Feeling a little naughty, Aimee lightly tapped the brake and watched his eyes roll like dice on a Crap’s table from the map to the road ahead. A few hair raising close calls later and a couple of expletives that Aimee never heard Dylan use before, they made it out of the city and hit the road traveling north to Cambridge. Finally out of London, the thick traffic gradually disappeared. Dylan sighed heavily. His hand, which had been cemented to the armrest, came loose, and he finally relaxed enough to search for some decent music on the radio.
Aimee grinned at him feeling pretty smug at her success getting them out of London alive...and in one piece. She punched down on the accelerator and watched the speedometer jump from left to right. Dylan’s recovery quickly vanished and he grabbed the armrest again. Just like her beloved VW, the baby car sped down the road careening sweetly around curves while the two disappeared deeper into England. After a few minutes Dylan relinquished his death grip on the armrest, wiped the sweat off his brow with his forearm, exhaled, and smiled awkwardly. He chuckled under his breath.
“I guess you’re right. Not hard getting used to it, is it?” he asked as he finally looked out at the lush English countryside, then glanced over at Aimee and smiled for real this time.
She answered triumphantly, “See. I told you I could do it.”
The car tore down the road to Cambridge. After ten kilometers of cruising and listening to British rock on some station, Dylan had to ask, “Sooo…are you gonna let me drive sometime today?”
“Don’t know. Depends how nice you are to me.”
Dylan grinned at her devilishly. “Well, that’s one I’m sure I can win. So, what are the terms, and who judges, you or me?”
“Me, of course,” she replied. “I’ll get back with you on the terms.”
Feeling more at ease, Dylan reached down and grabbed the camera off the floorboard, then started to snap some pictures. A couple minutes later, he swung around and took one of Aimee. He stopped shooting, perched the camera on his palm, and peered up at her. “Hey, I’ve got a cool idea. Let’s take a detour and see some real English countryside.”
Aimee looked at the map laying across his lap and spotted a wiggly, fluorescent yellow line highlighting an alternate route he had obviously picked earlier. “Sure. Why not? Sounds like fun.” They were on vacation. They didn’t need highways dictating their course. So, after a few more kilometers, Dylan pointed to the road Aimee needed to turn on and off the beaten path they drove in search of countryside. The farther they traveled, the farther away they escaped. Down one road, then another, and another, they ventured deeper into rural England.
The rolling, velvety green pastures were absolutely breathtaking. Aimee slowed a bit, just enough to roll the windows down, so both could hang their heads out and savor the cool, damp breeze on their faces. The sweet aroma of the rich pasture grasses floated like perfume into the car. They giggled at nothing, and Aimee turned up the song on the radio while they rolled down the road chasing Dylan’s wiggly, yellow line. They never slowed longer than a second or two to head down a new road. They cruised, without a care, through a sea of green.
Suddenly, Aimee felt homesick. She missed Oregon's ripe and green valleys. She missed James and Sacha. In a weird sort of way, she even missed Dad. Yet, she wasn’t ready to go home where she knew sooner or later the craziness would return. Aimee sighed. The euphoria of the moment disappeared and in its place she felt a twinge of sadness. Aimee knew her life would never be just normal. Damn, she silently hissed, stop it, you crybaby. She swiped at her eyes quickly so Dylan wouldn’t notice, stifled a wet sniffle, and composed herself. Except for the rather loud rock they were listening to, they rode in silence.
Without any minute hint that life was about to change, it did. And it changed, as it always did, in less than a fraction of a second.
A tire blew!
The car’s remaining tires squealed like nails on a chalkboard when it started to skid sideways, then it careened the opposite direction; first into the right lane, then back across the road into the left lane while Aimee froze in utter shock. Dylan reflexively grabbed for the wheel and jerked left at the same time Aimee instinctively yanked right.
In the next couple of seconds, like a video switched out of normal speed, everything around them changed into slow motion. Aimee watched the big furry trees crawl by. At the same time, images from her past flashed madly through her brain, like the video got stuck in fast reverse. Aimee took a fast glance at Dylan. His gorgeous face had disappeared. In its place was a grotesque mask. His beautiful chocolate eyes bulged like they would pop right out of his head at any moment. Aimee began shrieking at the top of her lungs.
Out-of-control and still moving in slow motion, the toy car morphed into a plane. Defying gravity, it took off and soared like a bird through the air, then flipped to its side and abruptly plummeted to the ground. Aimee whacked her head on the side window, but she didn’t feel any pain. She was already knocked out cold. Blackness swirled through every corner of her brain and seized control of her senses.
The car landed on its side in the ditch, then slid through the tall grass until it came to an abrupt halt at the massive trunk of an ancient tree that stood guard over a pasture’s edge. The flock of sheep lazily grazing under its shade cover on the other side of the wooden fence scattered crazily to escape as the alien aircraft stopped a few meters from their sanctuary.
Aimee didn’t know how long she was out, but when she finally opened her eyes, she was alone. Dylan had disappeared. Darkness had swallowed her, but it didn’t feel like the life-sucking frigid darkness of the dreaded black tunnel. It never passed this quick…or this easily. She closed her eyes for only a second, and when she opened them the tunnel was gone. ...
...“Jesus Christ,” the young soldier wearing tan fatigues growled under his breath, “damn bitch. I’m gonna kill her if I ever get out of this fuckin' place.” He continued hissing foul words under his breath.
He was so consumed by rage he hadn’t noticed he was no longer by himself. The Marine drove like the devil himself possessed him. Even in the pale light of the cab, Aimee could tell he was determined. He was on his own self-made mission, and it appeared he had left reality behind a few kilometers earlier. She had no idea where they were, or where they were going, or why, but they were going there as fast as the old military transport could move down the dusty road.
Finally, he took his eyes off the road and looked her way. Aimee figured he would freak with her suddenly appearing out of nowhere. Usually that was the reaction when any sane person saw a ghost. But instead, he stared straight at her, narrowed his eyes into tight slits, and snarled more nasty comments about some woman named Valerie.
He stared scathingly at Aimee and growled like a rabid dog. Unfortunately, she had no choice but to listen to him since she had no way of leaving. “I love her,” he mumbled dejectedly. “She promised she would wait for me. She had our son…my son…my beautiful little boy…” He stopped. The huge Marine, built sturdy as a tank, wiped his wet eyes, then immediately his voice switched back to rage. His anger was so intense tiny dots of spit covered the dash after every curse word. “…and if she thinks she is gonna let some other sonofabitch raise him, I’m… I’m…uh…I’m gonna rip her fuckin' heart out, and stick it in his fuckin' neck after I blow his fuckin' head off…”
As fast as it started, his tirade died for a few minutes and they drove in silence. Aimee could feel her heart pounding through her shirt while she waited for the next round of fury to begin. She hadn’t said a word. Not a single word. She was at a loss. She didn’t know what to say, or do, to help him, and she was totally clueless, in the first place, why she had been sent on this journey. Aimee thought, This dude is obviously being tortured by this woman, and most likely he's gone nuts, but he doesn’t seem in any great danger, other than maybe stroking out from all of his ranting and raving over this chick named Valerie.
They continued driving down this pathetic excuse for a road int
o nowhere. Only the sides of the road remained visible by the headlights, so Aimee couldn’t tell where they were, but what she could see looked desolate, totally barren, and it was bitterly cold. The windows felt like ice, and it didn’t seem like the truck’s heater was working. The soldier wore a heavy camouflage jacket. Of course, Aimee had dressed for a typical summer day in England, and she was freezing her tail off.
It seemed totally weird that this soldier was out in the middle of nowhere all by himself. Aimee envisioned soldiers traveled in divisions, troops, units, pairs, but not lone rangers. She snuck a peek over her shoulder behind the cab to try to see what was hidden in the back, but it was dark. She raked her hand over the seat and accidentally brushed up on a sheet of paper laying between them. Aimee picked it up and held it towards the subdued green light from the control panel to examine it. She barely could see the writing, but it appeared to be very delicately laid out in dark ink with letters painstakingly drawn on pale pink stationary.
November 22, 2011
Wow, Aimee thought, my birthday five years into the future…
Dear John,
Aimee quickly glanced over at the soldier assuming he was John. His screaming had died down for the moment, and he was staring straight out into the darkness in front of the groaning truck. Hmm, she thought, a corpse. I’m riding with a freakin’ corpse. No emotion, nothing. Something musta sucked the life completely out of his body, and left him an empty shell. Aimee continued reading.
This letter is the hardest letter I have ever written to you. My heart aches and my teardrops have faded the ink a dozen times. I pray that you will forgive me somehow and not hate me. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.
Oh crap, no, no, no, no, no…not a real friggin’ Dear John letter, Aimee moaned under her breath realizing where the letter was going.
You promised the last tour of duty you would come home and stay. And now three years later our son is almost three and he still only knows his daddy from the pictures scattered throughout the house. Nate needs you. He needs a daddy now. Not in a year. Not in five years. John, I know you love him but your heart belongs to the Marines and it always will. I can’t, we can’t, live this way no more. I’m lonely. I have wished and prayed you would return but you will never come home not as long as you are a soldier. Today it is Afganistan, or God knows where, and tomorrow well it will be the same. Different country but same reason. Jason McNight is a good man. He will never replace you as Nate’s daddy. But he is here and he loves me and I, well, I have grown to love him to. And he wants to marry me. And Nate likes Jason and Jason is real good to him and good for him. So I have said yes and now I must do the most dificult thing I’ve ever done - please, please don’t hate me, John. I never thought we would ever part and never wanted to hurt you but I must leave you so I can have a normal life. And you can be free to carry on, soldier. I’ll pray for your safety, and no matter what you will always be little Nate’s dad. Whenever you come home you will be able to visit him anytime. I’ll have my lawyer set up the arangments and they will be sent to you as soon as possible.
Until I hear from you be safe, Valerie
Aimee dropped the letter and it floated to the seat. Incredulously, she looked over at John. Dear John letters were something you only heard about in stories. Geez, how cold-hearted can this woman be? Here he is fighting for his country, her country, in some forsaken place, and she does this to him? Thank you for the beautiful son, but now I think I’m gonna call it quits because I don’t wanna wait for you any longer. Gosh, like how selfish is that? Aimee just kept shaking her head unable to comprehend. “I’d wait an eternity for Dylan, if that’s what it took,” she whispered. John must have heard her. She looked over at him and he glared at her. One tiny tear escaped and ran down his cheek.
“I’m sooo terribly sorry.”
“Humph,” he grunted and turned back to the road ahead.
They road in silence for a few kilometers, then he spoke with anger festered again in his voice, “Doesn’t matter…nottin’ fuckin' matters no more. She can have her fuckin' freedom. I don’t need her. She was nottin’ more than a good lay anyhow. Stupid bitch…”
Aimee cringed listening to John vent. She should have been terrified as crazy as he was acting, but her heart went out to him. She couldn’t help but stare at him wondering what she should do to help. For some reason she was sent here, but she was at a loss.
Despite the raging anger that consumed him, he was incredibly easy to look at. His face was the kind of face that would catch a young girl’s eye; strong jaw, high cheekbones, almond shaped, deep brown eyes, and flawless, light brown skin. His body was massive and brawny. And like a lot of soldiers, John was decorated with tattoos. He wore one on top of each hand; on his right in flowery green cursive lettering was Nate, and on his left in the same delicate lettering was Valerie. Aimee cringed again when she saw her name. Getting over her was going to be hard enough without having a constant reminder every time he looked at his hand.
“So…” Aimee started cautiously, hoping not to upset him anymore than he already was, “…what are you going to do now, John?”
He chuckled with a hint of evil, but kept staring out the window at the emptiness ahead. For a while he said nothing. The longer they drove, the more Aimee worried. She waited forever for an answer to her question, then finally they started to slow a bit and he swung his gaze over to Aimee. A shiver shot up her spine. Even though he was good-looking, he was totally creepy, like he was possessed. He never once asked who she was or why she was here, or, like how the hell she got into his truck in the first place. He conversed with Aimee just like it made perfect sense she was here with him, like he wanted, or needed, her to witness what he was about to say, or do. And suddenly it hit her like a ton of bricks! The meth head in Eugene who tried to kill her…John’s crazed behavior reminded Aimee of that idiot; he looked and acted like someone who was completely over the edge.
“Oh Christ…” Aimee mumbled as it dawned on her why she was here. Even though the cab was as icy on the inside as the outside, and her body was covered in goosebumps, she suddenly felt moisture drip from her forehead, run down her face, and drop onto her shirt. Aimee wiped it off quickly so he wouldn’t notice how nervous he was making her. Aimee faked a cough to clear the jittery rasp in her voice, then began, “So John… may I call you John?”
“Yep, that’s my name.”
“Uh, what exactly are you, I mean we, doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”
He sniggered, a slight tinge of satisfaction evident in the sound. “Gonna make sure I finish this mission.”
Sweat beaded on her forehead again as Aimee continued, desperately trying to calm her quivering voice, ”So, John, what mission might that be?”
He snorted, and then answered, “Top secret. I’d have to kill ya if I tell ya.” He chuckled again wickedly.
Silently, Aimee nursed frayed nerves and started to pray that right this very moment whoever was in control of this gig would suck her up into the tunnel, by herself, and return her to Dylan. It didn’t matter to Aimee if it was another failed mission on her record. Returning unsuccessful, but at least alive, seemed perfectly okay with Aimee right about now…but no such luck. She wasn’t going anywhere.
Aimee cleared her throat and started again, “So, since I’m here with you, maybe you should share your top secret mission so I can, perhaps, help you.” Her voice raised on the end hoping he would take the bait and reveal his secret. He kept silent for a long time, then he laughed and nodded his head, and swung his glance over to her. His dark eyes lit up at Aimee's suggestion.
“So, young lady, ya wanna be a Marine, huh?” He paused, looked at Aimee with deadly seriousness, then continued, “Well, then, I hope this is a good day for you to die.”
Aimee's heart quit!
John slowly unzipped his bulky jacket and carefully pulled it to the side to reveal something underneath. Even in the obscure light she could immediately tell what he had str
apped to his rock hard torso. A belt of dynamite was wired strategically around his waist. He smiled at her with a devilish smirk. “Gonna take care of some unfinished business tonight.”
Aimee forced her heart to start again, grabbed a long breath, and then spit out in a frantic voice, “UNFINISHED BUSINESS?! What kinda business requires strapping enough dynamite to your body that you can take down a small village, not to mention yourself?!”
“Perceptive young lady. You’d make a good soldier.” He chuckled.
Stuttering like an antique, defective typewriter, she tried to reason with him. “John, listen. Geez, this is nuts! Obviously you’re a dedicated soldier, I mean, how else could you survive this long over here? Don’t end it like this. My God, whatever needs to be done can be handled in another way. Surely your superior didn’t give you orders to handle it this way?!”
“Don’t need no fuckin' orders,” he growled.
“What do you mean you don’t need any orders? All soldiers follow orders from someone higher up, all the way to the President. That’s what makes you a soldier.” She quickly tossed ideas through her brain trying to figure out how to reason with this madman. He apparently didn’t need anyone above him telling him how to carry out this particular mission. “So…” Aimee paused, her voice strangely starting to settle, “…you’re obviously on a…uh…” Aimee's tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth on the next word, “…death…mission here...” She paused intentionally. Aimee wanted him to think about what she was saying, to mull it around and hopefully think about how totally insane he was acting. He was listening, but didn’t respond. “So how about little Nate? You gonna make him grow up without a daddy?”
“He’ll have a daddy. Some fuckin' asshole named Jason.”
The Weird Travels of Aimee Schmidt: The Curse of the Gifted Page 40
