The Girl With Aquamarine Eyes (15 page)

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 crimson 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.

“Where’s the coin?” He asked.

Bonita pulled it from her smock and handed it to him. Before
he could drop it into his shirt pocket, Heaven caught sight of it. She once
again leaned over the bed and became ill.

“Heaven, what is wrong?” Harmon rose from the chair and
moved toward her.

Bice gazed at Bonita. “You can go now. Please ask Thornton
to send up broth for Heaven instead. Next, get someone to clean up the mess on
the floor in here.”

“Yes, Sir.” Bonita scurried out the door as quickly as she’d
entered.

Bice sighed. He was tired. Damn tired, even though he had
just woken. The big house was spinning around him, sucking him into an dizzying
orbit of confusion. His yearning for a meal gnawed at him like six-dozen
termites.

He shuddered at the thought. He would not become the Philly
Monster again. Not for Harmon’s sake, or Heaven’s. They needed him.

As badly as he needed a drink, he would resist. As badly as
he wished Heaven had never set foot across the threshold, it was Harmon’s
decision, not his. There was no choice but to accept it.

He couldn’t let them down. They had no one else. Nor did he.

* * *

Bice
and Harmon limped down the long hall in unison.

Bice propped the musician against his shoulder, attempting
to steady him. The singer suddenly felt frail and lifeless. His once
charismatic demeanor had apparently washed away in the blood-stained tides the
night before. He’d said little since the pair bolted down the stairs to find
out the latest misadventure Heaven had gotten herself into.

“Take it easy for awhile.” Bice instructed his employer,
easing him onto his bed. “Your dinner will be up soon.” He leaned over him, and
adjusted the pillow. As if on queue and as fate would have it, the coin rolled
from his front pocket and plopped onto Harmon’s chest.

Before he could exhale, Harmon picked it up and gazed at it.
The musician simply stared at the token, his face remaining expressionless. He
finally let it fall and gazed at his assistant.

Bice could say nothing. At least the musician was safely in
bed, if he passed out he wouldn’t hit the floor. He was growing tired of
plucking the high-strung man from his precarious positions after he fainted.

“Why is her picture on the backside of the coin?” Harmon
wheezed. “What in the hell is she? Who is she?”

“We discussed this last night. Whatever she is, whoever she
is, we will have to accept it and support her.”

Harmon sat up, his eyes ablaze with an all too familiar
fury. “Don’t blow it off, Bice. Her picture is on the back of a damned coin, it’s
on the back of an entire can of damned golden coins and I want to know why!”

For once, Bice found himself at a loss for words. He had no
explanation. He couldn’t sugar-coat the facts. An exact replica of Heaven’s
stunning face was in fact carved with utmost care on the flip side of each
token. It could be no one else.

He picked the coin up once more. Her golden curls blew in
the wind, frozen in time within the painstaking etching. Her aquamarine eyes
seemed to glow with eternal life from within.

He fought a sudden urge to throw open the highboy drawer,
grab the coins and bolt to the sea with them. He’d toss them into the churning
waves where they belonged. Where they’d surely lie until the end of time.

Harmon groaned. “They must have fallen from the boat.”

“What boat?”

“Seven years ago. The day I found her and her dead parents.
Their boat was wrecked on the cliff line.” He turned toward the window and
gazed at the churning sea. “The coins apparently were in the boat. They had to
be. Lying unseen so many years after the boat capsized. Buried beneath the
sands, all but forgotten by time.”

“They must be some sort of clue to who she is.” Bice sighed.
“The problem is, I’m not sure I want to know.”

Their conversation came to a halt as Thornton entered the
room. He peered around momentarily, checking for anything amiss and carefully
pushed the dinner cart through.

Without a word, he sat a tray near Harmon’s bed, carefully
placing a covered platter of food on it. “Will their be anything else, Mr.
Steele?”

“No, thank you.” Harmon eyed the tray hungrily, and lifted
the silver cover from the plate. A sweeping wave of disbelief crossed his eyes.
His mouth hung open, as he gasped at what lie beneath the cover.

“What is wrong?” Bice leapt to the bedside and gazed at the
meal.

“It’s tomato soup. Is this some kind of joke? I cut my foot
on the beach, leave a bloody mess in the kitchen, nearly die and this is what I’m
served? Bloody tomato soup as if to remind me of my near-fatal ordeal?”