Chapter 7 The Stranger
Chinook winds blew in during the middle of the night warming the temperature enough so there was no risk of canceling their flight for eight. Her dad had Aimee up before seven. The mood from the night before still hung on helping her to stay awake, but barely. Dad had been up for a while fidgeting in the kitchen. Two plates of breakfast tacos, piping hot off the comal, and a couple mugs of fresh, hot java juice with lead greeted Aimee. She really needed the coffee this morning to get her blood flowing. They gulped down their food and grabbed two travel mugs filled with more coffee. Dad didn’t want to be late even though the drive out to Mel’s at a crawl only took fifteen minutes.
Aimee's dad kept a pilot’s license, but not the means for ownership of his own plane. His oldest friend, Mel Franks, had a private airport just outside of the city. Mel was as rough as a corncob, but as gentle a specimen of a creature that ever there was. He was sunbaked and withered like a prune by years of crop dusting vegetable fields on the coastal lands of northern California and surfing the west coast. He had the good fortune to retire early in life, having quickly made some creative investments in the Silicon Valley during the mid-nineties. He took a pittance of his savings to buy the small airport, which he called “Paradise in the Sky”.
The landing strip resembled a dusty, country road with a couple of rusty, metal barns for hangers. It wasn’t much of an airport, much less a paradise, but it had been a second home to Aimee and her dad, who traded his skills in construction, remodeling the dilapidated buildings and constantly patching the landing strip, for access to one of Mel’s planes. Mel, being the sweetheart he was, rarely charged Dad for the fuel, making their weekend sessions affordable for a man whose unpretentious income had been the sole support for the three of them. Dad’s escapades in the sky were a labor of love, so he could take Aimee flying on Saturdays; a treat if she kept her end of the bargain - a clean house and good grades. James preferred spending his time sleeping late or hanging with friends so Aimee usually accompanied her dad as his copilot.
The ride out to Mel’s was quiet. Peaceful. Dad scanned through the stations for his radio talk show, and Aimee stretched out resting her eyes. Her mood was pensive, still reeling from the previous day. She replayed her evening with Dylan over and over, always pausing on their first kiss.
“Aimee, hey Aimee.” Dad jiggled her arm stirring her to attention.
“Sorry, musta dozed off,” she said as she sat up suddenly. His little truck groaned as they pulled through the muddy ruts in front of Mel’s main hanger.
Mel came out of the building wiping his greasy hands on a rag. Her dad stopped the truck and rolled down his window to empty the tepid remnants from his travel mug.
“Hey, there pardner,” Mel greeted with his familiar Texas twang. His broad grin spread across his weathered countenance. First things first, Dad and Mel would huddle around the coffeemaker in Mel’s makeshift office and shoot the breeze for about fifteen minutes over a cup of coffee, usually filled with coffee grinds, before they would prep for flight. Aimee twirled around in circles in Mel’s prehistoric office chair waiting for the good ol’ boys to finish their gripe session. She enjoyed listening to them rib each other and mock the most current asinine things they had heard or read in the news. Aimee thought about the wonderful times they had together over the years on their Saturday exploits at Mel’s. She was sure she would miss them when she went off to college in the fall.
Today’s flight was shorter than usual. Mel had been working on the plane all week and warned Dad before takeoff. They experienced problems with the oil pressure gauge about ten minutes into the flight. Obviously disappointed, but not willing to take the risk, Dad landed with stray puffs of black smoke billowing from the exhaust. Dad and Mel spent the next hour poking and banging with odd shaped tools, diagnosing the ailing craft. Aimee sat bored stiff on the top of a fifty-five gallon drum in the makeshift hanger. Her arm propped up her chin while she listened to their prattle, which sounded more like a foreign language since they were discussing pieces and parts of the plane. After a while she pulled her phone from her back pocket hoping it wasn’t too early to call Chelsea. She didn’t hear back from Chels after her message early this morning so she decided to pass the time catching up on gossip. Aimee still wasn’t ready to share the details though. Chels would try to drag them out of her soon enough, Aimee was sure.
“Hey, it’s about time!” Chelsea’s chipper voice bellowed through Aimee's phone. Her perky mood woke Aimee up immediately.
“Hey yourself,” she greeted. “What’s up? I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Nope. Courtney left for work about thirty minutes ago so I’m up watching cartoons, and waiting for your call. Sorry about last night. My battery died and Brian stole my charger so I didn't get it back until this morning. Soooo, how did it go?”
“It was absolutely fantastic!” Aimee paused to think about what she wanted to share.
“Awesome! Sooo, what did you do?”
“We went to Ashland for Italian, then out for coffee. We spent the entire evening talking. It was nice. Reeeally nice. I haven’t had a chance to talk to him like that since last summer.”
“And…?” Chels stopped and waited for Aimee to pick up on her subtle cue.
Aimee pretended she didn’t know what Chels wanted. “And what?”
“And, for Christ’s sake, Aimee, did he kiss you?” Chelsea asked emphatically.
Aimee spent all of five seconds deciding if she should answer. “Yes,” she replied. Her tone must have clued Chels how much Aimee enjoyed it. Aimee hoped she wouldn’t press for details.
“Sweeeet!” exclaimed Chels.
Aimee sniggered as she thought how her response could be taken two ways literally.
Chels continued to pry. “Sooo…how was it?”
Damn, what do I say now? “How was what?” she answered.
“Oh, geez, Aimee. You know. How was his kiss? Was it soft and tender, or was it rough and all over the place? Did he give you the tongue?”
“Chels!”
“Oh, come on, Aimee. You can tell me how the great Dylan Townsend kisses. I’m dying to know.”
Aimee sighed, then answered, “Chels, let’s just say it was perfect, and leave it at that, okay?”
“Oh, you’re no fun. All right, you don’t have to tell me today, but you will sooner or later. Remember, I am your best friend, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. Hey, thanks again for always being there for me. I owe you big time,” Aimee said seriously. “He kept telling me how great I looked.”
“See I told you I would transform you into a princess.”
Aimee's dad peered up from under the fuselage and smiled. Her raffish conversation interrupted their incessant bantering. “You about ready to go, Amos?” he shouted. He got up from under the plane and wiped his grease-stained hands on an old, blue hand towel.
She nodded at him, and then continued talking to Chelsea. “Hey, I’ve gotta go. I’ll wash your pants and get them and your boots back to you tomorrow after I get back from Dylan’s.”
“So you’re going over to his house already? Nice. You work fast,” teased Chels.
“Yes, Chelsea, to study. Hey, I have to go. Dad’s waiting on me. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.” Aimee closed her phone and tucked it in her jeans' back pocket.
Mel followed them profusely apologizing to both for the problematic plane. Suddenly, his massive arms wrapped around Aimee and squeezed her rigid frame in a crushing bear hug, followed by a quick peck on her cheek, just like he had done every time he saw Aimee since she was three.
Despite the aborted adventure, her dad's mood continued to be light as he whistled and hummed a string of melodies from the sixties all the way home. The sky was overcast with puffy gray clouds, but no rain yet so Aimee decided to get a run in, then catch a short nap in between all her other chores. She returned to the house after an hour jog, showered, then stretched out on her bed. It was quiet and coo
l. Perfect for a nap. Her mind floated quickly to Dylan. His beautiful face coasted in and out of her thoughts while Aimee drifted into sleep. ...
...The peaceful images of Dylan didn’t last. They faded swiftly until there was nothing, nothing but darkness. Everything drained from Aimee's mind except the sense of frosty air swirling around her body. This dream seemed too familiar, too painfully ominous. She waited impatiently for the siege of terror to begin. She was chilled, like this dream always began, and she tightly wrapped her arms around herself to hold in what heat she could preserve. Instantly, Aimee realized the reason the frigid air seeped into her skin.
Only her lacy lingerie covered her body!
She struggled to protect herself. There was nowhere to hide and nothing to cover her except the icy darkness. Horrified by her vulnerability, Aimee crouched down to protect herself. She waited and prayed this would end soon.
And then she heard a voice as smooth as silk, as gentle as a summer breeze in a meadow. Aimee heard his voice calling her name. She stood up searching for him. She could hear him, but she couldn’t tell where he was. She shouted, “I’m right here!”
Out of the darkness, his hand touched her shoulder. She shuddered, not because his hand was cold or she was frightened by its presence, but because Aimee was afraid of herself. She was terrified at what she knew would happen next. And she was even more scared of how much she wanted it to happen. He glided his hand up her neck pausing under her throat. Aimee slowly turned around no longer intimidated by her scant covering. She felt desire in his touch. A calmness swept over her even though her heart thundered wildly. She closed her eyes, electrifying the feel of his fingers as they moved tenderly to the nape of her neck. Her lips parted slightly. His hands slid to her shoulders, stopping at her arms. Suddenly, he drew her into his hot, sinewy body.
The passion pulsed from his body into hers, and she knew he wanted her. Aimee couldn’t resist. He slipped his hand under her chin and gently lifted her face up to his. His lips barely touched hers as she waited, the pause intensifying her craving. His burning, yet sweet breath melted the bitter air dancing around them. Then suddenly he crushed his lips into hers for a brief moment before he pulled away. Aimee opened her eyes to see why he stopped caressing her. The darkness had lifted and she was bathed in soft light.
He was gone!
And a stranger held her. His cavernous, blue eyes gazed into hers. He pulled Aimee's wrenching body back to him. His muscles bulged against her soft skin. She knew she should fight, but she didn’t. She started to cry. Her body folded helplessly into the arms of this beautiful stranger, and…
…Aimee awoke with a jolt. Tears streaked her face. The pillowcase was damp. The dream was vividly fresh. She closed her eyes again and fantasized about the way his hands moved across her body. She sighed and wiped the tears from her face with the back of her sleeve. She immediately felt angry that her perfect dream with Dylan had been ruined by this outsider. Aimee felt ashamed to think this dream upset her so, but this young Brit had twice now appeared in her dreams. She couldn’t shake this strange feeling she had, like she should know this guy. Aimee looked at the clock. Eleven thirty-four. She didn’t have any more time to fret over this. She had things to do before going to work. She would worry about it later…tomorrow, perhaps.
The rest of Aimee's day was uneventful. Her dad was sound asleep on the couch with the TV blaring when she got home. He didn’t stir when she flipped off the set, so she covered him with an afghan and kissed the top of his head. Zonker leaped from the couch and beat her to her room. She was too exhausted to think about anything but sleep. While she prepared for bed, part of her wished she could finish her interrupted dream, her perfect dream, that is before this blue-eyed Brit decided to resurface from where she had buried him in her subconscious.
But she was worried this stranger might invade again uninvited so she forced other thoughts to fill her brain. As soon as Aimee's head hit the pillow, her mind emptied and began to shift into darkness - complete darkness. The night was dreamless.
“Earth to Dad,” Aimee yelled from the kitchen. Dad had the TV booming, as usual, totally engrossed in his favorite sci-fi show. He ignored her. “Hey, Dad,” she hollered again while she spread tuna salad on a slice of wheat bread.
He finally acknowledged he heard her, although his eyes remained glued on the set. “Yeah?”
“James called this morning. He and Sacha are coming in two weeks for the weekend. They want to go boarding at Ashland on Saturday.”
“All right,” he answered with his attention fully on the episode he was watching.
Aimee figured she would have to remind him a couple times before that weekend so he wouldn’t be completely surprised when they drove up in the driveway, not that it would matter. Her dad was always thrilled when James and Sacha came home.
Dylan’s FJ pulling into the driveway caught her attention. Aimee quickly handed Dad his lunch, then grabbed her jacket out of the hall closet and picked up her backpack sitting on the recliner. She slung it hurriedly over her shoulder and scurried towards the front door.
Dad looked up surprised as Aimee rushed to get the door before Dylan rang the bell. “You leaving?” he asked.
“Yes, Dad, I told you I was going over to Dylan’s to study and meet his mom.”
“Oh, right. Sorry, I forgot. Well, have a good time.”
“Sure. We’ll have a blast studying. I should be home by five to fix dinner.”
“Okay, see you later.” He stuffed the last huge bite of his sandwich in his mouth, and took a swig of his ice tea. He immediately grabbed the remote and raised the volume of the TV back up to a mild roar.
Just as Dylan was reaching to knock, Aimee opened the door. He jumped back and smiled. “Hey, I guess you’re ready, huh?” Dylan leaned in and waved at Mike, who returned the greeting.
“Yep, you bet,” she answered. Dylan took her pack and they ran down the wet sidewalk for his SUV. He opened the passenger door for her to climb in.
She wasn’t sure where he lived, but they had barely started to talk when they pulled through a gated driveway protected by a coded access, and stopped in the circular turn around in front of a spacious two story stone house. It looked like something out of one of Dad’s homebuilding magazines.
“Wow!” Aimee exclaimed with her mouth gaped open.
He laughed. “Yeah, a little pretentious, isn’t it?”
“No, no, it’s just…it’s just…BIG! And really nice. Do only you, and your mom and stepdad live here?”
“And Kara, my stepsister, but she’s in college in Cali so she’s rarely home. So, are you ready to meet my mom?” He grinned, and then stepped out into the misty weather. Before he could make it to Aimee's side, she opened her door and slid out, pulling her pack out with her. He grabbed the pack, wrapped his arm around her shoulder and huddled her into his body just like he did when he held on to a football. They ran to the porch to escape the rain. Both giggled while Aimee wiped the raindrops from her hair and face. Just as he opened the front door, her phone buzzed in her backpack.
“Just a sec, Dylan.” She pulled it out and checked the caller ID.
Number Withheld.
She opened the phone and put it to her ear. Dylan waited patiently for Aimee to finish. “Hello?” she answered.
Silence.
Aimee started again. “Hellooo.”
More silence.
“Is there someone there?” she asked with her eyebrows drawing together.
Nothing but dead silence.
“If there is someone there, I can’t hear you so I’m hanging up. Please call back.” She closed her phone and stuck it back in her pack.
Dylan asked, “Wrong number?”
“I don’t know. It didn’t pick up a number, and I couldn’t hear the caller. Strange, huh?”
“I get those sometimes. Probably a wrong number. Anyway, let’s get inside out of the rain.”
“All right, I’m ready,” Aimee answered
as she nervously straightened her hair. She relaxed immediately when she looked into Dylan’s dark, serene eyes.
Dylan’s stepfather was out-of-town on business so his mother greeted them as they came into the kitchen. She had on an apron and was stirring a bowl of cake batter. Aimee glanced around quickly, taking in the immenseness of the room. The room seemed larger than her entire house. It was off-white with bright lights and all contemporary features. Large glass windows covered the entire back wall of the breakfast area. A French door looked out onto a covered patio and magnificent landscaped backyard. Large pots of rainbow colored flowers decked the surroundings. The patio had a large hot tub in the corner. Steam bubbled out from under the cover. The inside and the backyard were even more impressive than the front of the house; gorgeous, posh, and pristine.
“Mom, I want you to meet Aimee. Aimee Schmidt, this is my mom, Jill Lane.”
Mrs. Lane quickly put down her bowl of batter and wiped her hands on her apron. “Aimee, it’s so nice to meet you. Please call me Jill. You’ll have to excuse my mess,” she said, and then casually waved her hand towards her kitchen counter, which was cluttered with an assortment of baking paraphernalia. The rest of the room was immaculate; a place for everything and everything perfectly in its place. So unlike Aimee's house. Of course she kept it clean, but it definitely looked more lived in. Comfortable, like an old worn shoe. She could always find a week’s worth of newspapers covering the coffee table or an assortment of their shoes at the backdoor. Aimee wondered if life at the Lane’s was as perfect as everything appeared.
“Thank you for inviting me Mrs. La...uh, I mean Jill. Dylan tells me you are a wonderful cook.”
“Dylan is too biased. All moms are great cooks. I’m sure yours is, too,” she said, then she started again to whisk her chocolate batter effortlessly.
Dylan shot her a stern look, and Jill looked puzzled at him.
Aimee replied immediately, “Well, my mom died a long time ago, but my dad enjoys showing off his culinary skills when he has time.” She managed a smile hoping that she saved Dylan's mother from any unnecessary embarrassment.
The Weird Travels of Aimee Schmidt: The Curse of the Gifted Page 9
