The Girl With Aquamarine Eyes (3 page)

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted when the study
door flung open with a whoosh, striking the opposite wall. The surprise sent
the bottle Bice held crashing to the floor. Harmon’s housekeeper rushed in, her
dark eyes ablaze.

“Mr. Steele, please come quickly. There are horrible noises
coming from that girl’s room.”

The Mexican woman was dancing from toe to toe, quivering
with fright at the dreadful sounds drifting downstairs behind her. She gaped at
the ceiling above, as if waiting for some supernatural force to swoop down and
teleport her back to her homeland.

“Bonita, her name is Heaven.” Harmon scolded the maid
politely. “Not ‘that girl’.”

“Mr. Steele, come quickly.” She demanded, her eyes wide with
terror. “She is destroying her suite, and I won’t be the one to clean it!”

Bice and Harmon stared at each other incredulously.
Simultaneously, they raced out the study door, and up the long flight of stairs
toward the devil girl’s room.

* * *

She’d waited patiently for the baboon with pictures on his arms and
his sidekick to leave. Quietly she listened as their footsteps faded into
silence down the hall.

She crawled from the bed and inched herself along the floor
toward the room with running water, dragging her wounded legs behind her.

She gazed at the walls from her position on the floor,
searching for an object she could use. Soon, she found what she needed. A large
metal bar was rooted into the wall, which held some sort of colorful cloth.

She hoisted herself onto the slice of wood which protruded
from the wall, and studied the many pretty objects which sat upon it. One at a
time, she lifted each bottle and inhaled their scents. Some contained sweet
liquids which smelled of the island flowers.

She quickly pushed them aside, and studied the cold tube
which was anchored into the wall. She struggled momentarily, lost in time,
trying to put a name to the soft cloth which it held. She pressed it to her
face and inhaled the scent. A towel. That was it, a towel.

She pulled it off and let it fall silently to the floor. She
grasped its holder and pulled with all her strength. Pieces of plaster soon
began to crack from behind it, until a spider web of chips fell like raindrops
across the floor. She pressed her knees into the wall, rocked back and forth
and pulled with every ounce of strength she could muster.

It suddenly gave way and came out of the wall with a whoosh,
throwing her off the counter. She landed with a crash amongst a tumble of
bottles and other lovely objects which had adorned the surface. They shattered
onto the floor around her, filling the air with an almost sickly aroma of every
island flower she had ever smelled in her young life.

As she lay stunned on the cold tile, she could feel the cool
liquids seep into the lovely nightdress she had awoken in, enveloping her in
their powerful fragrance.

Undeterred, she grasped the metal pole and began chipping
away at the hardened stone on her leg. From her knee to her ankle she patiently
chipped. Soon, the crack grew until she was able to wriggle her fingers into
the gap and split it wide open. Pleased, she carefully began working on the
opposite leg.

She stood up and dusted the shards of glass and plaster from
her nightdress. Gazing in disbelief at the mess she’d made, she reddened with
shame. Quickly, she scooped up the pretty bottles into her outstretched gown
and carefully placed them back where they once proudly stood.

She sighed and shook her head in frustration. There seemed
to be many more bottles now. Maybe the morons wouldn’t notice.

She gazed at the two large chunks of petrified earth she’d
pried from her legs. She glanced around in hopes of finding a place to hide
them. Maybe, the baboon and his sidekick wouldn’t see they were missing from
her legs.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps pounding up the stairs.
Frantically, she glanced around the small room, searching for a hiding place
for the broken pieces of earth. But there was nothing to be found in the small
area.

They were rushing down the hall now. Desperate, she quickly
picked the pieces up and tossed them through the doorway toward the darkened
corner in the bedroom. Hopefully, they would lay hidden where they fell.

But too late, she realized with horror she’d missed her
mark. She wasn’t surprised. She’d never been much good at the coconut toss game
back on the island.

To her dismay the heavy pieces spun out of control through
the air and as if in slow motion, crashed out the beautiful picture window with
a reverberating bang.

Harmon burst into the room and gazed at the sight before
him.

What he set eyes upon, his mind could not fully absorb.
Maybe Bice was right. Maybe he should have listened to his manager. After all,
for the most part he’d listened to him the better part of five years. And for
the most part, as much as he hated to admit it, Bice had usually been right
about things. Some things at least.

The girl was standing in front of the window, gazing in unmistakable
horror at him. A large hole in the ornamental glass framed her silhouette. The
ten-thousand dollar, one of a kind artwork he’d flown in from Italy was
destroyed. A salty ocean breeze from the cliffs beyond blew gently through the
ragged opening. The tattered silk curtains billowed in the breeze, tossing
honey colored wisps of hair around Heaven’s pale face.

He stared at her feet. Red and blue, yellow and orange
cabochons from the window littered the floor around her. Amber liquid dripped
from her nightdress, silently falling to the floor amongst the remnants of his
masterpiece.

He noticed a smell. A God-awful smell, as the once still air
churned throughout the suite. The smell of a thousand old perfumes dumped
together and blended into one. An overpowering, sickening scent of a hundred
old ladies gathered around him, poking their bony fingers into his face and
scolding him for lifting a girl’s skirt in class.

But, there was something else. Something more was wrong
other than the shattered window. Something besides the smell. He squinted at
the girl and studied her carefully. He could feel Bice’s hot breath on his neck
millimeters behind him, coming in ragged gasps.

Through watery eyes he gazed at her legs. Her porcelain
perfect legs. The legs which were mangled on the island only a week ago. The
same legs which the doctors told him would never be the same. He’d been warned
she would need years of therapy, and she may still never walk. He hadn’t even
mustered the courage to tell her she’d quite possibly be crippled for life.

He glanced at the calendar on his diamond encrusted watch.
The accident was last Friday. Not two weeks ago, not three weeks ago. Seven
days ago.

He thumped his watched madly and pressed it to his ear. He
struggled to hear the near silent
tick-tick-tick
of the timepiece. It
was working perfectly. It damned sure better, it’d cost him a day’s salary.

He studied the girl who called herself Heaven once again.
She was standing up normally, bearing her full weight. Her legs were perfect. Normal
and healthy. No scars, nothing out of the ordinary. Her legs looked like they’d
been in a damned shark attack only one week ago.

Now, they appeared as if they’d never injured to begin with.
As if she hadn’t almost bled to death in front of him, before he finally
wrenched the tree from her limp body and stopped the deadly flow.

She moved. He watched as she easily took one step, another
and another, until she was nearly to the bed. She leapt the last few feet
through the air into it, quickly pulled the covers over herself, until all he
could see were her eyes above the sheets.

Her unforgettable aquamarine eyes, with their tiny gold
flecks of sun. The same eyes which had haunted him for years. The penetrating
eyes he’d hopelessly tried to forget.

The phone was ringing. He turned to look at Bice. Bice was
deathly pale, staring in stunned silence at the girl peeking from behind the
covers. He must answer the phone, apparently Bice had checked out on him. His
manager didn’t look well at all. He looked like he needed a very, very long
vacation. The ringing, the blasted incessant ringing continued.

He’d find the phone, rip it from the wall and toss it out
the window. It wasn’t like the window wasn’t shattered anyway. Maybe he’d toss
out the TV as well, for old time’s sake.

Then he remembered. There was no phone in this suite. He’d
had it taken out when his ex-girlfriend who once occupied it, left him for
another musician. One who could sell records in the States. The worthless bimbo
and her smelly perfumes. Good riddance.

The ringing persisted. It grew louder and louder, until it
finally reached a deafening crescendo.

Too late, he realized the true meaning of the high pitched
wail. Dizziness overtook him as his belly began to churn and spin. The room
began to shift. His mouth fell open as he watched the broken window move from
the western wall, and silently march toward the southern wall.

He stumbled momentarily, teetering on the border of heaven
and hell. He hoped he’d fall on the heaven side, he’d honestly tried to do
right in his life. For the most part. Well, some of the time. Actually, once in
awhile.

Mercifully he passed out in a cold faint, never realizing
nor caring which side he landed on.

* * *

Heaven watched as a strange woman dressed in an apron, Bice, and a
large burly man with many long, yellow braids came into the room.

They lifted the fire-haired man from the floor and carried
him silently out the door. The devil who called himself Harmon Steele had
fallen fast asleep on the floor. Maybe he’d gone to sleep because she broke the
window.

She gazed at the once beautiful ornamental pane from her
bed. Her stomach wrenched in dismay. She hadn’t meant to break it. She studied
the colorful squares of glass scattered across the floor.

Her gaze moved to the room with running water. The counter
was littered with shattered bottles and broken decorations, which she’d tried
in vain to place back in order. The metal rod from the wall lay bent and
twisted on the floor amongst pieces of the dried earth she’d pried from her
legs.

His words rang in her mind. He said she would live here, and
he wouldn’t take her back to the orphanage. Maybe this place wouldn’t be so bad
after all. It was better than going back to the home for unwanted children. The
children who found her odd and strange and who stayed away.

Except for Dreams, her only friend. Dreams understood her
and accepted her, when she didn’t even understand herself. Maybe, just maybe,
if she cleaned up the mess and fixed the broken things Harmon would forgive
her. And maybe, he’d bring Dreams back here to live.

She wiped the salty tears from her eyes and quietly slipped
from the bed. She picked up the lovely pieces of colored glass scattered across
the floor. One at a time, ever so carefully, she placed the shiny stones back
into place on the broken pane.

She placed her hand against the glass, feeling as the warmth
of the sun swirled and became one with the heat from within her fingertips.
Soon, she could feel a vaguely familiar searing fire race across her palm.

She held her hand firmly in place, patiently waiting as the
glass beneath became molten lava, melding the broken pieces back into place.
One at a time she worked as sweat trickled down her back, soaking her gown.
Piece by piece, she carefully placed the broken shards back into the pattern
they once occupied.

Finally, all the pieces were back in place. The hole was
gone. The lovely picture of a large bird amongst beautiful flowers once again
adorned the center of the formerly shattered pane.

She was suddenly very tired. She must sleep. She gazed at
the bed, already knowing she could not make it back to its comfort. She
teetered in dizziness a moment, fell to the floor in a heap, gasping in
exhaustion.

The colorful beams of sunlight filtered through the lovely
glass, casting dancing prisms of rainbow hues across her, as she dreamt of her
lost island.

* * *

“Harmon, can you hear me?” Bice shook the musician again.

They’d carried the unconscious man to his suite and laid him
on the bed. Hawk, Harmon’s bodyguard, excused himself to other matters. Matters
which included eating donuts and watching wrestling on TV. Bonita excused
herself, feigning dinner time was right around the corner.

He checked his watch. Harmon had been out nearly two hours.
He needed to wake soon, someone needed to check on the hell girl in the suite
next door. By now she’d be half starved, and from the way she looked and
smelled was in desperate need of a bath. He’d be damned if he would give her
one. She was Harmon’s problem, not his. He shook the musician again.

Harmon moaned, and fluttered his eyes open. “Bice?”

“You’ve been out nearly two hours. Someone needs to check on
Heaven, and I’m not waving my hand in the air as a volunteer.”

Harmon sat up, and gazed around his familiar suite. The
setting sun loomed against the hills in the horizon, their orangey glow
filtered through the window. He suddenly remembered the majestic window in the
suite next door.

His one-of a-kind masterpiece was destroyed. An object d’art
which for all intents and purposes, should be hanging safely in an Italian
museum. No, it wasn’t the window. He struggled to remember why he’d fainted. He
grabbed Bice by the shirt. “Did you see her legs?”

A wave of confusion made its way across his assistant’s
face. “Yeah, I did. I don’t know Harmon, you sure brought back some kind of
freak from that island.”

“How the hell did she do that?” Harmon cried. “It’s
impossible, do you hear me? Impossible. I saw her legs with my own eyes. They
looked like shark bait, do you hear me?”