“Chelsea, there’s nothing to tell you. Dylan and I recently worked together on a project for his social studies class. We did some research on the impact of Big Bro…”
Chelsea butted in, “Aimee, I’m sooo not interested in those details. I want to know what he said when he asked you out, what you said, where you’re going, ya know, the good stuff.”
“As I was saying, Chels, there’s nothin’ to share.” Aimee yawned, then said, “I think Dylan is just being nice. It’s only a thank you for my help with his project. We’re going out to eat, and then maybe a movie. Don’t make this into something it’s not, please.”
“Aimee, you will tell me what happens, okay? I mean, you’re my best friend. We’ve shared everything since preschool. Don’t start keeping secrets now. Okay? I’m just so totally excited for you. You have a date, and it’s with Dylan. That's so cool. Promise you’ll call me first thing Saturday.”
“Okay.”
“Swear?”
“Pinky swear,” Aimee answered. “Talk to you tomorrow.” She tucked her phone back under the pillow feeling a slight sense of guilt. Although she secretly wished there might be a tidbit worth of gossip to share with her best friend after her date with Dylan, Aimee was too afraid to let this be more than it was.
Aimee thought about Chelsea’s phone call, amazed at how quick news spread at a school the size of East Medford. She thought about her promise. Chelsea is and has always been Aimee's best friend, besides her dad. Of course, parents don’t count. They’ve been joined at the hip since preschool. James, being an extrovert, slid right into his new kindergarten class without a hitch, but Aimee was terrified being in a new city, a new house, new preschool with a new teacher, and all new friendships to make. Everything in her life changed overnight. It was all too, well, new.
Chelsea was her lifesaver on that first day of preschool. When the teacher marched Aimee in front of the class and introduced her, Chelsea left her circle of munchkins with their intimidating eyes stuck on Aimee. She guided Aimee back to the circle holding Aimee's hand in hers. They sat shoulder to shoulder in circle time. From that point forward, their friendship has had an unbreakable bond like two links in a titanium steel chain. They shared their dreams, successes and failures, and most of their deep, dark secrets.
That is until middle school.
Then Chelsea blossomed overnight into a voluptuous, young woman. Aimee, on the other hand, remained flat chested and gangly. Most of the horny boys at school tried their best to woo Chels so they could crop a feel of a real boob. Chelsea didn’t have time for children, as she described the boys their age. She had her eyes set on the men in high school who were more mature and experienced in life. Chels soon fit in better with the crowd her older brother, Brian, hung with, and it didn’t take long before she was too cool to be seen with the rest of the babies. Aimee envied Chels, her awesome beauty and especially her shapely body rapidly responding to the surge of hormones while she was still stuck with her pathetic, childlike twig. Her dad tried his best to be the missing parent, attempting to ease her concerns about her uncooperative body with embarrassing talks about the birds and bees. But each time he broached the subject, Aimee quickly let him off the hook informing him she and Aunt Lauren had already discussed it. He was perceptive enough to empathize with her frustration at Chelsea’s noticeable changes, but he was relieved he didn’t have to talk about it with his young teen daughter.
Her life was made worse by all the changes in middle school. It was all too different; lockers, grown-up rules, ruthless teachers, nonstop homework, boys hitting on girls, and girls talking trash about other girls. Ughh! It felt totally unbearable, and at a time Aimee really needed Chelsea, Chels had purposefully left Aimee behind to deal single-handedly with the hell she was stuck in.
Aimee missed Chels. She had always been Aimee's constant denominator. For the two years at middle school, through their freshman and into their sophomore years at East Medford High, their friendship bobbled. Chelsea preferred her new friends, or perhaps intentionally distanced herself from her crazy friend. But during tenth grade, just as suddenly as they had drifted apart three years earlier, they renewed their “best friends forever” pact. Just like that first day in preschool, Chels made the rest of Aimee's time at East Medford bearable.
“Chelsea, some things have to remain a secret,” whispered Aimee. Before long she slipped peacefully back into slumber. The night was dreamless until right before dawn. …
…The arid darkness swirled vehemently around her body. The air was stifling dry at first. Her breathing became irregular as she desperately tried to suck enough in before it baked the sides of her nose. Her throat felt like sandpaper; coarse and dry.
A voice shouted, “Avoid panic! BREATHE! Just breathe!”
Aimee obeyed. She inhaled deeply. Her lungs filled until it felt like they would burst through the ribcage. The relentless pounding in her chest finally disappeared. Her gasping eased. She took a few steps farther into the darkness. Behind her a door slammed shut. She screamed and twirled around.
“Who’s there?” Aimee shouted. No one answered.
Abruptly, a frigid breeze whipped down on top of her, sinking deep into every pore, then into the inner core of her body. Her teeth chattered violently. She reached out into the dark searching for anything that would tell her where she was. Nothing but bitter, icy black swallowed her. For a second that stretched into eternity, she stood in the vile emptiness.
“Death can’t be like this!” cried Aimee.
Then unexpectedly, as if dropping on the descent of a roller coaster ride, she was pitched into more darkness. Falling…falling…falling into nothingness. The force of the explosive projection disoriented her brain. Just before slipping into unconsciousness, her limbs went numb.
Within seconds the frigid mist began to lift. The blood pulsed through her body again. Her eyes popped open. They locked into place. A white glow, faint but steady, brightened the end of what resembled a tunnel. She soared towards the light. It warmed every inch of her body. She tensed every muscle to prepare for the end. She closed her eyes one final time, praying to God the torture would soon be over. The searing light forced her eyes open, as if something or someone wanted her to witness the end. Another second passed and Aimee crashed. The force siphoned the breath from her. She lay stunned for a few seconds, finally realizing she was still in one piece. Aimee sucked in as much oxygen as her lungs could consume. She opened her eyes and…
Chapter 3 Aimee's Secret
…Aimee wasn’t in her warm bed. She was on the cold, hardwood floor. Her body, scrunched onto all fours, was drenched in sweat. The room spun wildly, and her stomach felt like it was thrust inside out. She twisted around and sat down on the chilly floor, bracing her back against the bed. Her breathing started to even out. The merry-go-round ride finally slowed and came to a stop. Zonker whimpered and nudged his fuzzy beard against her neck. Aimee rubbed his head, reassuring him his master was back from the dead. Sweat trickled down the side of her face. She wiped her fingers across her damp forehead and grazed over a bump.
“Ouch!” she cried.
Just then the door swung open a couple inches and Dad’s eye peeked through the crack into the darkness.
“Amos, you okay?”
For a couple seconds she remained perfectly still trying to resolve her composure before answering.
“Honey, what are you doing on the floor?” He pushed the door open wide enough to stick his head in. Zonker leaped to the floor and scampered towards the opening with his tail wagging.
“I’m fine, Dad. I slipped on my rug getting out of bed.”
“Oh. You sure you’re okay? It sounded like something really big fell.”
Aimee tried to steady her voice to convince him. “Dad, I’m fine. Okay? Please, just go back to bed.”
“I’m already up. I have to finish that bid for the McCoy job. It should be a good job, if I get it. Can I get you some breakfast?”
S
he glanced at the clock. Five thirty-three. Way too early for breakfast. “No thanks, Dad. I think I’ll get in a run before school. It’s too late to go back to sleep, and I’m not really hungry yet.”
“Well, take your survival bag, and make sure you stick to your route. And don’t turn your music so loud you can’t hear what’s happening around you. All right?” Worry was still obvious in his voice.
“Promise,” Aimee answered while she pulled herself up to rest on the edge of the bed.
Dad looked at her relieved, and then he turned his attention to the dog. “Come on Zonker Boy. Time for you to go outside.”
Aimee surveyed the top of the mattress and rubbed her hand over the ruffled spot where her body had been. The sheets felt damp. She flipped on the bed lamp and the light instantly illuminated the darkened spot on the bed. Gross! she thought. She eased up and moved towards her dresser, first stopping at the mirror to check out her injury. She muttered, “I musta hit the nightstand when I fell outta bed. God, it’s friggin’ huge.”
A chilly draft coming from the open window nabbed her attention. She reached over and closed the window, then looked out into the street. It was still dark. Better dress with an extra layer, Aimee decided. She rummaged through the clutter in the dresser, found her running gear, yanked off her damp nightshirt, and quickly dressed. Her muscles felt sore. She stretched fast, then grabbed her running belt off the closet hook, stuffed her phone in it, and headed to the bathroom.
With no more time to waste, she hurried into the kitchen to get a baggie of ice. Dad sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee as he leisurely flipped through the headlines of the morning paper. He would notice if Aimee got ice for the bump, and she didn’t want to risk another ten minutes covering up her lie, so she filled a glass with cold water from the faucet, then held it against the side of her head for a bit before turning back to face Dad. She took a few sips and swished the cool liquid around her mouth.
“I’ll be back in about forty minutes,” Aimee disclosed before he could ask. “I’ll be on my usual route, but I’ll keep it to about four miles.” He nodded without looking up from the story he was reading.
Aimee clasped the belt securely around her waist and plugged the earbuds in, then flipped on her music. Classic rock flowed into her ears. She went out the front, then slowly jogged down the sidewalk into the street and peeked over her shoulder before pushing across to the left side. Warmed up a bit, she pounded the pavement a little faster.
The air felt crisp. It burned her throat as she sucked it in. A light mist began to fall, freckling her face with a sheath of cool moisture. At the end of their street she turned west onto the main drag, heading towards the greenway. Her pace was finally getting into a good rhythm. She hugged the left shoulder, only veering off a couple times as a few cars crawled by her on the slick street.
The brisk air began to clear out the daze Aimee had been in since hitting her head. Unfortunately, the dream’s details rushed back. Her brain started to twirl again like the tunnel. Everything spun in circles. Pieces of the dream flew through her mind like frames of a movie, then repeated in a flash a second time in organized scenes. It felt ungodly real. Sweat beaded up on her forehead, mixed with the cold mist, then trickled down her neck into her sweatshirt. Goosebumps covered her body, but Aimee knew the chilled air didn’t cause them.
No, this wasn’t an ordinary nightmare!
It took only a second longer for Aimee to realize the dream she had this morning wasn’t new. And it wasn’t a dream. It was a memory. A very real memory!
It had been dug up from the depths of her subconscious. Like a key unlocking a secret diary, the memories flooded back. She vividly remembered experiencing the same details a half dozen or more times. Haunting pieces of memories splashed before her eyes, and she recalled each surreal event from her past; one when she was eight, twice, she believed, when she was nine, then others when she was ten, twelve, and thirteen, and the first time, that terrifying, yet exhilarating, time when Aimee was four.
She hissed, “Hypnosis!”
Her counselor used hypnosis to pull out the painful memories, then deal with them in psychotherapy. Only, the therapy didn't work as planned. After her sessions she purposefully stuffed them back into her subconscious where it felt safe to harbor them. Still, Dr. Sanders, her psychiatrist, claimed she was cured after months of being “dream free”, all the nasty little delusions, as he referred to them, pulled from her subconscious and put to rest. That was three years ago, and Aimee had no recollection of these memories, not until now, this very moment.
“But why now?” she asked out loud.
The sharp realization of what it all meant snapped back into her brain like a tightly stretched rubber band breaking. She couldn’t breathe. She started to hyperventilate, then without warning her legs buckled and she grabbed the light post, bracing her body against it as she slid down to the wet cement. She stuck her head between her knees and felt a scream fluttering up from the bottom of her gut. Aimee tightened her arms around her chest to muffle the sound of her voice. The scream changed into sobs. Between the sobs she heard a noise. A man’s voice. He was talking to her. She refused to look. The anxious voice continued trying to get Aimee's attention. Finally, she looked up to see a car in front of her idling alongside the curb. The man behind the wheel leaned over the console glaring at her through the lowered window.
“Are you okay? Do you need help?” he asked again.
She spit out, “I’mmm...mm…I’m okay.”
The man continued to stare. Aimee stood up and started moving away from the vehicle. He crept his car along the street, ignoring the cars honking at him from behind. She turned the opposite direction. Finally the man, looking at her in his rearview mirror, shook his head and gave up. He swerved his car back into traffic and sped away.
Aimee had to get back home. Now! But she didn’t dare call Dad. She knew how he fussed over her, always afraid her darkness would return. Aimee couldn’t bear to see him go through that again. The agony he suffered when she was ill was a hundred times worse than going through this alone.
She muttered, “This time I have to be strong no matter what happens. I have to deal with this by myself. No help from pills. No cures by doctors. No bothering Dad with my delusions. This time will be different.”
The jog back to the house blurred by. Her mind waddled in the past. She frantically whizzed through the files of her visions, desperately trying to dust them off, and then restore the memories that she had purposefully reburied. Her first one, the beginning of it all, the one farthest from this moment, but clearest in Aimee's mind, began to replay as she struggled to keep her pace. …
…August 1992 The Schmidt house
“Daddy…” Aimee barely whispered while her eyes slowly filled with life.
“Shhh, sweetie. Please try to stay still. Don’t talk, okay?” Dad’s voice was noticeably shaken.
“Daddy, I was a birdie…”
Dad interrupted, gingerly blotting her head wound with a white hand towel soaked with fresh blood. “Aimee, honey, here, put the ice pack on your head. Dr. Miller wants you to keep ice on it until he sees you.”
Dad laid another towel filled with ice chips on her head, gently compressing it with one hand while he continued to rub the dried blood off her neck with the other soiled towel.
“Daddy…” Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over onto his cheeks. He tenderly stroked her face. “…no Daddy…no…don’t Daddy.” She weakly tried to pull the ice from the gash. “Daddy, I flew like Mommy…” Dad touched his forefinger to her lips to hush her. “No…no…NOOO…Daddy, I did fly!” she choked out with sobs mingled between the words.
“Shhh, Aimee. You need to be quiet. Dr. Miller wants you to stay awake, but you have to keep still so I can get the bleeding to stop. The ambulance is coming. Dr. Miller is waiting for us.”
Dad grabbed Aimee's wrists with his long, rough fingers, stained black from grease, pulled her hands away from
her face, and effortlessly restrained them in her lap. She fought against his hold, but the shock of the accident drained the strength from her limbs, and she melted. The pounding reverberated relentlessly across the inner surface of her skull, and the images of the mishap flashed across the back of Aimee's eyelids like angry bolts of lightning. It was impossible to keep her eyes open.
“Stay awake, Aimee! Sweetheart, open your eyes!”
She struggled to obey. She felt like a bird, floating through the clouds, her surroundings fading in and out. The sound of Dad’s harsh voice scolding James, drew her back from the darkness. Aimee's big brother’s sobs were hardly distinguishable, but she could hear the sincere concern in his voice. After all, he was the gallant white knight who swooped in to save her. His determination to absolve himself was evident, but she knew the truth. He would never hurt Aimee. This wasn’t his fault. This was meant to happen.
Even though she wanted to go home, Dr. Miller made her stay overnight for observation. She cried, “Daddy, I wanna sleep.” Her brain struggled to stay engaged, but Dad was determined to keep her awake. He kept vigil all night, never leaving her bedside. Dr. Miller made rounds early the next morning as promised. Dad’s smile told her she was okay. No needles necessary. After Dr. Miller left, Dad crawled into her little bed and with his arm gently around Aimee's waist, his warm, protective body next to hers, they both drifted quickly to sleep. His soft snoring awoke her a couple hours later that morning as the sunlight streamed through the window.
The Weird Travels of Aimee Schmidt: The Curse of the Gifted Page 3
