Her gaze moved to the room with running water. The counter was littered with shattered bottles and broken decorations, which she’d tried in vain to place back in order. The metal rod from the wall lay bent and twisted on the floor amongst pieces of the dried earth she’d pried from her legs.
His words rang in her mind. He said she would live here, and he wouldn’t take her back to the orphanage. Maybe this place wouldn’t be so bad after all. It was better than going back to the home for unwanted children. The children who found her odd and strange and who stayed away.
Except for Dreams, her only friend. Dreams understood her and accepted her, when she didn’t even understand herself. Maybe, just maybe, if she cleaned up the mess and fixed the broken things Harmon would forgive her. And maybe, he’d bring Dreams back here to live.
She wiped the salty tears from her eyes and quietly slipped from the bed. She picked up the lovely pieces of colored glass scattered across the floor. One at a time, ever so carefully, she placed the shiny stones back into place on the broken pane.
She placed her hand against the glass, feeling as the warmth of the sun swirled and became one with the heat from within her fingertips. Soon, she could feel a vaguely familiar searing fire race across her palm.
She held her hand firmly in place, patiently waiting as the glass beneath became molten lava, melding the broken pieces back into place. One at a time she worked as sweat trickled down her back, soaking her gown. Piece by piece, she carefully placed the broken shards back into the pattern they once occupied.
Finally, all the pieces were back in place. The hole was gone. The lovely picture of a large bird amongst beautiful flowers once again adorned the center of the formerly shattered pane.
She was suddenly very tired. She must sleep. She gazed at the bed, already knowing she could not make it back to its comfort. She teetered in dizziness a moment, fell to the floor in a heap, gasping in exhaustion.
The colorful beams of sunlight filtered through the lovely glass, casting dancing prisms of rainbow hues across her, as she dreamt of her lost island.
* * *
“Harmon, can you hear me?” Bice shook the musician again.
They’d carried the unconscious man to his suite and laid him on the bed. Hawk, Harmon’s bodyguard, excused himself to other matters. Matters which included eating donuts and watching wrestling on TV. Bonita excused herself, feigning dinner time was right around the corner.
He checked his watch. Harmon had been out nearly two hours. He needed to wake soon, someone needed to check on the hell girl in the suite next door. By now she’d be half starved, and from the way she looked and smelled was in desperate need of a bath. He’d be damned if he would give her one. She was Harmon’s problem, not his. He shook the musician again.
Harmon moaned, and fluttered his eyes open. “Bice?”
“You’ve been out nearly two hours. Someone needs to check on Heaven, and I’m not waving my hand in the air as a volunteer.”
Harmon sat up, and gazed around his familiar suite. The setting sun loomed against the hills in the horizon, their orangey glow filtered through the window. He suddenly remembered the majestic window in the suite next door.
His one-of a-kind masterpiece was destroyed. An object d’art which for all intents and purposes, should be hanging safely in an Italian museum. No, it wasn’t the window. He struggled to remember why he’d fainted. He grabbed Bice by the shirt. “Did you see her legs?”
A wave of confusion made its way across his assistant’s face. “Yeah, I did. I don’t know Harmon, you sure brought back some kind of freak from that island.”
“How the hell did she do that?” Harmon cried. “It’s impossible, do you hear me? Impossible. I saw her legs with my own eyes. They looked like shark bait, do you hear me?”
“Calm down. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for it.”
Bice walked to the window and gazed at the churning ocean beyond the hills. The sun was now a huge ball of fire, slowly fading behind the distant waters. There wasn’t a damned explanation for it.
He too, had seen the girl’s legs during the six days she was unconscious in the hospital. Which might have been a good thing. He could imagine the havoc she may have wrecked in the pristine private room Harmon insisted on. A room for a movie star. Too beautiful for words.
Harmon leapt from the bed. “Bice, listen to me. Whatever happened to her legs, must stay between us. If someone were to find out…”
Bice whirled around and glared at his employer. “What is this fixation you have with her? You have gone above and beyond normal means locating her, and bringing her back to the states. Your many attorneys worked the system, until they found a loophole which would give you guardianship. Why, Harmon?”
Harmon looked as if he had been struck by a bolt of lightening. “Don’t insinuate I have a fixation on her. For God’s sake, I told you I found her right there.” He shoved his manager toward the window, until his nose was firmly pressed to the pane. “I turned my back on her that day. Look where she wound up. I’ve had to live with the guilt for years.”
Bice gently peeled his face from the glass. It was time to pull out the kid gloves he always kept handy with his hot-headed employer. “It wasn’t your fault she wound up in an orphanage. Why did you have to bring her back here?”
“I had to. It was something about her, something I can’t explain. I felt it the second I turned her over in the sand that day. I think you’ve seen for yourself. Don’t deny it.”
“You knew she was some kind of freak when you found her?”
Harmon shoved his finger into Bice’s face and backed him against the window once again. “Call her that again, I’ll beat your ass.”
Bice threw his hands into the air in defeat. “All right, all right. Calm down. Let’s forget it for now. We have a bigger problem on our hands. Her room is destroyed and your fancy window is history. You can’t leave her in there, she’ll have to be moved to another room. Hopefully, one on the far wing of the mansion.”
“We? You’re going to help me?”
Bice gazed at the burgundy carpet and shook his head in resignation. Harmon had him by the throat, it was hopeless. He couldn’t take it back. “Yes, we. Now come on, lets get her moved. Bonita’s cooking dinner and I’m starved.”
He strode to the door and gazed back at the musician. “I want a damned raise for this.”
* * *
The two men cautiously approached the doorway to Heaven’s room.
Harmon pressed his ear to the door, listening carefully. He didn’t want to be in the direct path of a flying book. Too many women loved his face. Women in other countries, but they counted. He hesitated, and finally opened the thick mahogany door.
She lay on the floor beneath his one-of-a kind designer window. The last of the sun was filtering through it, as it always did at sunset. Fading prisms of color danced across her, lighting her golden hair into a kaleidoscope of color.
She was asleep beneath the former masterpiece. He gazed at the window. The same majestic peacock graced its center, flowing birds-of paradise swayed behind, dancing amongst green foliage. Like they did before.
He was caught in a time warp. He’d been here before. He’d fallen across the table only hours ago, beneath the majestic window. He’d come back into the room and the window was broken. Shattered into a million colorful pieces.
Now, the window was whole again. History was repeating itself. He pondered leaving the room, coming back and finding the window broken again. He’d leave again, and upon his return the window would be as new.
He gazed at the doorway. He wondered if he’d run into himself at some point, coming and going, gaping at the window, watching as it fell to pieces, only to become whole again upon his re-entry.
Once more the shrill ringing filled the air. The blasted, incessant ringing. He stole a glance at Bice who stood quietly beside him. But Bice was gone. He felt something strike his foot. Almost afraid, he held his br
eath as his eyes fell to the floor. His assistant was face down, out cold.
The ringing, the God-forsaken unrelenting wail persisted. He’d fight it this time, this time he’d win. He pressed his hands to his ears and squeezed his eyes shut.
As usual, the pitch rose to an impossible decibel. If he could hit that note, he’d make millions. Well, even more millions. Women would swim at his feet and beg him to take them for his own.
But it was a note no man could reach, for it was a note only found within his fading thoughts. His legs shook and his knees quivered. He could feel the all too familiar sweat forming behind his neck. To hell with it.
He collapsed to the floor alongside Bice.
* * *
Chapter Three
Bice stood in front of the magnificent window.
He carefully traced his fingertips across the patterned glass, his touch as light as a feather. The cool artwork rose and fell beneath his hand, the cut glass held in place by hardened aluminum beading. He could find no sharp edges, no dings or scratches, nothing unusual. Nothing but a ten thousand dollar piece of art.
He recalled the day Harmon had it flown to the states. The musician found it while on tour in Europe, and immediately purchased it. He hadn’t even looked at the price tag. The enormous pane was carefully wrapped and flown to Los Angeles on a private jet.
He remembered the installers who hung it, and how Harmon threatened them with their very lives if they were to as much scuff it. The musician had bought it for his now ex-girlfriend, and had it installed in her suite while she was away.
He stepped back and gazed once more at the enormous masterpiece, taking it all in. As was typical of Harmon, priceless paintings were scattered throughout the long halls of the formerly quiet mansion. This piece was his favorite.
It was a behemoth, stretching to the top of the cathedral ceiling and falling to waist height. The blue-eyed peacock stared back at him, along with hundreds more tiny eyes shimmering from within its tail feathers. The muted hues of sapphire and emerald and amber were all as they should be. Perfect as the day it arrived. There was no logical explanation why the glass was as if it was never broken. Or, Heaven’s legs.
He turned from the window and gazed at the sleeping girl. He had awaken first from his fainting spell, and carried her to the bed. He called Hawk back upstairs, who once again scooped Harmon up and carried him back to his suite. The gorilla of a man grumbled all the way down the hall, which wasn’t unusual, he never talked much anyway.
He silently moved toward her bed, being careful not to wake her. Her arm dangled limply from the side. He carefully lifted it and placed it back on the bed. From the corner of his eye, he noticed something amiss on her hand.
He gently lifted it and gazed curiously at her palm. It was bright red, as if it’d been burned. Tiny blisters had already begun to form. He would have to call Bonita up to wrap it. The Mexican housekeeper was a jack of all trades, Harmon had made a wise choice the day he hired her.
He studied her legs and suddenly felt a prickling sensation move up his spine. Her legs were perfect, as if they’d never been injured. Like the picture window. He clenched his teeth until his jaw throbbed. He knew there must be a logical explanation for the odd occurrences. He’d grown up on the streets in Philly, and had learned to take things at face value. He was much too level headed and logical to believe in something he could not see.
His belly churned with hunger, interrupting his thoughts. He’d find out tomorrow exactly what tricks the girl had been playing on them. He was no fool. He was not about to let an undisciplined and unruly teenager outsmart him.
He quietly covered her up, turned out the light and hurried downstairs.
* * *
Bice strode into the kitchen, hungrily sniffing the tasty aromas escaping from the sizzling pots.
“Dinner will be ready in five minutes.” Bonita smiled, as she lifted lid after lid on each steaming pot. “Shall I set the table in the dining room, or will you be eating in your suite?”
“I’ll eat with you tonight.” He smiled back at her as he sat down at the small table. The maid’s neatly pressed uniform rustled as she whipped out a plate and set it before him. “Bonita, I need to talk to you.”
“Yes Sir?” She gazed at him quizzically. “I’ve prepared filet mignon. I trust the meal suits your tastes?” She stabbed the steaming steak and placed it on his plate.
“Bonita, it looks superb. It’s Harmon, I’m afraid.”
“Aye?” She stopped her incessant paces and gazed at him. “I trust Mr. Steele has not fallen ill?”
“He’s fine, but he fainted again. This is why I need your help with Heaven. It seems somehow she’s burned her hand. Plus, she needs a bath and a good meal. Will you take care of it? I’m not comfortable bathing her.” A crimson blush crept across his cheeks.
“Aye, she can not bathe herself?” The woman cocked an eyebrow at him.
“I doubt it. Where she came from there are no bathtubs, or running water. Before that, I don’t know how much she remembers from the orphanage. It appears very little.”
“Aye Sir, I’d be glad to help.” The housekeeper smiled. She knew it was of no concern of hers to ask about Heaven’s whereabouts after the orphanage. “I’ll get her fed and fixed up right after dinner, Sir.”
“Thanks, Bonita.” He grinned and sighed in relief. One less monkey off his back.
He hungrily dove into his steak, forgetting everything else.
For now, at least.
* * *
Harmon woke, and true to his routine gazed out the window.
The sun had apparently fallen long ago, the city lights shimmered in the distance. He lifted the clock on the bedside table. It was after eleven. He’d been out for hours this time.
Grumbling, he slowly rose from the bed and walked down the hall to Heaven’s room.
This time, he swung the door open without hesitation. Tonight would be the last damn night he fainted. He wasn’t about to let the girl cause him to loose his senses, yet again. Plus, he couldn’t risk injuring his face and disappoint his millions of fans.
She was lying in her bed thumbing through a fashion magazine. He frowned. He really should have Bonita pack the ex’s things away. Or better yet, burn them. He’d waited as long as he would wait for her to come back and collect them. Two years was plenty of time.
A lone silver tray sat near Heaven’s bedside, the remnants of various vegetables scattered across it. Apparently, Bice had brought her dinner up. She was also in a clean nightgown, a few sizes too large, but at least the smell was gone. Another of his ex’s leftovers. Her golden hair had been washed, brushed and absolutely glistened. She was stunning.
He watched her turn page after page in the magazine, gazing at the glossy models in their designer clothing. His gaze fell to her hand. It was wrapped neatly in gauze.
“What happened to your hand?”
“I don’t know. I woke up and it was burned. A nice lady wrapped it.” She stretched her fingers beneath the annoying fabric.
“Do you mean Bonita?”
“Oh yes, that’s it. I forgot her name.”
“Let me see.” He lifted her hand, half expecting the girl to cold-cock him.
He carefully unwrapped it and gazed at her palm. “There is nothing wrong with your hand.”
She momentarily glanced at her palm. “I guess there’s not.” She continued turning page after page, mesmerized with the glossy book.
He gently pried the magazine from her fingers. “I’d like to know what happened to the window in your room. And your legs, while we’re at it.”
“It was an accident. I heard you coming upstairs, and I was afraid.” She gazed at the sheets.
“Look at me.” He raised her head to meet his eyes. “First off, don’t be afraid of me. Deal?”
“Deal.” she smiled. Her face glowed. The fury was long gone from her eyes, her anger long since quieted.
“What kind of accident?”
>
Her teeth raked across her bottom lip. “I threw those heavy things that were on my legs into the corner. I missed.”
“The casts?” I understand you were frightened and they went out the window. Now do tell, how the Sam Hill the window miraculously fixed itself?”
A sudden wave of confusion swept across her aquamarine eyes. “Who is Sam Hill?”
He swallowed a chuckle. “The window. How did it fix itself?”
Her lips nearly disappeared from the grip of her teeth against them. He fought the temptation to grab her cheeks and squeeze them just so, in an effort to pop her mouth back into place.
“I fixed it.”
“How?” He watched as the teeth marks slowly began disappearing from her lower lip.
“With my hands. I put the pieces back. No big deal.”
“Impossible. I don’t believe you.” He stared at her legs. “Tell me why you’re walking. That too, is impossible. The doctors said you would be crippled. I flew in the best from around the world to help you. They all said the same thing, it’s hopeless. Now, a week later and you’re walking?”
“Maybe they gave up on me too soon?” She winced and fluttered her lashes.
“Tell me.”
“I don’t know.” She cried. “I don’t, I don’t! I woke up this morning, and somehow they were better.”
“You seriously don’t know?” He could only gape at her in disbelief.
She stared at him silently as a single tear slowly made its way down her cheek. She was trying hard to be nice, so he would bring Dreams back. She knew she was different, the children in the home reminded her of it daily. They shunned her after that first and only incident. She clearly remembered that awful day.
A small boy had fallen from the slide. The one spot, the only spot where the cold metal didn’t quite meet the joint, his head found. As if it had attracted the boy like a tornado to a trailer park. He laid in the sand, crying and screaming in agony. An ugly gash traced its way across his forehead.
She rushed to his side and placed her hand over the gaping wound, hoping to stop the flow of blood until the teachers arrived. When they finally came to her calls for help, she lifted her hand away from the wound. To her horror, the injury had disappeared. As if it had never been there to begin with. As if the entire ordeal was a cruel joke, or a figment of her imagination.
The Girl With Aquamarine Eyes Page 3