The Girl With Aquamarine Eyes

by Shelley Madden

  The magnificent carvings boasted raised flowers and foliage, from top to bottom.

  She crept from her bed, and traced her finger down the dark line near the center of the slick wood. It was almost the same color as Bonita’s hair.

  She sighed. Bonita had been terribly sad earlier. She liked the kind woman, and didn’t want her to be upset. This was her fault, all of it. If she’d waited until Bice had reached the bottom of the staircase and called out to him Harmon was in danger, but to go to him calmly, none of this would have happened.

  She’d messed up yet again. By morning Harmon would certainly decide to drop her off at the orphanage. He might even insist she pack as he’d done on the beach, not realizing she had nothing to take. He may even find a deserted island, somewhere in the middle of a vast undiscovered sea and drop her off there. Forever. She’d be alone until the end of time.

  She gazed at the bronzed doorknob. Finally, she opened it and quietly crept into the deserted hall.

  * * *

  The sun had long ago set. Harmon sat on the jagged cliff, deep in thought as the tide slowly ebbed to the pull of the rising moon.

  He’d done many things the past few years. He’d been around the world not once, not twice, but more times than he could honestly remember. He’d seen millions of women.

  Most threw themselves at his feet as he played with his band onstage. He chuckled at the thought of a few groupies actually fighting over him, hoping to be the chosen one for a backstage tryst. He could’ve had his pick of many beautiful women. He finally settled on a lovely actress. He’d been left her in wake when someone more intriguing, and who didn’t travel abroad most of the year came to call.

  He hadn’t sought Heaven out because she was lovely. He hadn’t sought her out because he was lonely. He was far from it. He’d sought her out because of her eyes. The way she gazed at him when he turned her near lifeless body over in the sand ten years ago. The way she read every song long buried in his soul, not yet set to paper.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have brought her to the mansion. Maybe she was much to fragile to deal with the jet-setting carefree lifestyle he once enjoyed. He knew he’d never take her back to the orphanage, yet maybe there was a family out there who knew how to deal with the strange occurrences which seemed to manifest themselves around her.

  No, he would never allow that to happen. Maybe, he’d find a therapist to talk to her. Someone to help them understand what was going on with the broken windows, and legs which suddenly became whole again. If he brought her friend Dreams to visit, she’d have company and could do all the things teenagers do.

  He stifled a yawn. It was unlike him to grow tired until the break of dawn. But it’d been a strange day. A day which had slowly drained his energy the moment he opened his eyes, to find Bice breathing into his mouth in the study. He shuddered at the thought.

  He gazed at his large home looming on the windy hill above him. Heaven’s light was out, as was Bice’s. The two had apparently turned in early, even though the sun had only set an hour ago.

  He rose and stretched from his overlook on the cliff wall, inhaling the deep scent of the salty sea once more. Far in the distance, lightning zigzagged across the churning waves. He kicked off his shoes and walked through the surf barefoot.

  The waves lapped around his ankles and soothed his tired feet. He pondered sleeping on the beach. He’d lay in the surf all night, letting it gently caress him into a tranquil slumber. But with the luck he’d had today, he would surely drift out to sea only to be found washed ashore in China come morning.

  The sands were soft and cool between his toes. He wriggled them deep down, until the grainy earth was topping his ankles. It felt good against his aching muscles.

  Suddenly, he felt a searing hot pain in his foot. He yelped in surprise and fell backward onto the shoreline. Crimson stains oozed from his heel, and dripped into the water around him.

  He grabbed his foot and studied it in the moonlight. A deep cut crossed from one side of his heel to the other. He yanked his shirt off and carefully pressed it against the wound.

  But the blood continued to flow. He wrapped the shirt tightly around his ankle and tied it off. He was going to have to get back to the house in a hurry now. His tranquil evening by the sea had fallen to the wayside in only seconds. He couldn’t win for loosing.

  He reached for his shoes, and noticed a jagged strip of metal glowing in the moonlight near them. He bent over the object which had cut him, and slowly scooped the sand away.

  Whatever it was must have been buried for years. The dull metal was pitting and rusted, threatening to break apart the moment the next wave crested over it. He would have to pull it from the sand which held it prisoner, before someone else got hurt.

  He gently scooped the last of the grey muck from around it, and carefully pulled it from its forgotten grave. His foot was beginning to throb in pain. He glanced down at his shirt which encircled it. Stains were already oozing through the thin fabric.

  He held the object up in the moonlight. It was an old rusted can, nearly broken in half from the salty bath it’d taken for many years. He dumped the contents out of the can. Wet sand, algae and small shells tumbled to the shore. He shook the can a bit more, trying to expel the remnants. A final glob of mud suddenly popped free and splashed into the shallow water.

  Out rained dozens of golden coins. They fell into the water, suddenly free of their eternal tomb. They gleamed brightly in the moonlight, while the waves gently washed them clean.

  He dropped to his knees and scooped up a handful. He held one up to the moon, trying to find an angle which would make it more visible.

  He gazed at the glittering medallions in amazement. There must be a hundred or more of them.

  * * *

  Bice woke suddenly from his restless sleep, and sat up.

  He gazed at the clock on his bedside table. It was nearly midnight. He peered thorough the crack in the curtains. The full moon glowed in its lunar radiance, beaming its rays across his bed.

  Horrified, he grabbed his legs and carefully felt of them from his thigh to his ankle. He breathed a sigh of relief. They were both still there as they should be. The termites hadn’t eaten them. Even better, there was no sawdust under the sheets.

  He glanced at the empty beer bottles near the clock. The fine ales had left him incredibly thirsty. He slowly rose from the comfort of his bed, and quietly padded downstairs for a drink of drink of water. Maybe tomorrow would only be a one beer day. The two fine beers had left him with a throbbing headache.

  * * *

  Heaven gazed at the broken vases on the kitchen counter.

  The vases she’d essentially broken in a roundabout way, because she hadn’t thought things through first. If she hadn’t rushed into the hall to call out to Bice, only to see him slip cruelly down the stairs, she would be standing in this very spot guilty of murder.

  It seemed the moment they’d carried her broken body through the doorway and upstairs to the room she had awaken in, she’d done nothing but cause Harmon’s little family pain.

  She had broken his prized window, kicked poor Hawk in the worst place and had caused Bice to fall downstairs, who in turn ran into Bonita and destroyed the vases moments later.

  She’d especially hurt Bonita. She could tell when the kind woman brought her dinner. She could read it in her eyes and knew exactly what had happened, though the woman never uttered a word. She’d been dismissed from her household duties by a very angry majordomo.

  She wasn’t sure what a majordomo was, but he was very upset with Bonita and dealt the poor woman a severe tongue-lashing. Then he told her to get out. The woman stood in the kitchen horror stricken, watching the butler call her a cab. He’d slammed down the phone and pointed to her room, demanding she pack immediately. It was all in her eyes.

  She remembered playing a strange game at the orphanage. Oblong white blocks with many dots on them. The children carefully stacked them in a row, circling and c
riss-crossing them and standing them on their ends around and around the table.

  Then, the lucky special chosen one would get to push the first block. It hit the next block and the next and so on, until all the pieces whirled together in a haze of plastic and dots at the speed of lightening, until finally all had fallen. The children laughed and clapped their hands in glee at the spectacle.

  She was never the lucky special chosen one to push the first piece into the other. Nor, was she ever asked. Now without asking, she’d re-created the same game of dots in Harmon’s home. All the pieces were falling down around her. She’d pushed the first piece without really knowing how.

  A tear rolled down her cheek.

  She knew what she must do. She would make things right. Then, she’d leave this place she’d brought so much grief to the moment she passed through the front doors.

  * * *

  Chapter Nine

  Harmon staggered into the kitchen clutching the dripping can of coins.

  He leaned against the doorway, gasping for breath. His foot ached with pain; a thousand searing daggers burned from deep within. He flipped the lights on and gazed at the floor.

  It was already covered in a pool of blood. He was in trouble, and he knew it. He felt himself growing weak as he stumbled toward the phone. But he lost his balance and the can fell from his hands. Glistening coins tumbled to the floor and rolled in every direction. The last of the mud from the bottom of the can splattered across the gleaming tile.

  He grabbed the counter to steady himself, and slowly inched toward the phone. He wrestled with the receiver and punched in Bice’s number.

  There was no answer.

  He slammed the phone down, remembering Bonita was out for the night. He thought of Hawk. Surely Hawk would be in his room, and hear the phone ring.

  A sickening wave of nausea washed over him. His mind began to spin, and he watching in fear as the images in the kitchen began to shift from one wall to the next. He watched the refrigerator take the place of the stove, and gaped in horror as the stove came to rest where the dishwasher once lay.

  He studied the phone again. The numbers had morphed into giant red beetles. He pressed and pressed them, but they all ran together until they were nothing but a fiery blob. With the last of his strength, he flung the phone across the kitchen and laid his head on counter.

  He slowly opened his eyes, struggling to bring something into focus. He closed his eyes, and opened them once more. His mothers vases slowly come into sight only inches from his aching head.

  They glistened in the kitchen lights. A kaleidoscope of winged butterflies danced across the lead crystal. A dozen delicately carved roses seemed to beckon to him in the background. Their rainbow of colors sparkled like diamonds riding on the night winds.

  He was suddenly floating high above, gazing down at the macabre scene of him below.

  But he didn’t care, for he’d found his lost sister. They were gliding on the wings of dawn, with no care in the world. But much too soon, the wrenching pain in his body beckoned him back home.

  Once again he struggled to focus his eyes on what lay before him. Bonita had done a fine job polishing the vases. One-of-a kind masterpieces, which had become family heirlooms. Her care and finesse of the shimmering relics reflected back into his glazed eyes. He could see her working carefully, polishing each tiny crevice with the utmost delicacy.

  He reached out and gently lifted the one nearest him. He turned it over, willing his eyes to focus and struggled to read the inscription on the bottom.

  ‘To mom, with love. In memory of Rose Steele. Harmon.’

  He smiled weakly at the thought of his beloved sister, and fell unconscious to the floor.

  * * *

  Bice slowly descended the staircase from Hell, taking great care not to loose his death-grip on the slick mahogany rail.

  One, two, three four…a few more steps, and I’m to the floor

  Five, six, seven, eight…I won’t let my head get squashed like a grape.

  Earlier, he’d fished out a hand mirror from his bathroom drawer. He held it above his eyebrows and gazed at the back of his head in the large mirror behind him.

  No lumps or bumps, only a normal head. His shoulder length bronze hair skirted his shoulders as it always had. Assuring himself once again his skull really was in one piece, his gaze had fallen to his buttocks. He flexed them. First one, and the other, and finally both. He studied their reflection carefully.

  Not bad. Maybe next time Harmon threw one of his ‘I’m-a-Big-Star’ parties, he’d make his entrance into the ballroom backwards. That way the women would see his buttocks first. Harmon always got the beautiful women. Next party, it’d be his turn. He’d wiggle his derriÅre just so. Women would swarm to him like termites to fresh wood.

  He chuckled away the thought as he reached the bottom of the staircase. He stood for a moment and gazed out the window alongside the front entrance doors, still relishing the fact that he was still alive after his tumble earlier.

  Headlights peered through the fog and slowly inched up the circular drive. He moved to the front door, peering through the sheer curtains. He watched as Bonita waved her friend farewell.

  The woman seemed to be glowing. The evening out had apparently done her well. He didn’t want to frighten her in the gloom of the house, so he hurried toward the kitchen.

  He paused a moment, noticing the lights from inside glowing beneath the closed door.

  Apparently Dog or Harmon were enjoying a late-night snack. He might indulge in a snack himself, but he’d damn sure stay away from the many fine imported beers.

  * * *

  Heaven lay on the bed and closed her eyes. She could remember now. The foggy pages of her past were beginning to come into focus after so long. She was on the island once again with her parents. Memories stirred from deep within. Soon, she would know her purpose.

  She’d done something wrong that horrible day ten years ago. The men on the island had begun to fight, moments after she’d laid her hands on one of their dead and gave him new life.

  The soft beat of the drums was interrupted by screams and cries of the women and children She watched in horror as spears were drawn.

  Her mother screamed from somewhere behind her. Her father grabbed her arm, and quickly dragged her to their small boat. He’d tossed her in, grabbed her mother and lifted her inside. The natives were coming quickly now, their long spears poised in the air above their heads.

  She whirled around and gazed in disbelief at the shoreline, as her father paddled the boat away in great haste. The winds had grown too high though, and the sea was much too angry for them to possibly make an escape. But they had no choice.

  The island men were running into the thrashing waves, determinedly throwing their spears at the departing craft. The waves crashed around her, sending fine sprays of sea mist across her face. A fiery projectile flew only centimeters above her head. She quickly cowered down, and sought shelter along the inside hull.

  A blood-chilling scream rippled through the salty air. She glanced behind her, following the cries to the bow. Her mother had been hit by the arrow she’d ducked from. It completely penetrated her shoulder. Crimson stains burst from the wounded woman’s scapula. Her eyes seemed to bulge from their very sockets.

  Her father screamed from somewhere in the distance. “Help her child, help her!”

  He wailed from a thousand miles away, though he stood nearby. The boat rocked against the sudden shift of weight as he lurched toward his wife.

  Her mother had grown ghastly pale in only minutes, while the stains beneath her slowly spread along the bottom of the small boat. They seeped across the deck, reaching out along the grains of the wood, like tentacles on an octopus.

  The spear had lodged into the bottom of the boat and penetrated the aged vessel. Seawater was slowly seeping in, mixing with the crimson stains beneath her mother.

  Her father groaned and leaned over his wife. He grabbed the spear
with both hands and sharply pulled it from her shoulder. But she did not scream. She was barely conscious, and could only make gurgling noises.

  A spasm of mortal blood arced into the air from her mother’s wound, and was quickly blown away in the gale winds. She watched as her father pressed his hands against her ragged skin. But it was no use. The deathly tentacles of the octopus slowly crept up his wrists.

  He father gazed at her. “Come quickly child. You must help her, or she will die.”

  She lurched toward her mother, but lost her balance in the blood soaked boat and fell to her knees. Her father caught her arm, pulling her gently toward him.

  “Help her quickly, she has no time.” He cried over the sound of the crashing waves.

  She gazed at her mother. A fine mist was already forming across the woman’s eyes. They stared straight upward into the churning skies. Rigid eyes, seeing eternity, but seeing nothing. She was briefly tempted to gaze above to see what her mother was staring at.

  She’d covered the wound with her hands. The bloody tentacles of the sea creature slowly crept up her wrists. Crimson threads of death wove its veins into the fine lines of her skin.

  As suddenly as their march to eternity began, they stopped. Her father screamed behind her.

  She gazed at him. He was frozen to the deck of the boat, unable to move. He fought and twisted against the invisible force which held him fast, but it was no use.

  Lightening crackled above and hung still in the blackened sky. It was only a jagged neon spear now, unable to hit is mark. The demonic waves came to a standstill. Only droplets of water could fall from their frozen crests. The sea was helpless to inhale the boat. It too, was frozen in time.

  For now at least.

  * * *

  Bonita smiled as she quietly closed the mahogany doors .

  She and her best friend, Maria, had spent the most wonderful evening painting the town.

  They’d found the most divine sushi bar, and indulged in every creature that haunted the seven seas. Afterwards, the pair strolled the cobblestone walk until they came upon a fine coffee shop.