The Girl With Aquamarine Eyes

by Shelley Madden

  His eyes fell to Harmon in the back seat. The singer hadn’t even noticed the car was no longer in motion. He was buried in page after page of lyrics, haistly penning word after word onto a crumbled paper. Obviously, the man had been inspired by something. Or he’d gone mad.

  He dropped his darkened glasses to the tip of his nose, and pressed the button near his hand. The glass barrier silently slipped down behind him. Again, Harmon didn’t cock an eyebrow. He was oblivious to everything which surrounded him.

  “We’re here.” Hawk stared into the mirror. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Harmon gazed at Hawk’s reflection. The man rarely spoke. The handful of words the braided and leather clad man had uttered might very well be a record. Or an omen.

  Nonetheless, he trusted Hawk with his life. He loved the big brute. Hawk was his family now, with his sister gone and his mother traveling abroad. Hawk and Bice and Bonita. And now Heaven, and maybe Dreams if she’d even come.

  Maybe he had an illustrious image somewhere in his troubled mind, of building his own family. One block at a time. They’d all sit at the table in the evenings as the sun settled into the sea, and chat as if they’d had a past together. As if they’d known each other for eternity.

  He gazed at his lyrics. Page after page he’d written during the drive. He recalled how the majestic window in Heaven’s suite somehow put itself back together. He’d gone into the suite repeatedly that night to study it. To find some reasonable explanation. But there was none. He knew he’d find no answers before he even turned the doorknob. A sepia fog of yesterday seemed to envelop him the moment he stepped into her room. As if he’d stepped back in time.

  He’d next gone to the kitchen and studied the vases again. Afterwards, the coins with her image on them were turned over and over in his sweaty hands. As she slept, he’d studied her legs.

  The crippled teenager stood and walked only a week after her legs were crushed. Every fiber in his being denied the logic. Because, there was none. What his eyes could clearly see, his mind rose up and clashed against. His inner turmoil would triumph if he didn’t find an outlet. He couldn’t tell Hawk what he’d seen. Bice himself seemed to dismiss it all as an uncanny coincidence.

  He must write. He had to write. Maybe Hawk would go in for him and fetch Dreams. His mind was on full-tilt pinball overload. Silvered bells dinged as the titanium ball darted behind the neon glass. Reflected back shone the face of a madman. A sliver of sweat rolled from his brow, and dropped to the lyrics he clutched. He hastily wiped it away and shook the paper violently, as if it’d been hit by a flaming meteor from the blackest depths of space.

  “Bice?” Harmon whispered. “Where is Bice?” He never went anywhere without Bice.

  Hawk gave him a quizzical look in the mirror. Finally, he turned around in the seat and stared at him. The leather he wore rustled and crackled beneath him.

  “Don’t you remember? You said to let him sleep.”

  “Where is Heaven?”

  “In bed.” Hawk groaned. “Harmon, what’s gotten into you? You look like you’ve seen the other side of hell.”

  Harmon ignored him. He couldn’t tell the man that yes, he in fact had seen the other side of hell. That something very disturbing was growing within the walls of the estate, as a fungus might grow on a rotted tree downed in a storm.

  It was slowly overtaking all reason and leaving behind a dream-like haze for anyone who dared cross the threshold into the mansion’s darkened corridors. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out the picture of his sister. He’d woke early and headed down to his study. He expected the damage to be fairly severe from shooting the wall.

  When he’d opened the door and drew the shades against the blinding sunlight, he tried to take in once again what his eyes could see, but his mind refused to absorb.

  Rose’s picture lay neatly on his desk. But it was different this time. Time itself had paid homage to the ruined photo as he slept.

  The silver pinball bounced to the sound of blasting music. He pounded the flippers on each side of the table as he gazed at the photo. The shining orb tipped off the paddle, spun helplessly against the gravity that reeled it in and rolled into the bottomless pit. A million more pin balls lie waiting for it. Finally, it rolled up alongside his sanity.

  He stared at the picture, feeling a vein of dribble erupt from the corner of his parched mouth. As if waiting for him to come, the photo laid silently, the last stray trace of sunlight hitting it oh-so perfectly. His sister in all her childhood glory, right down to the rosy tint on her angelic cheeks. Back as new, as if it’d never become permanently embedded deep within the mahogany wood where it had earlier drowned. Where he too had drowned.

  He’d dropped his coffee. The hot liquid bounced from his knee, sprayed his trousers and flipped onto his shoes. He never felt it. He never even glanced down at it.

  He didn’t care. His hand shook as he held the photo up until it became one with the glint of sunlight pestering him. It was perfect. Too perfect. Last time he’d seen it, it was plastered in ruins to his desk.

  Something forced him to tear his gaze from the photo. Something in the room demanding to be noticed. Something calling out to him, waiting for him to notice. He was almost afraid to look. His gaze fell to the lamp.

  The lamp which had been shattered to pieces when he’d thrown the phone in a fit of anger. It was whole again.

  He wasn’t even surprised. Red and blue and gold and green spheres glistened in perfect harmony within the dim study, glittering across the walls. A spectrum of color danced in the ambient sun.

  This time he had no reaction. Because, he simply no longer cared. The wild horses did not thunder through his head. The shrill pitch that always followed the hoof beats of the red-eyed monster beasts did not drop him to his knees. He didn’t know why. Maybe, he was dead already.

  He staggered to the phone to call the orphanage, still clutching the picture. Even more spittle foamed from his mouth as he stared at the mended lamp, waiting for the children’s home to answer the ring.

  He contemplated bashing the tiffany against the wall again and again, as he listened to the never-ending elevator music. He’d wait in the closet for Heaven to come. This way the truth would be known. He would watch her fix it, and all her mysteries would be solved.

  If not, he’d slam it against the wall again, and wait for her to return to fix it once more. If he broke the lamp enough times, the truth would be known. She would never have to know he was hidden in the closet. Bonita hopefully wouldn’t mind serving his meals in his new hideaway.

  But he knew it wouldn’t work. He needed Dreams. She would know. She’d have the answers. After all, she spent the last five years hidden from the world on a god-forsaken and forgotten archipelago somewhere in the south Pacific with the strange girl.

  The pinball machine gnashed and banged in the dark corridors of his mind. He sniffed the air around him. The smell of burning wires and molten steel surrounded him. The machine was on fire. A grey fog rose slowly from beneath it, overpowering him and threatening to inhale him. He too would fall into the bottomless pit along with the million other lost silver balls.

  Maybe, it’d be quiet down there. Staring at the reflection of a lunatic in the timeless orbs throughtout eternity sounded quite peaceful. That would be a good way to go.

  A coyote howled in the distance, interrupting his thoughts. But there weren’t any coyotes in downtown Los Angeles. He gazed through his haggard reflection, out the tinted window. It was a young girl, laughing and giggling with her friend. He drew a sigh of relief.

  He gazed at Hawk’s dark eyes embedded in the mirror. “Lets go.”

  * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tommy sat on the landing on the staircase, gazing at Heaven sleeping on the couch.

  Try as he might, he hadn’t slept a wink all night. He finally gave it up, grabbed his pillow and laid on the landing watching her sleep. Luckily, it was Saturday morning.
He didn’t have to worry about school, and tonight was his night off. He’d figure out what to do as soon as the girl woke.

  He’d carried her in the night before, and examined her ankle. It was indeed swollen, and in the light, the pair noticed a deep gash across her knee. He begged her to let him take her to the hospital, or to call her family.

  She’d refused. She politely asked to lie down, insisting she’d be fine by morning.

  Now it was morning, and he was once again in a fix. He reached for his cell phone in his back pocket. He’d call Ben. His friend would know what to do.

  His father was due home from the convention in only a few hours. He pondered once more hunting down the camping supplies. Maybe, if luck was on his side Ben would let Heaven stay at his place for a short while, until they figured out what to do.

  He sat up straight, suddenly startled. His back pocket was empty. He leapt to his feet and shoved his hands down his front pockets. They were also empty.

  His heart sank as he realized the phone might have fallen from his pocket in the woods. Nonetheless he raced downstairs, and rushed to his ragged car. There was a chance it could be in the car.

  Thirty minutes later, he leaned against the oily machine in exhasperation. He would wake Heaven, and together they’d have to search the woods. He couldn’t leave her on the couch alone. After all, she was the victim of a frightening night and a serious injury. Plus, his dad would be beside himself if he walked in and found a girl asleep in the living room.

  “Tommy?”

  He whirled around. Heaven stood smiling at him in the morning sunlight. She still looked like an angel, despite her mossy green rumpled gown. His heart once again skipped a beat as he stared at the lovely girl. His gaze fell from her moonstone eyes, to her ankle.

  “Good morning. Your ankle looks much better.” He slammed the car door shut, and met her on the porch. He gazed around, hoping a nosey neighbor wasn’t watching. The last thing he needed was neighborhood gossip getting back to his father.

  “It feels much better, but I’m still quite sore.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. To make matters worse, I’ve lost my cell phone. Would you mind helping me search the woods? That is, if you’re up to it.”

  Heaven thought a moment. She knew Bice and Harmon would be looking for her by now. She was honestly a bit frightened being so close to the mansion. At this hour, she should have been sailing the great seas. At this point, any island would do.

  Though the hour was early, Bonita would have been up to her room by now with her breakfast. The thought of food caused her belly to growl. She hadn’t eaten the night before, having been too angered at being stood up by Bice. The one thing she knew for sure, the last place she wanted to be was back in the woods so close to the giant fortress she had snuck away from.

  “I will be on my way, Tommy. Thank you for helping me last night.”

  He studied her leg once more. “You’re ankle must still be sore.” A sickening feeling of dread filled his belly as his gaze rose to her knee. The bloodied wound across it was gone. Her knee looked perfect. Perfect and beautiful, as would be expected of a goddess.

  It was impossible. He clearly remembered carrying her into the house, and fetching ice. Of course by now the swelling would be minimal, but surely the wound on her knee would not have melted away as he slept on the landing nearby.

  He studied the faint dots of crimson stains on her gown. Proof he hadn’t imagined the wound. He’d seen it with his own eyes. He was the son of a physician, who often was called into the trauma center for serious wounds.

  There were still traces of blood in the back seat from the gash. If the police were to search his car, they’d interrogate him and demand he tell them where the body was. He’d miss his Senior year, and maybe even college. His dad would be beside himself.

  His eyes gaped in horror as he staggered backward, fighting the urge to turn and run for the distant hills. He thought of his mother. He wished to the heavens above she were here at this very moment. She’d take him to her bosom and reassure him, and protect him like she was supposed to do. She’d demand answers from the strange girl with even stranger eyes.

  The sound of the hallway phone ringing caused him to jump. He lurched against the doorway, trying in vain to calm his uncontrollable shaking. If he didn’t hold on to something, he knew he’d collapse. He walked backward into the hall, unable to take his frozen eyes from her leg.

  He was a monster. He was a freak. Take your turn, get your number and fall in line to bully Tommy Killmore the geek. The only kid in school who’d bought a car with his own money.

  It was the football players, they were behind this. They’d set him up. It was another one of their relentless tricks. The assholes had set the bait, laid the trap and waited for him to take it. And he had, while they hid in the woods stifling their laughter and swigging their beers.

  The phone continued ringing. Of course, the timing was perfect. It was probably the team captain, ready to tell him the joke was on him. They’d finally gotten smart, having grown weary of stacking his locker with unmentionable items. This was their grand finale,

  their coup de grace.

  The rest of the players probably dotted the lawn, hidden carefully behind his father’s shrubs. He wouldn’t be surprised if one had a video camera. The clip would surely be plastered across the internet for all to see come Monday morning. It might even make the evening news.

  He finally tore his eyes from Heaven, and raced to answer the phone.

  * * *

  Harmon stood at the study window, watching the waves as they crashed against the jagged cliff.

  He and Bice had searched hours for Heaven. They’d found nothing, other than blood and a dead cell phone partially buried in a pile of crushed leaves.

  Dreams was happy to come visit Heaven for a week. The nuns didn’t mind, after all the girl would be eighteen in only a few weeks. She’d be free to do what she wanted and live where she wanted soon.

  She too was an exceptionally beautiful girl. Dreams and Heaven might have even been cast from the same mold, except Dreams had long, wavy jet black hair and glittering dark eyes to match.

  She was the most polite teenager Harmon had ever met. She took an immediate liking to Bice. If her friend were not missing, she would probably be following his manager from room to room at this very moment, as he showed her around the house.

  The moment he and Hawk had stepped from the car with Dreams, Bice burst from the house looking dazed. The man wasn’t even dressed. He explained to the trio after brief introductions Heaven was missing. Harmon was absolutely sickened, requiring Bice’s and Hawk’s assistance to make it up the front steps. Dreams burst into a round of shoulder-shaking sobs.

  They searched Heaven’s room, the entire house and finally the grounds. Hawk eventually spotted a broken tree limb overhanging the wall which surrounded the estate. On the outside of the wall, they found broken branches covered in blood.

  She was injured. He doubted she could’ve waved a car down. Drag marks through the fallen leaves indicated she might be pulling her legs behind her. He refused to call the police, even at Bice’s insistence, for fear it would cause the media to swarm upon his house like bees swarming to a hive.

  He had connections. He’d find her one way or another. If not, he’d call the police, but not a moment sooner.

  Bice and Hawk had been gone for hours scouring the streets, relentless in their quest to find Heaven, while he and Dreams waited behind. He refused to go with them, having preferred to stay behind in case she managed to find her way back home or had a change of heart and called.

  It was nearing lunch hour. Bonita brought Dreams sandwiches in Heaven’s room, where she held vigil waiting for her best friend to return.

  Harmon lifted the phone they’d found in the woods from the dresser. He flipped it open, and stared numbly at the neon screen. The battery level had finally risen somewhat, after he’d found a charger to fit it. He pushed the va
rious keys. For what he was searching, he didn’t know.

  ‘DAD-HOME’ suddenly lit up the screen. He rapidly pushed more buttons. His hands shook uncontrollably as he searched the menu. The phone beeped and vibrated and finally displayed the owners name. It belonged to someone named Tommy.

  He pressed the corresponding button by ‘DAD-HOME’, and waited.

  * * *

  Tommy stared at the ringing phone, fighting the sudden urge to fling it out the window. He knew he must answer it. Maybe it wasn’t the football jocks ready to poke fun at him. It could be his dad, he was due home anytime.

  He gazed at Heaven. God she was beautiful. He wished she and him were a thousand miles away, free of worries and problems. Just the two of them, together forever. That is, if the football jocks hadn’t sent her to trick him.

  He would take her to the ocean. They’d watch the dolphins rise and fall in the foamy sea. She was an angel from heaven.

  He gazed once more at the phone. If it was his dad, all hell would break loose if he hadn’t figured out how to get the girl back home, or somewhere, quickly. His father would know in his voice something was terribly wrong.

  He finally lifted the receiver. Maybe it was Ben calling to say he was on his way over. Or maybe, it was a magazine salesman calling to tell him he’d won the grand prize of a billion dollars and a trip for two to Zimbabwe. He shuddered as he finally quieted the annoying ringing.

  “Hello?” He wheezed.

  “Hello, this is Harmon Steel. I found your phone in my woods last night.”

  Tommy’s hand began to shake as a sticky sweat beaded across his brow. A sudden vision played in his mind. He was sitting in jail. His dad was outside the bars, yelling at him.

  They would put him in prison for kidnapping. He’d never see the inside of Princeton, which he’d spent months trying to get accepted into. He gazed at his faded jeans. He watched in horror as the blue denim swirled and melted, reforming into precise black and white prison stripes.