The Girl With Aquamarine Eyes (9 page)

He’d throw her in the cellar for this stunt. The one without
the fine imported ales. Afterward, he’d lock himself up in the stocked cellar
and forget everything for a week or two while he drank himself to new heights.
He turned to leave, but the glint of a spilled glass near the singer’s arm
caught his eye.

He quietly moved closer to the desk and studied the empty
tumbler, hoping to decipher what seemed amiss. The air around him was much too
quiet. Unnaturally quiet, as if some normal sound were missing.

He followed the liquid which had made its way from the
spill, and had seeped under Harmon’s arm as he slept. Gingerly, he lifted the
musician’s arm and quietly sopped the mess to the far side of his desk.

But the liquid was everywhere. He wondered why it hadn’t
woken Harmon when his arm became saturated with the liquor. He gazed at the
musician closely.

He gasped, as he set eyes upon many tiny bubbles which
foamed from Harmon’s mouth and down his chin to the desk below. More were
slowly trickling from his nose, joining with the river of bubbles from the
corner of his lip.

He hesitated, and finally shook the musician. “Harmon?”

The deathly still room seemed to spin around him, as he
realized the reason for the odd silence. He knew what the missing sound was,
instantaneously feeling his heart jerk and flutter to his feet. Harmon wasn’t
breathing.

He pulled the limp man from the chair and flung him to the
floor. He tore the musician’s shirt open and put his ear to his chest. He could
hear nothing, only the ticking of the clock behind him. And his own racing
heart.

Now he knew. Harmon had fallen asleep, knocked the glass
over and inhaled the liquid in his slumber. The man had obviously choked to
death on the spilled beverage.

“Harmon!” He flipped the musician belly down, lifted his
arms above his head and desperately began working the liquid from his frozen
lungs.

* * *

Heaven lay in silence on the bedroom floor. She was swept back in
time, and was a young girl once again. The people of the island were gathered
around her and her parents.

They’d formed a line which faded to infinity, deep into the
gloomy depths of the jungle. A thick haze seemed to encompass the island
people. It moved in waves around her, as the water in the sea might do as it
hit the shoreline. She could hear the murmurs of the people as they held their
dead out to her, begging her to bring back their loved ones.

Coins jingled in a can near her. She gazed to her side and
watched as a native dropped a golden token into the tin cup her father held. He’d
smiled reassuringly at the mourning islander and moved the distraught man
toward the girl.

“Go on, child.” Her mother murmured.

The islander thrust the child toward her wordlessly. The
dead boy’s frozen eyes bore powerful holes straight through to her soul. Water
dripped from his nose, tracing its way down his pale cheek. He was the color of
death itself, a lost soul left behind by the monster of the sea.

She’d clutched the skirts of her mother who stood near. “Momma,
I am tired.”

“Go on child, you must help the boy. You will rest soon.”

Coins jingled in the can once again. She was tired, very
tired. She could no longer stand, having grown too weak. Her mother brought her
a chair and eased her into it. The women of the island stood near, waiting to
bring to her any comfort she might call for.

Her parents had told her before reaching the island a great
storm had come. It pounded the thatch huts endlessly, until its strong winds
ripped the roofs off, casting them aside across the forest floor. Many people
were swept out to sea. Most of them perished.

She gazed at the long line of people holding their dead, as
coins jingled once more in the can nearby. She sighed and put her hands to the
small child’s head with great care. She could hear the soft beat of the drums
around her, until once again the foggy waves took her back in time.

She didn’t know why she could do what she did, only that she
did it. Soon, a tiny spark shone in the boy’s eye, thereafter followed by a
ragged gasp. Until once again, his death was no more.

* * *

Harmon coughed and sputtered as his body recoiled with powerful
spasms. He gasped for air, digging his fingers deep into the rug beneath him.

“Harmon? Are you all right?” Bice helped the pale musician
sit upright. “What happened?”

Harmon slowly raised his eyes to meet his manager’s gaze.
Bice looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. His soft brown hair hung limp and
tangled, his eyes clouded with worry and tiredness. “I must have fainted again.”

“You need to see a physician right away. This has happened
too many times. It damn near got you killed. That glass must have spilled after
you passed out, and somehow you inhaled the liquid.”

Harmon pressed his had to his throbbing temple. “I’ve only
fainted once in my life, when I lost my sister. That is, until Heaven came
here.” He stared at his manager. “I don’t know what is going on, but until we
figure things out, don’t say a word to anyone about what we’ve seen.”

“Why Harmon? Maybe she needs a doctor too. Perhaps a head
doctor.”

Harmon grasped the man by his collar, threatening to choke
him. “Listen to me. We’ll get Dreams here. She may have some answers.”

“What about you? I can’t have you falling all over the place
like this.”

Harmon walked slowly to his desk and sat down. “I’ll be
fine.” He shook his head in dismay as his gaze fell upon the ruined lyrics. The
picture of his sister sat where it had fallen from his hand. The photo was
ruined. The liquid was dried, leaving it firmly adhered to the desk. The
colors, what was left of them for its age, were now faded even further, leaving
behind pale streaks where her angelic face once smiled.

Bice studied Harmon with concern. He knew the singer was a
complicated man, one who’d keep things to himself, rather than lean on someone
during a crisis. He’d seen too many times once a show was over, Harmon withdrew
into himself. His gaze fell upon the gun.

“Why is your gun out? Tell me you weren’t planning anything
stupid, and leave me behind with the whacko.”

Moments passed while Harmon studied the bullet holes in the
wall. “I shot the phone.”

Bice followed Harmon’s stare to the furthest corner in the
room. The wall was scarred from were Harmon had obviously thrown the phone. A
broken lamp lay directly below. Next to it, lay what was left of the phone.

The black base was all but destroyed, the inner workings
mangled around it. The cord which led to the handset was tangled around the
base of the lamp. The handset was completely blown away from its cord.

Three bullet holes gaped at him from the baseboard, a trio
of black eyes seemed to be watching him from behind the wall. He felt his jaw
clench as he realized for certain, his employer had actually blown the phone to
pieces.

Bice leaned across the desk, blocking Harmon’s gaze at the
dead phone. “Why did you shoot the phone?”

Harmon bit his lip and rubbed his head. “It pissed me off.”

Bice took the musician by the arm. “Come on, lets get you
upstairs. You look terrible.”

Harmon slowly rose from the chair. He gazed at the ruined
lyrics on the floor, and at the picture of his sister, which was now eternally
adhered to his desk.

“Who was that a picture of?” Bice asked.

“My sister. She looked exactly like Heaven.” He stared a
moment longer at the pale photo. Suddenly, he whirled around and glared at
Bice. “ Where is Heaven?”

“Oh God.” Bice moaned. “I locked her in a guest room
upstairs.”

“Do you hate her that much, Bice?”

“Look, I’ll explain later. Lets go.” Bice grabbed the
musician’s arm and pulled him along, as he burst from the study door.

* * *

At the top of the staircase, Bice fumbled in his pocket for the
key.

Harmon stood only centimeters behind him. He could feel the
musician’s hot breath on his shoulder, coming in ragged gasps. He was thankful
Harmon was breathing again, even if it was in such a wheezing, gasping way.
Only moments before he was near death. Only moments before that, he too was
near death. He jammed the key into the lock, and turned it.

Harmon pressed behind, trying to peer over his shoulder. The
singer’s weight slowly flattened him against the door as he struggled with the
lock. The lock clicked open at last, and the door flung wide against their
weight.

Both men tumbled into the room in a tangle of arms and legs
and verbal obscenities.

Harmon landed on top of Bice. Bice struggled to breath against
his weight. The telephone-murdering carnival sideshow was slowly crushing him.

He’d landed near Heaven, who also lay on the floor. Her palm
was blistered crimson. Tiny dots covered it from fingertip, to the bottom of
her palm. He slowly lifted himself up, catching his breath as he followed her
arm. Almost afraid, he gazed into her eyes.

She stared back at him and smiled.

“Heaven, why are you on the floor?” Bice asked.

“I’m tired. I realized the door was locked, and could not
make it back to the bed.”

Harmon quickly regained his celebrity composure. He stood
up, smoothed his long locks away from his face, straightened his liquor-soaked
shirt and gazed at her.

“Your hands are burned again, Heaven. What happened to them?
What on earth is going on around here?”

Bice gently lifted her to her feet. “Not now, Harmon. Let’s
get her back to her room. Once things settle down, we’ll sit down and calmly
try to sort this out.”

Harmon watched the pair leave in silence. Finally, he moved
across the room, and gazed at the magnificent curtains. They were carefully
constructed of hunter green silk, edged with gold cord and finished with
tassels on each corner. He’d imported them from Beijing only months before.

Almost afraid, he grabbed the gilded cord and jerked them
open with a whoosh. He held his breath as he gazed at the window.

The sun had set, shimmering city lights stared back at him
from the distant hills. To the left, the sparkling ocean rolled. Tiny ships
crested the horizon, the telltale glow of their amber lights lit up the waves
as they glided on the churning wings of the night.

He gazed at his reflection in the pane. The glass was
unmarred, un-cracked and unbroken as it should be. He ran his fingertip along
it, still unconvinced. His fingers floated across the smooth surface, as if it
too were made of imported silk.

He turned out the lights and closed the door quietly behind
him.

Harmon caught Bice as he stepped from Heaven’s room.

His manager looked exhausted. Telltale lines crisscrossed on
his brow; his eyes were sunken, missing their usual invigorating glow. “How is
she? And, how are you? You look terrible.”

“I look terrible? Harmon, you were dead, for all intents and
purposes less than an hour ago.” Bice slowly felt the back of his head again,
still expecting to find some sort of mortal wound hidden beneath his skull.

“There is something strange going on around here.” Harmon
whispered, as he gazed at the girl’s closed door. “My study seems to be
destroyed at the moment. Let’s grab a bite in the kitchen and have that talk.”

Bice stared at his employer. He studied the singer’s chest,
watching carefully as it rose and fell with each breath. “I don’t know how you
can eat, but let’s go.”

Harmon pulled out a loaf of bread and a slab of lunchmeat
once they arrived in the kitchen. He handed Bice a sandwich, sat down opposite
him and began devouring his.

“Where’s Bonita?” Harmon asked. “She usually has dinner
started by now.”

Bice paled, as he gulped down a large mouthful of his sandwich.
“Oh, no.”

“What? Don’t tell me something’s happened to Bonita?”

“I was in a rush to find you, and ran into her coming out of
the kitchen earlier. Unfortunately, she was carrying a tray full of vases you
bought while we were on tour last summer.”

Harmon groaned. His eyes momentarily fluttered, and rolled
back in his head. “My collection of lead crystal vases from Mystique?”

“That’s not all.” Bice gulped down the last of his meal. “Before
that, I fell down the stairs and miraculously walked away, uninjured.”

“You fell down the stairs? Do tell, how?”

Bice leaned forward, and gazed into Harmon’s eyes. “Heaven
is how.”

“She pushed you?”

“No. She warned me Harmon, do you hear me? She warned me to
find you, that something was wrong. At first, I didn’t believe her. I didn’t
want to believe her. But I saw that look in her eyes. I could see the future. I
could see you. Then I was convinced. I backed away from her, and rushed down
the stairs too quickly.”

“Now, do you understand after all these years why I had to
find her?”

“There’s more.” Bice’s voice was so low, Harmon had to move
closer to hear him. “Somehow, someway, she is the reason I got up and walked
away from those stairs. I was coming down so quickly, the fall would’ve killed
me. By all intents and purposes, I too should be dead right along with you.”

“So you locked her in a guest suite, because she somehow
saved you?”

“She did save me.” Bice replied. “When I looked up, she was
standing on the landing, gazing down at me. As if she were frozen in time. As
if time itself had stopped. It was like a vacuum, there were no sounds,
nothing. Only the sound of empty space. It was her body there, but she wasn’t
in it.”

“What happened?”

Bice leaned back in his chair, and gazed at the ceiling. “She
collapsed. I made my way back up the stairs to her, and put her in the first
suite I could get her to. She was out cold. Whatever she did to help me, took
every fiber of her strength. She was beyond exhausted.”