The Girl With Aquamarine Eyes (2 page)

He could see the very spot where he’d found her. He would
never forget. That day haunted his every waking hour. Eventually, it cruelly
found a way to penetrate his dreams.

He watched through the window, seeing once again the girl
lying in the sand as a single gull chipped away at the flesh on her leg.
Strings of seaweed were caught in her hair and wrapped around her ankles.

Ten years ago, he was a nouveau riche musician who’d
purchased the mansion only days before. His success was more than he could have
ever dreamed. He’d cashed in on his sudden wealth at only twenty five years
old. But that first walk along the west side of his property changed his life
forever.

Her parents laid face down and bloated in the sands nearby.
Dozens of gulls pecked at their bodies. A small wooden boat protruded at an odd
angle against the rocky cliff, some of its battered wood scattered across the
shoreline. Clothing floated in the waves, moving back and forth along the
shoreline as the tide teased the fabric into living forms.

He’d rushed to the girl first. He didn’t know why. Perhaps,
it was because she wasn’t the color of death. Perhaps it was a gut instinct.

He drove the gull away insanely, gently turned her over and
wiped the sand from her face. She opened her hazy aquamarine eyes and stared at
him.

There was something about her eyes. The way the sunlight
caught the golden flecks against the watery blue, making them dance. But there
was something much, much more behind her eyes.

For seven long years he’d never forgotten her eyes. She’d
gazed deep into his soul that day. He knew she could see everything he’d ever
done and every place he’d traveled to. As if he were staring into his own
reflection in a mirror of his life. That day, he’d felt some sort of
unexplainable connection to the dying girl.

The longer he stared into those bottomless eyes, the more he
could feel her probing into the dusty cobwebs of memories long forgotten. The
ocean winds whipped his hair into his eyes at that very moment. The spell was
broken.

He turned and stared at the frightened girl. His belly
suddenly wrenched with guilt. She looked like a trapped animal, staring
straight through his skin and into his soul. As she’d done the day he turned
her over on the shoreline.

He carried her into the house that miserable day, and called
the police.

Silently on the couch she’d lain in shock, until the
officers and child welfare workers arrived. In short order the bodies were
removed from the beach. The last he heard, she’d been taken to an orphanage. No
one came forward to claim her. No one knew her name. Her parents were never
identified. Not a living soul knew from where she’d come.

Harmon gazed at Bice. “I need your help for awhile. She
obviously loathes the ground I walk on. I’ll leave, maybe you can get her to talk.
Or better yet, talk some sense into her. She would have died on that island in
the storm. We were lucky to get out alive. Not to mention her friend would have
died along with her.”

“Dreams?” The girl moaned.

Bice and Harmon whirled around and stared in disbelief at
the teenager. She could talk, she was not a mute after all. She not only could
speak, but was listening carefully to their hushed voices, absorbing their
words in stoic silence.

“Now’s your chance.” Bice shoved Harmon toward the girl. “Tell
her the truth. Tell her why she’s here.”

“No. I can’t. I’m not ready.”

“Do it. She has to know. It will be much easier the sooner
you tell her.”

“Oh hell, not now.” Harmon thought a moment, and carefully
took a step toward the bed. He could feel Bice’s eyes searing sizzling heat
into his back. Invisible spears of fire were propelling him forward.

His shirt might burst into flames if he were to suddenly
stop. He’d make front page of the morning paper, “
Man bursts into flames in
his own home, investigators think spontaneous combustion may be a factor
.”
At least he’d make the paper that way. It’d been awhile since he’d made front
page of any paper stateside.

He shook his head clear, and took another step toward the
waiting teenager. He stopped a few feet from the bed, slowly pulling the
armchair toward him. Taking great care not to get too close, he eased himself
down. Her eyes still burned blue fury at him.

He slowly inhaled, waiting for all hell to break loose
again. Unbelievably, she remained silent. He sighed with relief.

Finally, he spoke. “Seven years ago, I found you on my
beach, you were nearly dead. You know your parents didn’t make it. I called for
help, but since no one knew who you were or if you had any relatives, you were
sent to an orphanage.”

He didn’t know how much she understood. He watched her eyes,
the glowing aquamarine eyes, the very color of the sea itself, but they would
not give up what she might be thinking.

“I was twenty-five years old when I found you.. Since that
day, I could not forget you. Don’t ask me why, maybe it was the look in your
eyes. From that day forward I thought about you every day no matter what part
of the world I was in. You were stuck in my head. I wanted to do something for
you that day, to somehow help you, but it was out of my hands. I was gone up to
a year at a time on tour with my band.”

She remained silent. He watched her carefully study him. At
least she seemed to be listening.

“Later,” he continued, “I found out they put you in an
orphanage. This sickened me. I felt guilty day and night, for not having the
ability to help find you a home or take you in myself. I could have hired a
nanny for you, sent you to the best schools and given you the life you
deserved.”

She stared at him with disdain. “Spare me your life story.
Tell me where Dreams is.”

“She’s back at the orphanage.” He gripped the arms of the
chair tightly, waiting for the backlash.

“Take me the hell back there!”

“Where did you pick up that language? Tell me the monkeys on
that island didn’t teach you this?”

“From you, you said it. Now take me back!”

“I can’t. I have temporary guardianship of you, until you
are capable and of age to make it on your own. I won’t take you back to the
orphanage. Ever.”

She gazed at him in confusion. “What does that mean?”

Bice chuckled. “It means you get to live here for now. You’re
stuck with him.”

She glared at Bice. “No, I don’t think so.”

Bice defiantly crossed his arms and glared back at her. But
before he could react and run for cover from the demon girl, he watched as she
snatched the book off the bedside table and flung it at him. It whirled through
the air, hit him across the forehead and tumbled to the floor in a whoosh of
pages.

He doubled over in surprise, clutching his head. His hand
still stung where she’d bitten him, now his temple was throbbing. He reached up
and felt the already-forming welt the book had left behind in its supersonic
travels through midair.

Enough was enough. He moved toward her with determination,
leaned over the bed and met her gaze. “You do that again, I’ll knock you in the
head with a book. Got it?”

Unfazed, she grabbed a handful of his long hair and yanked
it.

He was ready this time. He quickly grasped her wrist and
squeezed, forcing her to loosen her grip.

The girl watched in horror as the color ebbed from her
fingers. She realized he meant it, and finally let go. Tears formed in her eyes
as she gazed at the two men. Silently, she slid under the sheet and covered her
face. The fabric soon began to tremble in time with her heart wrenching cry.

Harmon glared at his assistant. “You scared her!”

“She’ll be fine, she’s being a cry baby.” Bice gently pulled
the sheet from her face. “You got a name?”

“Screw you!”

He laughed. “Did I hear you correctly? Is that what they
called you back at the home? I can hear it now at roll call. Annie- here. Beth-
here. Screw You- here. Now go on, tell us your name.”

Harmon burst into a shoulder-shaking round of laughter. This
was better than an movie he’d watched, a hundred times better than the many
hysterical groupie fights he’d witnessed.

She gritted her teeth and glared at Bice. “Heaven.”

Bice stared at her in shock. She was the farthest thing from
heaven he’d ever set eyes upon. “Are you sure it’s not Hell?”

“That isn’t funny. Dreams and I each picked a name when we
lived on the island. I picked Heaven, because that’s what the island was like
for us. Until your baboon friend came along.” She glared at Harmon.

“That baboon saved your life.” Bice replied. “You owe him
that much, Heaven.”

Harmon leaned forward in the chair. He wouldn’t let a
seventeen year old intimidate him. It’d taken months to find her, and for the
longest time it was thought she and her friend had perished at sea.

Their break had finally come when several passengers on the
doomed ship reported seeing the girls leap overboard to the sea patrol. Harmon
sent his plane to circle the nearest archipelago, until one day the pair were
finally spotted.

But the hurricane formed from what seemed a minor tropical
storm. Its dark tentacles reached out behind the vessel as he sailed at full
speed, threatening to drag him and his crew into its watery mansion. He arrived
on the island only hours ahead of the deadly storm.

She ran from him the moment he stepped on shore. He caught
up to her, and begged her and her friend to come aboard with him. He’d tried in
vain to explain to them the monster which lay only miles offshore.

But instead, she’d jerked away from him and turned to leave.
At that moment, a band of heavy rain and gale winds hit the island. The torrent
threw him face first into the sands, as trees buckled and crashed to the ground
around him. The next thing he knew, he was digging her mangled legs from under
a felled tree.

Heaven gazed at him with her mysterious golden tinted eyes. “Why
do you draw pictures on your arms?”

Bice immediately fell into a hearty round of laughter. He
staggered backward against the wall. His laughter steadily grew louder, until
he gave up the last of his dignity and wept.

Harmon glared at his shameless assistant. “I didn’t draw them,
they’re called tattoos. Each picture tells a story, a person I might have known
or maybe a place I’ve been. This one is my car.”

Heaven studied his arms closely. She gazed at each picture
carefully, hoping to decipher the story behind each. Her eyes momentarily
fluttered closed. “Fire. There will be a great crash and fire.”

Harmon frowned. “What do you mean?”

She grew suddenly pale, pulled the sheet over her head and
lay trembling beneath. He could almost hear the unmistakable rattle of her
broken legs clicking together. She finally peered from beneath the sheet. “I
thought I saw a picture on your arm. Never mind.”

Bice moved to her bedside. “You need to get some rest. We’ll
see you later this evening.”

Harmon sat silently for a moment. Finally, he broke his gaze
from her soulful eyes and slowly followed Bice from the room.

* * *

Bice and Harmon descended the staircase silently.

They walked across the foyer and into Harmon’s study. Bice
took a seat in the rich leather chair facing Harmon’s desk. He could hear the
musician moving behind him. Soon a cork popped from a bottle, followed by the
tinkling of glasses and spirits sizzling against cubes of crackled ice.

“Thanks.” He murmured as Harmon handed him a drink. He could
put it off no longer. There was something very odd about their new houseguest.
Not to mention her temper.

“Harmon, do you realize what you’ve gotten yourself into?”
He asked. “For God’s sake, she was on the island too long. She can’t go around
biting us and pounding you in the head. Now, she’s carrying on about a crash
and fire?”

Harmon took his usual seat behind his majestic desk. He
swirled his drink, gazing at the gold records adorning the walls. Dozens of
them. He’d had it all. Now, something had called him back from touring and here
he was, no plans for a new record or another tour. Only plans to rescue an
unwanted orphan time hadn’t been able to erase from his troubled mind.

She lay upstairs in the very room above his study, a wounded
spirit both inside and out. He sighed. “I don’t know what she could have
possibly meant about a fire. Nor could I have predicted she’d pound me in the
head, or bite you. Apparently she has some anger issues toward me for bringing
her back to the states.”

Bice studied his employer carefully. “Let’s hope her anger
is resolved soon. I came damn close to threatening to shove that book up her
nose.” He rubbed his head halfheartedly.

Harmon laughed.

“What’s so funny? Do you think I like having a teenager
here? What about your career? Don’t tell me I came all the way from Philly to
manage you for naught.”

Harmon sighed and sat his glass down. “I need a break. A
year off would be nice, I’ve been touring the better part of seven years. Stay
on here. Enjoy yourself and relax awhile.”

Bice leaned across the desk and glared at his employer. “How
the hell can I relax when you put that demon that calls herself Heaven in the
room next to mine? Forty damn rooms in this mansion, and you have to put her
practically in my lap.”

He leapt from the chair and stormed to the neat row of
imported ales and liquors. He slammed his glass down, picked up a bottle and
took a long drink directly from it. He sighed in temporary contentment, and
wiped his mouth on his cuff. He knew he’d have to be careful not to drink too
much, or the Philly Monster would rise from the swamps again.

Harmon chuckled at his manager. “Give it some time, she’ll
be fine. She needs to adjust and get used to being in the States again. She has
a lot to catch up on, and we need to help her. You may have any room in the
house after things settle down. Take your pick. Do this for me. You know I’d do
it for you in a minute.”