“Please,” I begged, but I knew he was gone.
“Ch…” Dusty tried
“Yeah, Dusty,” I replied. “I’m right here. It’s going to be okay.”
“Cha…” he tried again. This time blood bubbled from his lips, and he choked on the red liquid.
“Dusty!” I urged him, squeezing his hand tight. I cupped my other hand against his cheek. Blood dribbled onto my hand as he tried to speak again. “No, Dusty! You’re going to be all right.”
9-1-1.
I raised the phone and began to swipe the screen open.
“It…hurts,” Dusty said between spats of blood and labored breaths.
I fumbled out the numbers 9-1-1 and hit send.
“I know,” I cried. The tears ran down my face unhindered as I stared into my little brother’s eyes. “It’s going to be all ri…”
Dusty’s hand went limp in my own. I looked into his eyes, searching for the brother I knew. There was nothing there anymore, just those brilliant green eyes with a sudden emptiness behind them. Empty.
“Dusty?” I whispered, dropping the phone. “Dusty?”
I shook his hand. Nothing.
“Dusty?” It started as a whisper and grew into a scream. “Dusty? No! You can’t leave me here. No, Dusty, you cannot leave me!”
I beat the ceiling with my spare hand, refusing to let go of his limp hand.
“No,” I whispered between sobs. “No.”
THREE YEARS LATER
CHAPTER 2
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Dalton Summers slapped the Snooze button on the alarm clock and sighed gently as the noise stopped. Lying flat on his back, he stared up into the dark where he knew a rich maple wood striped ceiling and steadily rotating fan blades resided.
He had been up the past half hour. Real sleep, deep REM sleep, had refused to darken his eyes as it so easily did on most nights. Instead, Dalton resigned himself early on to letting his vision roam aimlessly in the black. Today was the big day, at least he hoped it would be, and that possibility had kept his mind active throughout the night.
Careful not to wake Lenore, he pull the thick comforter back and slipped out of bed. In the dark, Dalton got to his feet and made his way to the bathroom door with his right hand out to be sure he did not slam his face into a wall or picture frame. The last thing he needed this early in the morning was his wife breathing down his throat over one of her precious frames shattered all over the floor.
He reached out where he expected the doorknob to be and his hand made contact with the cold brushed metal handle. Inside he shut the door and flipped the light switch. Light filled the room. It stung for a few moments before his sky blue eyes adjusted to the light.
Dalton twisted the cold and hot knobs and waited for the water to regulate to a decent temperature. He looked into the mirror, pushing down several stray fluffs of hair as he grimaced at the extra weight he was putting on. The six-pack abs he had never had were beginning to take form, just not in the nice shapely fashion one might appreciate. He’d have to start frequenting the treadmill again.
He stepped into the shower and the let warm water cascade gently over his head and shoulders. He could feel his body waking up now, becoming more cognizant than he had been even in his sleepless state in bed.
Since starting his career at Ryker+Michaels Architecture right out of college, Dalton’s dream had been to be the next Frank Lloyd Wright or Paolo Soleri, just like every eager student of architecture. To break the molds and design something new, something modern and at one with the landscape around it, that's what he had always wanted. His unwillingness to move and his usual clientele had other plans for him, though. They always preferred something more classical or Victorian.
A few, a very few, appreciated a little flare of the modern or organic. Most, however, came into the office with a clipping file of cookie cutter homes or pictures from a magazine of some quaint living room or baby’s room.
A year ago, a client had seemed excited about a design that would have set the house around the natural landscape, a large oak tree in particular. After fighting Dalton at nearly every angle, they had eventually settled on a traditional home with a Victorian bent.
Today, however, he was meeting with a new client who happened to share first names with Dalton’s little brother. Gavin Bostian was an up-and-coming NASCAR driver who, to Dalton’s pleasure, appreciated the arts. Gavin had come to contact Dalton through a series of unrelated cocktail parties and meet-and-greets as he worked to establish his race team in the Concord area near the Charlotte Motor Speedway.
Dalton’s eye for the modern had been exactly what Gavin was searching for and Dalton hoped it was the opportunity he had been dreaming of. Today was the first day of the property search and while no one was committed to anything yet, Dalton had a swarm of ideas that he hoped would please Gavin. They pleased Dalton, that much was certain.
Dalton cut the water to the shower nozzle and grabbed a towel to dry off. No longer drenched, he donned the clothes he had placed on the bathroom clothes rack the night before, brushed his teeth and combed his hair into submission. Aided by the mirror, Dalton straightened his pale yellow tie and clipped it into place with a simple brushed metal bar pin.
Cutting the bathroom light, Dalton tip-toed through the bedroom and out into the main hallway. Passing the staircase up to Aiden and Mara’s rooms, the guest room and what now served as a storage room, Dalton entered the kitchen. He retrieved a clean glass from a cabinet. He placed the glass down on the black marble countertops and filled it half-full with Dr. Pepper, his coffee substitute, and headed back down the hall to his study.
In the study, he plopped down in a cushy swivel chair and rolled up to his desk. He activated the power on his desktop computer in one fluid memorized motion. He laid back, examining his large collection of books. The collection of paperbacks lined each wall from floor to ceiling with the exception of two symmetrical windows looking out onto the lake and boat dock.
The monitor finally came to life and Dalton logged in and navigated to a set of rough sketches. Each showed a radically different low-detail house concept. Dalton scanned the lines he had laid out, memorizing the structure and computing a more solid visual in his head, something he could vocalize to Gavin out at the potential properties.
Outside in the hallway, he heard the faint patting of feet pass the study door. Lenore, Dalton thought dismissively and went back to his task.
Returning his attention to the screen, Dalton swiped to the next concept and scrutinized the layout. There was something that nagged at him. He stared at the digital pencil strokes, trying to find what disquieted him about the image.
“Aiden! Mara! Time to get up!” his wife yelled from the kitchen. Dalton could imagine her standing at the bottom of the staircase as she did every morning. Chocolate brown hair up in a quick ponytail, a bathrobe sashed at the waist and no makeup. “Breakfast will be ready in about ten minutes.”
It also meant he only had a few more minutes before he needed to be walking out the door and on his way to the office. Dalton fingered through two more concepts before he stood up and grabbed his briefcase, walking back out into the hallway.
Like clockwork, the sound of Mara dragging her feet down the stairs reached Dalton. He stepped lightly into the kitchen just before the staircase. Lenore was still facing the stove, working on some bacon and eggs. He could hear the sound of Mara’s usual morning groans getting closer.
As Mara’s foot left the last stair and she came into sight, Dalton jumped toward her with a gruff scream. She jerked back and screeched, nearly tumbling back to the stairs before Dalton caught her.
“Dad!” Mara complained with a grin. Her brilliant blue eyes, the one physical characteristic Dalton could claim she got from him, shined back even through the film of morning. “Stop it! You’re going to kill me of fright.”
Dalton grinned.
“Dalton! Do you really have to do that?” Lenore asked, her voice
reeking of irritation. “I almost threw the eggs all over the counter!”
Looking at Mara, Dalton shrugged and rolled his eyes. He ruffled his hand through the curls in her dirty blond hair before letting her loose from a hug. Mara grinned back and poured a glass of orange juice before taking a seat on a stool lining the bar counter.
“Okay, sorry,” Dalton apologized before taking one last sip from his cup and depositing the glass in the sink.
“Where is Aiden?” Lenore asked as she finally turned away from the stove, looking at Mara.
Mara put her hands in the air, palms out, with a quizzical look on her face. “Why are you asking me? He’s not my responsibility.”
Lenore cocked her head and glared at Mara.
“Aiden! Get down here or you’re going to be late!” Lenore yelled. Despite the gulf that had grown between her and Dalton, he always admired her sea green eyes. Those beautiful eyes had been the first thing he had noticed so many years ago when they first met. They were still mesmerizing.
Seconds later, the youngest member of the Summers household came barging down the stairs. Aiden pursed his lips and tiredly glared his honey brown eyes at his mother as he propped himself up against the bar next to Dalton.
“I was on my way when you hollered, Mom,” Aiden claimed, though Dalton had serious doubts. Two years his sister’s junior, at sixteen, the boy was smart but his internal clock was lacking. His smartphone’s many reminders helped to a point, but not nearly enough.
“Sure you were,” Mara jested, rolling her eyes.
Aiden gave her a sideways glance and his middle finger below the bar top, out of Lenore’s sight. Mara grinned, shaking her head. Dalton urged Aiden’s arm down a few inches to be certain Lenore did not catch sight of the middle digit, a sideways grin painted across his face.
Aiden grabbed a pop tart from the cupboard and tore the wrapper off.
“Aiden! I’m making breakfast,” Lenore complained.
“I know. I thought I’d have a pop tart, too, though,” Aiden defended himself.
“It’s not like it’s going to hurt him, Lenore,” Dalton interjected. “I mean it’s not like he needs to go on a diet.”
Aiden was short for his age, not by much but enough. He still had a few years to grow, but Dalton hoped he hurried. Despite his short stature, his youngest child was just as fit as his father had ever been as a teenager. That was one of the few things the boy shared with his sister. They both had inherited their parents’ high metabolisms and slim frames. Yet, whereas Aiden had managed to get his natural tan from Lenore, Mara’s tan came from frequent tanning bed sessions, courtesy of Dalton's genes.
“Okay,” Lenore gave in as she shoveled a scoop of eggs and a helping of bacon onto each plate. “You just better eat all of this.”
“I will,” Aiden said. “Oh, and don’t forget that I won’t be home tonight during trick-or-treating, I’m going to Zed’s.”
Before Lenore or Dalton could respond, Mara huffed.
“If the nerd gets to go, so should I!” Mara whined. “It’s my senior year, it’ll be my last Halloween party. Plus, he needs someone to take care of him.” Mara patted Aiden's face, then pushed him away with a shove, “Look at him, he’s so vulnerable.”
“Get off,” Aiden swatted her hand away.
“We’ve already discussed this, Mara. You’re not going,” Lenore asserted.
“But Mom!” she tried, and then turned her attention to Dalton, “Dad! Come on!”
“Mara,” Dalton begun, “You know good and well why you’re not going. It’s off the table, it’s done. You have yourself to thank for that, honey. Two more months.”
“It was just one time,” Mara tried again. She had repeated the statement multiple times since punishment had been handed down a week ago.
“One time?” Aiden sneered. “Sure it was. I’m sure it was the first time you had your mouth shoved between Nath—“
“Aiden!” Lenore raised her voice. “That’s enough.”
“Okay. I was just saying it wasn’t the—” Aiden tried again.
“Aiden.” Dalton shook his head slowly, hiding a grin.
“In the Target parking lot,” Aiden said as quickly as he could.
“Aiden, stop!” Lenore yelled.
Aiden grinned from ear to ear.
“You’re just mad cause you can’t get Mason to do you,” Mara jeered back.
“Oh,” Aiden huffed. “Disgusting, but good.”
Dalton grinned, but quickly replaced the expression with a grimace as his wife scowled at him.
“Really, you two. We’re at the table, please.” Lenore tried uselessly to bring order to the bar table.
“All right, guys, let’s calm it down for your mom,” Dalton told them. “I’m heading out. Can’t be late for today’s client. I think this is the one.”
Lenore smiled and took a sip from her coffee cup. “I hope so. You’ve been waiting for this for years.”
“Yep,” Dalton agreed as he placed his cup in the kitchen sink and picked up his briefcase. He patted Aiden on the head with a grin and gave Mara a quick hug as he made his way to the garage. “See you this evening.”
“Oh, Dalton!” Lenore stopped him just as he was turning the doorknob leading to the garage.
“Yeah?”
“Can you please be home by six or seven? Just before the trick-or-treaters come by at least?” Lenore asked. “You know I don’t like being here by myself.”
“You’ll have Mara,” Dalton reminded her with a nod in Mara’s direction. Mara frowned and took another bite of from her bacon.
“I just feel safer when you’re here,” Lenore explained. “Junk happens all the time during trick-or-treating.”
“Whatever, Lenore, I’ll try to be here by seven.”
Twenty minutes later, Dalton killed the ignition on the year-old BMW M4, terminating the excuse for a debate he’d been listening to on SiriusXM’s Progress station. It was not his usual morning companion, definitely not the soaring guitar riffs and hard-hitting bass of Octane, but it had held his attention. It had featured the one thing in politics he loathed more than Republicans. A libertarian.
Retrieving his briefcase from the passenger seat, Dalton slid out of the BMW and took a second to straighten his tie again with his reflection in the driver’s side window. His favorite line from the radio show played through his head as he passed by the large front window of his practice. Cage/Summers Architecture was plastered across the large front windowpane in slim modern letters.
“You’re worse than the Republicans,” Walter Daniels, the Democratic Senator from New York, had explained. “At least the Republicans realize that there are some sensible regulations that need to be placed on gun ownership.”
Dalton had quietly rooted Daniels on and was surprised to hear the Republican vocalize his agreement. The Libertarian, some obscure city councilman out of Wisconsin, had went on with some witty, but irrelevant rebuttal. Dalton had glazed over as the man kept talking. Fortunately, before he could go on for long, Dalton had pulled into the office parking lot.
Inside, Dalton made his way past the empty receptionist desk and back to his office. He took a quick glance at one of his earlier designs hanging on the wall in the waiting room above a forty-two inch flat-screen LED television. Ideas sparked in his brain. He could see a slanting roof-line disappearing slowly and naturally into a neighboring rock bed. A wall lined with glass overlooking crystal blue water edged by white-washed stone.
Dalton unlocked the door to his office and stepped in. It was a generous space, spartan and functional. The front and rear walls were lined with onyx shelves reaching toward the ceiling every twelve inches, stacked from edge-to-edge with periodicals, sketch books, and old textbooks along with a few utilitarian decorations sporadically placed between the literature. A silver orb atop a bed of rock. A black picture frame with a photo of his family during better days. Among it all sat a large glass desk, a comfy leather swivel chair and two minima
listic black cushioned chairs for his guests.
After placing his coat on the hook next to the door, Dalton deposited his briefcase on the desk and took a seat. He opened the case and began to pull out its contents. He placed his favorite ball point pen next to a black metal meshed paper bin and a set of envelopes he had brought from home just next to the pen. Then he pulled out his large tablet and docked it on the center of the desk.
As the computer screen flickered to life, Dalton heard the front door open with a gentle beep. Feet shuffled in the neighboring room. Dalton leaned to his right and peered out into the waiting room, spotting Jenna Hansen as she settled in at the receptionist’s desk.
He took the stack of mail and began to sort through the envelopes. The usual invitations to the next big architecture gala in Chicago, one in Los Angeles. A phone bill he had mistakenly placed in his briefcase and one last envelope, marked from Williams, Salyer & Hunt: Attorneys at Law.
Dalton stared at the last envelope, a slight grimace on his lips.
“Morning, Mr. Wayne.”
Dalton jumped in his chair, his focus broken. His eyes caught sight of his slender assistant standing in the doorway, back leaned up against the doorframe.
“Mr. Wayne,” Dalton whispered with a grin, looking down on his desk as he shook his head.
It was an office joke. Ever since he had misguidedly revealed his middle name to the auburn beauty, she rarely failed to miss an opportunity. She loved Batman, a comic geek generally, and having a boss with the middle name Wayne was just too much to resist apparently.
“Good morning, Jenna,” Dalton said through his grin.
“So today’s the big client, right?” she asked, her eyes showing how excited she was to call her boss Mr. Wayne still.
“Yes,” Dalton swiped the screen, moving to another set of rough sketches. “I’m meeting Mr. Bostian in a few hours. Let’s just hope that it goes well.”
“I’m sure it will,” said Jenna. “You two seem to have everything going quite well so far.”
Dalton nodded and looked back up to Jenna, “I think we do. I think this piece of land fits his requirements well. Just enough open space, not too flat and it’s lake front like he wanted. Pricey, but he said to find the best.”
To Watch You Bleed Page 2
