The Girl With Aquamarine Eyes (34 page)

Shuddering, he remembered seeing the reflection of a fiery
wreck within her eyes. Perhaps, his father had seen something too when he’d set
eyes upon Heaven.

He sighed. He knew he would never have a future with her,
other than as a dear friend.

She was too pure, too perfect and too innocent. She would
always be vulnerable to a madman acting on a whim. But a friend she would be
forever. He’d rather have her as a friend anyway. He couldn’t bear it if a real
relationship with her failed. A friend would be a friend forever, no matter
what.

He suddenly heard a moan from behind a thicket. He rushed to
investigate, hoping beyond hope it was not a wild animals. Bears often littered
the outskirts of town in search of morsels left behind by campers or hikers.

He ran toward a stand of trees, and found his father face
down in the leaves. The man had apparently crawled away from the searing heat,
after having been thrown clear of the wreckage.

He rushed to his fallen father. He gently turned him over,
searching for a sign of life. He pressed his shaking fingers against the man’s
wrist, and thankfully, found a weak and fluttery heartbeat. “Hang on Dad, help
is coming.” He whispered.

He raced through the stand of trees and out into the open
field, and screamed.

* * *

Hawk pulled the Limo into the circular drive, and carefully parked
it in front of the entrance.

He glanced into the rearview mirror once more. All was quiet
in the back of the car., the golden light was gone. The lovely scent of flowers
had drifted away into the rising dawn. He pressed the intercom button and gazed
into the mirror. “Is everything all right back there?”

“Yes.” Harmon replied. “I’ll carry Heaven upstairs. Would
you mind bringing Bice inside?”

Hawk moaned. “Have you lost your mind? Shouldn’t we be
taking him to the morgue?”

Harmon was at a loss for words. He knew he could never
explain to Hawk the miracle he’d witnessed in the back seat. Not that he didn’t
trust the burly man, but more so Hawk would never be able to absorb it, or
comprehend it or even believe it. But there was no choice. He must try, he
couldn’t possibly carry them both upstairs.

He gazed at Hawk’s bloodshot eyes in the mirror. “Come back
here, I want to show you something.”

Hawk grumbled as he walked to the back of the car. He was
tired, damned tired. There was never a dull moment in the musician’s life. Each
and every day he found himself in the middle of some hell-bent drama, or a
carnival ride of chaos. Today was no exception.

He should be taking their friend’s body to the morgue, not
upstairs. The odd musician had certainly lost his mind this time. He sighed as
he jerked open the last door of the long car, and hesitantly peered in.

In his day, he’d seen almost all there was too see. He’d
seen far more his share of dead men riddled with bullets than he’d cared to
see. He’d pulled dead bodies to cover many times in the war. But he had never,
ever, seen one come back to life.

Bice had been dead, he had no doubt. Bice’s blood still
covered his own shirt, the crimson stains were not yet even dry.

But when Hawk, the invincible and manly fear-nothing
celebrity bodyguard opened the car door and gazed in, he suddenly felt like a
young boy again in school, getting licks from his teacher for fighting. The
tears had stung his eyes back then, as the teacher paddled him. Embarrassing
tears which had rarely come to surface since. Until now, this very moment.

He gasped and staggered backward as he watched Bice’s eyes
briefly flash open at him. The trace of a smile weakly played across his
once-fallen comrade’s cracked lips.

The big man fell to his knees, covered his face and sobbed.

* * *

The ambulance quickly rushed Dr. Killmore away, leaving Tommy in
its blowing dust. He watched silently as it sped toward the city lights in the
distance.

The firefighters had long since snuffed out the smoldering
wreckage in the canyon below. The sun was beginning to rise in the horizon, and
the winds were gradually picking up and bathing him in their salty breeze.

An officer approached him. “Son, could you tell me what
happened?” He pulled from his shirt pocket a small notebook, licked his finger
and slid a pen from behind his ear.

Tommy shook his head, as he slowly pried his eyes away from
the emergency vehicle’s taillights. No one would understand. Hell, he didn’t
even understand what’d happened.

“Son? Are you all right?”

He shook his head in dismay. No, he was not all right. Far
from it.

“Was your father the only one in the car?”

“Yes.” He lied.

“We ran a check on the vehicle, Tommy. That car doesn’t
belong to your father. Mind telling me why he was driving it?”

“I don’t know.” He chose his words carefully. “Tonight was
prom night, I was there with my friend. I took her home and ran out of gas on
the way back to my place.”

“Who is your friend, Tommy? Maybe he or she can give me more
information.”

“She can’t.”

“Why not?”

He hesitated again. “I told you, I took her home and I ran
out of gas. She went to bed. Now, will you kindly let me go to the hospital?”

“All right, son.” The officer replied. “We’ll get your car,
and I’ll follow you to there.”

“Thanks.” Tommy muttered.

He was too eager to get the hell out of the Godforsaken
canyon.

* * *

Harmon gently laid Heaven on her bed. She hadn’t stirred since the
moment she’d fallen unconscious to the floor of the car.

The lower half of her gown was charred and tattered, her
hair singed and burned from the heat of the explosion. Her hand was still
wrapped in the stained fabric he’d torn from his shirt. He would never
understand how she’d managed to escape the burning wreckage.

He dialed the phone on the bedside table. “Bonita, I need
you in Heaven’s suite, quickly.”

He checked his watch. It was seven in the morning. In his
industry, he was used to staying up all hours of the night and sleeping until
well after the noon hour. He was drained though, the night had been too much
even for him.

All because of one man, who was hell-bent on taking the
helpless girl. He’d never in his lifetime wished anyone dead, but this inhuman
monster would deserve it if he’d died in the fiery wreck.

He carefully raised Heaven’s charred gown, afraid of what he
might see. He glanced at her legs, but quickly glanced away. He slowly took
another look.

Her long legs were porcelain perfect, there was not a singed
hair on them. He stared closely at them, until his face was almost completely
under her gown.. He carefully felt her calves. There wasn’t even the slightest
bit of heat. He was far from surprised this time. As a matter of fact, he was
becoming quite accustomed to the strange phenomenon.

“Mr. Steele?” Bonita gasped. “What are you doing to that
poor girl?”

Startled, Harmon leapt backward at the housekeepers sudden
presence. Naturally, Heaven’s gown caught the back of his head. Unable to see,
he lost his balance and tumbled from the bed, effectively ripping the entire
skirt away from the bodice.

He fell to the floor and rolled and twisted under the
suffocating fabric. He fought with the blackened skirt desperately, as he tried
to pull it from his face.

“For the love of Mary!” Bonita stomped to the struggling
musician and yanked the skirting from his head. “What in blazes is going on in
here?”

“Blazes?” He groaned. “Must you use that word? Never mind,
help Heaven, she’s been in an accident. She should have been burned, but for
some unimaginable reason, she’s not.”

Bonita turned to take a closer look at the sleeping girl. “What
happened to her? For crying out loud, she look’s like she’s gone off a cliff!”

“That’s not funny. Tend to the wound on her hand, get her
cleaned up and in a nightdress. I’ve got to check on Bice.”

Bonita moved to the opposite side of the bed. She carefully
unwrapped the bloodied fabric from Heaven’s hand, and studied her palm.

“What wound, Mr. Steele?” She shook her head in confusion as
she studied him. “Have you been nipping at the liquor tonight, Sir?

He gazed at Heaven’s palm. Of course it too was porcelain
perfect, not a scratch or mark upon it. Not even a trace of blood. He should
have known.

But, it was not something he’d ever get used to. On queue,
his head slowly began to spin in dizzying confusion. No burns, and the wound on
her hand was gone as if it were never there to begin with. He’d seen her
smoking legs with his own eyes, he’d fought to put the flames out and had
heroically wrapped her sliced hand. He had no doubt, and he hadn’t touched a
damned drop of liquor in two solid hours.

He gaped at her unhurt palm, unable to break his stare. His
mouth opened and closed, but words would not come. In the distance of his
clouded mind, he could hear the dull ringing in his ears. The blasted,
incessant ringing was back once again. The sound soon grew into a shrill pitch,
a sound which he was quickly becoming familiar with.

Sometimes, things he thought he could get used to would
never be one in the same. And, Heaven was one of those things.

Thinking ahead this time, he grabbed a pillow from the bed
and laid down on the floor until the blasted ringing passed.

* * *

Hawk placed Bice carefully on the bed.

He slowly removed the tattered shirt from his friend, and
tossed it to the floor. He watched his chest rise and fall, deep in slumber.
There were no telltale marks on him, not a bruise, nor a scrape. A perfectly
normal chest.

He laid his hand across his chest, carefully feeling across
its warmth for a telltale sign of what might have happened to him. He pressed
his fingers along his sternum, and moved his hand carefully alongside his
ribcage. Nothing out of the ordinary stood out.

Still unconvinced, he laid his hand to Bice’s heart and
listened to the soft thumping from deep within.

“Mr. Hawk?” Bonita stared at him from the doorway. “What are
you doing to Bice?”

Hawk lurched away from his comrade, and stared at the maid
in the doorway. He was at a loss for words, which was not really unusual for
him. But words had never been of much importance to him anyway. He grunted, and
gazed in silence at the housekeeper.

Her eyes shot daggers at him. “Things are getting stranger
around here by the minute. Mr. Steele is taking a nap on the floor in Heaven’s
room. I need your assistance helping me get him to bed, if you can bear to
leave your object of admiration for a moment.”

She turned on her heel and hustled down the hallway, shaking
her head in disbelief.

* * *

Tommy sat for hours in the hospital waiting room, oblivious to the
noise around him. The television droned from some faraway land. Distant
laughter of children drifted in broken fragments into the furthest corners of
his tortured mind. He laid his head back, and closed his eyes.

He and Heaven were walking hand in hand along the windy
seashore. Frothy waves rushed across their bare feet. Their footprints quickly
disappeared, left behind in the glistening sand were only sprigs of sea grass
and foam.

She gazed at him with her lovely aqua eyes. He watched as
the breeze swept her hair into golden whirls behind her. She smiled at him. He
smiled back, and hugged her close. She smelled of the sun and the seas and the
sands.

Suddenly an ugly mass of rotting, twisted flesh jutted out
of the sand and stretched skyward. Its jelly like fingers grasped Heaven’s
ankle before either could react, and pulled her away from him into the foamy
torrent below.

She screamed in horror, and kicked at the vile flesh as it
twisted her into a downward spiral. But the creature held fast, easily pulling
her under. She was gone, drowning beneath his feet.

Her arm shot up from the watery sands and flailed once more,
reaching out for him.

He grasped her hand, and struggled to pull her from the
hellish demon. But the invisible force was much too strong. She slipped into
the torrid blackness, deep within a barren pit no living soul would ever see,
and disappeared.

With a final thrust, her arm rose from the sands once again.
She grabbed his hand tightly and shook it with the last bit of her ebbing
strength.

“Tommy?” The physician shook the sleeping boy’s arm. “Tommy,
wake up.”

Tommy sat up, and screamed. He gazed in fear at the white
blur in front of him.

“Tommy, you must’ve had a bad dream. I’m Dr. White, a friend
of your father’s. I’d like to talk to you about him. And afterwards, about
Heaven.”

* * *

Late that evening, Harmon woke.

He gazed around his quiet suite. Bonita had apparently come
and gone, never disturbing him. The room was immaculate, and a dinner tray sat
near his bedside.

He lifted the metal cover, and gasped in horror. She’d made
him tomato soup again. She knew he loathed tomato soup. He slammed the cover
back down, and shoved the tray away.

He sat up and groaned. Suddenly, he remembered the nightmare
from the night before. But it wasn’t a nightmare. It couldn’t have been. He
leapt from his bed and rushed out the door.

He raced down the hall and flung open Heaven’s door. He
froze in the doorway, afraid of what he might see. Perhaps a burned skeleton
lying quietly upon her bed, the remains of a charred ball gown clinging to her
blackened bones.

But she lay silently on the bed, undisturbed in her deep
slumber. Bonita had bathed her, brushed her hair and put her in a clean
nightdress.

His gaze fell to the floor. The smoldered prom dress and
bloodied strip of fabric were gone. Her tiara sat neatly on her bedside table.

He gently lifted her hand. It was smooth as silk, and soft
as a feather. No traces of the horrific injury were left behind. He gazed at
her palm, and studied the undisturbed fingerprints. Prints which should have
been cut away, or seared beyond recognition, were clearly unmarred.