The Girl With Aquamarine Eyes

by Shelley Madden

  “Later,” he continued, “I found out they put you in an orphanage. This sickened me. I felt guilty day and night, for not having the ability to help find you a home or take you in myself. I could have hired a nanny for you, sent you to the best schools and given you the life you deserved.”

  She stared at him with disdain. “Spare me your life story. Tell me where Dreams is.”

  “She’s back at the orphanage.” He gripped the arms of the chair tightly, waiting for the backlash.

  “Take me the hell back there!”

  “Where did you pick up that language? Tell me the monkeys on that island didn’t teach you this?”

  “From you, you said it. Now take me back!”

  “I can’t. I have temporary guardianship of you, until you are capable and of age to make it on your own. I won’t take you back to the orphanage. Ever.”

  She gazed at him in confusion. “What does that mean?”

  Bice chuckled. “It means you get to live here for now. You’re stuck with him.”

  She glared at Bice. “No, I don’t think so.”

  Bice defiantly crossed his arms and glared back at her. But before he could react and run for cover from the demon girl, he watched as she snatched the book off the bedside table and flung it at him. It whirled through the air, hit him across the forehead and tumbled to the floor in a whoosh of pages.

  He doubled over in surprise, clutching his head. His hand still stung where she’d bitten him, now his temple was throbbing. He reached up and felt the already-forming welt the book had left behind in its supersonic travels through midair.

  Enough was enough. He moved toward her with determination, leaned over the bed and met her gaze. “You do that again, I’ll knock you in the head with a book. Got it?”

  Unfazed, she grabbed a handful of his long hair and yanked it.

  He was ready this time. He quickly grasped her wrist and squeezed, forcing her to loosen her grip.

  The girl watched in horror as the color ebbed from her fingers. She realized he meant it, and finally let go. Tears formed in her eyes as she gazed at the two men. Silently, she slid under the sheet and covered her face. The fabric soon began to tremble in time with her heart wrenching cry.

  Harmon glared at his assistant. “You scared her!”

  “She’ll be fine, she’s being a cry baby.” Bice gently pulled the sheet from her face. “You got a name?”

  “Screw you!”

  He laughed. “Did I hear you correctly? Is that what they called you back at the home? I can hear it now at roll call. Annie- here. Beth- here. Screw You- here. Now go on, tell us your name.”

  Harmon burst into a shoulder-shaking round of laughter. This was better than an movie he’d watched, a hundred times better than the many hysterical groupie fights he’d witnessed.

  She gritted her teeth and glared at Bice. “Heaven.”

  Bice stared at her in shock. She was the farthest thing from heaven he’d ever set eyes upon. “Are you sure it’s not Hell?”

  “That isn’t funny. Dreams and I each picked a name when we lived on the island. I picked Heaven, because that’s what the island was like for us. Until your baboon friend came along.” She glared at Harmon.

  “That baboon saved your life.” Bice replied. “You owe him that much, Heaven.”

  Harmon leaned forward in the chair. He wouldn’t let a seventeen year old intimidate him. It’d taken months to find her, and for the longest time it was thought she and her friend had perished at sea.

  Their break had finally come when several passengers on the doomed ship reported seeing the girls leap overboard to the sea patrol. Harmon sent his plane to circle the nearest archipelago, until one day the pair were finally spotted.

  But the hurricane formed from what seemed a minor tropical storm. Its dark tentacles reached out behind the vessel as he sailed at full speed, threatening to drag him and his crew into its watery mansion. He arrived on the island only hours ahead of the deadly storm.

  She ran from him the moment he stepped on shore. He caught up to her, and begged her and her friend to come aboard with him. He’d tried in vain to explain to them the monster which lay only miles offshore.

  But instead, she’d jerked away from him and turned to leave. At that moment, a band of heavy rain and gale winds hit the island. The torrent threw him face first into the sands, as trees buckled and crashed to the ground around him. The next thing he knew, he was digging her mangled legs from under a felled tree.

  Heaven gazed at him with her mysterious golden tinted eyes. “Why do you draw pictures on your arms?”

  Bice immediately fell into a hearty round of laughter. He staggered backward against the wall. His laughter steadily grew louder, until he gave up the last of his dignity and wept.

  Harmon glared at his shameless assistant. “I didn’t draw them, they’re called tattoos. Each picture tells a story, a person I might have known or maybe a place I’ve been. This one is my car.”

  Heaven studied his arms closely. She gazed at each picture carefully, hoping to decipher the story behind each. Her eyes momentarily fluttered closed. “Fire. There will be a great crash and fire.”

  Harmon frowned. “What do you mean?”

  She grew suddenly pale, pulled the sheet over her head and lay trembling beneath. He could almost hear the unmistakable rattle of her broken legs clicking together. She finally peered from beneath the sheet. “I thought I saw a picture on your arm. Never mind.”

  Bice moved to her bedside. “You need to get some rest. We’ll see you later this evening.”

  Harmon sat silently for a moment. Finally, he broke his gaze from her soulful eyes and slowly followed Bice from the room.

  * * *

  Chapter Two

  Bice and Harmon descended the staircase silently.

  They walked across the foyer and into Harmon’s study. Bice took a seat in the rich leather chair facing Harmon’s desk. He could hear the musician moving behind him. Soon a cork popped from a bottle, followed by the tinkling of glasses and spirits sizzling against cubes of crackled ice.

  “Thanks.” He murmured as Harmon handed him a drink. He could put it off no longer. There was something very odd about their new houseguest. Not to mention her temper.

  “Harmon, do you realize what you’ve gotten yourself into?” He asked. “For God’s sake, she was on the island too long. She can’t go around biting us and pounding you in the head. Now, she’s carrying on about a crash and fire?”

  Harmon took his usual seat behind his majestic desk. He swirled his drink, gazing at the gold records adorning the walls. Dozens of them. He’d had it all. Now, something had called him back from touring and here he was, no plans for a new record or another tour. Only plans to rescue an unwanted orphan time hadn’t been able to erase from his troubled mind.

  She lay upstairs in the very room above his study, a wounded spirit both inside and out. He sighed. “I don’t know what she could have possibly meant about a fire. Nor could I have predicted she’d pound me in the head, or bite you. Apparently she has some anger issues toward me for bringing her back to the states.”

  Bice studied his employer carefully. “Let’s hope her anger is resolved soon. I came damn close to threatening to shove that book up her nose.” He rubbed his head halfheartedly.

  Harmon laughed.

  “What’s so funny? Do you think I like having a teenager here? What about your career? Don’t tell me I came all the way from Philly to manage you for naught.”

  Harmon sighed and sat his glass down. “I need a break. A year off would be nice, I’ve been touring the better part of seven years. Stay on here. Enjoy yourself and relax awhile.”

  Bice leaned across the desk and glared at his employer. “How the hell can I relax when you put that demon that calls herself Heaven in the room next to mine? Forty damn rooms in this mansion, and you have to put her practically in my lap.”

  He leapt from the chair and stormed to the neat row of imported
ales and liquors. He slammed his glass down, picked up a bottle and took a long drink directly from it. He sighed in temporary contentment, and wiped his mouth on his cuff. He knew he’d have to be careful not to drink too much, or the Philly Monster would rise from the swamps again.

  Harmon chuckled at his manager. “Give it some time, she’ll be fine. She needs to adjust and get used to being in the States again. She has a lot to catch up on, and we need to help her. You may have any room in the house after things settle down. Take your pick. Do this for me. You know I’d do it for you in a minute.”

  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.

&nb
sp; 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.