The Girl With Aquamarine Eyes

by Shelley Madden

  He quietly moved closer to the desk and studied the empty tumbler, hoping to decipher what seemed amiss. The air around him was much too quiet. Unnaturally quiet, as if some normal sound were missing.

  He followed the liquid which had made its way from the spill, and had seeped under Harmon’s arm as he slept. Gingerly, he lifted the musician’s arm and quietly sopped the mess to the far side of his desk.

  But the liquid was everywhere. He wondered why it hadn’t woken Harmon when his arm became saturated with the liquor. He gazed at the musician closely.

  He gasped, as he set eyes upon many tiny bubbles which foamed from Harmon’s mouth and down his chin to the desk below. More were slowly trickling from his nose, joining with the river of bubbles from the corner of his lip.

  He hesitated, and finally shook the musician. “Harmon?”

  The deathly still room seemed to spin around him, as he realized the reason for the odd silence. He knew what the missing sound was, instantaneously feeling his heart jerk and flutter to his feet. Harmon wasn’t breathing.

  He pulled the limp man from the chair and flung him to the floor. He tore the musician’s shirt open and put his ear to his chest. He could hear nothing, only the ticking of the clock behind him. And his own racing heart.

  Now he knew. Harmon had fallen asleep, knocked the glass over and inhaled the liquid in his slumber. The man had obviously choked to death on the spilled beverage.

  “Harmon!” He flipped the musician belly down, lifted his arms above his head and desperately began working the liquid from his frozen lungs.

  * * *

  Heaven lay in silence on the bedroom floor. She was swept back in time, and was a young girl once again. The people of the island were gathered around her and her parents.

  They’d formed a line which faded to infinity, deep into the gloomy depths of the jungle. A thick haze seemed to encompass the island people. It moved in waves around her, as the water in the sea might do as it hit the shoreline. She could hear the murmurs of the people as they held their dead out to her, begging her to bring back their loved ones.

  Coins jingled in a can near her. She gazed to her side and watched as a native dropped a golden token into the tin cup her father held. He’d smiled reassuringly at the mourning islander and moved the distraught man toward the girl.

  “Go on, child.” Her mother murmured.

  The islander thrust the child toward her wordlessly. The dead boy’s frozen eyes bore powerful holes straight through to her soul. Water dripped from his nose, tracing its way down his pale cheek. He was the color of death itself, a lost soul left behind by the monster of the sea.

  She’d clutched the skirts of her mother who stood near. “Momma, I am tired.”

  “Go on child, you must help the boy. You will rest soon.”

  Coins jingled in the can once again. She was tired, very tired. She could no longer stand, having grown too weak. Her mother brought her a chair and eased her into it. The women of the island stood near, waiting to bring to her any comfort she might call for.

  Her parents had told her before reaching the island a great storm had come. It pounded the thatch huts endlessly, until its strong winds ripped the roofs off, casting them aside across the forest floor. Many people were swept out to sea. Most of them perished.

  She gazed at the long line of people holding their dead, as coins jingled once more in the can nearby. She sighed and put her hands to the small child’s head with great care. She could hear the soft beat of the drums around her, until once again the foggy waves took her back in time.

  She didn’t know why she could do what she did, only that she did it. Soon, a tiny spark shone in the boy’s eye, thereafter followed by a ragged gasp. Until once again, his death was no more.

  * * *

  Harmon coughed and sputtered as his body recoiled with powerful spasms. He gasped for air, digging his fingers deep into the rug beneath him.

  “Harmon? Are you all right?” Bice helped the pale musician sit upright. “What happened?”

  Harmon slowly raised his eyes to meet his manager’s gaze. Bice looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. His soft brown hair hung limp and tangled, his eyes clouded with worry and tiredness. “I must have fainted again.”

  “You need to see a physician right away. This has happened too many times. It damn near got you killed. That glass must have spilled after you passed out, and somehow you inhaled the liquid.”

  Harmon pressed his had to his throbbing temple. “I’ve only fainted once in my life, when I lost my sister. That is, until Heaven came here.” He stared at his manager. “I don’t know what is going on, but until we figure things out, don’t say a word to anyone about what we’ve seen.”

  “Why Harmon? Maybe she needs a doctor too. Perhaps a head doctor.”

  Harmon grasped the man by his collar, threatening to choke him. “Listen to me. We’ll get Dreams here. She may have some answers.”

  “What about you? I can’t have you falling all over the place like this.”

  Harmon walked slowly to his desk and sat down. “I’ll be fine.” He shook his head in dismay as his gaze fell upon the ruined lyrics. The picture of his sister sat where it had fallen from his hand. The photo was ruined. The liquid was dried, leaving it firmly adhered to the desk. The colors, what was left of them for its age, were now faded even further, leaving behind pale streaks where her angelic face once smiled.

  Bice studied Harmon with concern. He knew the singer was a complicated man, one who’d keep things to himself, rather than lean on someone during a crisis. He’d seen too many times once a show was over, Harmon withdrew into himself. His gaze fell upon the gun.

  “Why is your gun out? Tell me you weren’t planning anything stupid, and leave me behind with the whacko.”

  Moments passed while Harmon studied the bullet holes in the wall. “I shot the phone.”

  Bice followed Harmon’s stare to the furthest corner in the room. The wall was scarred from were Harmon had obviously thrown the phone. A broken lamp lay directly below. Next to it, lay what was left of the phone.

  The black base was all but destroyed, the inner workings mangled around it. The cord which led to the handset was tangled around the base of the lamp. The handset was completely blown away from its cord.

  Three bullet holes gaped at him from the baseboard, a trio of black eyes seemed to be watching him from behind the wall. He felt his jaw clench as he realized for certain, his employer had actually blown the phone to pieces.

  Bice leaned across the desk, blocking Harmon’s gaze at the dead phone. “Why did you shoot the phone?”

  Harmon bit his lip and rubbed his head. “It pissed me off.”

  Bice took the musician by the arm. “Come on, lets get you upstairs. You look terrible.”

  Harmon slowly rose from the chair. He gazed at the ruined lyrics on the floor, and at the picture of his sister, which was now eternally adhered to his desk.

  “Who was that a picture of?” Bice asked.

  “My sister. She looked exactly like Heaven.” He stared a moment longer at the pale photo. Suddenly, he whirled around and glared at Bice. “ Where is Heaven?”

  “Oh God.” Bice moaned. “I locked her in a guest room upstairs.”

  “Do you hate her that much, Bice?”

  “Look, I’ll explain later. Lets go.” Bice grabbed the musician’s arm and pulled him along, as he burst from the study door.

  * * *

  At the top of the staircase, Bice fumbled in his pocket for the key.

  Harmon stood only centimeters behind him. He could feel the musician’s hot breath on his shoulder, coming in ragged gasps. He was thankful Harmon was breathing again, even if it was in such a wheezing, gasping way. Only moments before he was near death. Only moments before that, he too was near death. He jammed the key into the lock, and turned it.

  Harmon pressed behind, trying to peer over his shoulder. The singer’s weight slowly flattened him against the door as
he struggled with the lock. The lock clicked open at last, and the door flung wide against their weight.

  Both men tumbled into the room in a tangle of arms and legs and verbal obscenities.

  Harmon landed on top of Bice. Bice struggled to breath against his weight. The telephone-murdering carnival sideshow was slowly crushing him.

  He’d landed near Heaven, who also lay on the floor. Her palm was blistered crimson. Tiny dots covered it from fingertip, to the bottom of her palm. He slowly lifted himself up, catching his breath as he followed her arm. Almost afraid, he gazed into her eyes.

  She stared back at him and smiled.

  “Heaven, why are you on the floor?” Bice asked.

  “I’m tired. I realized the door was locked, and could not make it back to the bed.”

  Harmon quickly regained his celebrity composure. He stood up, smoothed his long locks away from his face, straightened his liquor-soaked shirt and gazed at her.

  “Your hands are burned again, Heaven. What happened to them? What on earth is going on around here?”

  Bice gently lifted her to her feet. “Not now, Harmon. Let’s get her back to her room. Once things settle down, we’ll sit down and calmly try to sort this out.”

  Harmon watched the pair leave in silence. Finally, he moved across the room, and gazed at the magnificent curtains. They were carefully constructed of hunter green silk, edged with gold cord and finished with tassels on each corner. He’d imported them from Beijing only months before.

  Almost afraid, he grabbed the gilded cord and jerked them open with a whoosh. He held his breath as he gazed at the window.

  The sun had set, shimmering city lights stared back at him from the distant hills. To the left, the sparkling ocean rolled. Tiny ships crested the horizon, the telltale glow of their amber lights lit up the waves as they glided on the churning wings of the night.

  He gazed at his reflection in the pane. The glass was unmarred, un-cracked and unbroken as it should be. He ran his fingertip along it, still unconvinced. His fingers floated across the smooth surface, as if it too were made of imported silk.

  He turned out the lights and closed the door quietly behind him.

  Chapter Seven

  Harmon caught Bice as he stepped from Heaven’s room.

  His manager looked exhausted. Telltale lines crisscrossed on his brow; his eyes were sunken, missing their usual invigorating glow. “How is she? And, how are you? You look terrible.”

  “I look terrible? Harmon, you were dead, for all intents and purposes less than an hour ago.” Bice slowly felt the back of his head again, still expecting to find some sort of mortal wound hidden beneath his skull.

  “There is something strange going on around here.” Harmon whispered, as he gazed at the girl’s closed door. “My study seems to be destroyed at the moment. Let’s grab a bite in the kitchen and have that talk.”

  Bice stared at his employer. He studied the singer’s chest, watching carefully as it rose and fell with each breath. “I don’t know how you can eat, but let’s go.”

  Harmon pulled out a loaf of bread and a slab of lunchmeat once they arrived in the kitchen. He handed Bice a sandwich, sat down opposite him and began devouring his.

  “Where’s Bonita?” Harmon asked. “She usually has dinner started by now.”

  Bice paled, as he gulped down a large mouthful of his sandwich. “Oh, no.”

  “What? Don’t tell me something’s happened to Bonita?”

  “I was in a rush to find you, and ran into her coming out of the kitchen earlier. Unfortunately, she was carrying a tray full of vases you bought while we were on tour last summer.”

  Harmon groaned. His eyes momentarily fluttered, and rolled back in his head. “My collection of lead crystal vases from Mystique?”

  “That’s not all.” Bice gulped down the last of his meal. “Before that, I fell down the stairs and miraculously walked away, uninjured.”

  “You fell down the stairs? Do tell, how?”

  Bice leaned forward, and gazed into Harmon’s eyes. “Heaven is how.”

  “She pushed you?”

  “No. She warned me Harmon, do you hear me? She warned me to find you, that something was wrong. At first, I didn’t believe her. I didn’t want to believe her. But I saw that look in her eyes. I could see the future. I could see you. Then I was convinced. I backed away from her, and rushed down the stairs too quickly.”

  “Now, do you understand after all these years why I had to find her?”

  “There’s more.” Bice’s voice was so low, Harmon had to move closer to hear him. “Somehow, someway, she is the reason I got up and walked away from those stairs. I was coming down so quickly, the fall would’ve killed me. By all intents and purposes, I too should be dead right along with you.”

  “So you locked her in a guest suite, because she somehow saved you?”

  “She did save me.” Bice replied. “When I looked up, she was standing on the landing, gazing down at me. As if she were frozen in time. As if time itself had stopped. It was like a vacuum, there were no sounds, nothing. Only the sound of empty space. It was her body there, but she wasn’t in it.”

  “What happened?”

  Bice leaned back in his chair, and gazed at the ceiling. “She collapsed. I made my way back up the stairs to her, and put her in the first suite I could get her to. She was out cold. Whatever she did to help me, took every fiber of her strength. She was beyond exhausted.”

  “You’re saying she wasn’t in her body? That she never left the landing, and somehow still managed to break your fall?” Harmon studied Bice carefully. “Have you lost your mind? Do you know what you’re saying?”

  Bice grabbed Harmon’s arm. “Listen to me. First her legs, and the window. Next, somehow she knows you’re in danger. As if that isn’t enough for us to somehow absorb, she broke my fall. Don’t ask me to explain it, I can’t.”

  “She never left the landing.” Harmon rubbed his eyes halfheartedly, hoping to make it all go away. He thought of the picture now permanently affixed to his study desk. Heaven and Rose could be twins. Now the picture was gone, and he had no proof to show Bice.

  “No.” Bice replied. “As I was falling, my head was thrown back. I saw her standing on the landing above, looking down at me with a blank stare. When I came to, she was in the exact same position, the same blank stare. Afterward, she collapsed. It would’ve impossible for her to leap down half a flight of stairs to try and help me in that short of a time. It wouldn’t have been physically possible for her to break my fall. We’d have both gone down. And in case you hadn’t noticed, because you were on top of me when we fell into the suite, her hands are burned again.”

  Harmon rose from the table, rummaged around in the refrigerator and brought them both back a beer. He watched Bice gulp down the foamy broth, wipe his mouth on his cuff and stare distantly at the empty bottle.

  He sighed. “We’ve already tried to talk to her. She’s telling the truth. She doesn’t know how she does these things. She just does it.”

  Bice gazed at him. “If she gets in the wrong hands…”

  “No. I won’t let that happen. We’ll explain to her she needs to live here the rest of her life, so we can protect her.”

  “Have you lost your mind? You can’t keep her locked up here like a prisoner. She’ll be eighteen in a year, and the state said she can live on her own then.”

  Harmon studied the speck of bread on Bice’s chin, fighting the temptation to flick it off. “We’ll see what happens between now and then. Of course, it will be up to her when she’s eighteen. I’ll tell her she’s welcome here for however long she wants to stay.”

  “This time, I won’t argue with you.” Bice rubbed the back of his head yet again, feeling along his hairline for evidence of a skull fracture. There was nothing. Not even a blasted bump. “She’s special, Harmon. More so than you or I, or even the world could ever understand. She does need to be protected, you got me on that one. After what I’ve
seen the last two days, I’d be afraid to take her out in public. If she were to see someone get hurt, and do her little magic tricks and the media got wind of it…”

  “No. We have to give her as normal as a life as we can. She’s had nothing but loss, tragedy and despair. This also explains why she was shunned at the orphanage.”

  “You think they knew something about her? Maybe we should pay them a visit.”

  “Maybe.” Harmon yawned and checked his watch. “For now, I’m going to go check on Bonita, and have her take Heaven up some dinner. I’ll also have to ask her to wrap Heaven’s hands, yet again.”

  “That’s strange.” Bice rose from the chair, and headed for the door.

  “What is it?”

  “I asked Bonita to get Hawk, and meet me in the study.” A frown crossed his brow. “She never showed up.” He leapt from the stool and burst out the kitchen door.

  Harmon raced after him.

  * * *

  Bice pounded on the housekeeper’s door.

  Without waiting for an answer, he tried the doorknob. As he expected, it was locked. The maid was always very adamant about her privacy.

  “Bonita!” He cried through the thick wood. He pressed his ear against the door, struggling to hear inside.

  He remembered his older sister, who often fought with her boyfriend. She did the same thing when she was upset. She’d lock the door and refuse to come out for days, albeit for quick escapes to the kitchen. He remembered hearing his sister’s lock engage from his room across the hall. A sound he loathed.

  He hated it when his sister was upset. He hated it now, knowing Bonita was upset for breaking Harmon’s prized vases from wherever the hell they came from. It wasn’t even her fault.

  “Bonita!” He shouted again. “Open the door, or I’ll kick it in!”

  Harmon poked him in the back. “Now Bice, lets not act in haste. That’s imported Burl wood from Morocco.”