Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Opening
Chapter 1 Family
Chapter 2 Nightmares
Chapter 3 Aimee's Secret
Chapter 4 The Gift
Chapter 5 Destiny
Chapter 6 The Date
Chapter 7 The Stranger
Chapter 8 Weird Stuff
Chapter 9 Bad Day
Chapter 10 The Message
Chapter 11 First Time
Chapter 12 Revenge
Chapter 13 Surprises
Chapter 14 New Experiences
Chapter 15 Changes
Chapter 16 Wormholes
Chapter 17 Penny Ante Sleuth
Chapter 18 Bon Voyage
Chapter 19 déjà vu
Chapter 20 Timothy
For all who Dare to turn a Dream into Reality.
It is possible to believe that all the past is but the beginning of a beginning,
and that all that is and has been is but the twilight of the dawn.
It is possible to believe that all the human mind has ever accomplished is
but the dream before the awakening.
H. G. Wells
Chapter 1 Family
Like most teenagers, Aimee never really worried too much about time. It dragged when she was doing something she hated, like cleaning the kitchen after her dad cooked. Then it whizzed by when she did something cool, like surf with her dad and his pal, Mel, at Otter Rock. But she didn't think about it other than just a sequence of minutes and hours and days, that passed one after another, measured by a watch or a clock, like the old mahogany grandfather clock her dad inherited from his Grandma Pat. Each second was announced as a reminder time was passing. Tick tock. Tick tock. And the only second she truly owned was the present tick tock, and the one after that, and the one after that.
But she knows differently now. Time isn’t linear. It doesn’t just pass one second after another, one hour after another, one day after another. Its existence is invisible at that second, but greatly discernible with the accumulation of seconds, hours, days. Its demand is titanic, and fluid, and pervasive all the same. It moves like the wind. Back and forth. Fast, then slow, but never stopping. It can't be measured. There is no beginning. And no end. Aimee knows she'll travel through it. Today. Tomorrow. And even yesterday. ...
…November 1943 Auschwitz, Poland
Darkness smothered everything but the three men. Aimee and James hid beneath its veil on the damp, cold ground watching the officer - his judge and jury - decide his fate. The young private waited to carry out the dirty work.
“SchieBen! SchieBen!” ordered the lieutenant.
“No, wait! Don’t shoot!” pleaded the prisoner in a British accent.
The lieutenant yelled, “Soldat schieBt jetzt!” The private immediately readied his rifle to carry out the command.
The watchtower’s light illuminated the British gent’s face. Sweat trickled down his cheeks although wispy, white smoke escaped from his mouth. He arrogantly stared at the child soldier.
“What are they saying?” asked Aimee. She didn’t understand German, but the officer’s hostile tone told her the Brit’s death sentence was about to be carried out.
The officer stepped behind the fair-haired prisoner and planted a massive boot into his back. He kicked the Brit face down into the dirt, then looked at the private and snarled, “Ich habe gesagt!”
James whispered, “He ordered the private to kill him.”
“No! We’ve gotta stop them!”
“Dammit, Aimee, this is friggin’ insane! Why were we sent here?! We’re gonna get wasted, too!”
She readied to dash across the dark yard. She didn’t know what she was going to do, but somehow she had to save him, or die trying. Aimee grabbed James’s arm and tried to pull him up. His body was glued to the ground.
“James, we have to save him!”
“Yeah, why? Who the hell is he?”
She looked at the prisoner, then said in a low voice, “He…he’s my savior… and…he’s the...uh...well, we just have to, that's all.”
Aimee glanced at James. His face was scrunched. For once he was speechless. He stared at her for a few seconds, then he studied the Brit. Finally, he leaped up and took off running towards the trio not waiting for Aimee. She raced after to catch up with him.
“NO! STOP! NICHT SCHIEBEN!” screamed James.
All three men whipped their heads James's direction. “Stoppen!” hollered both soldiers. The officer drew his pistol and fired narrowly missing them. The private pulled his weapon off the prisoner and swung it around towards the two. A machine gun from the tower sprayed an angry round of bullets just short of their feet forcing them to an abrupt stop in the edge of the watchtower’s light. James shielded Aimee. The private aimed his rifle square on James.
“Nein! Nein!” James shouted.
Without notice by his Nazi captors, the Brit stood up. Aimee met his eyes and immediately her fear vanished. He was her savior and they would be okay. She slipped her hand into James’s hand. Their fingers locked. James looked back at Aimee for a fast second, then without a word, he let go of her hand and bolted towards the devils donned in woolen gray.
“NOOOOOO!” roared from Aimee's mouth and echoed deafeningly into the black night.
The private’s twitchy finger touched the trigger of the rifle for a fraction of a second and then…
…February 2006 Aimee's bedroom
Aimee abruptly came out of the nightmare. A blood-curdling scream boomed out of her. Within seconds her dad pitched open the door. Zonker, her faithful mutt, leaped off the bed and got tangled in her father's legs trying to escape. Aimee continued screaming, oblivious to everything. Her dad sat down on the bed, pulled her into his arms, and held her tight. After a few seconds Aimee's shrieking died and turned to sobs.
“Shhhh, sweetheart. It’s okay. It’s okay, honey,” he whispered. She buried her face into his bare chest. After a long minute, her breaths calmed and she melted into his arms. He continued, “Amos, you’re awake. You just had another bad dream. It’s okay now.” Her dad relaxed his hold and checked Aimee's face in the dim light. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked. Tears dribbled from the corners of her eyes. She shook her head slowly and looked into his face. The worry that she had seen a thousand times before was visible in his eyes.
“It’s nothing. I’m…I’m okay now, Dad,” Aimee said through a sniffle. She knew what frightened him. It frightened her, too. Remnants of her dark past were returning to haunt her.
“Well, it didn’t sound like nothing. Are you sure you don’t want to tell me about it? It might help you feel better.”
“No, Dad, it was just one of my stupid nightmares. I’m fine now. Really. Please just go back to bed.”
Her father looked at the alarm clock’s bright, green florescent numbers. Four thirty-two. It was too early to start the day. He kissed her forehead. “Well, if you don’t want to talk about it I guess I’ll try to get another hour or so of sleep. You should go back to sleep, too.” He got up to leave, but paused at the end of the bed for a few seconds, patiently waiting for Aimee to change her mind. She said nothing. Finally, he edged towards the door. “Well then, sweetheart,” he said, “sleep tight. See you in the morning.”
“Night, Dad.”
Aimee eased back onto her pillow and pulled the goose down quilt up tight around her shoulders, stretched, and inhaled a couple deep breaths of air. She desperately needed to chill. She glanced up at the white ceiling. The clock’s bright gl
ow painted odd shaped, dark splotches across it. The shapes reminded her of the inkblot drawings Dr. Sanders used a few years earlier to test her sanity. Aimee thought, Memories, too many painful memories. She shut her eyes trying to block them out and whispered, “God, please don’t let it happen again.”
But she couldn’t stop it. Her heart raced. Sweat instantly beaded on her forehead. It had been years since she had one of her nightmares, but three weeks ago, without any warning, they started again, and now she knew they weren’t just dreams.
Every last detail of the nightmare returned. Aimee wasn’t sure who the young Brit was, but she had a gut feeling he was important, someone she should know. Something about him seemed almost mystical. He looked at her like he was looking straight into her soul, like he knew her even though she had never seen this guy in real life. At least I don’t remember ever meeting him, she thought. What the heck? Man, I must be going crazy again! It's just a dream, stupid! Aimee felt queasy. She couldn't shake it. God, how could James have left me? What was he thinking? None of the dream made sense, but dreams usually didn't. She knew James loved her, and even though he could be a real pain in the tush, he was her big brother, and had always been there for her.
Aimee peeked at the clock. Five thirteen. Geez, I'm sooo wired, she thought. The adrenaline still pumped furiously through her veins. It was silly, but she needed to hear James's voice. Only he’d kill her if she woke him up, so Aimee decided to text him and ask him to call before he left his apartment. She grabbed her phone and quickly typed out a message.
Hey bro…wup…call me before school…no worry…all is cool…just wanna talk…amos
She tapped Send, closed the phone, and set it on the nightstand. She stared into the darkened room. The light beige walls appeared dark tan and a dull green glow from the clock illuminated everything white. It seemed oddly peaceful. Aimee sucked in a long breath and tried to unwind.
The nightmare suddenly invaded again. I’m gonna puke. I’ve gotta think about something else. Aimee quickly surveyed the clutter on her desk to divert her thoughts, and stopped at the pictures spread across the top shelf of the wooden bookcase. Framed photos of Dad, James, Sacha, Zonker, her family from Texas, and her friends - Chelsea, Jana, Courtney and Ashley - stared back. Her favorite treasure, the picture of her parents, sat on the end where she looked at it every night before going to bed. It wasn’t a room out of a decorator’s magazine. Like Aimee, it was kind of a mess, but it was comfortable. And she felt safe inside these four walls.
Aimee sighed again. Her mind was finally off the dream, and she felt her body relaxing. She shut her eyes. Memories from the years they had lived in Medford replaced the awful nightmare. Her father, Mike Schmidt, moved the family into this small, but quaint house when they first came to Oregon. She was just three at the time. Dad didn’t want to put down roots until he was positive he had made the right decision relocating to Oregon, but eventually he persuaded the landlord to sell him the house. So, he now pays for a little piece of Jackson County; his piece of the American pie.
James no longer lives with his sister and dad. He moved to Eugene a couple years ago to go to school. But his bedroom is just like he left it, a shrine to his past; faded posters plastered on the walls, basketball trophies collecting dust on the bookcase, and a half consumed bottle of mescal with the nasty, pickled worm hidden in his closet. Everything’s immortalized and ready whenever he and his fiancée, Sacha Martinez, come for a visit. Suddenly Aimee's cell phone vibrated for a couple seconds and stopped. She touched View.
Hi…got work early…will call tonite…hope u n dad ok…have a good one…later…sach said hi
Aimee closed the phone and laid it next to her pillow. It was five nineteen. She still had a while before she needed to get up and dress for her run. She yanked the quilt back over her shoulders, smothering out the cool air, and her thoughts quickly returned to her family.
Aimee's story actually began in Galveston, Texas eighteen years ago. Her dad moved them to Oregon when she was almost four. They escaped on a whim leaving behind all of their family and friends, and most of their worldly possessions. Mel Franks, her dad’s good buddy from his surfing days, convinced her father to move west to make his fortune. …
…“Mike, I promise you, man, this is the perfect place for you and your kids. And the surfing, dude, is outstanding, one hundred times better than any friggin’ waves back home. And, man, with all your experience in construction, I know you’ll make a killin’ here. Hell, I’ll even front you if you wanna start a business.”
“I don’t know, Mel. I mean, I appreciate the offer. It’s really tempting, but I gotta think about my kids, you know. I have to raise them without any damn interference from Marie’s family. If I come, man, it’s gotta work out. I can’t go back to Texas.”
Mel wasn’t going to let Mike say no. “Mike, if you can’t make a living here, you’re either a friggin’ lousy builder or you just don’t give a damn about making money.”…
…Her dad was positive they were, well, starting over, and the ideal place to do it was Medford, a sleepy little town on the verge of a building boom nestled in between the jagged gray Cascades and the green speckled Siskiyou mountains.
Lauren, Aimee's mother's baby sister, freaked when she found out they were moving. …
…“Mike,” she started when she finally got him alone, “…what the hell are you doing?”
“It will be a healthy change for the three of us…,” Mike said, “…a fresh start.”
“But, Mike, Oregon is clear on the other side of the world, practically! What about us, your family, and the kids’ family? It’s just not fair to them to move to some place they don’t know a soul.”
“I don’t have any family here,” Mike snapped back. “And the kids will be fine. They’ll make friends, and besides, they’ll have me. I’m the only family they need.”
Lauren glowered at Mike, but she didn’t say a word. She knew better.
“You know, Lauren, every time I look at you I just see Marie. The farther away I'm from you, and your family, the easier it will be for me to move on with my life.”
“But what about Aimee? She’s a spittin’ image of Marie. What are you gonna do with her, leave her with me so you don’t have to be reminded of Marie? For Christ’s sake, Mike, be rational…”
Mike interrupted, “She’s mine, Lauren. And I’ll never do anything to hurt her.” After a few seconds of silence he said, “Don’t worry. They’ll get to visit you, and after a while when I’ve had some time to get this behind me, you can come see us. But I swear, if one word is ever mentioned about Marie to anyone, I’ll…I’ll...” He stopped at that. Nothing else needed to be said. Lauren knew exactly what Mike would do. …
…So, with a pickup crammed full of boxes holding everything they owned, or would possess in the months to come, they set out for the Northwest to chase her father’s dream, or perhaps, just to escape.
Raising Aimee and her brother, James, hadn't been easily, but it was the kick in the butt her dad needed to get up and face the cold, cruel world every day. Now at forty-one time hasn’t fazed him much. He holds on to his misplaced youth by wearing his hair long enough to pull back into a tiny, straggly ponytail, and a standard uniform; a Hawaiian shirt, faded blue jeans, and running shoes. He looks pretty much the same as he did twenty years ago except for a few more pounds around the middle which he sucks in whenever he's in front of the mirror.
A few times a year he pretends he's eighteen again and heads for the coast with his surfboard and Mel, his best friend. Aimee worries about him drowning in the treacherous waves on Oregon’s coast. She doesn’t want to be an orphan. Fortunately, he rarely sticks his board in the frigid water, but Aimee still tags along so she can keep an eye on him in case she has to save him. Actually, she's pretty good on a board. Her cousins in Galveston taught her when she visited, but she didn’t surf well until she got to ride the west coast with her dad. So on their trips Aimee catches waves, a
nd her father and Mel usually catch a buzz.
Aimee worries about her father when she leaves for college in the fall. He never remarried, and rarely dated, despite the devious single moms in their neighborhood who occasionally showed up on their doorstep with homemade goodies, low cut blouses, and skimpy skirts. His priorities have always been obvious; Aimee and James, his work, and solitude, but not necessarily in that particular order. And even though he chose to live alone raising two kids, he can't conceal the fact he hasn’t escaped the isolation of this choice, so as often as he can afford to, he breaks the chokehold of this self-imposed seclusion. He takes to the sky in one of Mel’s planes. Soaring through clouds has kept him sane over the years.
James turned twenty this past December. Minus his dad's beer gut, James could pass as his dad’s twin with his dark blonde hair, perfect white teeth, golden skin, and deep brown eyes. But unlike his father, who prefers to be a loner, James’s charming personality attracts people like a magnet. He is so opposite Aimee, and she envies him.
Like most older brothers, James was the bane of Aimee's existence when they were kids, making Aimee the scapegoat for his mischievous pranks. Fortunately, their dad rarely suspected Aimee as the instigator, much less a partner in crime, but James enjoyed the torture he inflicted. Still, Aimee secretly considers James her gallant white knight, always prepared to cover her backside if she needs him. These past couple of years she's really missed him.
Aimee looked at the clock. Five thirty-four. Too late now to go back to sleep. She turned over and noticed Mom and Dad’s picture again. She loves that picture. It’s the only physical thing she has left of her mom, Marie Aimee Schmidt - her namesake. You see, Aimee's mother died when she was born. She's often prayed she can somehow have her mom for a day, or even an hour, but the picture is all she has. On the back of the photo in her mother’s handwriting is scribbled Mike and Marie, Surfside 1983. Her parents are on the beach leaning against an old, beat-up pickup. Two surfboards are propped up against the truck, and judging by her dad’s long, tousled, wet hair, he just finished a ride. His lanky body is strikingly tan against her mother’s pale frame. Her face is angelic. Her hair flows down her back. She gazes into the camera as she molds into Aimee's dad. His arms are wrapped tight around her tiny waist. His lips touch her ear. A velvety smile on her face hints, perhaps, he is whispering sweet nothings.
The Weird Travels of Aimee Schmidt: The Curse of the Gifted Page 1
