When Dreams Bleed Read online

  When Dreams Bleed

  a novel

  Robin Cain

  Empty Nest Publications

  Empty Nest Publications

  Scottsdale, AZ 85255

  www.EmptyNestPublications.com

  Copyright ©2010, Robin Cain

  All rights reserved.

  LCCN: 2009940975

  ISBN-10: 0-9842898-0-1

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9842898-0-6

  Copyright information available upon request.

  Cover Design: Manjari Graphics

  Interior Design: J. L. Saloff

  Typography: Garamond Premier Pro, Arial, Sceptre, Courier Standard, Gloucester MT

  This novel is fiction. All characters are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance between characters and real people, living or dead, is coincidental. Places and incidents are either fictitious, or are cited fictitiously. The story cites some real events, facts and places to support the plot, but the story is fiction and any resemblance to actual events is coincidental.

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  v.. 1.0

  First Edition, 2010

  Printed on acid free paper.

  This book is dedicated to my father, whose arms I feel around me... even now.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Epigraph

  Part I

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Part II

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Part III

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  prologue

  EXACTLY ONE-THIRD of a living, breathing human being once upon a time, she is now, she believes, exactly one-third of a dead one. Her no-good father—may he rot in hell—had made certain of that.

  As part of her daily ritual, she pulls the paper from the back of the book she’d stolen long ago from one of her foster parents’ houses, carefully unfolds it and proceeds to read it aloud to the empty room:

  * * *

  FATHER IS CHARGED IN DEATH OF SON, 10

  A Los Angeles man, accused of fatally beating his 10-year-old son, was charged with first-degree manslaughter on Sunday.

  The man, Marcus Lewis, 30, told the police that he beat his son, Franklin, on Friday evening, the authorities said. One of a set of mixed triplets, Franklin had been fighting with his identical twin brother, Mr. Lewis told police. According to the fraternal twin sister, one of Mr. Lewis’ blows was so strong it sent the boy flying across the apartment, the police said. After the boy hit his head against a wall and lost consciousness, Mr. Lewis called an ambulance, they said. The boy was taken to San Marcos Medical Center, where he was pronounced dead, apparently of brain injuries.

  In his statement to the police and an assistant district attorney, Mr. Lewis said he had previously beaten Frank on several occasions, but “the good-for-nothing brat would just never mind his business.”

  When officers arrived at the man’s home, they found the apartment overrun with insects. “It was a real condition of squalor,” said Stan Conklin, a spokesman for the Los Angeles County district attorney’s office. A neighbor, who agreed to speak on a condition of anonymity, told reporters at the scene that Mr. Lewis’ wife had disappeared months before and that he often left the children alone.

  The other two children, though suffering from what appeared to be malnutrition and severe neglect, were unharmed, although the daughter was being examined for sexual abuse. They were immediately taken into custody by Child Protection Services and placed in temporary foster homes.

  * * *

  Slowly refolding the news article and placing it back in the book, she hears the haunting cadence of her father’s voice as it rushes in and fills up the dark recesses of her mind.

  “No one will ever hurt you, angel. I promise,” he would whisper while caressing her, often lying naked on the bed beside her. “Even though there are three of you, I promise to always love you best. You’re the only one that matters. I don’t even have a use for those other two.”

  Her hand now shaking, she picks up the razor blade and, just like the day before and the day before that, she repeatedly slices the top of her thigh until she can no longer distinguish one pain from the other.

  “In position play, the master does not search for combinations. He creates the conditions that make it possible for them to appear.”

  ~Irving Chernev, Logical Chess Move By Move

  Part I

  one

  FRANK CAMPELLETTI’S balls ached. The “boys” (that’s what he called them) had been complaining ever since he’d gotten out of bed that morning.

  Must’ve strained them in my workout yesterday.

  Uncrossing his legs to provide a little extra room, he made an effort to appear interested in what his assistant was now saying to him.

  “I’ve scheduled everyone to meet in the conference room. Ms. Roderick should be here in fifteen minutes,” Janie said, referring to the Realtor she had scheduled to meet with Frank and his management team. “I’ve set out fresh coffee, and you’ll find the paperwork for the other property on the table by your seat.”

  “Great. Thanks.” Frank gave Janie his “Okay, you can go now” look, hoping she’d get the message. Looking at her until she finally nodded and walked away, Frank couldn’t help but wonder—and not for the first time—where she shopped for her clothes. Flat, nondescript, old lady shoes; loose-fitting, dark-colored, long skirts no longer in fashion; and suit jackets—the likes of which were favored by old schoolmarms. Hardly the impression Frank wanted his employees to send. He made a mental note to speak to her about it later in the day.

  Frank grabbed the pile of phone messages Janie had left on his desk, taking note of their sheer number. He’d only left the office an hour early the day before, but it appeared that fifteen arbitrary and unknown people had called to speak with him. Janie was not doing a very good job of screening his callers—one more thing he made a point to discuss with her. She had only worked for him a few months, but there were already signs that the quality of her work was lacking. Her connection with the Realtor for the meeting this morning was, quite frankly, the only thing saving her matronly-looking ass.

  Frank leaned back in his chair, wishing the pain in his balls— which was now a dull ache—would subside.

  Down the street, two blocks and over one
, Sadie Roderick was purposefully striding up the sidewalk on De La Cruz when the photo of Billy Harwood stopped her dead in her tracks. His haunting, azure-colored eyes reached out to her from the cover of the tabloid on the newsstand rack.

  Their relationship had lasted two months, two days, four hours and thirty-five minutes—thirty-six minutes if one counted the moment Billy had hit her for the last time. It had been nearly a month since she had walked out of his Los Angeles mansion, his irrepressible rage exactly imprinted on the left side of her face. Up-and-coming movie star or not, Billy Harwood was nothing but a beautiful face covering up a lifetime of insecurity, with years of secrets hidden behind that million-dollar smile. She had sworn she would never look back.

  The sight of Billy’s face now struck Sadie—much like his hand once had. The memories of his passion—some good but most of them bad—lingered. Billy still had a hold of her, even from a distance. Sadie forced herself to turn away from his grasp and continued to walk to her appointment.

  Sadie arrived at the entrance and paused briefly, checking her reflection in the oversized glass door. The blonde, thirty-nine-year-old woman in the St. John suit and Jimmy Choo heels gazing back at her provided just the shot of confidence she needed. She took a deep breath and entered what she prayed would soon be the old office of the software maker, MineWare. The importance of the real estate transaction she was about to pitch weighed heavily on her mind. She shook her head in an attempt to clear her brain, knowing thoughts of Billy would only be a dangerous and unhealthy distraction.

  Once she was inside and had passed the receptionist’s scrutiny, Sadie was then greeted by what struck her as a surprisingly, unfashionably dressed woman sporting a similarly unfashionable hairdo. Sadie was normally not the catty type, but this woman was downright mousey—unusual for a high-profile Los Angeles firm. Most of the up-and-coming, egocentric executives Sadie had encountered favored hiring women who could qualify as Miss America contestants. Administrative ability was secondary to glossy cover art.

  Strangely, there was something about this woman that looked vaguely familiar to Sadie. Nevertheless, unable to place her, Sadie didn’t give it another thought.

  “Hello, I’m Mr. Campelletti’s assistant—Janie Mitchell,” the woman said, extending her hand. Her very short, clipped and unpainted nails were another anomaly for L.A.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you, Janie. Thanks, again, for getting me in to see Mr. Campelletti. Mr. Harwood has done me a huge favor here.”

  Sadie hated to make mention of Billy’s name after what she’d recently been through, but it was he who had gotten her this inside connection to MineWare. The market being what it was and MineWare being the hottest commodity around, this deal would cement Sadie’s reputation in town for a long time to come.

  MineWare’s explosive growth over the last few years had put it in the market for a move. Sadie had control of this property she was presenting due to the fact that it was owned by a good friend’s father. The minute Sadie had heard about MineWare’s search for new space she had mentioned it to Billy, found out he knew someone who worked at MineWare and eventually maneuvered her way into making this presentation. Though fairly confident she could have eventually gotten here on her own, Sadie acknowledged that timing had everything to do with this one.

  Leaning in a bit closer and speaking in a substantially quieter voice, Janie said, “Mr. Harwood and I have known each other a long time, but I try not to publicize it. Mr. Campelletti doesn’t know this is a favor. So, just FYI, let him think we go way back and we’ll all be better off.”

  Her facial expression corroborated her condition of complicity. After Sadie nodded her head in agreement, Janie led her upstairs to the conference room where the MineWare executives gathered. Sadie steeled herself for her next move.

  Through the open conference room door, Sadie saw that owner, creator and forty-five-year-old legend Frank Campelletti was standing to greet her. She refused to let the infamous charming smile she’d heard so much about disarm her.

  “Good morning, Mr. Campelletti. I’ve brought the paperwork on the property I mentioned to you yesterday on the phone,” she began, waiting for a sign before continuing.

  Mr. Campelletti simply nodded.

  “It’s a building that just came to my attention and, though I know you were considering making an offer on another one,” she gestured to the papers that sat in front of him. “I truly believe that this one may be worth your time.”

  The others on the management team sat at the long oval table exchanging skeptical expressions. Many years of business transactions had prepared Frank and his team in the art of spotting fl awed deals. But Mr. Campelletti, intrigued by the eagerness and earnestness with which Sadie spoke to him on the phone the day before, allowed his curiosity to get the best of him.

  “Please, call me Frank.” The timbre of his voice exuded self-confidence and composure. His penny-brown eyes gazed directly into hers as he reached for the papers in Sadie’s hand.

  “Fifty-eight-thousand square feet,” Sadie began, struggling not to let her nerves show. “Adjoining building with another sixty thousand available when the tenant moves out at the end of the year. Two stories, shared courtyard, underground secured parking, tenant improvements include...”

  Frank stopped listening. The research he’d done since Sadie had called the day before to set the appointment, along with the photo of the building and the attached specs he could now see, told him everything he needed to know. The price was a little high, but he knew the difference between the asking and the getting. This building was a beauty and, unlike the one they had been close to making an offer on, this one far better represented the image he sought for his corporate headquarters. As he studied the papers, Sadie stopped talking and everyone else in the room waited in silence.

  Certain Frank’s silence was a sign of a fatal career move on her part, Sadie was just about to offer additional facts when he leaned back in his chair and spoke.

  “This looks perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect.”

  The words had no sooner left Frank’s mouth when a couple of the skeptics at the table stood, immediately leaning in to get a closer look. Sadie couldn’t contain her grin. Something good had come out of her relationship with Billy after all.

  Sadie knew MineWare needed to make a statement, to have a space that reflected its huge success. Though she had heard stories of the man behind the magic of this firm, she had never seen him in person. This proposal had been a risk. She hadn’t wanted to risk coming across as too aggressive, nor appear greedy for suggesting an alternative that would likely make her more money. It was a risky but very calculated move. Sadie knew this building was their answer. And, it appeared Frank was now aware of that as well.

  “Let’s make them an offer,” Frank announced to the group at large. “And let’s pull it together now.” Sadie glanced at the clock and quickly time-lined the steps that lay ahead. The workday was nearly over, and this deal would require some time.

  Frank read her thoughts and quickly added, “And let’s do it over dinner.” Not waiting for her answer, he turned to the others gathered around the table. “Paul, take this other deal and get back to Legal about our decision. Janie, please call and cancel my dinner plans. Reschedule for next week if possible. Peter, get a copy of these specs to Susan and her team for review.”

  Decisively spurred into action, everyone quickly gathered their things and left the conference room. Sadie tried to catch Janie’s eye to offer thanks, but Janie never again looked her way. A new energy and direction had been created and it was apparent Frank wanted no time wasted. He turned and addressed Sadie, “Ready to go make a deal?”

  Sadie, unable to believe the speed with which it had all happened, could only stare in awe. When Frank rose from his chair, she quickly regrouped and stood as well. His six-foot-tall runner’s build, outfitted in what she now recognized as a beautifully worsted, wool Dolce & Gabbana suit, was slightly less intimidati
ng to her now that she’d gotten the response she’d sought.

  “Why, yes, of course. Just give me a second to make a quick couple phone calls.”

  “Yes, please, take all the time you need. Make yourself comfortable and join me in my office when you’re ready,” he told her, adding a thank you as an afterthought as he left the room.

  Frank grinned as he closed the door, excited now at the prospect of this new building. As he walked down the hall, he realized the ache between his legs that he had experienced earlier had finally subsided.

  Ah... the therapeutic results of good business.

  Back in the conference room, Sadie’s first inclination was to whoop and holler and dance across the room. With everything going as planned and unable to contain her excitement a second longer, she did a little victory dance in front of the large, plated glass window. In the tradition of runners as they cross a finish line, she raised her arms and listened for the applause of an imaginary crowd.

  “Woo-hoo!”

  This deal promised to be a major career score, and time was of the essence. She did one more joyous little two-step, straightened her blouse and quickly pulled out her cell phone to call her office.

  two

  LATER THAT EVENING over dinner, Sadie learned of Frank Campelletti’s true passion. When a promising football career was brought to an end by a college knee injury, he’d changed directions and become a man obsessed with winning in the game of business.

  “It’s just like a game of chess,” he told her. “You’ve got to anticipate your opponent’s next move.”

  He had been recruited right out of college by a then-new software company named Aptiva, he explained. Seduced by its promising future and the way he had seen it play the game, Frank had gambled, guessing that Aptiva’s stock options would one day guarantee more than adequate start-up funds for his own business.