Time stretched out miserably. Aimee paced the floor waiting for Dr. Morris. Dylan leaned against the back of a waiting room chair. He watched Aimee walk frantically back and forth in front of him. Finally he reached out and seized her hand and pulled her to him. He locked his arms entirely around her body in a death grip. She struggled against his hold for a couple seconds, then she went numb and crumbled. She buried her face into his chest. The tears dropped onto his t-shirt. He kissed the top of her head, and then calmly whispered, “Aimee, he will be okay. I’m sure he’ll be fine. You have to believe that.”
Aimee cried until she had no more tears. With a shaky voice she muttered, “I can’t lose him, Dylan.”
Tenderly Dylan touched the back of her head and slowly stroked her hair. He held her securely. He looked up and spotted Dr. Morris coming through the door into the waiting room, and he suddenly relinquished his grasp. Aimee turned and stared into Dr. Morris's pallor face. Black tear stains from mascara had run down her cheeks and dried. She looked haggard and worried, so unlike the Dr. Morris who taught them economics. She immediately came over and hugged Aimee tightly.
After a long moment she pulled away, took a deep breath and said, “Your dad’s a fighter, Aimee, but I’m sure you know that. He’s holding on. They’re going to transfer him to CCU in a few minutes.”
“Dr. Morris, what happened?” Aimee sniffled, then wiped the wet off her cheek with her palm. Dr. Morris took Aimee's hand and led her over to the chairs to sit down. Dylan trailed behind with his hand glued to Aimee's back.
In a much calmer voice, Dr. Morris told them what happened. “Well, we stayed until the end of the prom, and your dad was a true sport. He danced and had a super time the entire night, or at least he pretended he was having a great time. Never once complained he had been having chest pains most of the evening.”
Aimee cut in, “Chest pains?!”
“Yeah, he said he’s had them the past few days. Didn’t say a thing to me about them, and knowing Mike, I’m sure he didn’t tell anyone.”
“No, he didn’t say a word to me, but he seldom does tell me if he’s feeling bad. Besides one time when he had the flu, I can’t remember him being sick much more than an occasional cold.” Instantly, she thought about the stress she had recently caused him. Guilt immediately filled her soul.
“So, when did he tell you?” Dylan asked Dr. Morris.
“Well, we finally finished and left the prom around one thirty, and Mike wanted to fix me something to eat so we headed back over to the house. He cooked and we sat in the kitchen eating and talking until well past four. He stood up to take our plates to the sink and all of a sudden he grabbed his chest, his face went white, and he slumped back into his chair. He wouldn’t let me call an ambulance. I’m not sure how we got here. I had to drive Mike’s truck, but we made it, and I ran in and told the young lady at the desk I thought he was having a heart attack. They had a gurney hauling him off within seconds. Dr. Miller got here about fifteen minutes after we arrived. He admitted him, but he’s referring him to a cardiologist. Your father was even joking around with the nurses trying to put on a big front, but I could tell he was worried. He kept asking for you. As soon as they get him up into CCU, you need to get in to see him. He really wants to see you.”
“Have you called James?”
“Yes, he and Sacha will be here as soon as possible,” answered Dr. Morris, still holding Aimee's hand. Aimee smiled feebly at Dr. Morris, then she felt Dylan squeeze her shoulder.
After waiting another hour, they were finally able to get in to see her father. As Aimee came through the door, he looked up and managed a weary smile. All color drained from Aimee's face, and her breath stuck in her throat. This man didn’t look like her dad. He looked like he had aged twenty years. Wires were attached across his chest and a machine bleeped loudly every few seconds as an eerie reminder he was still alive and kicking, but the man who had been her ardent protector and best friend all her life was lying there perilously fragile and looking awful close to being at death’s door.
Dad patted the bed for Aimee to come over and sit next to him. Tears started again. She dropped Dylan’s hand, whipped over to her dad’s bedside, and carefully sat down. Trying not to disturb any of the wires attached to his body, Aimee gently hugged her dad. She held him for a long moment silently feeling the racing beats of his heart echoing against her body. He patted her back in a slow rhythm, comforting her like he did when she was a child. Finally, Aimee smothered the sobs that had welled up in her throat and whispered into his ear, “I love you, Dad. You have to get better. Don’t you dare leave me!”
Aimee sat up, wiped at her eyes, then stared into his face. “Aimee, I love you with all my heart, and it's still strong enough to keep me kicking. Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere yet. I plan on dancing at your kids’ weddings. Hell, I might even stay around and dance at your grandkids’ weddings.”
She choked out a quiet laugh. Her dad’s lips pulled up into a crooked grin. She smiled back, then kissed his cheek. Aimee felt Dylan’s hand touch her shoulder, and Dr. Morris came around from behind both of them to the other side of the bed. She grabbed Dad’s hand. He glanced up at her, and the look on his face told Aimee how much he cared for her, too. She knew Dad was happy, and he would fight to keep it.
A heavy sigh leaked out, then Aimee said, “You look tired, Dad. I think we better let you rest. We’ll be back later during the next visitation time.” She leaned over and gave him another kiss on his cheek and held his chafed hand between hers for a few seconds. It was the rough hand of a blue collar worker who labored endlessly to provide for his two children. They smiled at each other. His eyes still had a brown twinkle; a positive sign of life.
“Dylan, you keep her out of trouble while I’m in here, okay?”
Dylan snickered. “Yes, sir. I’ll make sure she behaves and remains in one piece.”
In silence they walked out to the FJ. Dylan's presence was comforting. “Here, let me get that.” He jumped in front of Aimee to open the door before her hand touched the handle. He was in his seat and starting the engine before she could get on her belt. Aimee looked out the window and a sigh escaped. Dylan started to pull out of the hospital’s parking lot. He reached over and took her hand. “I better get you home. I’m sure you’re beat. You need to get some sleep before you come back to see Mike.”
A yawn suddenly overtook Aimee. She swung a sleepy gaze back to Dylan and said, “I guess you’re right. I’m wired, but I outta try to sleep. James and Sacha will be by later, and I’m sure I won’t get any rest once they get here.”
“You can come back to my house and sleep, if you’d like. It’ll be quiet. Mom and Paul won’t be back until late tonight.”
“Thanks,” Aimee said, “but I think I better go back to my house so I can clean up and get some things to take to Dad later.” She paused, then started, “Dylan…” “
Yes?” he said. His soothing brown eyes glanced over and caught hers.
“I’m sorry for...well, uh…you know.”
”Sorry? What are you sorry for? It was an incredibly awesome night. I was the luckiest dude at prom.” He squeezed her hand and winked.
After clearing the lump in her throat, Aimee continued, “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean, and it’s okay. Really. You know your dad didn’t do this on purpose to make sure his daughter wasn’t corrupted by her boyfriend.”
“I know, but still I feel bad that once again, thanks to me, we got interrupted.”
“Well,” he said while he twisted his fingers into Aimee's, “third time’s the charm. I’m sure it’ll be even better. The waiting just makes me want you more.”
Aimee felt her face flush. She glanced over and caught him looking at her. She melted. “Dylan, would you do me a big favor?”
“Sure, anything.”
“Would you stay with me at the house? I need to get a couple hours of sleep, and I don’t think I’ll be able
to sleep if I’m there by myself. I keep seeing Dad all hooked up to wires. It kinda has me freaked out.”
Dylan took her hand up to his lips and kissed her fingers. His eyes glanced back and forth between the road and Aimee. “Anything you want, babe.”
“Thanks. I owe you one.”
They pulled into the driveway. Aimee took a long breath and grabbed the door handle. Dylan was there opening the door and helping her out before she could gather up her clutch and swing one leg out of the car. Slowly they walked up the driveway to the backdoor. Aimee heard Zonker gleefully barking from inside. As soon as she opened the door he charged out onto the landing and jumped up on her with his little stump wagging furiously. Then quickly he took off into the backyard to take care of his business. They stepped into the utility room and Aimee flipped on the light. The rest of the house stayed cloaked in subdued light, but looking into the kitchen she could see the reminder of Dad and Dr. Morris's interrupted morning. The shock of seeing her father in such a frail condition, and thinking how terribly alone she would be without him, suddenly overwhelmed her and she started bawling. Dylan drew her limp body into his and held her firmly. He swung her up into his arms and carried her to her bed, then gently laid her on top of the quilt.
“Don’t go!” Aimee sputtered in between waning sobs. She reached out and seized his arm.
Dylan looked down at the clenched fist around his wrist, and then at Aimee's painful eyes. “I’m not leaving. I’ll be right back. I’m going to let Zonker in, then get you some water. Go ahead and get comfortable. I promise I’m coming right back.”
As soon as he exited the room Aimee slid out of her prom dress, threw it across the desk chair, and eased on a t-shirt. She surveyed the disarrayed room where fourteen hours earlier she and Chels excitedly prepared for their senior prom. She stared in the mirror. She looked a wreck. Black bags circled under her eyes, and her hair still felt semi-stiff from the can of hair spray Chels used to plaster it to her head, but she was too tired to brush her teeth and wash her face so she crawled under the covers. Her eyes instantly clamped shut. Before long Aimee felt Zonker jump onto the bed. He quickly molded his body next to her. A few seconds later, she heard Dylan shut the door, and she felt his warm body slide under the covers and scoot up next to her on the other side. He eased his arm over her side and pressed his face against her shoulder. She felt snug with Z Boy on one side and Dylan on the other.
In a whisper, Aimee said, “I love you.”
“I love you more,” Dylan whispered back.
Instantly Aimee's mind slipped into darkness. …
…“Aimee,” the soft voice spoke. Its owner’s hand gently shook her arm. “Aimee, sweetheart, can you hear me?”
Aimee's eyes felt nailed shut, but she desperately tried to pry them open. She was so tired that it was impossible to keep her mind from drifting back into the dark abyss it needed.
“Aimee, you don’t have much time. You need to wake up so we can talk.”
Her mind swam adrift in a sea of unconsciousness. She couldn’t see anything around her. Only the voice permeated her brain and lingered. This voice wasn’t her dad's. It wasn’t Dylan’s, nor James's. It was a female’s voice, but not Sacha’s or Chelsea’s. The voice was melodic…velvety…inviting, but not a voice she knew. Aimee's brain finally registered she needed to wake up, no matter how tired she was, and see who was in her room with her.
Suddenly, like an electric current surged through her body igniting every nerve ending, Aimee shot straight up in bed. Her eyes popped wide open. This room wasn’t hers. She was no longer in her bed with Dylan and Zonker. She was in a twin bed with crisp, white sheets.
She looked to her side and a woman, shrouded in a white linen dress and a white scarf covering her head, sat in a steel framed chair next to the bed. A light glowing from a ceiling fixture covered with a steel wire cage illuminated the room. The woman turned her face away from Aimee briefly, and Aimee caught her countenance. She gasped! Immediately Aimee backed up against the headboard. Her heart fluttered and her breathing dropped to shallow whiffs. The woman quickly turned back to Aimee, smiled, and stretched out her thin, delicate hand. Aimee pulled back as far away as she could on the bed, then she leaped from the mattress and ran to the door that imprisoned them. She beat on the thick wood, screaming for someone to help her, but the dull sound only echoed back into the sparsely decorated room and ricocheted off the stark, white walls. There was no way out of this nightmare!
The beautiful lady stood up and slowly crossed the room towards Aimee with her hand still stretched out. Aimee's eyes moved from the lady's hand up to her face. Dark circles under her blue eyes made a striking contrast against her pale skin. She stopped a couple feet from where Aimee glued herself against the wall and slowly slid back the scarf letting it drop to the floor. Her golden hair, with hints of soft gray, flowed down her back. Aimee immediately knew she had gazed into these mysterious eyes before.
“My little girl,” the woman started while wiping at her eyes and squelching a sniffle, “I always knew you would be as beautiful as an angel when you grew up. I have waited so long, more than eighteen years, to see you.”
The sweat immediately gushed from Aimee's forehead and dripped down her neck. The room smothered her in warmth. She felt like she could ignite and explode. Aimee closed her eyes and shook her head trying to whisk away this hallucination, but when she opened her eyes they were still alone together. The woman's hand stretched out again and eased into Aimee's. Aimee jerked back at her cool touch, but she was unable to move.
“Darling, I’m sure you don’t have long, and heaven knows when they will give me another chance to see you. I have so much to tell you, and so much to hear from you, too.”
Tenderly, her thin, pale fingers slowly wrapped around Aimee's hand. Cautiously, she inched closer towards Aimee like a human approaches a frightened rabbit in the garden. Just as she was inches away from Aimee, the smell of sweet wild honeysuckle floated from the woman's frail body and embraced her. Aimee closed her eyes and sucked in the fragrance. It flowed instantly to her brain and imprinted.
Then without warning the woman's hand vanished, and Aimee's hand dropped in thin air. Aimee's eyes flew wide open. She stood just in her scant clothing. Her body was wedged into the corner of her bedroom. Zonker sat on the edge of the bed staring bewildered. Dylan lay sprawled out in the middle of her bed. His deep breathing signaled he was still sleeping soundly. Aimee shook her head, then closed her eyes hoping that when she opened them again she would be back in the room with the massive door and the woman who had to be her mother. It felt so real, not like a dream, more like the time when Jack Reynolds paid her a visit. Hauntingly real! Was she going crazy again? But she could still smell the wild honeysuckle on her hands where her mother touched her.
Finally her trembling eased. Her breathing leveled out, then her sweaty body melted away from the wall. She quietly tiptoed back towards the bed. Zonker watched Aimee's every move and quickly scooted over to her side of the bed while she painstakingly lifted the sheet just enough to slide under without waking Dylan. She skillfully maneuvered her body under the covers and flipped to her side to avoid touching her bed partner with her moist skin. He muttered something incomprehensible, and then turned and pitched his arm over Aimee's side. She held her breath hoping that he would settle back into a slumber. Within a few seconds his deep breathing returned.
Her mind ran frantically back through the episode trying to recall every second of it, and seal it into her memory. Emotion stirred tears, and her eyes blurred. The only explanation possible was she had traveled, and not just any travel. None of the usual warnings marked this journey. One second she was in her warm bed next to Dylan, both of them sound asleep, the next she was gone, and just as fast she returned. No spiraling tunnel…no gut-wrenching pain being sucked through time. Aimee knew she had been purposefully sent to meet this woman, someone she had known all her life, but only through a black and white photo. Aimee sho
ok her head in disbelief, but she couldn’t shake away the truth.
The stranger she had visited was her dead mother - Marie Aimee Schmidt!
Those eyes were the same eyes that she looked at almost every day of her life, the mysterious eyes of the woman in the photograph with her dad.
“Christ, I visited my mother!” exclaimed Aimee.
Dylan stirred again. This time he didn’t drift back to sleep. “Huh, what was that?” he muttered half asleep while he dragged his arm from over Aimee's waist and turned towards the door. He instantly rolled back towards her. She wiped her eyes quickly on the pillow, and then turned over.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” she quietly answered.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, yawned, and then pulled her tight into his hold. “You didn’t wake me. I was dreaming and I guess I thought I heard something. It musta been in my dream.”
“So go back to sleep. I need to get up and get some things done before I go back to the hospital. Sleep a while longer,” she whispered and stroked his face with her fingers.
“What time is it?” He yawned again, closed his eyes, then reached up and captured her fingers and wrapped his hand gently around them.
“Hmmm,” she peeked over at the clock, “…nine thirty. Seriously, go back to sleep. I want to get up to the hospital in time for the next visitation so you can sleep another hour.”
After a quick stretch, Dylan rolled Aimee over into his arms. His lips instantly caressed hers. It caught her off guard and she pulled back instantly.
Dylan said, “You okay? I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Sorry. I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” she answered, hoping to smooth out any hurt feelings. Her brain was still too warped by the mind-boggling visit she just had to enjoy lying in bed with the man she loved. Any other time this could have been a perfect opportunity to rekindle what they started several hours earlier, but her mind kept flitting back and forth between her dad holding on to life as he lay in a CCU unit hooked up to portentous sounding machines, and the paranormal visit with her dead mother. She definitely was too weirded out to think about Dylan and herself. “I’m sorry, Dylan. I’m still freaked out about Dad, and I didn’t get much sleep. I promise to be better tonight.”
The Weird Travels of Aimee Schmidt: The Curse of the Gifted Page 23
