The Girl With Aquamarine Eyes (22 page)

He stifled a yawn and checked his watch again. The final
X-ray should arrive any moment. It’d been a very strange ordeal. Even stranger,
were her guardians. They’d stood silently staring at the lovely girl while he
examined her injuries, but in an almost fearful way.

He gingerly touched the welts around his neck. In nearly
twenty years of practice, he’d been bitten, kicked, and called many a choice
name, but not ever had a patient attempted to wring his neck with his own tie.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. It was quickly
followed by a young physician. The man plopped down the new set of x-rays in
front of him.

“The final X-rays.”

“Thank you.”

But it was too late. The man was already breezing out the
door as quickly as he’d entered. Only a slight whiff of his faded after shave
was left behind. And the manila envelope in front of him.

He placed the new X-ray on the lighted pane on the wall, and
dimmed the room lights. The cast had been applied, the last film taken. He only
needed a moment to check the damaged wrist once more, and soon he’d be on his
way home.

Although the arm and wrist on the x-ray were exactly the
same size as the original, it was obvious radiology had brought him the wrong
films. The newest pictures showed a perfectly normal arm encased in a new cast.
There were no breaks, no fractures and certainly no residual swelling. There
was no need for a cast on this patient.

Confused, he compared the first set of films against the
final films. There must be another patient in the emergency department who’d
also broken his or her wrist. But that didn’t make sense. No physician in his
right mind would order a cast applied to a non-fractured limb.

He grumbled. He was ready to call it a day, and now would
have to stay late waiting for the correct x-rays to be sent up. Something was
definitely wrong. He’d have to sort whatever it was out quickly. Later, he’d
find the physician who’d applied the cast to the incorrect patient, and tell
him a thing or two.

He lifted the phone to call Bice and Harmon to go over the
x-rays. Next, a call to Tommy would be in order.

He sighed in disdain. The way things were looking, he wouldn’t
be home until late.

* * *

“Mr. Harmon, Mr. Bice, come with me please.” The nurse smiled as
she breezed into the waiting area.

“What about Heaven?” Bice gazed at the girl, who was buried
within the pages of a glossy fashion magazine.

“She’ll be fine, it’ll only take a moment. Dr Killmore wants
to show you her X-rays.”

“You don’t know Heaven.” Harmon muttered, as he grudgingly
followed the nurse out the door.

* * *

Heaven stared at the closed door.

She’d promised Harmon she wouldn’t get into trouble today.
However, her promise might prove difficult to keep. She was growing bored and
restless. She hoped the men would be back soon, she couldn’t wait to get out of
this sad place.

She tossed the magazine aside, and wandered around the room
opening drawers and cabinets, rummaging through the contents of each. She
spotted a small black camera high on the wall. She walked toward it, and gazed deep
into the dark lens. A tiny red light glowed from below, reminding her of the
cameras back on the estate.

She remembered the lipstick in her pocket. She’d found it in
her bathroom the night before, tucked away neatly in a forgotten case of
various shimmering powders and shadows. She pulled the only chair in the tiny
room directly under the camera, and stood on it. She stared into the black
lens, and carefully pulled the lipstick from her pocket.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a piercing cry from the hallway.
A terrible, pitiful, heartbreaking wail. She leapt from the chair, tiptoed to
the door and peeked into the busy corridor.

A small boy, perhaps three years old, was whisked by on a
stretcher. His body lay broken and silent. Unseeing ebony eyes were surrounded
by sunken, pallid cheeks. His mother wailed alongside the stretcher, as the
nurses and doctors rushed the long bed into the room next to hers. The wailing
continued behind the closed door.

She pressed her ear against the thin wall, straining to hear
the muffled voices.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Martinez, there is nothing we can do…”

The invisible woman wailed louder, begging for mercy to the
heavens above for the Lord to take her, not her child.

“We will leave you to tell him goodbye.” A faceless voice murmured.

Heaven heard the door close as the woman continued to wail.

She leaned against the wall in sorrow. A tear rolled down
her cheek and hit the floor silently. The lipstick fell from her hand, and
rolled into the sterile shadows of day in and day out misery.

* * *

Dr. Killmore placed the X-ray on the lighted pane on the wall and
dimmed the room lights.

“This is the film taken of Heaven’s wrist before the cast
was applied.” The physician pointed to the transparency, outlining the compound
fracture with his finger.

As if on queue, Harmon and Bice moved in closely, studying
the picture of the teenager’s wrist.

“This is the one taken after the cast was applied.” He
placed the new x-ray alongside the first. “The break is gone. The fracture is
healed, in only two hours.” He stared at the men, as if waiting for an
explanation.

Bice glanced at Harmon, who stared back at him silently.
Soon it became apparent he’d get no help from the musician. God, how he needed
a drink. Finally, he peered at the X-ray and feigned confusion. “Are you sure
you didn’t get them mixed up with another patient?”

“Positive, we took three sets.” The physician replied, still
studying the films. “Radiology confirmed moments before you arrived there was
no mix-up. The fracture is gone, and here are the before and after films.”

Harmon finally spoke up. “Looks like you got her healed up
real nice, Dr. Killmore. I’ll be sure to have Heaven give you her best regards.”

“I’d like to take another x-ray…”

“No need.” Bice stammered. “I’m sure she’s ready to get back
home.”

A nurse stuck her head in the door, interrupting the
strained conversation. “Dr. Killmore, your patient has painted a smiley face on
the security camera in the waiting room, and is now headed down the hallway at
a rather rapid rate.”

Bice and Harmon charged out the door, nearly knocking the
poor woman down.

* * *

Heaven quietly slipped into the room next to hers.

The boy’s mother was on her knees at her dead child’s
bedside. She wailed and clutched his lifeless body. She didn’t see the girl
with aquamarine eyes come silently through the door.

Heaven walked to the opposite side of the bed and gazed at
the silent body of the small child.

“Who are you?” The woman gasped, when she noticed she was no
longer alone.

“I’m here to help.” Heaven smiled. “Do not be afraid.”

She laid her hands upon the boy’s cold head and studied the
child. His frozen eyes stared back at her, unblinking.

Undeterred, she gazed into their finite depths, searching
for the tiniest spark of life. But, there was none. The current of life no
longer flowed through the tiny child.

As if suddenly drugged, she felt her mind slip helplessly
into a dizzying kaleidoscope of color and motion, nearly knocking her backward.
She could see his silent movie playing out the last few minutes of his short
life.

She was in a car with the boy. Trees rushed by quickly. Too
quickly. She was overcome with gut wrenching fear. She could feel the cold
machine beneath her sway and moan.

Suddenly, it careened and skidded from side to side, and
went out of control. She heard a scream, and gazed beside her. The boy had her
by the arm in a death grip, his skin a pale shade of grey.

The jerk of the vehicle wretched his hand from her. She
gazed at her arm where the boy had clutched it. There were no marks. It was as
if he hadn’t been there at all. Or maybe, she wasn’t there.

She watched helplessly as the pavement beneath her blurred
into a solid asphalt wall. The car veered off the road and began flipping end
over end down the hillside. She clutched the child to her, as their bodies were
tumbled about mercilessly inside.

She was thrown from the vehicle along with the boy.
Fragments of glass burst around them, as their bodies hit the unforgiving
ground.

She opened her eyes. The car was atop them. The boy lay lifeless
next to her. She could only lay unmoving in the grass, gazing into his
motionless eyes.

She followed the warmth of the sun on her cheek toward the
cloudy skies above. She gasped as she watched the clouds rapidly weave and spin
in dizzying circles above her, quickly forming and reforming into new images.
They whispered to her their story, a story which only she could hear. Her
mother was one within the wispy clouds.

Now, she knew how to save him.

She was suddenly back in the hospital room. She gently
pulled the limp boy to her and held him close, and pressed her hands to his
head. She wasn’t sure why, only that is was to be.

Almost immediately, she felt her hands grow warm, and warmer
still. In a millisecond, her mind was no longer her own. It was fused with his,
her inner core of life melted within his. How this came about, she knew she
would never know.

Her bones merged with his broken bones, quickly spinning
silky marrow at impossible speeds around the fragmented pieces, willing them
back into place.

Her blood breathed life back into his, swirling and churning
and laying claim to his cold core. Her hands were now hot, burning hot her mind
told her, but she could not feel them, for she was no longer one with her body.

She coursed through the child’s veins at the speed of sound,
urging his body to warm. Finally, she could hear his dead cells smolder and pop
and begin again their once stilled travels.

She reached his heart. It hung suspended in time, cold and
grey. With every fiber in her being, she urged it to beat once again. It must
beat. It had to beat.

But it continued to lie silenced. She tried again, and
again. Silence. Only the clouds above could feel her dismay, as they continued
to weave their mystery for her to solve.

Her body began to numb, her legs ached and quivered. She
knew she was out of time and strength. The outside was calling her back.
Thundering hooves roared across the plain. Someone was coming for her. Why, she
did not know. She must act in haste, or the child would be forever naught.

With one last mind-numbing burst of determination, she urged
his heart back to life yet again, willing from deep within her very soul for
its silenced rhythm to restart. If she did not succeed, she would have no
reason to come back either. The two would forever be together, but lost to all
who had known them.

Moments hung in a suspended fog as time itself stood still.
The earth around her was now a blackened plain. Absence of color, absence of
sound. Nothing moved. No birds called out their sing-songs. No breeze blew
across the charred slope. Tiny butterflies froze in place, suspended in mid-air
as if suddenly pinned to a cardboard display for the world to admire.

Unbelievably, and not a moment too soon, she felt the
tiniest movement within the boy.

Deep inside his wounded heart, she watched with the eyes of
her soul as it slowly quivered and shook, as if it were a puppet on a string.
It seemed to take a tiny breath of its own, leaving behind a trail of warm
steam to evaporate, as if it had sighed upon a mirror.

Suddenly, it whirled and jolted it into a weak beat. She
watched as the organ slowly turned from grey to a light pink, and finally to a
deep rich red.

She sighed. She wasn’t sure what had happened, nor was she
sure she wanted to know. But she knew the boy would now live to do great
things, and help others. He would not be a president, no, but he would find a
cure for an illness which had plagued mankind for many centuries. He too, would
use his hands as she had done. He would carry on her legacy.

She fell exhausted to the dreary tile floor. She must rest.

The tiny butterflies were released from their frozen tomb,
and softly soared across the meadows once more.

* * *

The woman gazed at the strange girl who had fallen to the floor,
and screamed.

The sound echoed off the concrete walls, drifted down the
corridor and welcomed each passerby with its horrific ear-shattering pitch.
Doctors and nurses on endless machine-like rounds suddenly came to a
standstill.

“Momma?” The child whispered.

She turned away from the girl, and followed the familiar
voice to its source.

The boy sat up and smiled at his ashen mother.

The woman fell silently to the floor.

* * *

“Heaven, lets go!” Bice shouted as he burst into the waiting room. “Heaven?”

He gazed at the security camera. Sure enough, a happy face
was painted on it. He stared around the room. Each of the drawers and cabinets
in the room stood ajar, their contents scattered across the tile floor.

A scream from down the hall filtered into the empty room.
Though he tried in vain to leap through the door to follow the sound, he
suddenly couldn’t move. He was going forward in reverse. His arm unexpectedly
froze in midair, as he twisted and fought his sudden inability to ambulate. A
cold sweat trickled from his brow and dripped into his eyes. He was helpless to
wipe it away.

His mind raced out the door and down the corridor, but his
feet refused to follow. Heaven had caused the scream. He must find her quickly,
or it would be too late. They’d take her away.

But he was rooted helplessly to the cold floor. Time seemed
to screech to a halt. As if someone had shoved a giant tree into the sprockets
of Big Ben. He gazed at the second hand on the clock on the wall. Twelve past
noon. But something was wrong. He studied the clock a moment longer. The second
hand wasn’t moving.