At a loss as what to do with Heaven, he’d finally decided to carry her into Harmon’s suite. He quickly deposited her on the chair next to the musician’s bed. The girl was apparently exhausted. She’d never woke.
He locked the door to the room, and rushed downstairs to clean up the mess in the kitchen. Unbelievably, the staff had slept through it all. Finally, he’d sopped up the musician’s bloodied footprints.
Bonita had apparently not seen a thing, nor had he, because the hallways were so dim. He’d gone back to the kitchen and stared in amazement at the collection of golden coins. He finally tucked them away at his next stop, Harmon’s room.
The rays of sun were filtering through the curtains as he finally settled into the chair near Harmon. He’d not slept the entire night. He’d held vigil at the musician’s bedside, while keeping his other eye on Heaven.
“I can’t tell you it’s a hallucination.” He replied. “It’s real. I saw the vases myself, and nearly choked to death on a blasted orange juice when I did. We have a problem, Harmon. A big problem.”
Harmon turned his gaze to the girl at his bedside. He was suddenly stricken, yet again, by her overwhelming beauty. It was not her fault strange things were happening in the household. Her bandaged hands seemed haphazardly secured. Lengths of knotted gauze hung in ribbons from each. She looked beyond exhausted. Almost as if she were in a coma.
“She can’t help it, Bice.” Harmon responded. Whatever it is, we must learn to live with it. Most of all, she must learn to live with it. All we can do is accept it, and support her. There couldn’t possibly be a logical explanation for any of this.”
Bice sighed as a look of resignation swept over him. He already knew the girl held a very odd gift. The gift to somehow mend broken lamps and broken legs. He wasn’t sure what happened on the staircase, but he knew he’d have to accept it.
“What will her future bring?” He asked the musician. “How can we give her a normal life when our own lives are so far from normal?”
Harmon gazed at the glinting sun as it streamed through the window, lighting her golden hair into a burst of fiery hues. “Que sera, sera.” He whispered. “Let it be. Let’s try to accept it and carry on as normally as we possibly can.” He laid back on the bed, and was soon asleep.
Bice stared at his employer. The musician who’d also become a close friend over the years. The same man who helped him overcome his own addiction to alcohol, even though he had demons of his own burning. He always had a great deal of respect for Harmon. This was the side of the man the public would never see.
“Que sera, sera.” He whispered to the sleeping musician. He leaned back in the chair and finally, closed his eyes.
* * *
Bonita pushed a stray hair from her brow as she glanced out the kitchen window.
The last rays of the sun were slowly fading beyond the hills. The enormous mansion had been unusually quiet today. Neither Harmon, Bice nor Heaven had come down.
After her housekeeping chores, she’d busied herself preparing her employer his favorite meal, tomato soup. She glanced at the clock on the far side of the kitchen. It was nearing dinnertime. The wealthy families she’d worked for in the past might have paled in horror at the thought tomato soup for dinner. She knew the hearty aroma would weave its way upstairs and lure Harmon down any minute.
Despite his wealth, he’d never sought to indulge in the frivolities of fine cuisine. He was a Southerner. To the best of her recollection, he’d been raised on tomato soup. Or maybe, it was chicken friend steak. Often, she couldn’t remember. Nevertheless, she was certain he’d pop his head through the doors soon. She dipped the spoon into the bubbling broth, and gently stirred it.
The double kitchen doors whooshed open suddenly and startled her. The ladle slipped from her hands and plunked onto the floor in an explosion of orange broth.
She stared in horror at the mess. “Oh no!”
“I’m sorry, Bonita.” Heaven stood in the doorway, staring at the mess on the alabaster floor.
Bonita wrung her fingers against the bottom of her apron. “No problem.”
Heaven approached the housekeeper. “What is that?”
“Tomato soup.”
Heaven shook her head. “No, look where the spoon fell.” She pointed at the mess it’d left behind. A metallic glint sparkled from beneath the edge of the counter.
Bonita lifted the strange object and studied it. “It’s a golden coin. A pure gold coin.”
Heaven stared at the token, as a faint wave of familiarity embedded itself into her frozen thoughts. She shook her head in disbelief. It was impossible.
Suddenly, drums beat in the distance. She spun on her heel and gazed around the kitchen, searching for the source of the sound. But there were no drums being pounded nearby. Maybe in the studio, but not here.
She felt her knees grow weak as she gazed once again at the token Bonita held. A tingling sensation slowly marched upward from the back of her thighs, until it made its way to her lower back. She flexed her fingers repeatedly as her arm went helplessly numb.
But it was no use. The numbness quickly spread to her opposite hand. She gasped, realizing her hands were not numb. They were burning hot. She stared at her palms, while beads of sweat materialized across her cheeks.
“What is it?” Bonita asked. “Is something wrong?”
Heaven could only gaze at the coin. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came. She clenched her fists, willing the searing heat to go away and shook her hands violently.
The ants had made their way to her shoulders now. She reached behind her and tried desperately to wipe them away. The drums beat louder as the ants slowly spread across her face. They were in her eyes now, and in her mouth.
A seagull cried from high above. She gazed at it, but it was not there. Only a bright light stared back at her, surrounded by carved ceiling tiles with tiny bits of glitter dotted throughout.
“Heaven, steady now.”
Bonita watched the girls face pale as if she were staring into the portal of death itself. She felt the coin fall from her hand, and watched as it rolled silently across the slick tile. It finally hit the far wall, fell to its side and lay in the last rays of the setting sun.
Heaven stood like a statue as the coin performed its swan song. She moved toward it and stared at it as if it were Medusa herself. Her hand shook as she knelt and picked it up.
Staring back at her were etched palm trees in gold relief. She moved her thumb across its face, feeling the rise and fall of the golden token. A native stood in front of the trees, a spear poised above his head. Behind him, the rolling sea. There was no date on the coin, nor any words, only a 24k mark.
She flipped it over, squinting to see it as the last of the sun’s rays coming through the window near her were held at bay by the falling darkness. Her heart fluttered, it was suddenly a butterfly, beating mercilessly against a wind that would surely slam it into a rocky ledge.
She inhaled sharply. The gulls screeched once more above her. But this time, she did not look. She knew they weren’t there. Unbelieving, she studied the coin again and willed the picture she gazed at to mercifully fade away.
It did not.
The back of the coin bore her own image. Her long golden hair billowed in the wind, the curls seemingly tossed about by an invisible breeze. Her chiseled cheekbones were perfectly etched, right down to her narrow nose and full lips. Behind her head, the rays of the sun beamed outward and came to rest at the edge of the token.
She was staring into her own eyes. But she was staring into the eyes of a stranger. The coin slithered from her sweaty fingers as if it were made of molten lava. She stood up and staggered across the kitchen, the taste of bile filling her throat.
“Heaven?” Bonita moved toward her.
She did not care. She had to get out of this place. Deep inside, she knew she could not run from her memories, but she would still try. There must be a place somewhere. A faraway place where she
could live in peace.
Her belly lurched in anger as she fought to stifle the bile foaming in her throat. The burning liquid would not be abated. She rushed out the kitchen doors and vomited onto Harmon’s fine imported wool rug.
Bonita shook as she reached for the phone. “Mr. Steele, come to the kitchen quickly. Miss Heaven appears to have taken ill.”
She let the phone fall from her hand and watched the girl stagger into the darkened hallway.
* * *
Bice woke to a rumbling thunder in his belly.
He opened his eyes and stifled a yawn. Rubbing the back of his neck, he gazed around the gloomy suite. Harmon lay asleep. He’d have to wake him soon, none of the trio had eaten all day and he was near starved. Plus, it would be time to check his foot for swelling.
He rose and stretched. Now, his back hurt. He should’ve known better than to sleep in the chair. But he had no choice. He was lucky he’d slept at all.
He gazed at Heaven. It took him a few seconds to realize an empty chair stared back at him. His heart stopped a moment in fear, as his stare moved toward the window beyond the chair. The glossy pane was still intact.
Apparently, she hadn’t jumped through it in some sort of fit. He gazed at the city lights glittering over the hills in the distance. All seemed quiet. For now, at least.
He turned on the bedside light. She was not asleep on the floor either. He wasn’t sure why he expected her to be there. Perhaps it was a brief reaction to her sudden absence.
His belly growled once more. He ignored it, and gazed toward the door. She must have slipped away silently, in preference to the comfort of her own bed. He’d stop by her room, and check her on the way to dinner. But there was something he must do first.
He pulled the drawer open on the mahogany highboy and rummaged around, until he found the can he’d tucked inside safely the night before. He glanced at Harmon, as he gingerly pulled the decayed container from its hiding place. The singer snored loudly.
With great care he pulled out a coin and gazed closely at it, holding it gingerly by its edges under the bedside light. He froze, as Harmon groaned and mumbled from the bed. Satisfied he’d not disturbed the musician, he studied the coin again.
Its edges were dotted green with dried algae. He rubbed the coin across his shirt and gazed at it again. It appeared to be pure gold, a tiny 24k marking was etched on the bottom. He rolled his finger along the smooth edges and studied the island scene on the front of the coin. He flipped it over and instantly felt his heart sink.
The coin fell from his hands, as he lost his balance and plunged against the bed. He staggered to pull himself upright, but instead pulled the sheets from the bed as he hopelessly dropped to the floor.
His outstretched foot hit the bedside table, which in turn toppled the can. It dropped to the floor and burst into a rainbow of gold across the carpet. Once again the strange medallions he’d so carefully plucked from the kitchen tiles and tucked away, were scattered everywhere.
“What the hell?” Harmon cried, as he fought to cover himself. “Bice, what are you doing with my sheets?”
Bice gazed at the musician, grasping the side if the bed. He knew he could not fall. He had to stay strong and fight the urge. If he relented, the termites would come.
Screw dinner. The all too familiar yearning for a taste of a foamy broth of ale suddenly surfaced. Let the termites dine. At least he’d have drank himself to oblivion, while they shredded him into a scarecrow.
“Bice?” Harmon rose from the bed and untangled the sheets from his assistant’s head . “Are you all right?”
“The coin.” Bice eyes grew wide, and turned into a glossy shade of bronze. “Look at the coin.”
Harmon limped toward a lone coin, and plucked one from the floor. “ I found these last night, buried under half a foot of sand. That’s how I cut my foot, on the rusted metal can.”
Bice stared at Harmon, realizing the musician truly had no idea. He jabbed his finger toward the golden token.
“Turn it over, Harmon.” He wiped a bit of spittle from the corner of his mouth. His hunger seemed to have temporarily ceased, but he knew he’d need a drink very soon. His mouth watered at the thought of a cold one. He couldn’t hold out much longer.
He watched Harmon’s face pale as he studied the girl on the back. He suddenly felt sorry for his wealthy employer. He knew the musician was at his breaking point. Hell, beyond his breaking point. He suddenly wished he, Harmon and the boys were on tour in some far away country.
Not here in the huge house that never quite seemed habitable. Not with the odd girl in the next room who could somehow fix shattered vases. Away from that asshole Thornton, away from the coins, away with the need to suddenly find explanations for every magic trick the orphan pulled from her sleeve.
“It’s her.” Harmon muttered. “It’s Heaven. And somehow, incredible as it seems, Heaven looks exactly like my dead sister.”
It was finally out, Bice thought as he lay against the bedrail. Harmon seemed to take it all in stride. He wasn’t so sure about himself.
“I’m not feeling well.” Harmon spoke again. He limped to the bed and sat down gently. “Bice, my ears are ringing. I think I may faint. Hold me.”
Bice watched as the singer leaned to his side, until he was very near to toppling from the bed. He crawled alongside the musician and steadied the man. “It’s not your ears ringing, it’s your phone. Plus, you’re a grown man and you really should ask that favor from one of your many skanks, not me.”
Harmon seemed to sigh in relief, as he answered the phone. A rush of garbled words spilled from the wires, intermingled with south of the border dialect. He rose and stared at Bice. “Something’s wrong with Heaven. We need to get to the kitchen right away.”
Bice stared at him stonily. “I’m not surprised.”
* * *
Heaven raced by the pair the moment they turned the corner toward the kitchen.
Bice was too quick for her. He worked security in concerts too many years before he started managing bands and pulling groupies off of Harmon. He learned to be quick. If not, he wouldn’t have a job for long. If one groupie had laid a hand on the musician, his management would have his batter-dipped head on a plate for a midnight snack.
His arm snaked out and grabbed hers, before she realized what was happening. Unable to stop in time from the forward momentum, she flew forward. He caught her in his arms, and steadied her.
“What is wrong, Heaven?” He asked. Her eyes were as wide as the bottom of a bottle of ale.
“Leave me alone!” She hissed. “Let go of me.” She raised her leg high in the air, and came down with fury on top of his foot with her heel.
Bice’s eyes bulged from his head. “How dare you?”
“Heaven, you’re out of control.” Harmon limped up beside her, and took her opposite hand.
She would have none of it. She wriggled and fought the two men relentlessly, until she finally dropped to her knees in despair.
Without a word, Bice lifted her and carried her up the long flight of steps to her room. She seemed limp, like a rag doll tossed aside by an unruly child. Harmon followed closely behind.
Bice picked up the phone on the bed side table. “Thornton, send Bonita up to Heaven’s room.” He dropped the phone back into its cradle, and gazed at the teenager with clenched teeth. Now his foot was killing him. She had struck his toes, he could already feel his shoe growing tight across the top of his aching digits.
She lay on the bed, watching him watch her. He glanced at Harmon standing in the doorway. He tilted his head at the singer, motioning for him to take a seat. The man obediently limped to the far side of Heaven’s bed, and settled into the chair.
Once more, he picked up the phone. “Thornton, bring our meals upstairs tonight. Pronto.”
He glanced across the bed at Harmon, who was in obvious need of a shower and a shave. The man had slept in his clothing. His shirt was rumpled, still dotted with a few c
rimson stains from the night before. One leg of his jeans was rolled up, the opposite was covered in dried, crusty sand. The bandage around his foot was already beginning to fray.
Bonita rapped on the door. “Did you call, Mr. Bice?” She seemed sullen, with a mixture of nervousness thrown in for good measure.
“I’d like you to call for a nurse to care for Harmon. He was injured on the beach last night, and really should be in bed a day or two. First, tell me what happened in the kitchen with Heaven. She looks like she’s seen the other side of Hell.”
Bonita gazed at the floor. She stood in silence a moment, finally glanced at Bice then moved her gaze to Harmon. “Heaven took ill in the kitchen, Sir.”
“Tell me why she became ill.” He did not have time to play around. He would get to the bottom of this, one way or another. It was his job to look out for Harmon’s best interest, regardless of what the musician wanted. What Harmon wanted and what he actually needed were usually two separate things.
The man certainly didn’t need the stress which was slowly suffocating the household the moment Heaven came to live with them. He often found himself in the position of Harmon’s leader, his mentor and even his lookout. It was his turn to take over.
“She...” Bonita paused, unable to continue.
“Tell me, Bonita.” His toes were throbbing, he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer. He yanked his shoe off and threw it across the room.
The woman stared at him aghast, as a glaze of fear suddenly framed her dark eyes. She paused a moment longer, and finally sighed in resignation. “Heaven found a coin on the kitchen floor. The instant she turned it over, she seemed to turn to stone. She stumbled a moment, righted herself and rushed out the kitchen door. She vomited all over Mr. Steele’s fine wool rug.”
Bice fought an overwhelming wave of dizziness which threatened to overtake him. He struggled a moment to choose the right words. What the woman didn’t know, certainly couldn’t hurt her. He’d obviously missed a coin cleaning up the mess in the kitchen the night before. God willing, he was lucky to get the vases out of sight before any of the staff ventured into the kitchen for a late snack.
The Girl With Aquamarine Eyes Page 11
