The Girl With Aquamarine Eyes (18 page)

She inhaled deeply and leapt from the wall.

Shrubs and thorns rose up and welcomed her into their
underworld cathedral. She hadn’t realized the wall stood perched on the highest
hill on the grounds. She couldn’t have known the drop off was quite possibly
deadly, the vast darkness hiding the bottomless pit below.

She did not feel the pain as she heard her bones breaking
and her flesh being ripped away, as the rocky earth rose up to greet her. She
briefly wondered why she mattered to anyone at all. She thought of her mother.
Of the seas, and the islands and the beautiful tropical flowers.

Luck had not been on her side since Harmon had brought her
across the ocean to his prison. Life itself had not been kind to her. She knew
she was hurt yet again, as she tasted blood in her mouth. She wasn’t surprised.

At least she was free.

* * *

Tommy Kildaire tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

He tried in vain to squint through the fog, but it was
hopeless. He was forced to slow down to well below the speed limit, letting
other vehicles move into the fast lane and speed by.

It was well past midnight, and he was tired from getting
stuck working the late shift. He was in no mood to keep up with the rat race on
the freeways of Los Angeles. The other motorists didn’t care about the fog
drifting in from the bay. He did.

His car was too worn and ragged. It had taken the seventeen
year old high-school junior months to buy it, working for minimum wage at the
pizza place.

As the son of a physician who ruled the household with an
ultra-tight wallet, he spent the entire summer saving for the aged machine.
Most, if not all boys at his high school sported new Porches or Hummers. It was
no surprise they got all the girls.

Their wealthy parents purchased the glittering machines for
their holier-than-thou and jobless sons. None in the entire school except him
bought their own vehicle with their hard earned money.

He attended an elite school filled with wealthy teenagers
who asked for something, and got it on a silver platter. Upon graduation, they
were gifted a college education at an Ivy League school of their choice.

His father wasn’t exactly poor. He was the director of
plastic surgery at the largest hospital in Los Angeles. He was the surgeon of
choice for the movie stars. The man worked hard, and eventually became a
millionaire. However, he instilled his beliefs in hard work on his son. If the
boy wanted something, he’d have to buy it himself.

Tommy appreciated it. In a way.

It really sucked each morning, as he pulled his clattering
machine into his slot at school. Naturally, the football jocks always hung
around the parking lot the last few minutes before the morning bell rang. Their
giggling girlfriends clung to their tree-trunk arms in delight as cigarette or
joint was passed back and forth between the in-crowd.

No matter how far away he parked, the laughs and catcalls
floated through the air after him, as he made his daily mad rush through the
double-doors.

Once inside, he found his locker stacked. When he opened it,
a dozen books rained down on him, and scattered across the slick floor. The
snickers would drift down the hallway. echoing down the corridor, vibrating
from wall to wall until at last he was left alone. Or, out of earshot.

Now here he was, alone on a Friday night, hoping he could
make it home as his car coughed and sputtered in protest. The jocks had by now
left the football game and were crashing a party in their wealthy neighborhood.
A party he was not invited too.

His neighborhood was a private enclave filled with actors,
musicians and even astronauts. It was also dappled with a few physicians. The
cul-de-sac seemed to party day and night, adults and teenagers alike. Mercedes
and Ferrari’s were the cars of choice.

Gated and walled multi-million dollar estates lined the
canyon. He was surprised the neighborhood association had not contacted his
father about the rickety jalopy parked in front of the exquisite estate. If
they did call, his father was probably jet-setting overseas, or at Saratoga
betting the ponies and missed the complaint.

He eased his car off the freeway, carefully navigating the
canyon roads that wound upward toward his darkened home. His father, once
again, would not be home to greet him. He’d flown to a medical convention in
New York city, and wasn’t due home until morning.

His mother had passed away two years ago of a brain
hemmorage. He and his dad were devastated at the sudden loss, but managed to
pull through and lead lives of semi-normalcy. As normal as a family could be
without a mother and a part-time father. He missed her. He shook off the
thought of that horrible day.

He looked forward to getting home, and into the shower. The
smell of the pizza place seemed to have permeated every pore in his young body.
He sported greasy stains across his maroon shirt, and his slacks were hammered
in hardened crust and sported designer splotches of special secret cheesy
sauce. He pondered the thought of never eating pizza again.

He stifled a yawn, and eased his car around the last curve.
But, the gentle incline seemed too much for the beast. An unmistakable ticking
sound was now drifting from under the hood. He sighed in exasperation, pulled
the car over and popped the hood.

The seaside moonlight glowed off the fizzing green water
seeping from the radiator hose. Thankfully, the leak seemed small. He’d let the
engine cool off a few minutes and ease the car around the last curve. He knew
he was within waking distance of home, but he wouldn’t leave his car behind.
With no friends to call and his dad a thousand miles away, he didn’t have a
choice. The last thing he needed was for the joy-riding football jocks to toss
a match into it, as they headed out on yet another beer run.

He rummaged around in the trunk for the jug of water he
always carried. Here he was on a Friday night, while all the school athletes
laughed and drank the night away with not a care in the world. Sometimes he
wondered why he’d been born at all. Without his mother his life was lonely.
Except for Ben.

Ben was his best friend of five years. They’d met in middle
school, while trying out for the marching band. Neither made it. Neither really
cared. Ben was much more outgoing than Tommy. He often wondered why Ben
befriended him at all. But, he had. And, the two remained best of friends.

Ben was been invited to tonight’s party. He’d insisted Ben
go; he wouldn’t let his best friend sit it out in his account. Besides, it was
a work night. Ben gallantly bid Tommy good tidings, and made a mad dash to the
exquisite estate on the hill to join the in-crowd for a night of decadence and
excess.

A low moan in the darkness interrupted his thoughts. He rose
from the trunk too quickly, promptly hitting his head on the hood and squealed
in pain.

He staggered backward as he clutched his throbbing skull,
and gazed at the foreboding forest that seemed to rise up suddenly and swallow
the foggy sky. He was used to being lonely. But, it was a quite different
feeling being alone in the vast darkness.

“Who’s there?”

He silently studied the woods. He was sure he heard a moan.
He was tired, but not that tired. His mother moaned like that the last day. She
clutched her head, and fell off her stool. The canvas she was painting
catapulted into the air, and crashed down upon her. Her body was covered in a
kaleidoscope of muted fall colors. In the end, she was one with her art.

He shook the memory away, and leapt back to the trunk. He
knew he was a sitting duck alone in the woods at night, and must quickly find
something to protect himself.

Thankfully, his hand finally hit cold steel. He grabbed the
object, and held the tire tool in the air. There was no time to find his
flashlight, the batteries were probably dead anyway. The metal bar glittered
deep bronze in the fog.

The wealthy neighborhoods were often scoured by burglars. As
luck would have it, he was in the worst possible place for a breakdown. He’d
stopped in-between tree lined estates. He could easily be dragged into the
woods by a felon, robbed and left for dead.

He may never be found. Wildflowers would cover his body come
spring, as Ben drove by on his way to school. He wondered how long it would
take for his friend to stop searching for him. He wondered how long it’d take
for someone to even notice he was missing. He shook in fear, as he clutched the
his makeshift weapon.

“Who’s there?” He called into the vast darkness.

“Help me.” A soft voice drifted from the dark abyss,
directly in front of him. “Please help me. I’ve fallen. I think my ankle is
broken.”

“It’s a trick.” He shouted into the forest. “I’m calling the
police!” He shoved his hand into his pocket, and fished out his cell phone. He
was certain he was surrounded by felons, waiting in the darkness for their
opportunity.

He stole a glance behind him, in search of movement. Maybe
he’d see the flash of a gun, and everything would be over.

But, there was nothing behind him. He studied the outlines
of the trees. The fog was lifting slightly, a soothing salty wind was
dispersing the last wisps through the woods. He wanted to be any place but
here.

“Please, don’t call the police.” The voice sobbed. “They’ll
take me back to the orphanage.”

Tommy shoved the tool into his back pocket and without
taking his eyes from the darkened trees, reached into the trunk once more. His
shaking fingers soon found the welcoming feel of the flashlight. He bit his lip
in fear, and finally twisted it on.

The weak amber beam was barely enough to light up the woods
before him. Crickets chirped in protest, as the dim yellow light interrupted
their sing-songs. The distant call of a seabird cried out in the night air. The
last place he wanted to venture was into those woods.

But he was no coward. He’d heard a distinct female voice. He
couldn’t turn his back on any injured human being. He shuffled carefully
through the thorny branches, searching for the source of the voice. His
instincts told him to run. He’d be home in less than ten minutes if he kept a
good pace.

But curiosity had gotten the better of him. He wondered if
the drunken football jocks would venture into the deep foggy thicket alone. He
doubted it.

Dried leaves crackled as he pushed aside a fir branch, and
played his light across a small clearing. It finally settled on its target. He
gasped as the pale beam danced across a young girl, perhaps his age, lying on
the mossy forest floor.

His hand shook as he studied her. The yellow glow jerked
across her skin as he struggled to steady his grip on the fading light.

She lay on her side, clutching fallen leaves in her palms.
Her gown was covered in dirt and grass stains. He followed her bare legs to her
feet. Sure enough, her ankle was terribly swollen. A zigzag of blood trickled
down her knee.

He moved closer, and slowly knelt beside her. His breath
froze in his throat as he studied her. She was the most beautiful girl he’d
ever seen in his life.

Glittering blonde curls fell across the forest floor around
her. Her watery aquamarine eyes bore straight into his very core, through his
very being, and stole his breath away. Perfectly chiseled cheekbones fell into
rich, pink lips. Her pale skin glowed in the moonlight. It was as if the sun
and the seas and the sands had all whirled together, and created her. She was a
goddess.

A slithering onyx fog of realization suddenly crept up his
spine. He leapt away from her in fear. It was a trap. There were probably a
dozen criminals surrounding him by now. They’d kidnapped her, thrown her from
their car into the forest, which would explain her injury, and lay in wait for
some unsuspecting rich kid to find her.

He reached behind him and grabbed the tire tool. He wouldn’t
fall for it. He swung it madly around him, slicing it crisply through the fog
as he waited for the onslaught. He pictured what he might do to a head of
lettuce if someone tossed it in his direction at this very moment. A perfectly
sliced salad would lay at his feet as he spun ninja-kicks around the
obliterated vegetable.

“I’m calling the police!” He cried into the darkened forest.

“I beg of you, please don’t. Do not fear me, I will not hurt
you.”

Tommy gazed beyond her, willing the air back into his lungs
as he studied the eerie woods. Nothing seemed amiss. The crickets had already
gone back to their incessant chirping.

In the distance, the dull roar of the surf drifted and mixed
with the music as it filtered from the party on the hill. He could almost hear
the clinking of margarita glasses held by the wealthy guests while they giggled
and laughed the night away. He was willing to bet they didn’t smell like pizza
and auto grease.

Tommy gazed at the girl once more. “You’re from the party,
aren’t you?”

“What party?”

“The record producer up on the hill. His son is having a
party tonight. Every one in school was invited. That is, except me.”

She smiled at him. “Do not be sad. Whatever ails you, fear
not. Your day to shine will come.”

“Huh?” For the amount of pain she must be in, she seemed to
handle it very well. She was more concerned that he not be sad than her own
predicament. She must indeed be a goddess.

“Please help me.” She whispered. “Do not call these police
people which you mention. I must get back to the sea.”

“Are you crazy? You will drown. You can’t possibly swim the
way your ankle looks. Where do you live? I’ll take you home.” He stood up and
eased the tool back into his pocket. He sighed as he gazed at his steaming car
in the moonlight. “That is, I’ll try to take you home.”

“I do not have a home.”