The Girl With Aquamarine Eyes (10 page)

“You’re saying she wasn’t in her body? That she never left
the landing, and somehow still managed to break your fall?” Harmon studied Bice
carefully. “Have you lost your mind? Do you know what you’re saying?”

Bice grabbed Harmon’s arm. “Listen to me. First her legs,
and the window. Next, somehow she knows you’re in danger. As if that isn’t
enough for us to somehow absorb, she broke my fall. Don’t ask me to explain it,
I can’t.”

“She never left the landing.” Harmon rubbed his eyes
halfheartedly, hoping to make it all go away. He thought of the picture now
permanently affixed to his study desk. Heaven and Rose could be twins. Now the
picture was gone, and he had no proof to show Bice.

“No.” Bice replied. “As I was falling, my head was thrown
back. I saw her standing on the landing above, looking down at me with a blank
stare. When I came to, she was in the exact same position, the same blank
stare. Afterward, she collapsed. It would’ve impossible for her to leap down
half a flight of stairs to try and help me in that short of a time. It wouldn’t
have been physically possible for her to break my fall. We’d have both gone
down. And in case you hadn’t noticed, because you were on top of me when we
fell into the suite, her hands are burned again.”

Harmon rose from the table, rummaged around in the
refrigerator and brought them both back a beer. He watched Bice gulp down the
foamy broth, wipe his mouth on his cuff and stare distantly at the empty
bottle.

He sighed. “We’ve already tried to talk to her. She’s
telling the truth. She doesn’t know how she does these things. She just does
it.”

Bice gazed at him. “If she gets in the wrong hands…”

“No. I won’t let that happen. We’ll explain to her she needs
to live here the rest of her life, so we can protect her.”

“Have you lost your mind? You can’t keep her locked up here
like a prisoner. She’ll be eighteen in a year, and the state said she can live
on her own then.”

Harmon studied the speck of bread on Bice’s chin, fighting
the temptation to flick it off. “We’ll see what happens between now and then.
Of course, it will be up to her when she’s eighteen. I’ll tell her she’s
welcome here for however long she wants to stay.”

“This time, I won’t argue with you.” Bice rubbed the back of
his head yet again, feeling along his hairline for evidence of a skull
fracture. There was nothing. Not even a blasted bump. “She’s special, Harmon.
More so than you or I, or even the world could ever understand. She does need
to be protected, you got me on that one. After what I’ve seen the last two
days, I’d be afraid to take her out in public. If she were to see someone get
hurt, and do her little magic tricks and the media got wind of it…”

“No. We have to give her as normal as a life as we can. She’s
had nothing but loss, tragedy and despair. This also explains why she was
shunned at the orphanage.”

“You think they knew something about her? Maybe we should
pay them a visit.”

“Maybe.” Harmon yawned and checked his watch. “For now, I’m
going to go check on Bonita, and have her take Heaven up some dinner. I’ll also
have to ask her to wrap Heaven’s hands, yet again.”

“That’s strange.” Bice rose from the chair, and headed for
the door.

“What is it?”

“I asked Bonita to get Hawk, and meet me in the study.” A
frown crossed his brow. “She never showed up.” He leapt from the stool and
burst out the kitchen door.

Harmon raced after him.

* * *

Bice pounded on the housekeeper’s door.

Without waiting for an answer, he tried the doorknob. As he
expected, it was locked. The maid was always very adamant about her privacy.

“Bonita!” He cried through the thick wood. He pressed his
ear against the door, struggling to hear inside.

He remembered his older sister, who often fought with her
boyfriend. She did the same thing when she was upset. She’d lock the door and
refuse to come out for days, albeit for quick escapes to the kitchen. He
remembered hearing his sister’s lock engage from his room across the hall. A
sound he loathed.

He hated it when his sister was upset. He hated it now,
knowing Bonita was upset for breaking Harmon’s prized vases from wherever the
hell they came from. It wasn’t even her fault.

“Bonita!” He shouted again. “Open the door, or I’ll kick it
in!”

Harmon poked him in the back. “Now Bice, lets not act in
haste. That’s imported Burl wood from Morocco.”

Bice whirled around. “Do you mind stepping back? I’m hoping
not to get thrown into her room if she opens the door, only to find you on top
of me again.”

Harmon cocked his eyebrow at his manager. “Come now, you
know that’s the most excitement you’ve had since you broke up with that skank
you dated last year.”

Bice struggled not to smile. He finally relented and broke
into a chuckle. At the same moment, he heard a sound behind him. The door was
slowing opening.

A faded blue eye came into view through the crack, along
with a bit of a reddened cheek beneath pushing out through the crevice. As a
balloon might if squeezed in the hands of a small child.

“Bonita?” Bice studied the maid. “Let me in.”

“No.”

“If you don’t let me in, I’ll kick the door down.”

Harmon poked him in the back again. “It’ll come out of your
paycheck.”

The faded blue eye suddenly widened in horror. The crimson
cheek quickly disappeared from view. Bice could almost hear the
pop
it
might have made, as it was pulled free from its wooden prison.

The door slowly creaked open. Both men walked into the room
and gazed in dismay at what lay before them.

Suitcases were lined up on the bed, another smaller one sat
atop the vanity. The closet door was ajar, metal hangers stripped of their
furnishings. Wet tissues were scattered across the bed and dresser. A few more
had fallen to the floor, and the table fan was slowing marching them to the far
wall. Drawers stood open and emptied. The room was complete chaos.

“Bonita, What is going on?” Harmon asked.

The Mexican woman pulled a tissue from the pocket of her
rumpled smock. She blew her nose and shoved it back into its hiding place. “Your
Majordomo fired me.”

“Fired you?” Bice groaned. “Why?”

“The vases. The moment you turned the corner and raced for
the study to find Mr. Steele, Thornton came out the kitchen door. He saw the
mess, turned frightfully pale and fired me on the spot. He was even kind enough
to call a taxi on my behalf.”

Harmon gazed at the maid. “No, Thornton can’t fire you.”

Bice nudged the musician. “Harmon, he runs the household and
has the authority. You gave it to him when you hired him.”

“Well, I un-fire her.” Harmon gazed at the sobbing maid. “Bonita,
unpack your things, you’re on my payroll now. You’ll answer to me in the
future, not to Thornton.”

Bice gave the kind woman a hug. He grabbed a suitcase from
the bed, and began carefully placing its contents back into the dresser
drawers.

Harmon quickly followed suit, and hung her uniforms back in
the closet. “Bonita, when you’re up to it, please take Heaven some dinner. She’s
not feeling well enough to come down.”

Bonita gazed at the two men as they unpacked her things.
Bice carefully sat her perfume bottles back on the vanity. Mr. Steel had her
under-garments held out before him, dropping them into her lingerie drawer as
if they were on fire. He refused to look at her bras and panties, as he quickly
let go of the articles. Soon, they were scattered on the floor where he’d
missed his mark for fear of looking at the unmentionables.

She dabbed the remnant of her drying tears once again. “Yes,
Mr. Steele, I’ll take Heaven some dinner, right away.”

“Nothing fancy, Bonita.” Harmon missed the drawer once
again. “A sandwich will do. Afterward, take the evening off. You look like you’ve
seen the other side of Hell.”

“And his name is Thornton.” Bice muttered from the vanity,
as he tried frantically to arrange the many bottles of perfumes in an orderly
fashion.

* * *

Less than an hour later, Bonita carried a tray up to Heaven’s room.

She’d combed the shards of glass carefully from her hair,
washed her face and put on a clean apron. She was looking forward to a quiet
evening. Maybe, she’d call her best friend and invite her to go to a movie.
They might even visit a nice out of the way diner afterward. They’d laugh and
joke like old times, into the wee hours of the night.

She tapped lightly on Heaven’s door. “Room service!”

“Thanks Bonita.” Heaven replied, briefly glancing in her
direction.

“What are you looking at?” Bonita studied the many colorful
magazines scattered across the bed.

“Fashion magazines. Oh, these dresses are to die for.”

Bonita took a seat in the chair next to the bed. “You should
ask Mr. Steele to take you to the mall someday, Miss Heaven. It is full of
dresses exactly like those in your magazines.”

Heaven finally pried her eyes away from the glossy photos,
and gazed at the housekeeper. “What is a mall?” She studied the maid intently.

Bonita chuckled. “That’s right, I remember now. You weren’t
in a place that had malls. It’s a large store, full of many smaller stores and
even fast food places. You’d love it there.”

Heaven gazed at the housekeeper closely. Tiny lines furrowed
her brow, her eyes were red and swollen. Traces of fading crimson still etched
their way across her exotic cheekbones. Her graying black hair had recently
been combed straight, however telltale wisps of stray locks clung to her damp
cheeks. It was obvious she was very upset.

“What is wrong, Bonita?” You look like you’ve been crying.”

Bonita sniffed and looked away, her gaze falling on the
majestic window overlooking the sea. “Don’t worry child, everything is all
right now.”

Heaven moved closer and gazed firmly into her eyes. “Tell
me. I know something is wrong, it’s written all over your face. I know
something happened.”

A fresh tear rolled down the woman’s face. She sighed, and
dabbed a tear away. “There was a terrible accident downstairs, and I’m afraid
all of Mr. Steele’s heirloom vases were shattered.”

“Harmon can buy new vases. He can buy anything he wants.”

“Not like these vases. He and his mother went on a shopping
trip to Mystique a year ago. He bought them for her in a tiny shop, and they
watched as they were made. Harmon had the bottom of each etched with his mother’s
name, and his dead sister’s name. The only reason they were here, is because
his mother asked him to keep them safe for her as they are very sentimental.
She travels a lot, and is away most of the year.”

“How were they broken?”

Another tear fell from the aged woman’s eye. She sniffed,
pulled the soggy tissue from her pocket once again and dabbed it away. “Mr.
Bice came around the corner in the downstairs hall a little too fast. It
frightened me, and caused me to loose my grip on the tray. I had washed them,
and was carrying them back to the display case in the grand ballroom.”

“Oh Bonita, I am so sorry. Please don’t cry.” She leapt from
the bed and threw her arms around the sobbing housekeeper. “This was my fault,
if I hadn’t told Bice, he wouldn’t have fallen and…”

“What do you mean Heaven?” Bonita sniffed again, peering
from behind her tissue. “Bice fell?”

A wave of confusion crossed Heaven’s face, shadowing her
eyes. “Never mind. But it’s my fault those vases were broken. Please forgive
me.”

“No it wasn’t your fault.” Bonita slowly rose from the
comfort of her chair and straightened her smock. “Mr. Steele gave me the night
off, but I’ll be back in the morning to check on you. Eat your dinner, and get
some rest. I’m sure Bice or Mr. Steele will be up soon to check on you.”

Heaven watched as the housekeeper slowly ambled to the door.
She leaned against the frame a moment, took a gulp of air and tiredly made her
way down the hall. She rushed to the door and gazed at the departing woman.
Don’t
be sad Bonita, I will make this right. I promise.

Bonita suddenly whirled around and stared at her. Her mouth
fell open, as if she were about to speak. She thought better of it, stared at
the girl a moment longer and slowly turned and made her way down the staircase,
shaking her head in confusion.

Heaven watched as the shadows of the evening enveloped the
housekeeper, until the saddened woman finally disappeared into the downstairs
gloom. She slowly closed the door, and gazed at the majestic bird forever
entombed in the magnificent window.

She would make this right.

* * *

Harmon gazed at the war zone which was once his study.

The room reeked of the sweet scent of tequila. Bonita had
been through enough in one evening, he wasn’t about to ask her to clean it.
Besides, it would take hours and he’d given her the night off.

The fading sunlight streamed through the window and fell
onto the shattered tiffany lamp. Yet another piece of his one of a kind artwork
was destroyed. He picked up a few broken cabochons and held them in his hand.

Amber and green, blue and yellow beads were now chipped and
cracked. It was hopeless, the lamp was beyond repair. He gazed at a small bead
he held, rolling it between his fingers.

It was the color of her eyes. The color of Heaven’s eyes,
the color of Rose’s eyes. Aquamarine. He raised it toward the falling sun. The
last of the rays lit up the tiny gold flecks harbored deep within.

He studied the phone. He couldn’t grasp what had driven him
to murder it. At least it wasn’t a one-of-kind object d’art.

Three holes in the wall beyond it stared at him, their
triangular pattern reminding him of a bowling ball. Footloose and carefree, the
many Friday nights he spent in the bowling alley, to get away from the hell his
life had become after Rose died. Now once again, like the bowling ball as it
swung recklessly down the lane, it seemed his life was quickly spinning out of
control.