The Girl With Aquamarine Eyes (4 page)

“Calm down. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for it.”

Bice walked to the window and gazed at the churning ocean
beyond the hills. The sun was now a huge ball of fire, slowly fading behind the
distant waters. There wasn’t a damned explanation for it.

He too, had seen the girl’s legs during the six days she was
unconscious in the hospital. Which might have been a good thing. He could
imagine the havoc she may have wrecked in the pristine private room Harmon
insisted on. A room for a movie star. Too beautiful for words.

Harmon leapt from the bed. “Bice, listen to me. Whatever
happened to her legs, must stay between us. If someone were to find out…”

Bice whirled around and glared at his employer. “What is
this fixation you have with her? You have gone above and beyond normal means
locating her, and bringing her back to the states. Your many attorneys worked
the system, until they found a loophole which would give you guardianship. Why,
Harmon?”

Harmon looked as if he had been struck by a bolt of
lightening. “Don’t insinuate I have a fixation on her. For God’s sake, I told
you I found her right there.” He shoved his manager toward the window, until
his nose was firmly pressed to the pane. “I turned my back on her that day.
Look where she wound up. I’ve had to live with the guilt for years.”

Bice gently peeled his face from the glass. It was time to
pull out the kid gloves he always kept handy with his hot-headed employer. “It
wasn’t your fault she wound up in an orphanage. Why did you have to bring her
back here?”

“I had to. It was something about her, something I can’t
explain. I felt it the second I turned her over in the sand that day. I think
you’ve seen for yourself. Don’t deny it.”

“You knew she was some kind of freak when you found her?”

Harmon shoved his finger into Bice’s face and backed him
against the window once again. “Call her that again, I’ll beat your ass.”

Bice threw his hands into the air in defeat. “All right, all
right. Calm down. Let’s forget it for now. We have a bigger problem on our
hands. Her room is destroyed and your fancy window is history. You can’t leave
her in there, she’ll have to be moved to another room. Hopefully, one on the
far wing of the mansion.”

“We? You’re going to help me?”

Bice gazed at the burgundy carpet and shook his head in
resignation. Harmon had him by the throat, it was hopeless. He couldn’t take it
back. “Yes, we. Now come on, lets get her moved. Bonita’s cooking dinner and I’m
starved.”

He strode to the door and gazed back at the musician. “I
want a damned raise for this.”

* * *

The two men cautiously approached the doorway to Heaven’s room.

Harmon pressed his ear to the door, listening carefully. He
didn’t want to be in the direct path of a flying book. Too many women loved his
face. Women in other countries, but they counted. He hesitated, and finally
opened the thick mahogany door.

She lay on the floor beneath his one-of-a kind designer
window. The last of the sun was filtering through it, as it always did at
sunset. Fading prisms of color danced across her, lighting her golden hair into
a kaleidoscope of color.

She was asleep beneath the former masterpiece. He gazed at
the window. The same majestic peacock graced its center, flowing birds-of
paradise swayed behind, dancing amongst green foliage. Like they did before.

He was caught in a time warp. He’d been here before. He’d
fallen across the table only hours ago, beneath the majestic window. He’d come
back into the room and the window was broken. Shattered into a million colorful
pieces.

Now, the window was whole again. History was repeating
itself. He pondered leaving the room, coming back and finding the window broken
again. He’d leave again, and upon his return the window would be as new.

He gazed at the doorway. He wondered if he’d run into
himself at some point, coming and going, gaping at the window, watching as it
fell to pieces, only to become whole again upon his re-entry.

Once more the shrill ringing filled the air. The blasted,
incessant ringing. He stole a glance at Bice who stood quietly beside him. But
Bice was gone. He felt something strike his foot. Almost afraid, he held his
breath as his eyes fell to the floor. His assistant was face down, out cold.

The ringing, the God-forsaken unrelenting wail persisted. He’d
fight it this time, this time he’d win. He pressed his hands to his ears and
squeezed his eyes shut.

As usual, the pitch rose to an impossible decibel. If he
could hit that note, he’d make millions. Well, even more millions. Women would
swim at his feet and beg him to take them for his own.

But it was a note no man could reach, for it was a note only
found within his fading thoughts. His legs shook and his knees quivered. He
could feel the all too familiar sweat forming behind his neck. To hell with it.

He collapsed to the floor alongside Bice.

* * *

Bice stood in front of the magnificent window.

He carefully traced his fingertips across the patterned
glass, his touch as light as a feather. The cool artwork rose and fell beneath
his hand, the cut glass held in place by hardened aluminum beading. He could
find no sharp edges, no dings or scratches, nothing unusual. Nothing but a ten
thousand dollar piece of art.

He recalled the day Harmon had it flown to the states. The
musician found it while on tour in Europe, and immediately purchased it. He
hadn’t even looked at the price tag. The enormous pane was carefully wrapped
and flown to Los Angeles on a private jet.

He remembered the installers who hung it, and how Harmon
threatened them with their very lives if they were to as much scuff it. The
musician had bought it for his now ex-girlfriend, and had it installed in her
suite while she was away.

He stepped back and gazed once more at the enormous
masterpiece, taking it all in. As was typical of Harmon, priceless paintings were
scattered throughout the long halls of the formerly quiet mansion. This piece
was his favorite.

It was a behemoth, stretching to the top of the cathedral
ceiling and falling to waist height. The blue-eyed peacock stared back at him,
along with hundreds more tiny eyes shimmering from within its tail feathers.
The muted hues of sapphire and emerald and amber were all as they should be.
Perfect as the day it arrived. There was no logical explanation why the glass
was as if it was never broken. Or, Heaven’s legs.

He turned from the window and gazed at the sleeping girl. He
had awaken first from his fainting spell, and carried her to the bed. He called
Hawk back upstairs, who once again scooped Harmon up and carried him back to
his suite. The gorilla of a man grumbled all the way down the hall, which wasn’t
unusual, he never talked much anyway.

He silently moved toward her bed, being careful not to wake
her. Her arm dangled limply from the side. He carefully lifted it and placed it
back on the bed. From the corner of his eye, he noticed something amiss on her
hand.

He gently lifted it and gazed curiously at her palm. It was
bright red, as if it’d been burned. Tiny blisters had already begun to form. He
would have to call Bonita up to wrap it. The Mexican housekeeper was a jack of
all trades, Harmon had made a wise choice the day he hired her.

He studied her legs and suddenly felt a prickling sensation
move up his spine. Her legs were perfect, as if they’d never been injured. Like
the picture window. He clenched his teeth until his jaw throbbed. He knew there
must be a logical explanation for the odd occurrences. He’d grown up on the
streets in Philly, and had learned to take things at face value. He was much
too level headed and logical to believe in something he could not see.

His belly churned with hunger, interrupting his thoughts. He’d
find out tomorrow exactly what tricks the girl had been playing on them. He was
no fool. He was not about to let an undisciplined and unruly teenager outsmart
him.

He quietly covered her up, turned out the light and hurried
downstairs.

* * *

Bice strode into the kitchen, hungrily sniffing the tasty aromas
escaping from the sizzling pots.

“Dinner will be ready in five minutes.” Bonita smiled, as
she lifted lid after lid on each steaming pot. “Shall I set the table in the
dining room, or will you be eating in your suite?”

“I’ll eat with you tonight.” He smiled back at her as he sat
down at the small table. The maid’s neatly pressed uniform rustled as she
whipped out a plate and set it before him. “Bonita, I need to talk to you.”

“Yes Sir?” She gazed at him quizzically. “I’ve prepared
filet mignon. I trust the meal suits your tastes?” She stabbed the steaming
steak and placed it on his plate.

“Bonita, it looks superb. It’s Harmon, I’m afraid.”

“Aye?” She stopped her incessant paces and gazed at him. “I
trust Mr. Steele has not fallen ill?”

“He’s fine, but he fainted again. This is why I need your
help with Heaven. It seems somehow she’s burned her hand. Plus, she needs a
bath and a good meal. Will you take care of it? I’m not comfortable bathing
her.” A crimson blush crept across his cheeks.

“Aye, she can not bathe herself?” The woman cocked an
eyebrow at him.

“I doubt it. Where she came from there are no bathtubs, or
running water. Before that, I don’t know how much she remembers from the
orphanage. It appears very little.”

“Aye Sir, I’d be glad to help.” The housekeeper smiled. She
knew it was of no concern of hers to ask about Heaven’s whereabouts after the
orphanage. “I’ll get her fed and fixed up right after dinner, Sir.”

“Thanks, Bonita.” He grinned and sighed in relief. One less
monkey off his back.

He hungrily dove into his steak, forgetting everything else.

For now, at least.

* * *

Harmon woke, and true to his routine gazed out the window.

The sun had apparently fallen long ago, the city lights
shimmered in the distance. He lifted the clock on the bedside table. It was
after eleven. He’d been out for hours this time.

Grumbling, he slowly rose from the bed and walked down the
hall to Heaven’s room.

This time, he swung the door open without hesitation.
Tonight would be the last damn night he fainted. He wasn’t about to let the
girl cause him to loose his senses, yet again. Plus, he couldn’t risk injuring
his face and disappoint his millions of fans.

She was lying in her bed thumbing through a fashion
magazine. He frowned. He really should have Bonita pack the ex’s things away.
Or better yet, burn them. He’d waited as long as he would wait for her to come
back and collect them. Two years was plenty of time.

A lone silver tray sat near Heaven’s bedside, the remnants
of various vegetables scattered across it. Apparently, Bice had brought her
dinner up. She was also in a clean nightgown, a few sizes too large, but at
least the smell was gone. Another of his ex’s leftovers. Her golden hair had
been washed, brushed and absolutely glistened. She was stunning.

He watched her turn page after page in the magazine, gazing
at the glossy models in their designer clothing. His gaze fell to her hand. It
was wrapped neatly in gauze.

“What happened to your hand?”

“I don’t know. I woke up and it was burned. A nice lady
wrapped it.” She stretched her fingers beneath the annoying fabric.

“Do you mean Bonita?”

“Oh yes, that’s it. I forgot her name.”

“Let me see.” He lifted her hand, half expecting the girl to
cold-cock him.

He carefully unwrapped it and gazed at her palm. “There is
nothing wrong with your hand.”

She momentarily glanced at her palm. “I guess there’s not.”
She continued turning page after page, mesmerized with the glossy book.

He gently pried the magazine from her fingers. “I’d like to
know what happened to the window in your room. And your legs, while we’re at
it.”

“It was an accident. I heard you coming upstairs, and I was
afraid.” She gazed at the sheets.

“Look at me.” He raised her head to meet his eyes. “First
off, don’t be afraid of me. Deal?”

“Deal.” she smiled. Her face glowed. The fury was long gone
from her eyes, her anger long since quieted.

“What kind of accident?”

Her teeth raked across her bottom lip. “I threw those heavy
things that were on my legs into the corner. I missed.”

“The casts?” I understand you were frightened and they went
out the window. Now do tell, how the Sam Hill the window miraculously fixed
itself?”

A sudden wave of confusion swept across her aquamarine eyes.
“Who is Sam Hill?”

He swallowed a chuckle. “The window. How did it fix itself?”

Her lips nearly disappeared from the grip of her teeth
against them. He fought the temptation to grab her cheeks and squeeze them just
so, in an effort to pop her mouth back into place.

“I fixed it.”

“How?” He watched as the teeth marks slowly began
disappearing from her lower lip.

“With my hands. I put the pieces back. No big deal.”

“Impossible. I don’t believe you.” He stared at her legs. “Tell
me why you’re walking. That too, is impossible. The doctors said you would be
crippled. I flew in the best from around the world to help you. They all said
the same thing, it’s hopeless. Now, a week later and you’re walking?”

“Maybe they gave up on me too soon?” She winced and
fluttered her lashes.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t know.” She cried. “I don’t, I don’t! I woke up this
morning, and somehow they were better.”

“You seriously don’t know?” He could only gape at her in
disbelief.

She stared at him silently as a single tear slowly made its
way down her cheek. She was trying hard to be nice, so he would bring Dreams
back. She knew she was different, the children in the home reminded her of it
daily. They shunned her after that first and only incident. She clearly
remembered that awful day.