you to our tent, then me and Kathy got you undressed and dried before she bandaged your hands. Do they hurt?”
“Not so much.” Angela’s voice quivered as Carol ruffled a towel through her hair. “I’m just lucky that the scheduled shots are off today ‘cause of the rain.” The company could do no outside filming with the pouring rain, so the director had decided to do close-ups until – if – the weather cleared. The way the rain was pounding on the tent though, Angela figured that it would be some time before the sky was clear again.
“It’ll give me a chance to rest and heal up a bit.” The other women nodded in agreement, Carol draping the damp, stained towel over the back of one of the empty chairs and taking a seat herself. From her make-up kit she pulled a pack of slim cigarettes and offered one to each of the other women. Jennifer declined, but the others lit up and before long all were laughing, relaxing, and trying to enjoy a few free minutes.
It was awkward for Angela to hold her cigarette with her hands bandaged, but she did her best, trying to enjoy it, as she was able. Kathy Parker, the company nurse had done her usual bang-up job, cleaning and bandaging Angela’s rope-burned hands. The nurse had given her a bit of morphine as well, for the pain and to help her sleep in some relative comfort. Angela was not as happy about that, as she had seen too many men come back from Europe at the end of the war addicted to drugs and painkillers. She did not want to go that route. A healthy swig of bourbon would have done just as well without the after effects.
“Gloria was livid…” Martha continued, crushing the spent butt of her cigarette under the toe of her boot. “When Jonathan yelled ‘cut’ everyone ran up to the cliff to see if you were okay. Everyone ‘cept her. The floozie bitch was still cursin’ an’ shoutin’ at us, tryin’ to find out who shot that last arrow.”
“But nobody did!” Jennifer cut in. “At least – none of us did. You were lookin’ right at us, Angela. We didn’t do it!”
“I know…” Angela agreed, tossing the remains of her own cigarette to the dirt and crushing it out. “But somebody did. Somebody shot two arrows at me, into the dirt when I was at the cliff. That’s why I fell. Remember?” Angela saw her friends nod, but none of them had any explanation. It was a real mystery, apparently, as the only bows and most of the arrows on the set were all accounted for, in the possession of the ‘Amazons’, all of who were her friends. Sure, they might all like to turn Gloria Swann into a pincushion, but Angela did not think they felt that way about her as well.
She had not told anyone about the third arrow; the one that had severed the swing rope at a crucial moment; when she was swinging. She had not been sure, of course. She had been a bit preoccupied at the time, worrying about surviving the fall. And for an arrow to cut through the rope – while it was moving! It seemed an impossible shot. If it had been an arrow, whoever had fired it would have had to have been a world class marksman…Or woman. And the only person on the set that fit that bill was Gloria Swann herself, and she was accounted for. Besides, why would Gloria want her dead. It would ruin the movie, not to mention, well, killing her…
Angela rubbed at her temples, her mind swirling with too many questions. She was still exhausted, and suspected that the morphine was still making her sluggish and queer. She half expected to start shaking with the Screaming Meemies at any moment. She hated drugs!
“Angela…” She felt Jennifer’s hand on her shoulder, warm and comforting. Angela looked up into Jennifer’s big brown eyes and saw the concern in her face. “Are you all right?” Angela forced a smile.
“I’m fine. Just a little tired is all.”
“Well, maybe we better-“
In almost theatrical fashion, lightning lit up the compound like the brightest day and thunder pealed immediately making all four women gasp and wince in surprise. Jennifer squeaked in shock as the tent flap flew open to reveal a shadowy figure silhouetted in the after glow of the lightning’s flare. Rain was falling in sheets beyond the figure, as though the thunder had ripped a hole in the storm clouds above and all the stored water was suddenly falling in one fell swoop. The figure was dark and drenched, wearing a long rubber slicker with the hood pulled far over its head, shielding its face in the shadows and dripping water on the mat of weave carpeting by the tent’s opening.
All four women were on their feet then, ready to run or defend themselves as the mysterious figure stepped into the tent, closing the flap behind. The figure bounced and shook, depositing still more water onto the muddy mat and dirt floor, then reached up and quickly flung back the concealing hood. A full mane of curly blonde hair seemed to explode from the hood as it was removed, and the four women gasped a collective sigh of relief as soon as they recognized that hair. There was only one woman on the set that had such an unruly mop of golden locks—
“What?”
Shirley Compton smiled innocently, giving the four women a curious glance as she fluffed her naturally curly hair back into shape and wiped a few stray strands from her face. The script girl was pretty, with a faint line of freckles dotting her nose and cheeks and a set of perfectly white teeth that produced a truly dazzling smile at her slightest whim. She had a perfect little body that almost every woman on the set was jealous of, and she seemed to be able to eat anything and everything without gaining an inch on her hourglass figure. Worse, she was nice, and she did not have the slightest clue as to how pretty she really was. Much as they tried to hate her, the other women just could not.
“What’s wrong?” Shirley asked again, drawing a ribbon from her pocket and deftly snaring a handful of hair, tying it back into a big fluffy tail with a practiced ease. “Y’all look like ya saw a ghost.”
Angela smiled, her heart still thumping in her chest like a native drum. Glancing at the others, she saw that they were just as jumpy as she was. She really wished that she had that bourbon.
“Sorry, Shirl. The storm’s just got us on edge I think.”
“Oh, yeah.” Shirley grinned, glancing back as another bolt of lightning lit the sky. “It’s rainin’ cats an’ dogs out there. Isn’t it great? Jus’ like home.” Shirley was from southern Georgia, if Angela recalled correctly, and in the South, they were used to sudden sultry storms springing up at the drop of a hat. Only she would think it was great.
“What’s the deal, Shirl?” Martha asked, though already knowing the answer, apparently, as she began stuffing her things into her carryall bag. Carol too was packing up, replacing her make-up in their proper kits and putting each back into her case. They all knew that when Shirley came around it usually meant business.
“Jonathan wants the Amazons in the Production tent for close-ups. Sorry gals.”
Martha shrugged. “Hey, that’s what we’re here for, right?”
Shirley waited as the three women gathered their belongings and pulled their own slickers over head preparing to brave the storm. She glanced at Angela, flashing her a smile. “Feelin’ better?”
“A little.” Angela smiled back and held up her bandaged hands. “It’ll be a day or two yet, I think. Lucky for me it’s raining.”
“Yah…” Shirley smiled again, then looked away, replacing her hood as she stepped back to the tent flap. “Ready?” she asked the other three, but before they could answer she was already out of the tent and dashing across the compound. With a shrug and hasty goodbye to Angela, Martha and Carol ran out as well, hot on the script girl’s heels, nimbly trying to dodge the deeper pools of water that were forming along the beaten path. Jennifer paused at the tent flap and looked back at her friend with some concern. Her eyes were sparkling eerily in the deep shadows of the hood.
“Are you going to be all right?” she asked, staring at Angela.
Angela Morgan smiled and nodded. “I’ll be fine, Jenn. Go!”
She saw Jennifer smirk. “Okay. But you try to get some rest. That’s an order!”
“Yes, ma’am.” Angela saluted, then stood as her friend dashed out into the pouring rain. She secured the flap with a twist of cotton cord then settled down on her cot to relax. She wanted to sleep, but her head was still swimming with questions over the arrows and who might have fired them. She ran a list of everyone on the set, but all were accounted for at the time, if not directly involved with the shot, then on the fringes watching. The filming of the stunts was always a long and tedious affair to set up, but watching the stunt in action was always thrilling and no one ever missed one.
Angela ran a hand through her hair and found that it was still damp, so she could not lie down anyway. She might get sick with a wet head, or worse, she might wake up with a flat spot in her hair. She would then have to have Carol start all over again and listen to a speech while she was trying to set things right. Angela could do without a speech.
Finally, Angela settled into one of the canvas chairs, propped her feet up on another and draped a think blanket over her legs against the chills. She picked up her script and started to read, thumbing through the notes Karl had added concerning her next stunt. It had not started out to be a stunt, but as soon as Jonathan had seen the rapids just a ways downstream from the falls it had quickly grown into one. A simple shot of Gloria running along the riverbank had turned into Angela struggling against the current of the river as it carried her downstream after she had fallen into the water. Jonathan had scribbled in his corrections, which Shirley had then copied and delivered to everyone who would be involved. Karl had mapped out the stunt, so Angela was relatively certain that it was safe, but she still had her reservations.
Angela hated to swim…
Angela Morgan fidgeted only a little as Karl Braun loosely wrapped the slim leather cord about her wrists. It was not tight, and barely knotted, but there was less play between her wrists than she would have liked. She glanced at the river rushing past just a few feet away, the white water churning and spewing spray as it crashed over rocks submerged in its depths. She shivered, then swallowed. She was not looking forward to this. She hated swimming.
“Nervous?”
Angela looked up as Karl knotted off the last of the cord and gave her a reassuring smile. Angela tried to smile back, but her heart just was not in it. She shivered again, telling herself it was just the chill of the morning air.
It was two days, almost, since the storm had first begun and there were still lingering clouds that occasionally spat out a drizzle of rain. A cool wind was blowing in the storm’s wake, and almost everyone was wearing a light jacket of some sort, or at least their rain ponchos for their meager protection. Everyone but Angela, that is, as she was in the next shot, and she had not been wearing a coat when she had made her leap from the cliff. Still, despite the sprinkles, and the chill, it was turning into a beautiful day. The sun was huge in the east, just a little ways over the horizon, and the air after the storm was crisp and fresh. Angela knew that it would not be long before the humidity settled in again, so she was determined to enjoy it while she could.
Karl grabbed her hands then, still talking – “You should not be worried, liebchen. It is a simple task. One you could do with your hands tied behind your back, yes?” He chuckled, turning her hands over as far as the cord would allow, inspecting the ropes a final time as well as the gloves she was wearing. He had insisted that she wear the gloves; a pair of calf leather that were soft and as close to the color of her skin that they could find. Angela smirked. They were Gloria’s, and probably expensive. She wondered if the movie star even knew that they were missing.
Kathy had rewrapped her bandages that morning, cleaning the wounds again in the process. Two days later, they were not as deep as they had first appeared, but they still hurt a bit. There were raw pink stripes on both of Angela’s hands where her skin had ripped away but Kathy Parker the nurse had said that they were healing nicely. With the smaller bandages in place, Karl had then slipped the gloves onto her hands and sealed them on with a bit of surgical bandage wrapped about each wrist which was in turn hidden by the binding cord. He assured her that it would be water proof, at least for awhile, and that would help once she got into the chilly river.
Angela pulled against the leather cords at Karl’s direction, making sure that the bindings were tight enough to stay in place but not so loose that they might slip away and spoil the shot. They appeared fine, to both of their satisfactions, so Karl led Angela down the slight trail to the water’s edge talking all the way—
“There will be a camera there…and there.” He pointed and Angela looked up to the cliff’s edge where she had jumped a little over two days before. She saw the camera perched on the ledge with several of the crew gathered around to watch. Jonathan was there, and Gloria as well as Shirley and some of the others that never strayed too far from the director. A whole crowd in fact, watching from the relative safety of the cliff so as to stay out of the way. Angela almost wished that she were up there with them, watching as someone else – Gloria in fact – had to brave the rapids.
Angela’s gaze followed where Karl was pointing and she spied the second camera set up across the river on a small outcropping of rock. Jimmy Barton, the young operator was busy wiping down the lens as one of the film handlers sorted spools nearby. Jimmy was barely eighteen, but he was a well-respected operator and had been in the business for most of his life. He was a ‘studio brat’; his mother a character extra and her father a gaffer. Jimmy had been a gopher when Angela had been cast in her first role as Gloria’s stand-in. He waved when he saw her looking, doffing his cap with a flourish and a smile.
“The third camera’s about a quarter mile down river. That’s where I’ll be, waiting to pull you out if anything goes wrong. Katherine will be there too. Not a worry, eh?”
“Easy for you to say.” Angela quipped as she stepped into the shallows along the riverbank. Karl steadied her until she found her footing, then stepped away as Angela squatted down into the chilly water until it was up to her neck. She moaned, cursing under her breath as the water passed over her nipples. “It’s freezing!” she snarled, her teeth already chattering, but Karl simply chuckled—
“That is why you make the big money.” Angela stared evilly as Karl backed away up the riverbank. He paused at the trail, watching as she eased out of the calm along the river’s edge and towards the swifter current that would carry her towards the rapids. “Remember to try not to fight the river. Let it carry you, and take the rapids feet first. Your head is strong, but not that much I think.” Karl rapped his knuckles against the side of his head with a grin, then jogged down the path and out of sight.
Angela was alone. With a final sigh she gritted her teeth and steeled herself against the chill of the river, then moved even further out into the stream. She felt the current tugging at her, sweeping her skirt about her legs. The rocks underfoot were slick with moss and worn from year upon year of the rushing water. Angela looped her arms about a stone jutting from the surface about a quarter of the way across the water and let the current turn her about until she was facing the cliff and the falls in the distance. When she was satisfied with her position and found her footing she glanced over at Jimmy and nodded. Jimmy in turn waved up at the crew on the cliff.
Angela watched as Jonathan Harkins started giving orders, readying everyone into position for the shot. It was almost laughable how everyone suddenly seemed to scurry about at his command, hurrying off to do whatever job they had to do. Everyone but Gloria. The ‘Wicked Witch of West Hollywood’ simply stared that cold stare of hers, waiting for Angela to make her look good once again.
Angela tensed as Jonathan raised his megaphone to his lips, his free arm stretched overhead so that all could see. She could not hear him yet, but she could imagine what he was saying: “Ready! Camera! …” She saw Jimmy from the corner of her eye, training his camera on her, the handler watching the cliff with a hand resting on Jimmy’s shoulder ready to give the word to ‘roll film’. She wondered if Karl was in place downstream yet.
Angela pushed off into the current as Jonathan Harkins slashed his arm through the air. She could not hear his voice over the roar of the falls, but he had given the signal, and Angela started counting, kicking her legs as she made her way towards the rapids. At the count of five she knew that the cliff camera would start to film, and she would have to be in the current by then, for the best shot. By ten she would be passing Jimmy, and struggling frantically, or so it would appear to his camera, fighting for her life as she was swept down the river.
She felt the strength of the river almost instantly as it scooped her up in its grip and started to carry her along. It was swifter than she thought it would be, and Angela was hard pressed simply to keep her head above water let alone keep on course. She tried her best to keep her feet out in front of her, letting her legs absorb the brunt of the fast paced impacts as she tumbled along from rock to rock. She was glad now that the submerged stones were worn and slick with moss, as had they been rough, her legs and buttocks would already be ripped to shreds.
She scrambled along, more running along the bottom of the river than swimming. Her legs were churning slowly but furiously against the river’s flow as she tried to stay upright and above the water, trying to stay in view of the cameras. Jonathan had told her to thrash about as much as possible as she swam downriver, to ‘play up her distress’, caught in the grip of the current, and she was finding that far easier to do than she would have hoped. The river threw her about with ease, despite her best efforts, slamming her from rock to rock, twisting her body and tossing Angela into the air at times. It was hard to breathe as well. It seemed that whenever she opened her mouth to gasp for breath, the river would twist her about, shoving her face into the drink making her gulp water instead of air. Angela was coughing and spluttering before long, and suddenly worried.
She saw up ahead a small drop in the river’s course; a fall of maybe ten feet. Karl had inspected the entire length of the run yesterday and had told her about the upcoming waterfall, and what dangers awaited her there. A short drop into a deep pool with only a few rocks to worry about during the plunge. Angela tried to veer towards her left as he had suggested in order to hit the pool beyond and below at the best spot to avoid the stones. She also struggled to get upright again, in order to go over the falls feet first, just in case. It would not do to sprawl over the drop headfirst, to be smashed against an errant rock or to be sucked down into the churning undertow below the falls. Angela thrashed about, as she had been told, all the while thrusting up and out of the water to gulp down great lung fulls of air. She played for the cameras, knowing that within moments she would be out of their sight for a bit; a few seconds actually, until she was picked up by the third camera further down the river where Karl and Kathy waited with John Thomas, the Assistant Director and the rest of the crew.
Suddenly she was falling. Angela stared wide-eyed as the world spun about overhead, a bright blue sky dotted with clouds framing a golden sun. The surrounding jungle seemed topsy-turvy for a long, frozen heartbeat. Her ears filled with the rushing, crashing roar of water…
Angela splashed down into the pool of frothing white foam, immediately sinking, being sucked down into the churning darkness by the pressure of the falling water. Her body was tossed about like a rag-doll as she frantically kicked her legs, trying to reach the surface again. She was exhausted from fighting the river already, and her long skirt and waterlogged clothes hindered her movements and threatened to drag her down. The pool was far deeper than she thought it might be, and she was disoriented as she struggled, seeing the sparkling glow of the sun overhead, rippling through the depths. Her neck and shoulder stung with pain, stiffening as she doubled her efforts, though she had thought that she had hit the water on her hip and side more than her shoulders. It hurt to move, her legs feeling leaden and rubbery all at once. She was seeing gray, little spots exploding before her eyes as her lungs threatened to explode. So soon…
Too soon…Where was the surface?
Angela felt something slam against her back, and involuntarily felt the last of her waning air forced from her lungs. Water filled her mouth, pushing down her throat to fill the sudden void. Angela struggled to right herself, to get her bearings as the gray crowded closer from the edges of her sight. She spun around, something smashing against her temple, then scraping along her leg. The world was spinning out of control. Getting darker…
Darker…
Things look dark for Angela! Join us for the next exciting chapter…
© Curt F 2002