Free Written In Blood by Shelia Lowe

broke his back. The doctors said he’ll never walk again. He’s lucky he’s not a quadriplegic.”
    “Not what I would call lucky,” Claudia said. She picked up her drink and took a long swallow. “Jeez, Paige, I guess you weren’t kidding about needing a friend.”
    They smiled at each other across the table and Paige looked cheered. “How would you like to come and see the school?”
    Claudia found herself drawn in, fascinated by the Sorensen story. “I’d love to. How many students are there?”
    “About fifty girls in the middle grades—thirteen- to fifteen-year-olds, most involved with the film industry. Either they’re into acting or their parents are actors, producers, directors. Some are spoiled-rotten rich kids who cause problems and take up a lot of my time. Like Annabelle, the girl I told you about.”
    Claudia had an idea that had been fermenting since she’d heard Annabelle’s story the week before, but she was unsure of how what she was about to suggest would be received.
    She said, “I’ve done some work with kids who have emotional problems. There’s a program called graphotherapy—handwriting movement exercises done to a special kind of music. I’ve been wondering whether Annabelle would respond to it.”
    “I’ve never heard of it,” Paige said. “How does it work?”
    “The specific hand movements and the music literally help calm the brain so the person can function better. Kids who use it develop better self-discipline, which helps them feel better about themselves. It’s not very well known, but it’s being used successfully in schools around the world.”
    Paige began to look interested. “Tell me more.”
    “I would analyze Annabelle’s handwriting to learn more about her current emotional state. Then I would tailor some of these handwriting movement exercises for her particular needs. It’s easy and the exercises take only a few minutes a day. I would check her progress weekly and make adjustments as we go. Eventually, we can expect changes to appear naturally in her handwriting and in her behavior.”
    “This is sounding interesting. How long does it take to see the changes?”
    “I’d say a minimum of three months.”
    “Damn, I was hoping for a magic bullet.”
    “Wouldn’t that be nice,” Claudia said. “How old is Annabelle?”
    “Fourteen.”
    “Would you say her suicide attempt was serious, or more like a cry for help?”
    Paige played with the broken cigarette that she’d now dumped on her cocktail napkin. Bits of tobacco spilled onto the table and she began to brush them together with her fingernail as she spoke.
    “Sounded pretty serious to me. She snagged a bottle of Daddy’s tequila from the wet bar in the middle of the night and snuck down to the beach—they live in Malibu. She polished off what was in the bottle, then broke it on a rock and cut her wrists. She claims not to remember anything about it. A man walking his dog found her or she probably would have succeeded.”
    Claudia felt a rush of sympathy, the way she had when she had first heard Annabelle’s story. “Poor little kid. Did she lose much blood?”
    Paige shook her head. “The booze did more damage than the cuts.”
    “What happened to her? Psych ward?”
    “Uh-uh. Remember, this kid’s old man is Dominic Giordano.” Paige paused to down the rest of her drink. Some of the social polish seemed to have worn thin as the Jack Daniel’s diminished in her glass, and she was sounding more like the small-town girl from Clovis than the wealthy Bel Air widow.
    “He had the juice to keep the whole nasty mess out of the media,” she said.
    “That’s a lot of juice.”
    “Exactly. He’s had his share of bad publicity. He doesn’t need any more.”
    “Oh yes, those young actresses . . .”
    Paige looked uncomfortable. “We don’t talk about that,” she said primly. “He’s a paying customer.”
    Claudia didn’t need Paige to confirm the story. She remembered how the