The Girl With Aquamarine Eyes

by Shelley Madden

  No matter. He’d call Heaven, she’d fix it. But wait, that was impossible. He’d destroyed the damned phone, he couldn’t call her. He stared at it in anger, as an all to familiar sweat began its march down his backside.

  The phone rang again.

  His eyes bulged from their sockets as he gazed at its broken remnants. The blasted, incessant ringing continued. He stared at the smashed plastic, his mouth agape. The son-of-a-bitch was about to piss him off.

  It continued to ring.

  He yanked open the desk drawer, pulled out his revolver and shot the phone three times. He smiled as a Cheshire cat might, blew the smoke from the barrel and carefully laid the weapon back into the drawer.

  The son of a bitch rang again.

  He attempted to rise, determined to finish off the phone once and for all. But his knees gave way. He crashed onto the chair, while the horrid screeching rose octave after octave. He glanced at the study window, waiting for it to relent to the pitch and shatter into a million pieces alongside the fallen lamp.

  But instead, the pane buckled into wave after wave. They rippled across it, rising and falling as if the window were breathing. It slowly turned to a watery liquid, and fell silently in silver droplets of molten glass to the floor.

  His head hit the desk before his eyes were fully closed, the photo still clutched in his hand.

  His elbow hit the nearby drink. It teetered momentarily, and finally tumbled across his lyrics. Page after page was soaked. They drifted off the slick desk, landing in a soggy heap on the floor.

  He never noticed.

  * * *

  Bice followed Heaven as she slowly ascended the staircase and entered her room. Her shoulders hung in resignation, as she settled into the chair beside her bed.

  “I’ll call Bonita up, she’ll draw you a bath.”

  “Thanks. It’d be nice to take one by myself though.”

  He took a seat on the bed beside her. Her face, as dirty as it was, looked as soft as the wings of a butterfly. “I’ll have her show you soon. The faucets in there are tricky.” He waited for a response, but she seemed to be somewhere else.

  Finally she gazed at him, but beyond him at the same time. Almost through him. As if she were watching a picture show playing out, clip by clip, on the bedroom door behind him. He fought the sudden urge to turn and look, but resisted.

  He studied her intently. “Are you going to be all right?”

  “I’ll be fine.” She blinked her eyes and gazed at him, as if seeing him for the first time.

  He wasn’t convinced. Something much more than whacking Hawk in the groin seemed to be on her mind. She was in another place. A far, far away place.

  “I’ll have Bonita bring you up some lunch. After you eat, a nap may be worth considering. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

  “I’ll try to get some rest.” She paused and thought for a moment. “Would you mind bringing me some more of those books with the beautiful women in them?”

  “Do you mean fashion magazines? Sure, I’ll ask Bonita to bring you a few of hers. I’ll check on you later.” He gazed at the majestic window beyond her bed. It was still there, all in one piece. He stole a glance at her legs for what must be the hundredth time. Perfect, like the window. He shook his head and quietly left the room.

  Heaven leapt from the bed the moment the door closed. “Bice, wait!” She burst through the door and ran straight into his arms.

  “Heaven, what is wrong?” Bice gazed at her. She was frightfully pale. Her Mediterranean eyes reminded him of the moon falling over the surf, waiting silently to welcome dusk on the far side of the earth.

  “It’s Harmon. Go to him quickly. Find him Bice, find him now!”

  He let her fall from his arms and took a step back in horror. “What do you mean?” Is this some kind of sick joke?”

  She stared beyond him, down the darkened corridor at the majestic staircase. She gazed at him once more. “Find him. Now!”

  He stumbled backward, his gaze never leaving her eyes. The same eyes Harmon spoke of seeing on the beach that day. The eyes the musician never forgot. Now, he understood. He was looking into the past, but also into the future through her eyes.

  Somehow, someway, this girl was an extraordinary being. Harmon must’ve known it all along. He’d plucked her from the beach that day, only to spend years trying to forget her. But somehow, she called Harmon back to her through those watery blue eyes. Through the miles, and through time itself.

  Maybe she was an Angel. Some sort of guardian angel for the musician. But no, angels didn’t go around kicking men in the gonads.

  He took another step backward, still gazing at her. Finally, he charged down the hall.

  Heaven watched him leap down the stairs three at a time, desperately clutching the rail.

  She caught a scream in her throat. If he were to fall, he’d surely break his neck. There were many, many stairs to reach the bottom floor. He was acting like a lunatic out of concern for his employer and friend, but he’d never make it to the landing at his insane pace.

  She rushed to the top of the staircase, watching in horror as he plunged down them at a manic pace. “Bice, slow down!”

  He continued to leap down the stairs at an impossible speed. She watched in frozen horror as his body suddenly twisted and shook, as a puppet on a string might.

  He was falling.

  She watched helplessly as her worst fears materialized before her. His foot came out from under him and his hand was cruelly jerked from the slick wooden rail. He was in midair, crashing head first toward a bottomless hell.

  She could not open her mouth to scream. She could not move to rush to his aid.

  Try as she might, her legs were two blocks of hardened earth, frozen to the floor in eternal torment. She could only watch as the man met his death at the bottom of the staircase.

  The stairs grew hazy, until they finally disappeared. She was ten years old again, in their family’s boat. She’d gazed at the menacing sky, feeling the rocking of the small vessel beneath her. She smiled at her parents, as they determinedly rowed her away from whatever danger haunted them from a distant land. She heard them say they’d be free now. From what, she did not know.

  But, a terrible storm came. The cruel swells it brought tossed them about for hours. Her mind spun in dizzying confusion, as wave after wave slammed into the small craft. The boat rose and fell, rose and fell, until she could endure no more.

  Her belly had grown deathly ill as the rains continued to beat down mercilessly on the trio. Soon, the boat was consumed with water as bolts of lightening zigzagged above.

  Finally, everything grew quiet. Then, the gulls came.

  No. There would be no more pain, no more death. No more gulls.

  She opened her eyes and stared at the staircase. Bice was reeling backward in midair, his head thrusting out of control toward the sharp edge of the wooden steps.

  Her legs may be frozen, but her mind was not.

  She was as light as a feather adrift on the wind as she rose from her body, leaving it behind on top of the stairs. She gazed down at her golden hair, watching it flow in cascades down her back. Her body looked stiff and rigid, reminding her of a faded doll perched on a windowsill.

  But she was not afraid. She knew all along she was different, yet this she had not experienced. She raced down the stairs behind Bice, faster than her mind could understand. He was falling, falling so quickly. His hands were in the air grasping at something that was not there. His face was frozen in terror, petrified in time as the earth below waited to welcome him home.

  The bronzed second hand on the grandfather clock below suddenly sputtered and jerked. Then, it stood still.

  She wrapped her hands around his head the moment before it struck the stairs.

  Burning, golden beams of light encircled him, halting his downward spiral of doom. Cushioned on a warm gust of air, she gently lowered him to the glossy step.

  She gazed at him an
d smiled. But something was already calling her back. She followed the steps and gazed at her body perched too close to the top of the staircase. The sun rose and fell, rose and fell at a maddening pace as she watched herself stand frozen in time. She must hurry.

  She was already racing up the staircase before he opened his eyes.

  Suddenly, her feet were no longer rooted to the floor. She blinked her eyes open in surprise and gazed at Bice, lying unhurt halfway down the staircase.

  She lifted her hands to her face. The blisters were back, and this this time they were on both hands. She didn’t care. She let them fall to her sides and watched as Bice stared in dumfounded silence at her. Oh well, he’d had quite a fright, he would come around.

  She suddenly felt very, very tired. She must rest. As before, she already knew she could not make it back to the comfort to her room.

  Her body shook uncontrollably. She felt her heart pounding, a thousand galloping hooves across the desert plains beat in her head. Her fingers and her arms begin to throb and tingle, until they silently went numb.

  She fell face down on top of the staircase. Her arm dangled from the topmost step, exposing her scorched hand.

  The second hand on the clock downstairs suddenly sputtered and coughed back to life. It froze in limbo a second or two, until it once again began its rhythmic sweep in endless circles, ticking away at eternity.

  * * *

  Chapter Six

  Bice laid on the staircase in stunned silence.

  He felt the blood as it pounded through his veins, reminding him he was still a living, breathing creature. He knew he’d been milliseconds away from certain death.

  He raised his hand to his temple, reached behind his head and carefully prodded for grey matter, which he knew by all intents and purposes should be atop the step behind him.

  There was nothing behind his head. Only the slick, smooth and dry stair step.

  He finally took a sharp breath, and gazed at the unseen entity which he knew had broken his fall.

  There was no one there, as he expected. As if he knew what the hell to look for in the first place. Lately, nothing seemed to surprise him anymore. Not since the strange girl arrived. First the window and then her legs. No, it was her legs and then the window.

  He groaned, grabbed the stair rail and slowly eased himself upright. He stood for a moment, gazing down the long flight of steps. He could see himself lying on the bottom atop Harmon’s imported wool rug, as crimson stains from his head slowly spun the fibers into a new pattern. Harmon would’ve had his ass for that.

  Harmon. He shook his head clear. She had said Harmon was in trouble. He’d raced down the stairs to find the musician. But something had happened. He struggled to remember. He’d fallen.

  He stared up the staircase. He inhaled sharply, still struggling to breathe as his eyes slowly focused on the macabre scene above him. Heaven was on the landing, apparently out cold. Or, dead.

  Her arm dangled from the top step. Her face seemed frozen in time, staring unblinking into a distant galaxy only she could see. She must be dead. If not she was about to be, because gravity was tugging at her, threatening to bring her rolling down the stairs atop him at any moment.

  They’d both go down, only to be found dead on the lovely wool rug Harmon insisted on placing at the bottom of the staircase. Harmon may give up having it cleaned and simply have Hawk roll them up in it, and dispose of the entire mess.

  But knowing Harmon, he’d have Bice’s bloody face print on the fine wool framed and hung. That way, the musician would have his own LA version of the Shroud of Turin. They’d stare at it at parties, laugh and chuckle as their wine glasses clinked together. He’d be a conversation piece for eternity.

  He shook his head clear and choked back a sob. God how he needed a drink. He stared up the staircase. “Heaven?”

  She continued to lay deathly still on the landing. A broken doll cast aside by a spoiled child in favor of a newer, unbroken one.

  He staggered up the steps to her, this time clutching tightly to the rail. Damned Harmon to hell for buying a split level home. He’d let him know what he thought about the lousy staircase the moment he found the eccentric singer. To hell with moving to the far wing, he’d insist on a ground floor near the maid quarters.

  “Heaven, wake up!” Her head rolled from side to side as he shook her. She continued to lie unmoving, her chest rising and falling in time to the marching band which beat in his head. She was out cold, down for the count. Maybe the fall was her coup de grace.

  He had to do something quickly. He gazed down the long hall toward her room. It was too far. There was no time to carry her and place her safely back on the bed. He must get to Harmon quickly. If it wasn’t already too late.

  He grabbed her arms and pulled her across the floor to the first door. He kicked it open, carried her to the bed and dropped her onto it.

  He rushed out the door, grabbed the keys from his pocket and locked it behind him. He raced once more down the long flight of stairs, carefully gripping the rail with both hands. Time was working against him. God help them all if he couldn’t find Harmon immediately.

  He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he would make it known to the musician the girl had kept him from splitting his head open on the stairs, thus saving the priceless wool rug.

  He knew she was behind it.

  If not, Harmon had himself one hell of a ghost to add to his many collections from distant lands. Another masterpiece to display, besides his crimson face imprint on the fine wool rug.

  * * *

  He leapt the last three steps down the staircase from hell and charged across the foyer toward the long hall on the far side of the mansion.

  He slid around the kitchen corner and before he knew what hit him, ran straight into Bonita, who was naturally carrying a silver tray loaded with glassware.

  Yesterday certainly wasn’t his day. Today wasn’t looking much better either.

  Newly washed crystal vases rose high into the air. They somersaulted above the stunned pair and came crashing down in a rainbow of silvery orbs. He grabbed the housekeeper at the last moment, and pulled her into the safety of the doorway.

  They watched in silence as the vases hit the mahogany floor and shattered into a million glittering pieces. Bonita stared at the mess, her mouth opening and closing as a fish out of water might.

  “Bonita, where is Harmon?” He was reaching his breaking point, there was no time to dance around and fret over a set of miserable broken vases. Harmon must be found.

  “Those are thousand dollar vases. He’s going to have my job!” The ashen woman moaned.

  He took her by the shoulders. “Never mind the vases. Where is Harmon?”

  “In the study.” She was unable to tear her eyes away from the mess on the floor.

  “Get Hawk, and meet me in the study. Something may be wrong with Harmon!” He left her standing, reeling in shock, and sprinted down the dark hallway.

  * * *

  Heaven opened her eyes and gazed about the room.

  Seems all she did since she came to this place was lay on the bed, waiting to awaken. And, get herself into endless predicaments for which she there was no logical explanation for.

  She studied the strange room and its unfamiliar furnishings. Dark green curtains hung on the far wall, obscuring any trace of light that might be trying to filter through. Hopefully, there wasn’t a large window made from colorful glass behind them. She shuddered at the thought. She would be sure to stay far, far away from the curtained pane.

  She peered through the darkness, searching for a sign of familiarity. This room also had a small room with running water attached to it. But this wasn’t her room. She sighed and sat up.

  Her head hurt. She raised her hand to her temple and rubbed it. She winced in pain the moment her palm touched her forehead. Almost afraid, she willed the courage to gaze at her hand. It was covered in tiny red blisters. She raised her other hand. It too was covered in
small, painful lesions.

  A chair sat empty near the bed. Usually when she woke, Bice or Harmon would be sitting next to her. But that wasn’t her chair, because this wasn’t her room.

  She leapt from the bed and raced to the door. Her blistered hands burned in pain as she tried in vain to twist the knob. She yanked her hands away as if the metal itself was made of super-heated iron. She stared at her hands once more. Angry red wheals now covered them from fingertip to palm. She was helpless to try to force the door open.

  She slowly backed away from the door and screamed.

  * * *

  Bice threw open the study door.

  It swung back with such force, it hit the wall behind it with a thud. The nearby display case which encircled one of Harmon’s many gold records swayed back and forth on its hook from the impact.

  He watched helplessly as it crashed to the floor. The glittering disc was held prisoner no more. It spun madly in place a moment, and finally fell atop the shattered glass case. He didn’t care. It probably wasn’t real gold anyway.

  He gazed at Harmon. The musician had fallen asleep on his desk. Heaven was wrong after all. He’d nearly killed himself rushing to his aid, only to find the man dozing. He realized with anger the girl had tricked him. She was probably upstairs, laughing and giggling in glee at nearly getting him killed on the staircase. He’d have her ass for this.

  He quietly walked to the desk, taking great care not to disturb the musician. If there was one thing the singer couldn’t stand, it was being disturbed while he slept. Which, up until Heaven had entered the picture, was during the day.

  Bice stared at Harmon a moment longer. He seemed to be in a deep, peaceful in slumber.

  His face reddened with anger, as he realized for certain Heaven had sent him on a wild goose chase. The girl obviously had it in for him. She was dangerous. She’d probably planned the whole scenario, which would have left him dead at the bottom of the staircase.

  He’d throw her in the cellar for this stunt. The one without the fine imported ales. Afterward, he’d lock himself up in the stocked cellar and forget everything for a week or two while he drank himself to new heights. He turned to leave, but the glint of a spilled glass near the singer’s arm caught his eye.