Chapter 3
Insomnia

Bulma dragged herself into the Capsule Corporation headquarters, a tall cup of latte spiked three times with espresso held in her left hand. The steaming beverage was the only source of life she had, but it wasn't enough to hide her fatigue from her employees anymore. Blood-shot eyes and dark circles under them, pale skin, messy hair, slumped shoulders, and a slower stride gave away her utter exhaustion to any who saw the company heiress. She pushed the button for the elevator with her elbow as she turned around to lean heavily against the wall, a long, quiet sigh escaping her chapped lips.

She set her briefcase down next to her and rubbed her forehead with her free hand. So tired, all she could think about was how much she wanted a decent night's sleep. She hadn't had one in over two months. Every night was the same. It took her almost three hours to fall asleep, then once she was asleep she would either wake from terrible dreams or she would sleep restlessly through them. Either way, she never woke up rested, and there was no point in calling off work to catch up on sleep because it wouldn't work anyway. Already she had raided the company's pharmacy for sleep aids, but so far they did little to help; actually, she had gotten to the point of dependency on at least two of them and had to force herself to give them up before she suffered any other ill effects. They didn't put her to sleep or keep her asleep anyway.

After waiting a minute, she pulled up the sleeve of her suit jacket to check her watch. It wasn't bright and early. Actually, it was a quarter after ten in the morning and she was just arriving. She had already missed an important board meeting. With a tired groan she picked up her briefcase when the elevator finally opened and she stepped into it, providing identification when prompted to reach her office suite on the top floor of the building. The elevator started its ascent and she again leaned against the wall, her head tilted back to see her reflection in the mirror ceiling. She frowned when she saw herself, unappreciative of the dark bags under her eyes she could no longer hide with makeup. Haggard. That was the best way to describe her appearance of late.

Barely noticing the ding as the elevator reached her floor, she trudged into her office when the door slid open. Everything was the same as it always had been, with the oversized desk in front of the window that spanned the wall, the same leather furniture, a kitchenette off to one side, and a door that led into a lavatory. But now each time she entered her office she felt a cold chill pass over her, as if she were haunted by her own powerful presence. It wasn't her, of course, that was putting her on edge, but rather the feeling of dread that still lingered and the memory of a disembodied whisper and an apparition of a man. Since that day two months ago she hadn't seen or heard anything else, but she could practically feel whatever it was lurking around her, never felt more strongly than when she was here, in what used to be her sanctuary.

Slowly she walked toward her desk, greedily gulping down the last dregs of her latte, hoping that the caffeine would somehow energize her enough to get through another rough workday. Then she nearly tripped up the step to her desk and cursed as some of her drink dripped onto her blouse, staining it. She was still grumbling to herself and trying to rub it off with a tissue when the phone rang. Startled, she nearly dumped more coffee on herself, snarling angrily as she slammed her cup down on the desk and picked up the receiver.

"What?" she hissed into the phone.

"M-Miss Brief?" she heard a man ask nervously. It was gratifying to know she could still strike fear into the hearts of men, even if he was a sniveling coward to start with. She already knew it was the assistant to the director of the automotive division.

"Who else would answer my phone?"

"Oh, right. Well, you see, Mr. Buford needs to, uh, cancel his meeting this afternoon."

Bulma's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean he has to cancel his meeting?"

"It's um, just that he hasn't quite finished drawing up the uh, the plans you wanted."

Her knuckles were white from gripping the phone so tightly. "You tell him he'll finish them and present them at the meeting this afternoon or he can start cleaning out his office immediately." Without waiting for a reply she slammed the phone down and stormed around her desk to collapse into her chair.

She could hardly believe the nerve of that man! Mr. Buford had been promoted to director of automotives when she fired the old director. She had thought he would be capable of handling the position, but she was clearly mistaken. This wasn't the first time he failed to meet a deadline she set, and he had only been in the position for two months. Without sleep she was less able than usual to handle frustration; her employees should know better than to cross her. Holding back a yawn, she picked up her latte and finished it off, tossing the empty cup in the trash. If today was like the previous three weeks, the trash can would be full of coffee cups by the time she went home.

Caffeine wasn't even enough to keep her head clear, so she wasn't sure why she continued to bother with it. Maybe because by now she was addicted and didn't want to deal with the headaches that would surely come if she quit drinking it in copious amounts. She knew she wasn't doing herself any good by downing coffee, but at this point she would do anything to stay awake. There was nothing more embarrassing than waking up with her face sticking to the table in a puddle of drool during a board meeting. She was able to explain it away once, but she couldn't let anything like that happen again. So, forcing herself to make do with three or four hours of sleep a night, she continued coming in to work every day.

Not even sure where to start anymore, she turned on her computer to check her email. She waited impatiently for it to boot up, and when it did she almost had to hold back a sob when she saw how many urgently marked emails were waiting in her inbox. There was no way there could be that many emergencies in her company in one morning. Out of frustration and exhaustion she deleted them all without reading them. If anything was important, another message would be sent later or a phone call would be made.

She had never felt so out of control before in her life. Barely able to make it from one moment to the next, she felt like she was falling into a deep abyss. Her moodiness, already a legend, had become even worse to the point where even the few employees who hadn't been scared of her now took great pains to avoid crossing paths with her. She would walk through the halls of headquarters barking orders, issuing threats, and shouting complaints criticizing almost everything she saw. Nothing anyone did was good enough for her, including herself. Bulma knew the quality of her work was suffering; she made several bad investments, botched a merger, and made serious errors in calculations that led to defective products. She was beginning to think it was time to try the hands-off approach to running the company instead of trying to micro-manage everything.

But she couldn't. No, Bulma Brief was in charge and she wanted to personally see to it that every aspect of her booming corporation was running smoothly like a fine-tuned engine. It was better for her to stay involved in about everything going on at headquarters. It was tiring, stressful, and at times irritating, but she didn't trust her employees to not make a mess of things if left unattended for too long. She definitely wasn't going to take a step back. It would have been easier, but she decided she was going to take even more control over the goings-on at Capsule Corporation. When she started feeling out of control, even powerless, she clung even tighter to what she had and worked to gain more power. She would not be evicted from her position as most powerful woman in the world. Even if it meant losing her mind and losing sleep, she was going to stay on top and put so much distance between herself and the leading competitor that there was no way she would ever be overtaken.

With a weary shake of her head, she started reviewing recent purchases of raw materials for manufacture in the building sector of her company. That particular division had been having trouble staying within its budget and maintaining the strict efficiency she demanded. Either the head of the division was incompetent or she had overlooked something when she made a deal with the company she bought the materials from. After an hour of searching through her records, she found the prices were inflated and some of what they had been receiving was of sub-standard quality. When she saw what was going on she growled low in her throat and slammed her fist down on her desk.

"That son of a bitch!" she snapped. She reached over and picked up her phone and dialed the number of the CEO of the building materials company, rage burning in the pit of her stomach. If there was one thing she had zero tolerance for, it was being cheated by another company that was largely dependent on her business for success.

The phone rang four times before someone picked up on the other end. "Hello, you have reached the office of Mr. Conneer."

Bulma's lip curled contemptuously. She resented having to go through a secretary to get to the jugular of the company. "This is Bulma Brief. I demand to speak with Mr. Conneer immediately."

There was a short pause. "M-Ms. Brief, I'm sorry, but Mr. Conneer is currently in a meeting."

"I said immediately," Bulma replied icily. "Or you can expect your company to be out of business within the hour."

She heard an audible gulp on the other end. The secretary finally managed to squeak out, "Yes, Ms. Brief, please hold." Bulma barely heard the last word spoken before the obnoxiously cheerful hold music started playing. She decided if she had to wait longer than two minutes she was breaking her contract with the company and buying supplies from someone else.

Not even a minute later the music was cut off when Mr. Conneer picked up the phone and greeted her cordially, "Hello, Ms. Brief. How may I help you?"

By then Bulma was practically seething with rage. "I want to know why you've been selling me overpriced products, half of which have to be returned because they're in poor condition!"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Brief, but I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't seen any reports on this."

Finely manicured nails rapped against an oversized mahogany desk. "Stop lying to me, Mr. Conneer. You thought I wouldn't notice. Now, either you cut the prices by fifty per cent or you can take your business elsewhere. But I guarantee you'll have a hard time finding anyone interested in your services once I'm through with you."

There was a long pause. She could mentally picture the man scratching the bald spot on the back of his head, his lips moving as he silently considered what to do. He knew better than to try going head-to-head with the president of Capsule Corporation, but he would also be losing some serious profit if he gave in to her demands. But he would be doing himself an even greater fiscal disservice by denying her demand; he knew she was perfectly capable and willing to tear his company apart with bad media and through her personal and business networks.

"And," she added after she thought she had given him adequate time to ponder her threat, "If I don't see an improvement in quality with the next shipment, you can consider our deal off."

"Yes, Ms. Brief," he said. She thought his tone sounded rather defeated. That's the way she liked it. A little ego boost never hurt, reminding her she was the highest on the totem pole.

"Very good. I expect to see a report on why you've been sending me trash for the past eight months this afternoon. Good day." With a triumphant huff she returned the phone to its cradle and propped up her feet on the desk. "Bastard."

Her triumph soon wore off as she returned her attention to the towering stack of paperwork on her desk. There was so much to get done and she hardly had the mental capacity to deal with it anymore. She was still a master at intimidation, but that wasn't going to be enough to keep her company running for long. Running her fingers through her hair, she exhaled slowly and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. If only she weren't so tired she might be able to concentrate on something long enough to get it done well.

With a shrug she grabbed the top packet of papers from her desk and started scanning through it. Reports on her company's finances and projected earnings for the next quarter. She found herself staring at the graphs and charts blankly, not truly comprehending what she was seeing. Growing increasingly frustrated with herself, she dropped the report down on her desk and got up to make some coffee. She was already feeling jittery from the pot of coffee she drank at breakfast and the latte she downed on the way to headquarters, but that didn't deter her from using another pot of coffee as a crutch to stay awake.

"Damn it," she muttered. "Why can't I just get some sleep? All I need is one night without waking up a hundred times."

While her coffee was brewing, she went back over to her desk and opened her briefcase, pulling out the bottle of anxiety medication. Not sure if it was the reason her paranoia had lessened somewhat over the past few weeks, she kept taking it. Though, she had to admit, with all the caffeine she was ingesting she was rather high-strung and anxious even with it. Maybe it wasn't effective at all. Not that it mattered. Even if it was nothing but the placebo effect, she wanted to stop feeling like she was in grave danger every moment of every day.

As she popped a pill in her mouth, she thought she heard someone behind her. She whirled around, expecting to see the elevator door closing behind a director of some company division, but there was no one there. She scowled at the empty room as if daring it to start with the mind games again. Though she still had the nagging sense of dread in the undercurrents of her subconscious, she had mostly been able to ignore it. Now, when she outright thought maybe she was getting better, it starts again. The paranoia, hallucinations, foreboding. No. Shaking her head, as if telling herself no would be enough to keep her sane, she marched over to the kitchenette and poured herself a cup of coffee.

And for the rest of the afternoon she didn't suffer from any severe problems. From time to time she would think she saw some motion out of the corner of her eye, and sometimes she thought she heard a faint whisper – more like a deep, rumbling purr – but it was never enough to distract her much from her work. Her fatigue was more problematic than her imagination. If anything, she was simply starting to not care if she was being haunted by some sort of office ghost or other such nonsense. She was Bulma Brief, and she would not cower in fear because of some incorporeal pest. Even if it was only in her own mind.

Now, if only she could control herself so well in her sleep. Or even when she was trying to go to sleep. That was when she was vulnerable to the fear and apprehension that kept creeping into the back of her mind. The feelings had seemingly taken up unwelcome residence in her psyche, and no matter how much medication she took to rid herself of the paranoia, it was still there, still clawing at her most noticeably when she lay down at night to rest. During the day it had actually become a source of motivation to work harder. Despite being incredibly exhausted, when she buried herself in work she was able to forget about it, push it to the side as if shelving it for the day only to inspect late at night when she had nothing else on her mind. Surprisingly, she had made her company even more successful financially and started a new marketing campaign that was highly effective and affordable since losing out on sleep. She made more deals with rival companies, merged two, and ran at least a dozen into the ground. She was unmerciful to the competition and had no qualms about putting others out of business, often picking up the best employees from the failed businesses. Hence, Capsule Corporation had a growing, outstanding team of scientists and engineers who kept her company progressing ahead of the rest. Lack of sleep was harming her physically, but in a way she appreciated the way it gained her greater power, even if she felt like she was falling apart and sinking under the pressure of her position. Sometimes it was so bad she hardly cared anymore, but she would force herself to continue her work with a newfound drive to compensate for her apathy.

Finally five o'clock rolled around and Bulma packed up her briefcase and sent a few memos to her employees working the next shift. While the rest of the city slept, Capsule Corporation was still working around the clock. It was only in the past three years that she started hiring a team of third shift employees, but she was pleased with the results. Even more innovations were made when her company was running all day and all night. Yawning, Bulma shut down her computer and pulled her coat on. She didn't bother looking over her shoulder when she thought she felt someone breathing down her neck, instead picking up her briefcase and striding over to the elevator to leave.

"Good evening," she bit out sarcastically. If anyone was really there, he laughed. Once the door to the elevator opened she stepped onto it and pushed the button to take her down to the main floor. The door reopened and she click-clacked across the polished tile to the doors, nodding her goodbye curtly to the receptionist. She held her head high as she made her exit though her body felt like it was a strange combination of lead and jelly. Heavy, sluggish, wobbly, weak. Each step she took was strenuous. Kami, she needed sleep. Real sleep. But she doubted she would get any no matter how tired she was.

That night she went to bed early, ignoring the work she brought home to look over in preparation for the next day. She no longer cared about all the reports and contracts she needed to read. With her belly full of succulent roast beef and homemade bread, she retired to her bedroom, hardly able to drag herself up the stairs. It was difficult explaining to her parents that she was fine, not coming down with an illness, not needing a break from work as it had been every night for at least a month and a half. Was her exhaustion really so obvious? She knew it was. Even if she could hide the physical signs, she was unable to stop herself from snapping at them with excessive venom, a clear indicator of her need for rest.

Bulma sat on the edge of her bed, her briefcase held limply in her hands. She was almost ashamed of herself for the way she talked to her parents at dinner. Criticizing her father's management style when he offered a rare piece of input on how she should run the company, explicitly telling her mother she didn't care about anything having to do with gardening or baking. She dropped her briefcase and rested her face in her hands. What was happening to her? Why was she falling apart like this? It couldn't be the stress of her job. She thrived on that. It made adrenaline pump through her veins, giving her an edge when she needed to push her plans in meetings or when she had to deal with slacking employees or business partners.

Adrenaline overdrive? Was she just too hyped up on her own hormones to be able to rest well? Doubtful. She had been running on adrenaline for a long time before this insufferable insomnia started. After sitting still for a few minutes, she finally opened her briefcase and took out the bottle of pills. They rattled against the plastic bottle, the sound low and hollow. Almost empty. Frowning, she opened it and took out another pill, put it in her mouth, and swallowed. It wouldn't help, she already knew that. But she clung to the hope that maybe her anxiety would ease enough for her to sleep soundly through the night. And not have that terrible recurring dream…

She stood up abruptly, accidentally pushing her briefcase onto the floor. Papers flew out and her taser bounced under the bed. Rolling her eyes, she lowered herself to her hands and knees and started gathering the papers, now out of order. Her hand stopped when she saw one of the papers was a copy of a newspaper article. The headline ran "CC MONOPOLIZING GLOBAL MARKET?" She slid the paper closer to her so she could read the article. She snorted as she skimmed through it; obviously Capsule Corporation was taking over every area of industry. It was knocking out its competitors with minimal effort and growing stronger and wealthier with each passing day. Their stock was through the roof and every aspiring scientist was clamoring for an opportunity to work at her corporation. Was that so wrong? The writer of this article seemed to think so. Something about it being unlawful, bad for the overall economy, and that it was giving one person (Bulma Brief) too much power even over the government.

Biting her bottom lip, Bulma logged the name of the journalist in her memory. She would see to it that this person never wrote for another newspaper or magazine. Hell, she wouldn't even be able to write a blog when Bulma was through with her. Along with that she made a mental note to try to keep her business dealings low-key for a while. She certainly wasn't going to give up her global domination, but she could at least keep the public from going into an uproar and fighting to keep her in check. She was Bulma Brief, damn it, and no one was going to limit her as she fought to gain more power, greater prestige, and higher fame. The world answered to her, not the other way around.

Her anger soon dissipated as a fresh wave of exhaustion overcame her. She pushed her hair back behind her ears and finished picking up the papers and her taser, packing them away in her briefcase for tomorrow. Instead of standing up to get ready for bed, she sat back on her heels and leaned against the side of the bed, resting her head on the soft comforter. It would take so much effort to stand. Mustering up what little energy she could find, she slowly raised herself to her feet and stood on shaky legs, wobbling from side to side as she tried to keep her balance.

"Why can't I sleep?" she murmured. "Just one night…"

Ignoring what may have been someone snickering, she started undressing, leaving her clothes on the floor to pick up later as she pulled on her pajamas. Turning, she shuffled to her bathroom, nearly tripping as her feet got caught up in the clothes on the floor. She grumbled angrily as she kicked them aside before making it to the bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror a long time staring at her reflection. It disgusted her how old she looked. So old she couldn't cover it with makeup, though she tried anyway. She stifled a yawn as she brushed her hair and pulled it up into a ponytail so she could wash her face and brush her teeth.

Once she was ready for bed, she trudged back into her bedroom, the bottoms of her feet rubbing against the soft carpet. Her room was slightly chilly, but she liked it that way. It made sliding under the warm blankets much more satisfying and she would curl up with the covers twisted around her like a cozy cocoon. Yawning once more, as if to convince herself she was indeed tired and in need of sleep, she pulled the covers back and got into bed, switching off the light before lying down.

It was in the darkness that her paranoia came full-force. Bulma squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the shadows creeping across the wall and over the ceiling, haunting her. She didn't want to see the black flame or hear the low growling voice speaking in the deepest parts of her mind. She didn't want to feel like she was being watched, even toyed with. All she wanted was to shut it all out and go to sleep quickly, stay asleep, and not be plagued with unsettling dreams. Dreams where she had no control, where she was weak and powerless, subjects to the whim of someone greater. Someone she couldn't even see, someone she could never know.

After resting on her back for a few minutes, the blue-haired heiress rolled onto her left side and slowly released a deep breath. Eyes still closed, she buried her face in her pillow and pulled her blanket up over her head. Anything to block out the looming shadows. She felt like a child hiding from the monster in her closet or under her bed. There was nothing there, she knew there wasn't, but that didn't quell her fear. She wondered as she did every night what was wrong with her. Why couldn't she sleep? Why couldn't she calm her mind enough to find rest? Groaning, she flipped over to her other side and peeked above her covers to see the clock on her nightstand. She had only been in bed for ten minutes. It felt like hours.

Closing her eyes again, she tried to think of anything but the feeling of being watched, that she wasn't alone in her room. She thought of better ways to control the media, a new marketing strategy for the struggling clothing line, and which piece of land she should buy for a new warehouse. But no matter how much she tried to occupy her mind, she couldn't ignore the paranoia any longer. During the day, she had control over it. At night, it was unmanageable. Tonight was no different. After trying for half an hour to take her mind off it, she gave up and groaned as she rolled over yet again, making sure not to glance at the clock, knowing it would only frustrate her more to see how much time she wasted lying there without sleeping.

"I'd do about anything for some sleep," she whispered to her pillow.

"Not yet, but soon you will." Her eyes opened wide. It was hard to tell if that voice was in her mind or if it was real. The same husky voice she thought she heard before. Raising a trembling hand, she pushed her covers down to her chin and looked around her room. Only shadows. She swallowed and flipped the covers back over her head.

'This is ridiculous,' she thought rationally. 'No one is here, no one is talking to me. Stop being so stupid! Just go to sleep and you'll feel better in the morning. And you won't hear any imaginary voices anymore.' Nodding to herself, she forced her tense muscles to relax. Still, it was a long time before she finally sank into a restless slumber.

She glanced down at her bare feet, the cold marble floor sending a chill through her body. She didn't have to see to know she was naked, so instead she lifted her chin to look around the dark space. As she expected, the floor was a white and black checkered board, and she was standing on a black square. Around her were life-size chess pieces. They weren't under her control; her own movements were not of her own volition. No matter how strongly she willed herself to step to another square, she couldn't unless some unseen outside force pushed her. It was frustrating, enraging, terrifying.

Across the board, she saw a knight move forward one row and across three squares to her right, putting her in jeopardy. She wondered what piece she was playing. At different times she was different pieces; sometimes a pawn, other times a bishop or rook, even the king. But never was she the queen, easily the most powerful piece in chess. She didn't think it was a coincidence.

She was still pondering her position when she was shoved diagonally to the square to her right, keeping her out of harm's way. Apparently she wasn't a pawn this time since that wouldn't be a legal move for one. Neither was she a knight or a rook. Well, then, she had to be a bishop, confined to the black squares of the board. Always limited in ways she could move, pieces she could take. She wanted the power to go anywhere and destroy whatever piece got in her way!

She scowled at the pawn that boldly moved into the space to her right. If she were a rook or a queen or even a king she could knock it out, but as a bishop she was unable to do anything to it. Crossing her arms, she puffed a strand of hair out of her face and tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the next move to be made. Always waiting for the unseen force, the one in control of the situation, her life.

As the game progressed she was put in greater and greater peril, barely making it out of some situations alive – for she was sure in this game of chess the penalty of losing was death – and being moved into positions where the only thing protecting her was the strategic placement of another piece on her side. She became increasingly petrified as she could imagine one of the giant marble pieces crushing her. She never dared touch one, even when she moved into the square to take one out. They were too intimidating, towering over her ominously. She was engulfed by their shadows, making her feel small and feeble in comparison.

It felt like only minutes had passed and only a few pieces remained, including her. She was moved into position to check the opposing king, but the king moved. She stamped her foot when it got away. Why couldn't she just win the game? Get it over and done with? Then a knight on her side moved, preparing to check the king again. After its move, the remaining rook on the other side moved into her row; there were no pieces between it and her, meaning she would either have to move or die. She balled her hands into fists and looked around nervously when she sensed a hesitation in the unknown force, the one controlling her. Would it sacrifice her?

Her heart stopped when she saw the king she had been working so hard to protect move back one square, keeping safe from another anticipated move made by the other side. She wasn't going to be saved. With wide eyes filled with tears of fear, she watched the rook come charging at her. All she could do was hold out her hands to block it, weakly defending herself –

Bulma woke up gasping, a thin layer of sweat coating her face and chest. In retrospect, it wasn't that scary, but when she was in the game, when it really was life or death, the danger was horrible. And the powerlessness – that was what she hated the most. She couldn't move on her own, being forced to depend on someone else's whims. And when she wasn't deemed important enough, she was left to die. It wasn't fair, and it left her clinging ever more tightly to the power she held in real life.

To her, everything was a game of strategy with her playing to win. She would conquer anyone who opposed her, swiftly and without remorse. But she never felt like she was powerful enough. Was that why she was never the queen? Was that why she couldn't control her own movement? She shook her head, not wanting to think about it too much. It was nothing but a silly dream – though it managed to keep her up half the night – and there was no point in analyzing it. No one was using her as a pawn in his or her own grand scheme. She was independent and autonomous and incredibly powerful. She was Bulma Brief. And she was tired. Closing her eyes again, she willed herself to find sleep once more, praying to Kami that she wouldn't dream of chess again.

A/N: I guess this isn't really one of my more popular stories, but I want to get it finished. As long as it's unfinished it's going to be a distraction for me. Anyway, I have a couple more chapters written, so I can do regular updates for a while. It's not going to be long anyway...I've planned 13 chapters total. Sadly, I also have to admit I'm not putting as much effort into this story as I do some of my others. If there's a noticeable lack of quality, let me know and I'll work harder to improve it for your reading pleasure. And, of course, I would love reviews good or bad. By the way, I finally got a job, so I'm pretty busy now (I'm away from home 13 hours a day), so not much writing is going to happen anymore. I've got another story in the works, but I likely won't start posting it for a long time. I've also hit writer's block in Guardian of Vegetasei (as I do after every chapter I write), so updates won't be happening in that one for a while. So I hope you can enjoy this story since it's probably going to be the only one I'll be updating for a while.

Beta'd by lilpumpkingirl