The Weird Travels of Aimee Schmidt: The Curse of the Gifted

by J. A. Schreckenbach

  “Promise.”

  “Swear?” Chels asked again as she held out her left hand, her little finger curved like a hook in front of Aimee's face and waited.

  “Pinky swear,” replied Aimee as she wrapped her little finger around Chelsea's finger. Chelsea ran out to her car to keep from getting drenched. The starry sky had turned overcast and rain was now falling steadily. Over her shoulder she hollered good night, jumped into her BMW, then backed out into the dark, wet street. Aimee watched her drive away, then stepped back into the house, locked the door, but left on the porch light.

  Leaning against the front door, Aimee peered into the dark den. The house that had always been her safe haven, now seemed incredibly lonely and…eerie. It was unnerving to think she would be by herself the entire night. She knew it was stupid, but she was going to leave on every light in the house, and lock herself in her room, too. Really silly for someone who had no real qualms with traveling back and forth through time to visit people, usually strangers, often in perilous situations, or worse, dead…but the day had left Aimee unbelievably rattled.

  “Come on, Z Boy,” Aimee muttered to Zonker, who sat patiently waiting on her to move from where she had planted herself in the entry. He instantly ran to her bedroom leading the way, and leaped onto the bed. Aimee headed for the backdoor to check one more time that the lock was fastened tight. After checking both doors twice, every closet, under every bed, and all the window locks, she was convinced she was as secure as she could be for now, but she wished Dylan was here to keep her company. Oddly, Aimee hadn’t heard from him since his hasty departure a few hours earlier. She grabbed her phone off the nightstand and punched Dylan's number. Her call instantly rolled over to voice mail.

  She left a message. “Hey, babe, just checking on how it went with your mom and Paul. Call me as soon as you get this.” Then she reconnected the phone to the charger. Aimee stared at the bedside clock. Eight fifty-seven. She felt wired despite the exhaustion that ran rampant through her body. She sighed heavily and plopped down on the bed next to Zonker to scratch the top of his head while she waited for Dylan to return her call.

  “Well, I guess I could finish my economics’ project,” she muttered under her breath. She cranked on the ancient CPU and waited for the desktop to arrive. Finally after a long minute, she clicked on and opened the file and brought up the document she needed. Aimee flew through her notes and whipped out the bibliography, saved, printed, and closed the file too tired to make one more review of the final product. It would have to do as it was. She put the printed pages into a glossy, red binder and stuffed it into her backpack, then looked at the clock. Nine fifty-two. Still no call back from Dylan.

  After sliding out of her jeans and top, then throwing them into the empty hamper in the closet, she stopped one more time to look at Mom and Dad’s picture on the bookcase. Aimee shook her head with doubt. Maybe she dreamt it all. Perhaps she really was crazy. It seemed so real, yet so surreal. She sighed deeply, put the picture down and quickly headed for the bathroom to wash up. When Aimee returned, Zonker was in her spot so she scooted him over so she could slide in. He barely opened an eye. She set the alarm and checked her phone to make sure she hadn’t missed Dylan’s call. No messages came up. This was getting really strange. Dylan always called her when he got home after leaving her house. She figured he waited until he thought Chels had gone home, but that was over an hour ago. Aimee wasn’t going to be able to sleep until she heard his voice so she picked up her cell phone and hit his number again.

  This time on the first ring he picked up the phone. His voice sounded unusually short and distracted. “What’s up?” asked Dylan.

  Aimee replied, “Hey, babe, I was worried. I couldn’t go to sleep without hearing how you were. Why didn’t you call back?”

  “Sorry. I’ve been busy.”

  “Busy? Are you okay? I mean you sound like something’s wrong.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been talking to the cops. I gave them a statement. They’ll probably talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Cops?! So what did they say? Do they have any idea who might have done it?” Her voice gave away her anxiety.

  “They didn’t say much, just asked a bunch of questions…a lot of questions about you and Brandi and her friends.”

  “So, do they think she had something to do with it?”

  Dylan’s responses provided little detail even with Aimee fishing for answers. “Not sure.”

  “So what did you tell them?”

  “Just told them where we went and who we were with...”

  “And, what about Paul. How did he take it?”

  “He’s pissed. Man, I’ve never seen him so pissed.”

  “And your mom?”

  “She’s not mad like Paul. She thinks this isn’t just vandalism, though. She’s worried someone is serious about the message scratched into the paint, especially since someone already tried to kill you.”

  Aimee waited a few seconds before asking, “Dylan…they’re not upset with me about this, are they?”

  “No way,” Dylan quickly replied.

  “Well, then…how about you?”

  “Me? What do you mean?”

  “I mean, are they upset with you - Aimee paused for a couple seconds searching for the right words - well, are they upset about you dating me? You didn’t have to deal with all this craziness until you started dating me.”

  “Oh, Aimee,” he answered, his tone finally starting to thaw, “they really like you, and they know how much you mean to me. Don’t worry. They’re not upset with you. Okay?”

  “Okay,” replied Aimee, although she didn’t feel okay. Something told her Dylan wasn’t telling her everything. There was silence for a very long moment on both ends of the phone. Finally Aimee couldn’t stand it any longer. She had to know.

  “So, do you think she did it?”

  “She who?” Dylan asked, then answered, “Oh, you mean Brandi?”

  “Yeah, Brandi.”

  “Not sure, but I think there’s a chance she had something to do with it.”

  Aimee continued to push. “So, why do you think that?”

  “Well, she said they left the prom early, but didn’t have a clue what I was driving…”

  “Wait. What do you mean, she said they left early? Did you talk to her this evening?” Aimee's probing was turning into interrogation.

  “Yeah, I talked to her, right after I talked to the cops. I was so friggin’ pissed after I got through answering all those questions about my relationship with her that I just had to ask her myself.”

  “So what did you think she was going to say, Dylan, I’m so sorry about the death threat I scratched on Paul’s Lexus. Will you please forgive me? I just don’t know what got into me.” Sarcasm was uncharacteristic for Aimee, but obviously Brandi hit a raw nerve.

  Dylan didn’t answer, and Aimee felt her face turning red to match the ire creeping into her attitude. Finally Dylan spoke, his tone cool again, “I didn’t say I believed her. Just said she denied any involvement.” He paused for a couple seconds, and then continued. “I don’t know, though, what to think. Brandi didn’t try to come on to me like normal, and she didn’t say anything nasty about you like she usually does…”

  “How sweet of her,” Aimee curtly interrupted. She wasn’t as trusting as Dylan for obvious reasons.

  “Well, anyway…” continued Dylan, ignoring Aimee's acidic remark. She was beginning to think he didn’t want to believe Brandi was capable of doing something as evil as the message left on the Lexus, but Aimee knew otherwise. “…she did say something about you.”

  Aimee's interest peaked. “Yeah, what?”

  “She said I should be careful because I really didn’t know anything about you. She said there was more to you than anyone else knew. I figured she was talking about your past, you know, but that’s not a secret, and besides, that’s not an issue for me.”

  Aimee's brain instantly felt fuzzy. She knew exactly what Brandi was elud
ing to, and that could only mean one thing. She did know Aimee was with her the night she almost drowned in the hot tub! There was no way she could know how she arrived there, but Brandi must have recognized her. She apparently wasn’t so out of it that little piece of crucial information got buried in her wasteland. One thing for sure, no one, especially Dylan, would believe her even if she did try to convince them. How could Aimee be in two places at the same time? She had physical proof she was miles away, lying in a ditch all busted up.

  Aimee sighed, and then continued, “Well, she doesn’t sound like she’s getting over you. I’m not as sure as you she is so innocent. Anyway, I hope they find out who did it. I’ll let you know what the cops ask if they talk to me tomorrow.” She was ready to change the topic. She didn’t like feeling angry with Dylan.

  “Dylan,” she started, her voice now smoothed out.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry about Paul’s car. I’ll pay to get it repainted. I feel like it’s my fault.”

  “No way, babe,” Dylan quickly replied. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me. Whoever did this has a problem with me, and if I find out who it is, they’ll wish they hadn’t messed with us.”

  “Dylan, just drop it. You have so much ahead of you. You don’t need to get involved in anything that’ll screw up your future.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna mess up anything for me, or us.” Dylan had “us” definitely in his future. She felt better, but not completely certain that they had seen the last of his ex.

  Suddenly the exhaustion overwhelmed her. She yawned, and then said, “I guess I better get some sleep. This weekend has been really tiring. I wish you were here with me.”

  “Me, too. Except for Mike’s situation and Paul’s Lexus, I had an awesome weekend, really, and the next time we’re together, and we start something, there will be no stopping. Nothing is gonna get in our way. Okay?”

  “Okay. You promise?”

  “I swear.”

  “I love you, Dylan, with all my heart and soul.”

  “I love you more,” replied Dylan. “I'll see you in the morning, sweetheart.”

  Aimee set the phone on the nightstand, and switched off the lamp leaving just the light from the PC monitor to illuminate the room. Zonker groaned when she scooted him over to settle into her favorite sleeping position. She looked at the clock one more time. Ten forty-eight. It was the last thing Aimee remembered until minutes before the alarm was set to buzz. ...

  Chapter 15 Changes

  ...Dylan caught Aimee's hand and twisted his fingers into hers. They were walking down a bustling street in London. People milled around, darting in and out of the local vendors. Merchants waited on customers, and the customary flavor of good cheer and British humor could be heard in the bantering between the shop owners and their clientèle.

  It was turning out to be the perfect vacation, the first leg of their European journey. Aimee and Dylan arrived a couple days earlier, and they had spent almost every waking hour sightseeing the typical tourist spots of London. Today was to be different. Dylan had visited London numerous times with his family. He was going to take her to places new to both of them so they could get a different taste of the city. They walked in silence, stealing glances at one another every so often. After several minutes of strolling Aimee noticed his smile had stretched into a grin.

  “What?” she said, then laughed. He continued grinning. Their walk now slowed down to a crawl.

  “I’m just really happy you decided to come with me on this trip. You’ve been like a little kid at Christmas.” He swung his arm loosely around her waist. “One thing for sure, you certainly attract a lot of attention yourself.”

  “What?! What do you mean?” she asked surprised. Aimee was clueless, apparently, to the young male Brits checking her out when they walked past. Dylan didn’t fail to notice, however, and took immense satisfaction in the fact that he had his arm around the most beautiful girl in London, as he described Aimee.

  The crowds were still thick with people rushing here and there on their way to work or school, or wherever life was taking them. Some obviously were not caught up in the hustle and bustle, instead choose to stand around leisurely visiting; some lingered in small cafés drinking one more cup of tea or coffee before heading off for the day, and some were standing in the store fronts shopping with looks of want.

  Aimee's focus had been soaking in the sites around them - the quaint little shops, the smells of breakfast as it spilled out into the streets from the restaurants they passed, and absorbing, then translating the odd concoction of words and phrases in their unique dialects that were strangely foreign to her ear, although supposed to be the same language she spoke. So Aimee missed the attentive stares of the young males of London when they passed. She casually turned her head to check out Dylan’s assessment, and quickly caught the admiring glances of three young men standing outside a store front chatting. One young man, with red hair, sounded Irish. He smiled warmly, then immediately turned back to the other two, obviously trying to finish a point in whatever they were discussing before she interrupted their attention. The man in the middle with dark hair and black sunglasses, probably of middle eastern descent, also smiled, but kept his attention on Aimee while his buddy continued to talk. The third young man on the end was the one who caught her attention. His blonde hair hung in silky layers, landing on his shoulders. He was dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt and tweed jacket, although it was July. He looked like a college student, not someone going off to work. Her eyes instantly moved to his face and stopped at his hypnotic, crystal blue eyes. They pierced into Aimee's with the intensity of someone who you knew intimately, certainly not a stranger. A smile slowly perched on his lips in a way that insinuated more than just a hello. She smiled back awkwardly, and then felt Dylan tug at her elbow when he started to move again down the street. Aimee started moving with him, but stole one more glance back at the young man she was leaving behind. His eyes were intense and still locked onto her when she peeked back. Aimee smiled quickly and turned back to see where they were heading.

  An eerie feeling…a déjà vu…swept over her. But it wasn’t possible! She tried to shake the feeling away.

  “Hey, did you hear what I said?” Dylan asked again. He drew Aimee closer into him while they made their way through the morning crowd.

  “No, sorry, what did you say?” she answered, trying to refocus her attention entirely on Dylan.

  “I asked you if you wanted to take the Tube over to Russell Square, then maybe head back over to Soho. This is our last day here, and I want you to decide where you wanna go.”

  “Russell Square and Soho, yeah, okay, that would be awesome. Let’s go.”

  Dylan grabbed Aimee's hand and pulled her through the crowds of people towards the station for the Tube, the transit rail in London. Within minutes they were on the train traveling towards their destination. An old gent with a gray beard, sitting across from them, was reading his paper. His eyes occasionally glanced up scrutinizing them when they spoke with their foreign American accent. Aimee smiled at him and he nodded politely, and then quickly returned his eyes to his paper. Dylan looked at Aimee and tenderly swept her hair out of her eyes. His dark eyes focused passionately on her face. He whispered into her ear, “I love you.”

  Aimee whispered back, “I love you, too.” Dylan’s face glowed.

  The train stopped briefly at King’s Cross, and then continued rumbling quickly down the track towards Russell Square. She looked at her watch. Eight forty-nine. They should be there in a couple minutes.

  But a second later everything cheery and wonderful changed. Life became dark and sinister. The squelch, the eardrum splitting grind of metal being ripped apart as easy as a hot knife slicing through warm butter, ricocheted from the inner depths of the rail cars where the blast occurred, and then migrated towards their car, and immediately drowned out everything.

  Falling…falling…and everyone inside the train moved in
slow motion.

  The putrid smell of burning chemicals, fanned by the flames of a spontaneous fire, infiltrated the car’s cabin and burned their noses. All of a sudden, they were thrown from their seats when the car left the track and continued its journey. The strange image of bodies flying through space, and then bouncing off something or someone pausing their trajectory and propelling them in another direction, reminded Aimee of a scary ride at the carnival. She giggled. A mother clutching her young baby with a death grip slid past her. The mother's face froze with terror. The bloodcurdling scream of the infant, glued to her breast, raised the hair on Aimee's arms.

  And she was still falling...

  Nothing seemed real. The gray bearded man flew up and his seat followed him. She felt a sharp thump. Aimee looked down. A bone jutted out of her left leg. And she laughed.

  Suddenly life went dark.

  When she awoke, Aimee was lying in a hospital bed. The room was bright white. It smelled as sterile as it looked. She started to sit up, but immediately fell back to her pillow. Excruciating pain rippled through her body. She screamed when she saw casts on both legs. Her eyes rolled to her left hand. An IV was taped to the top of her hand. It exited a puffy blue vein. Aimee winced. Her eyes rolled to the right. Sitting in a green vinyl chair next to her bed was James. Sacha wasn’t with him. He had his journal in his lap, and he was writing. His hand flew across the paper so fast it appeared invisible. He looked up and stared at her every few seconds, and then dropped his eyes back to the journal and continued writing.

  Aimee called his name. Once. Twice. No response. Nothing. She tried again. This time she shouted, “James, James, I’m awake. James, can’t you hear me?!” Still he continued ignoring her while he madly wrote in his journal. Aimee screamed, “James, help me, my white knight!”