The Girl With Aquamarine Eyes (30 page)

He could put it off no longer, he desperately needed to talk
to Heaven. As late as it was, he knew there would be no sleep tonight. Too many
unanswered question loomed in the horizon.

Hawk was speeding into the night in search of Bice. What he
hoped to discuss with Heaven, was a subject never before discussed between
them, nor anyone for that matter.

Her secret had been swept under the rug for too long. Now it
was out.

He gazed at the happy pair sitting at the bar eating
sandwiches, seemingly in the middle of a lengthy conversation. Neither noticed
him as he walked in. He helped himself to a beer, and took a long drink. His
eyes never left the teenagers.

“Heaven, I need to talk to you alone. Please tell your guest
goodnight.”

“I was saying goodnight, Mr. Steele.” Tommy replied. “Thanks
for a wonderful evening Heaven. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Soon he was out the door and heading toward his car. Harmon
watched through the window silently, as the taillights slowly disappeared down
the long drive. He could see the glittering crown still on the boys head,
casting rainbow prisms inside the darkened vehicle.

He pulled up a chair next to Heaven. Absentmindedly, he
wiped their crumbs from the late night snack into meaningless designs. He
finally gazed at her. “Heaven, your secret is out. Now you could be in even
more danger than you were tonight.” He sifted the remaining crumbs into a
miniature pyramid.

“What secret?”

He gazed at her. She smiled at him so innocently, her golden
tiara still sparkling in her matching hair. Tonight, she’d shown she could take
care of herself in danger. Yet everywhere she went, she would always be a
target. Sooner or later someone would figure her out. She was a living,
breathing target. Perhaps a threat to national security itself, if she were to
fall into the wrong hands.

He sighed. “The child at the hospital. You brought him back.
Now Dr. Killmore knows, and I’m afraid he will expose you.”

“So?”

“Tell me how you do it, I must know.”

“Do what?”

“You know…
heal
people. You healed your own wrist,
your legs and that boy who was dead. Come on, it was obvious when we found you
in his room.”

She stared at the counter, suddenly looking tired. Tired and
alone, with an edge of fear slowing creeping into her thoughts and casting
shadows across her eyes. “I don’t know. I’ve told you this all along. If the
dead person were meant to do great things, somehow I know and can bring them
back.”

“You don’t know how you do it, but you do it when it strikes
you?”

“No. I can’t bring them back because I want to. If they are
a good person, or an innocent child, it seems I can do it. I would never
willingly try to bring an evil person back.”

“Somehow you know who to bring back?”

“Even if a good person or someone pure of heart such as a
child, has gone to the other side, I can’t bring them back if they’ve been gone
too long.”

“Gone too long? What do you mean?” His eyes burned, and he
knew he was moments away from crossing the finish line to complete exhaustion.

“If they are dead too long, I can’t help them. No matter
what great things they were meant to accomplish.”

Harmon’s chin began to tremble. He’d never come close to
getting this much information in the short time she’d lived at the estate. “How
long, Heaven? How long do you have before they are gone forever?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

“How do you do it?”

“I wish I had more answers for you. “ She shook her head in
resignation. “Somehow, someway, a feeling overcomes me. After that, I remember
nothing.”

“Do you realize the risk? Each time you bring someone back,
they’ll talk. Someone will see or hear too much.”

“Risk?” She gazed deep into his eyes. “It’s about a life,
not about risks. If they have an unfulfilled purpose, they will come back. I
can’t let a person die who was destined to do great things.”

He took a slow, deliberate drink from his beer and thought
for a moment. “You’re changing the future, Heaven.”

“Only in a good way. Maybe, there are not enough good people
left out there in your big world. Don’t you see?”

“Someone will always try to take you away. Is this what you
want? You did a good thing for the child at the hospital, but you’re putting
your own future in danger.”

He watched her as she gazed at her wrist. Perfect and
slender, her skin satin smooth, showing no signs of the disfigurement she’d
suffered only two days ago. She said nothing, but was apparently deep in
thought, as if a distant memory was tickling the back of her mind.

He finally broke the silence. “How did you heal your wrist?”

She stared at her arm and chuckled. “Sleeping, I guess. I
didn’t even know it was healed, until the nurse took the new cast off almost as
quickly as she put it on.”

He laid his hand across hers. “I don’t want anything to
happen to you, Heaven. The incident tonight only solidifies how much I care
about you, as I would if you were my own sister.”

She smiled. “Tommy and I had a good laugh about you wrapping
yourself around my ankles.”

“You’ve come a long way from the spiteful thing you were
only a few days ago.”

“I try. Why have you never married, will no one have you?”

He laughed, and finished off his drink. “Because I may wind
up with a daughter like you.”

“Talk to the hand.” The moment he stared at it, she
playfully smacked him across the head.

He gazed at the counter and studied the tiny chips of
seashell scattered beneath the glaze. Glowing prisms of color shone brightly,
but they were forever entombed within the cold resin. He brushed his finger
across the shells, yet he already knew he would not feel them.

The shells were like Heaven. She’d wind up a prisoner from
the crazies in the world, someone who’d need protection from those who wanted
to exploit her. In the wrong hands she cold be forced to bring evil, dangerous
people back to life. He shuddered at the thought.

She gazed at him and smiled. “Harmon? Mind if I go to bed? I’m
really tired.”

“Sure, goodnight.” He looked up to smile at her, but his
smile froze in unbelievable horror. The instant he laid eyes upon her, an
unseen demonic force flung her backwards off of the barstool. It was as if she’d
been struck in the chest. The blow hurtled her through midair like a rag doll
tossed from a car window. She was no longer earthbound, she was a feather
caught in a wild gale spinning madly away.

He heard himself screaming, but his mouth never opened. He
leapt from the chair after her and slid on his knees across the slick floor,
hoping to catch her before her skull cracked open on the unforgiving tiles.

He landed face first, thrust his arms out and stopped her
head the moment before it shattered into a million bone fragments. As a broken
egg might have, sizzling into oblivion in an over heated frying pan.

“Heaven? For the love of God, are you all right?”

Her blank eyes gazed at him, but she did not see him. She
stared beyond him, out the window deep into the night sky. She watched the
stars swirl and spin, weaving their story to her in cosmic dust from a million
galaxies away. She blinked with sudden realization, finally understanding their
cryptic message.

She gasped, and choked back a sob. “He’s dead Harmon. Bice is
dead. Take me to him, now!”

“What do you mean? What the hell happened to you?”

She sat up, and grabbed him by the collar. Her eyes were
enormous orbs. “Dr. Killmore shot him, shot him dead. Take me to him, now!”

* * *

Tommy drove home smiling, thinking of his wonderful evening. Well,
almost wonderful until his dad screwed it up.

Heaven had taken it all in stride though. Plus, he wasn’t
worried his dad would ever pull a stunt like that again. The fear in his father’s
eyes was obvious as Heaven repeatedly slapped him. Not because he abducted her,
but because he’d caused her to loose her tiara. She sure knew how to take care
of herself. He once again touched the crown on his head.

He couldn’t wait for school Monday. Maybe if the football
jocks kept being nice to him, he could play on the team one day. Or maybe, he’d
run for student body president.

His thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable sputtering
and coughing of his car’s engine. He pressed the accelerator down, urging it
on. The car responded with another cough, and a final sigh.

He studied the gas gage which now glowed bright red. He was
out of gas. He realized he’d forgotten to get fuel, in his excitement to pick
Heaven up for the dance.

He pounded the steering wheel and sighed, as the car coasted
to a sputtering stop. He glanced at his watch. It was three in the morning. He
didn’t dare call his dad and wake him. Not to mention, the man probably didn’t
feel very well at the moment.

He stepped out of the car, and rummaged in the trunk for a
gas can. He soon found what he needed, and stomped off into the darkness.

* * *

Hawk heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire the moment he stepped
out of his car.

He had no doubt of the sound, his career as a bodyguard had
taken him to many seedy places. He’d once protected those who were on the wrong
side of the law. But that was years ago. He’d moved up since then, protecting
the rich and famous from fans, not pissed off drug dealers.

He walked from behind the driveway trees, and crossed the
front lawn. He quickly came to a stop as a realization washed over him. His
skin pricked to the core. He was being watched. He gazed at the quiet house. It
was too dark to clearly see it, much less a person who might be lurking in the
fog.

He moved back to the shelter of the trees and quickly
stepped from tree to tree, watching the silent house for any sign of life. He
wondered if the gunfire had indeed come from within the dwelling. There was
certainly no one outside to be seen.

He came upon Bice’s car at the top of the drive, and peered
inside. The keys still hung silently in the ignition, silently waiting for the
return of their owner. He walked to the front of the car, and felt the engine
hood. The car was still warm, apparently he hadn’t been at the physician’s
house long. He gazed around again, but Bice was nowhere to be seen. The estate
was chillingly quiet. Unnaturally quiet.

He’d grown up on the streets, run with gangs, fought for his
territory and stared into the face of death more than once. He’d stolen food to
bring home to his mother and sister, often ducking from flying bullets shot by
angered grocers.

He could feel it in his bones. Something was wrong. The
sound of the gunfire must have come from the house itself, not beyond it, nor
from a nearby gang. If Bice were in that house, there would be lights on. The
porch light would certainly be on, or maybe the front hallway would be lit up
and perhaps a nearby room.

He was close enough to hear shouting, or at least loud
voices if Bice were inside. But the house on the hill stood silently dark, as
if a black canvas had enveloped it, hiding the evil within.

He gazed from behind the tree again, squinting deep into the
darkness. Toward the left of the home, he spotted what appeared to be an odd
lawn statue. He stepped from behind the tree, carefully watching the home for
any signs of movement.

He studied the object on the lawn, daring to take a few
steps toward it. He ducked low and crawled silently through the grass. He’d use
the object for cover, which would enable him to scour the area behind the dark
home. Gasping for breath, he finally reached the object and ducked behind it.

He immediately recoiled in horror. It wasn’t a lawn chair,
nor a fountain. Not a statue, not anything other than a body. He fought for his
breath, and turned the lifeless form over.

“Bice?” He jerked his hand back as if he’d been stung by a
swarm of angry wasps. In the gloom, he could see something black was dripping
from his hand. Warm, sticky and black. He gazed closely at the substance. He
cried out in horror. His hand was covered in blood.

“Bice!”

The man laid still. His eyes stared back at Hawk, their
empty depths reflected by the moonlight, shining white against the darkness
behind them. Blood covered the front of his chest, dripped down his side and
slowly spread across the black grass beneath.

Hawk choked back a sob as he realized his friend was dead.
He hadn’t cried since he was a child, the day they told him his daddy had died.
His salty tears fought for release. But he could not cry, he would not cry, for
God’s sake he was a grown man, he was a bodyguard of the rich and famous.

But the tears came anyway. He lay on the lawn and sobbed,
oblivious of any danger which may still lurk. He no longer cared. He finally
rubbed the burning tears away, and gazed at his friend’s silent body.

He knew what he must do. He lifted Bice’s arms, and grasped
him around his chest. He gently drug his lifeless body across the lawn, toward
the cover of the trees. He would not leave his friend alone and sprawled out on
a lawn as a macabre ornament. This is not how Bice would go down. The man would
get the dignity and respect he deserved. He was not some forgotten object cast
aside to rust as the seasons came and went. He was a damned good man.

He was halfway across the lawn when he heard the sound of
rustling leaves in the distance. He froze in place, caught between panes of a
fading dream and reality. He fought to wake from what surely must be a
nightmare, trying to squint through the darkness.

A darkened figure was walking out of the death fog toward
him, with planned purpose and determination.

He was carrying a rifle.

* * *

Harmon ran to his car, pulling the sobbing girl behind him.

He flung open the passenger door, and shoved her in. He didn’t
like the idea of her being in the front seat of his car, but there was little
choice. If something started flinging her around again, it could cause him to
drive off the road and kill them both.