The Girl With Aquamarine Eyes (8 page)

Maybe she was an Angel. Some sort of guardian angel for the
musician. But no, angels didn’t go around kicking men in the gonads.

He took another step backward, still gazing at her. Finally,
he charged down the hall.

Heaven watched him leap down the stairs three at a time,
desperately clutching the rail.

She caught a scream in her throat. If he were to fall, he’d
surely break his neck. There were many, many stairs to reach the bottom floor.
He was acting like a lunatic out of concern for his employer and friend, but he’d
never make it to the landing at his insane pace.

She rushed to the top of the staircase, watching in horror
as he plunged down them at a manic pace. “Bice, slow down!”

He continued to leap down the stairs at an impossible speed.
She watched in frozen horror as his body suddenly twisted and shook, as a
puppet on a string might.

He was falling.

She watched helplessly as her worst fears materialized
before her. His foot came out from under him and his hand was cruelly jerked
from the slick wooden rail. He was in midair, crashing head first toward a
bottomless hell.

She could not open her mouth to scream. She could not move
to rush to his aid.

Try as she might, her legs were two blocks of hardened
earth, frozen to the floor in eternal torment. She could only watch as the man
met his death at the bottom of the staircase.

The stairs grew hazy, until they finally disappeared. She
was ten years old again, in their family’s boat. She’d gazed at the menacing
sky, feeling the rocking of the small vessel beneath her. She smiled at her
parents, as they determinedly rowed her away from whatever danger haunted them
from a distant land. She heard them say they’d be free now. From what, she did
not know.

But, a terrible storm came. The cruel swells it brought
tossed them about for hours. Her mind spun in dizzying confusion, as wave after
wave slammed into the small craft. The boat rose and fell, rose and fell, until
she could endure no more.

Her belly had grown deathly ill as the rains continued to
beat down mercilessly on the trio. Soon, the boat was consumed with water as
bolts of lightening zigzagged above.

Finally, everything grew quiet. Then, the gulls came.

No. There would be no more pain, no more death. No more
gulls.

She opened her eyes and stared at the staircase. Bice was
reeling backward in midair, his head thrusting out of control toward the sharp
edge of the wooden steps.

Her legs may be frozen, but her mind was not.

She was as light as a feather adrift on the wind as she rose
from her body, leaving it behind on top of the stairs. She gazed down at her
golden hair, watching it flow in cascades down her back. Her body looked stiff
and rigid, reminding her of a faded doll perched on a windowsill.

But she was not afraid. She knew all along she was
different, yet this she had not experienced. She raced down the stairs behind
Bice, faster than her mind could understand. He was falling, falling so
quickly. His hands were in the air grasping at something that was not there.
His face was frozen in terror, petrified in time as the earth below waited to
welcome him home.

The bronzed second hand on the grandfather clock below
suddenly sputtered and jerked. Then, it stood still.

She wrapped her hands around his head the moment before it
struck the stairs.

Burning, golden beams of light encircled him, halting his
downward spiral of doom. Cushioned on a warm gust of air, she gently lowered
him to the glossy step.

She gazed at him and smiled. But something was already
calling her back. She followed the steps and gazed at her body perched too
close to the top of the staircase. The sun rose and fell, rose and fell at a
maddening pace as she watched herself stand frozen in time. She must hurry.

She was already racing up the staircase before he opened his
eyes.

Suddenly, her feet were no longer rooted to the floor. She
blinked her eyes open in surprise and gazed at Bice, lying unhurt halfway down
the staircase.

She lifted her hands to her face. The blisters were back,
and this this time they were on both hands. She didn’t care. She let them fall
to her sides and watched as Bice stared in dumfounded silence at her. Oh well,
he’d had quite a fright, he would come around.

She suddenly felt very, very tired. She must rest. As
before, she already knew she could not make it back to the comfort to her room.

Her body shook uncontrollably. She felt her heart pounding,
a thousand galloping hooves across the desert plains beat in her head. Her
fingers and her arms begin to throb and tingle, until they silently went numb.

She fell face down on top of the staircase. Her arm dangled
from the topmost step, exposing her scorched hand.

The second hand on the clock downstairs suddenly sputtered
and coughed back to life. It froze in limbo a second or two, until it once
again began its rhythmic sweep in endless circles, ticking away at eternity.

* * *

Bice laid on the staircase in stunned silence.

He felt the blood as it pounded through his veins, reminding
him he was still a living, breathing creature. He knew he’d been milliseconds
away from certain death.

He raised his hand to his temple, reached behind his head
and carefully prodded for grey matter, which he knew by all intents and
purposes should be atop the step behind him.

There was nothing behind his head. Only the slick, smooth
and dry stair step.

He finally took a sharp breath, and gazed at the unseen
entity which he knew had broken his fall.

There was no one there, as he expected. As if he knew what
the hell to look for in the first place. Lately, nothing seemed to surprise him
anymore. Not since the strange girl arrived. First the window and then her
legs. No, it was her legs and then the window.

He groaned, grabbed the stair rail and slowly eased himself
upright. He stood for a moment, gazing down the long flight of steps. He could
see himself lying on the bottom atop Harmon’s imported wool rug, as crimson
stains from his head slowly spun the fibers into a new pattern. Harmon would’ve
had his ass for that.

Harmon. He shook his head clear. She had said Harmon was in
trouble. He’d raced down the stairs to find the musician. But something had
happened. He struggled to remember. He’d fallen.

He stared up the staircase. He inhaled sharply, still
struggling to breathe as his eyes slowly focused on the macabre scene above
him. Heaven was on the landing, apparently out cold. Or, dead.

Her arm dangled from the top step. Her face seemed frozen in
time, staring unblinking into a distant galaxy only she could see. She must be
dead. If not she was about to be, because gravity was tugging at her,
threatening to bring her rolling down the stairs atop him at any moment.

They’d both go down, only to be found dead on the lovely
wool rug Harmon insisted on placing at the bottom of the staircase. Harmon may
give up having it cleaned and simply have Hawk roll them up in it, and dispose
of the entire mess.

But knowing Harmon, he’d have Bice’s bloody face print on
the fine wool framed and hung. That way, the musician would have his own LA
version of the Shroud of Turin. They’d stare at it at parties, laugh and
chuckle as their wine glasses clinked together. He’d be a conversation piece
for eternity.

He shook his head clear and choked back a sob. God how he
needed a drink. He stared up the staircase. “Heaven?”

She continued to lay deathly still on the landing. A broken
doll cast aside by a spoiled child in favor of a newer, unbroken one.

He staggered up the steps to her, this time clutching
tightly to the rail. Damned Harmon to hell for buying a split level home. He’d
let him know what he thought about the lousy staircase the moment he found the
eccentric singer. To hell with moving to the far wing, he’d insist on a ground
floor near the maid quarters.

“Heaven, wake up!” Her head rolled from side to side as he
shook her. She continued to lie unmoving, her chest rising and falling in time
to the marching band which beat in his head. She was out cold, down for the
count. Maybe the fall was her coup de grace.

He had to do something quickly. He gazed down the long hall
toward her room. It was too far. There was no time to carry her and place her
safely back on the bed. He must get to Harmon quickly. If it wasn’t already too
late.

He grabbed her arms and pulled her across the floor to the
first door. He kicked it open, carried her to the bed and dropped her onto it.

He rushed out the door, grabbed the keys from his pocket and
locked it behind him. He raced once more down the long flight of stairs,
carefully gripping the rail with both hands. Time was working against him. God
help them all if he couldn’t find Harmon immediately.

He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he would make it known
to the musician the girl had kept him from splitting his head open on the
stairs, thus saving the priceless wool rug.

He knew she was behind it.

If not, Harmon had himself one hell of a ghost to add to his
many collections from distant lands. Another masterpiece to display, besides
his crimson face imprint on the fine wool rug.

* * *

He leapt the last three steps down the staircase from hell and
charged across the foyer toward the long hall on the far side of the mansion.

He slid around the kitchen corner and before he knew what
hit him, ran straight into Bonita, who was naturally carrying a silver tray
loaded with glassware.

Yesterday certainly wasn’t his day. Today wasn’t looking
much better either.

Newly washed crystal vases rose high into the air. They
somersaulted above the stunned pair and came crashing down in a rainbow of
silvery orbs. He grabbed the housekeeper at the last moment, and pulled her
into the safety of the doorway.

They watched in silence as the vases hit the mahogany floor
and shattered into a million glittering pieces. Bonita stared at the mess, her
mouth opening and closing as a fish out of water might.

“Bonita, where is Harmon?” He was reaching his breaking
point, there was no time to dance around and fret over a set of miserable
broken vases. Harmon must be found.

“Those are thousand dollar vases. He’s going to have my job!”
The ashen woman moaned.

He took her by the shoulders. “Never mind the vases. Where
is Harmon?”

“In the study.” She was unable to tear her eyes away from
the mess on the floor.

“Get Hawk, and meet me in the study. Something may be wrong
with Harmon!” He left her standing, reeling in shock, and sprinted down the
dark hallway.

* * *

Heaven opened her eyes and gazed about the room.

Seems all she did since she came to this place was lay on
the bed, waiting to awaken. And, get herself into endless predicaments for
which she there was no logical explanation for.

She studied the strange room and its unfamiliar furnishings.
Dark green curtains hung on the far wall, obscuring any trace of light that
might be trying to filter through. Hopefully, there wasn’t a large window made
from colorful glass behind them. She shuddered at the thought. She would be
sure to stay far, far away from the curtained pane.

She peered through the darkness, searching for a sign of
familiarity. This room also had a small room with running water attached to it.
But this wasn’t her room. She sighed and sat up.

Her head hurt. She raised her hand to her temple and rubbed
it. She winced in pain the moment her palm touched her forehead. Almost afraid,
she willed the courage to gaze at her hand. It was covered in tiny red
blisters. She raised her other hand. It too was covered in small, painful
lesions.

A chair sat empty near the bed. Usually when she woke, Bice
or Harmon would be sitting next to her. But that wasn’t her chair, because this
wasn’t her room.

She leapt from the bed and raced to the door. Her blistered
hands burned in pain as she tried in vain to twist the knob. She yanked her
hands away as if the metal itself was made of super-heated iron. She stared at
her hands once more. Angry red wheals now covered them from fingertip to palm.
She was helpless to try to force the door open.

She slowly backed away from the door and screamed.

* * *

Bice threw open the study door.

It swung back with such force, it hit the wall behind it
with a thud. The nearby display case which encircled one of Harmon’s many gold
records swayed back and forth on its hook from the impact.

He watched helplessly as it crashed to the floor. The
glittering disc was held prisoner no more. It spun madly in place a moment, and
finally fell atop the shattered glass case. He didn’t care. It probably wasn’t
real gold anyway.

He gazed at Harmon. The musician had fallen asleep on his
desk. Heaven was wrong after all. He’d nearly killed himself rushing to his
aid, only to find the man dozing. He realized with anger the girl had tricked
him. She was probably upstairs, laughing and giggling in glee at nearly getting
him killed on the staircase. He’d have her ass for this.

He quietly walked to the desk, taking great care not to
disturb the musician. If there was one thing the singer couldn’t stand, it was
being disturbed while he slept. Which, up until Heaven had entered the picture,
was during the day.

Bice stared at Harmon a moment longer. He seemed to be in a
deep, peaceful in slumber.

His face reddened with anger, as he realized for certain
Heaven had sent him on a wild goose chase. The girl obviously had it in for
him. She was dangerous. She’d probably planned the whole scenario, which would
have left him dead at the bottom of the staircase.