The Girl With Aquamarine Eyes (12 page)

He gently scooped the last of the grey muck from around it,
and carefully pulled it from its forgotten grave. His foot was beginning to
throb in pain. He glanced down at his shirt which encircled it. Stains were
already oozing through the thin fabric.

He held the object up in the moonlight. It was an old rusted
can, nearly broken in half from the salty bath it’d taken for many years. He
dumped the contents out of the can. Wet sand, algae and small shells tumbled to
the shore. He shook the can a bit more, trying to expel the remnants. A final
glob of mud suddenly popped free and splashed into the shallow water.

Out rained dozens of golden coins. They fell into the water,
suddenly free of their eternal tomb. They gleamed brightly in the moonlight,
while the waves gently washed them clean.

He dropped to his knees and scooped up a handful. He held
one up to the moon, trying to find an angle which would make it more visible.

He gazed at the glittering medallions in amazement. There
must be a hundred or more of them.

* * *

Bice woke suddenly from his restless sleep, and sat up.

He gazed at the clock on his bedside table. It was nearly
midnight. He peered thorough the crack in the curtains. The full moon glowed in
its lunar radiance, beaming its rays across his bed.

Horrified, he grabbed his legs and carefully felt of them
from his thigh to his ankle. He breathed a sigh of relief. They were both still
there as they should be. The termites hadn’t eaten them. Even better, there was
no sawdust under the sheets.

He glanced at the empty beer bottles near the clock. The
fine ales had left him incredibly thirsty. He slowly rose from the comfort of
his bed, and quietly padded downstairs for a drink of drink of water. Maybe
tomorrow would only be a one beer day. The two fine beers had left him with a
throbbing headache.

* * *

Heaven gazed at the broken vases on the kitchen counter.

The vases she’d essentially broken in a roundabout way,
because she hadn’t thought things through first. If she hadn’t rushed into the
hall to call out to Bice, only to see him slip cruelly down the stairs, she
would be standing in this very spot guilty of murder.

It seemed the moment they’d carried her broken body through
the doorway and upstairs to the room she had awaken in, she’d done nothing but
cause Harmon’s little family pain.

She had broken his prized window, kicked poor Hawk in the
worst place and had caused Bice to fall downstairs, who in turn ran into Bonita
and destroyed the vases moments later.

She’d especially hurt Bonita. She could tell when the kind
woman brought her dinner. She could read it in her eyes and knew exactly what
had happened, though the woman never uttered a word. She’d been dismissed from
her household duties by a very angry majordomo.

She wasn’t sure what a majordomo was, but he was very upset
with Bonita and dealt the poor woman a severe tongue-lashing. Then he told her
to get out. The woman stood in the kitchen horror stricken, watching the butler
call her a cab. He’d slammed down the phone and pointed to her room, demanding
she pack immediately. It was all in her eyes.

She remembered playing a strange game at the orphanage.
Oblong white blocks with many dots on them. The children carefully stacked them
in a row, circling and criss-crossing them and standing them on their ends
around and around the table.

Then, the lucky special chosen one would get to push the
first block. It hit the next block and the next and so on, until all the pieces
whirled together in a haze of plastic and dots at the speed of lightening,
until finally all had fallen. The children laughed and clapped their hands in
glee at the spectacle.

She was never the lucky special chosen one to push the first
piece into the other. Nor, was she ever asked. Now without asking, she’d
re-created the same game of dots in Harmon’s home. All the pieces were falling
down around her. She’d pushed the first piece without really knowing how.

A tear rolled down her cheek.

She knew what she must do. She would make things right.
Then, she’d leave this place she’d brought so much grief to the moment she
passed through the front doors.

* * *

Harmon
staggered into the kitchen clutching the dripping can
of coins.

He leaned against the doorway, gasping for breath. His foot
ached with pain; a thousand searing daggers burned from deep within. He flipped
the lights on and gazed at the floor.

It was already covered in a pool of blood. He was in
trouble, and he knew it. He felt himself growing weak as he stumbled toward the
phone. But he lost his balance and the can fell from his hands. Glistening
coins tumbled to the floor and rolled in every direction. The last of the mud
from the bottom of the can splattered across the gleaming tile.

He grabbed the counter to steady himself, and slowly inched
toward the phone. He wrestled with the receiver and punched in Bice’s number.

There was no answer.

He slammed the phone down, remembering Bonita was out for
the night. He thought of Hawk. Surely Hawk would be in his room, and hear the
phone ring.

A sickening wave of nausea washed over him. His mind began
to spin, and he watching in fear as the images in the kitchen began to shift
from one wall to the next. He watched the refrigerator take the place of the
stove, and gaped in horror as the stove came to rest where the dishwasher once
lay.

He studied the phone again. The numbers had morphed into
giant red beetles. He pressed and pressed them, but they all ran together until
they were nothing but a fiery blob. With the last of his strength, he flung the
phone across the kitchen and laid his head on counter.

He slowly opened his eyes, struggling to bring something
into focus. He closed his eyes, and opened them once more. His mothers vases
slowly come into sight only inches from his aching head.

They glistened in the kitchen lights. A kaleidoscope of
winged butterflies danced across the lead crystal. A dozen delicately carved
roses seemed to beckon to him in the background. Their rainbow of colors
sparkled like diamonds riding on the night winds.

He was suddenly floating high above, gazing down at the
macabre scene of him below.

But he didn’t care, for he’d found his lost sister. They
were gliding on the wings of dawn, with no care in the world. But much too
soon, the wrenching pain in his body beckoned him back home.

Once again he struggled to focus his eyes on what lay before
him. Bonita had done a fine job polishing the vases. One-of-a kind
masterpieces, which had become family heirlooms. Her care and finesse of the
shimmering relics reflected back into his glazed eyes. He could see her working
carefully, polishing each tiny crevice with the utmost delicacy.

He reached out and gently lifted the one nearest him. He
turned it over, willing his eyes to focus and struggled to read the inscription
on the bottom.

‘To mom, with love. In memory of Rose Steele. Harmon.’

He smiled weakly at the thought of his beloved sister, and
fell unconscious to the floor.

* * *

Bice slowly descended the staircase from Hell, taking great care
not to loose his death-grip on the slick mahogany rail.

One, two, three four…a few more steps, and I’m to the
floor

Five, six, seven, eight…I won’t let my head get squashed
like a grape.

Earlier, he’d fished out a hand mirror from his bathroom
drawer. He held it above his eyebrows and gazed at the back of his head in the
large mirror behind him.

No lumps or bumps, only a normal head. His shoulder length
bronze hair skirted his shoulders as it always had. Assuring himself once again
his skull really was in one piece, his gaze had fallen to his buttocks. He
flexed them. First one, and the other, and finally both. He studied their
reflection carefully.

Not bad. Maybe next time Harmon threw one of his ‘I’m-a-Big-Star’
parties, he’d make his entrance into the ballroom backwards. That way the women
would see his buttocks first. Harmon always got the beautiful women. Next
party, it’d be his turn. He’d wiggle his derriÅre just so. Women would swarm to
him like termites to fresh wood.

He chuckled away the thought as he reached the bottom of the
staircase. He stood for a moment and gazed out the window alongside the front
entrance doors, still relishing the fact that he was still alive after his
tumble earlier.

Headlights peered through the fog and slowly inched up the
circular drive. He moved to the front door, peering through the sheer curtains.
He watched as Bonita waved her friend farewell.

The woman seemed to be glowing. The evening out had
apparently done her well. He didn’t want to frighten her in the gloom of the
house, so he hurried toward the kitchen.

He paused a moment, noticing the lights from inside glowing
beneath the closed door.

Apparently Dog or Harmon were enjoying a late-night snack.
He might indulge in a snack himself, but he’d damn sure stay away from the many
fine imported beers.

* * *

Heaven lay on the bed and closed her eyes. She could remember now.
The foggy pages of her past were beginning to come into focus after so long.
She was on the island once again with her parents. Memories stirred from deep
within. Soon, she would know her purpose.

She’d done something wrong that horrible day ten years ago.
The men on the island had begun to fight, moments after she’d laid her hands on
one of their dead and gave him new life.

The soft beat of the drums was interrupted by screams and
cries of the women and children She watched in horror as spears were drawn.

Her mother screamed from somewhere behind her. Her father
grabbed her arm, and quickly dragged her to their small boat. He’d tossed her
in, grabbed her mother and lifted her inside. The natives were coming quickly
now, their long spears poised in the air above their heads.

She whirled around and gazed in disbelief at the shoreline,
as her father paddled the boat away in great haste. The winds had grown too
high though, and the sea was much too angry for them to possibly make an
escape. But they had no choice.

The island men were running into the thrashing waves,
determinedly throwing their spears at the departing craft. The waves crashed
around her, sending fine sprays of sea mist across her face. A fiery projectile
flew only centimeters above her head. She quickly cowered down, and sought
shelter along the inside hull.

A blood-chilling scream rippled through the salty air. She
glanced behind her, following the cries to the bow. Her mother had been hit by
the arrow she’d ducked from. It completely penetrated her shoulder. Crimson
stains burst from the wounded woman’s scapula. Her eyes seemed to bulge from
their very sockets.

Her father screamed from somewhere in the distance. “Help
her child, help her!”

He wailed from a thousand miles away, though he stood
nearby. The boat rocked against the sudden shift of weight as he lurched toward
his wife.

Her mother had grown ghastly pale in only minutes, while the
stains beneath her slowly spread along the bottom of the small boat. They
seeped across the deck, reaching out along the grains of the wood, like tentacles
on an octopus.

The spear had lodged into the bottom of the boat and
penetrated the aged vessel. Seawater was slowly seeping in, mixing with the
crimson stains beneath her mother.

Her father groaned and leaned over his wife. He grabbed the
spear with both hands and sharply pulled it from her shoulder. But she did not
scream. She was barely conscious, and could only make gurgling noises.

A spasm of mortal blood arced into the air from her mother’s
wound, and was quickly blown away in the gale winds. She watched as her father
pressed his hands against her ragged skin. But it was no use. The deathly
tentacles of the octopus slowly crept up his wrists.

He father gazed at her. “Come quickly child. You must help
her, or she will die.”

She lurched toward her mother, but lost her balance in the
blood soaked boat and fell to her knees. Her father caught her arm, pulling her
gently toward him.

“Help her quickly, she has no time.” He cried over the sound
of the crashing waves.

She gazed at her mother. A fine mist was already forming
across the woman’s eyes. They stared straight upward into the churning skies.
Rigid eyes, seeing eternity, but seeing nothing. She was briefly tempted to
gaze above to see what her mother was staring at.

She’d covered the wound with her hands. The bloody tentacles
of the sea creature slowly crept up her wrists. Crimson threads of death wove
its veins into the fine lines of her skin.

As suddenly as their march to eternity began, they stopped.
Her father screamed behind her.

She gazed at him. He was frozen to the deck of the boat,
unable to move. He fought and twisted against the invisible force which held
him fast, but it was no use.

Lightening crackled above and hung still in the blackened
sky. It was only a jagged neon spear now, unable to hit is mark. The demonic
waves came to a standstill. Only droplets of water could fall from their frozen
crests. The sea was helpless to inhale the boat. It too, was frozen in time.

For now at least.

* * *

Bonita smiled as she quietly closed the mahogany doors .

She and her best friend, Maria, had spent the most wonderful
evening painting the town.

They’d found the most divine sushi bar, and indulged in
every creature that haunted the seven seas. Afterwards, the pair strolled the
cobblestone walk until they came upon a fine coffee shop.

She’d ordered a vanilla latte, while Maria inhaled a
cappuccino. Finally, they gazed through sparkling storefront windows, as the
city lights turned the sidewalks into a blazing glow.