The Weird Travels of Aimee Schmidt: The Curse of the Gifted (14 page)

Aimee really hated to leave. The more time she spent with Dylan, the more time she wanted. She was beginning to enjoy it more than she should. Aimee didn’t know where this relationship was going, or how it could survive. They were both seniors and graduation was in less than five months. Dylan was leaving to the University of the Cascades on a football scholarship at the end of the summer. UC wasn’t that big so they would surely bump into each other on campus once in a while. But Aimee knew he would be consumed by his love for football, and of course, he would have lots of girls willing to do anything for his attention. She was sure he would be a popular man on campus. How could she compete?

Aimee was hoping to get accepted to UC even before she knew Dylan’s intent. She planned on
attending in the fall quarter, too, and living with James and Sacha. Dylan seemed pleased,
very
pleased,
Aimee wanted to attend UC, but her future with Dylan was too hard to grasp right now. As much as she
wished there was a future with
them
in it, Aimee knew it would be complicated, probably impossible.
Her life was not orderly…or predictable. So for now, she would enjoy what they had, take it one day at a time, and hope for more.

The time seemed to slip away when they were together. They made a brief detour to Chelsea’s to return her borrowed attire. Of course, she insisted they stay to chill for a bit despite Aimee's futile attempt to escape. After all, she would see Chels at school in the morning, and she would pump Aimee again for all the details from their weekend.

Dad had dinner cooking by the time Dylan eased his FJ into the driveway. He was busily chopping vegetables for his famous vegetable soup when Aimee bounced through the door. She stopped long enough to lift the lid of the stock pot to savor the tasty aroma. He popped her on the back of her hand with a wooden spoon, frowning mockingly.

She exclaimed, “Mmmm, smells wonderful!”

“Thanks. Should taste good, too. Hey, get me some celery from the frig,” he ordered waving the butcher knife in the direction of the refrigerator. “So, how did the studying go?” He kept mincing onions, stopping briefly to wipe the tears clinging to the corners of his eyes.

“It was fine. I got to meet his mom,” Aimee said matter-of-factly while she looked into the vegetable drawer for the requested ingredient.

“How’d that go?”

“Great. She seems nice. She’s a good cook,” she said. “You might have competition.”

“Yeah, right. No one makes better soup than your old man.”

“No doubt.” Aimee put the celery on the counter, patted him on the back, then gathered the soup bowls from the cabinet.

She was setting the table when the phone rang. Dad continued chopping, so Aimee reached for the phone on the counter. “Hello,” she answered.

Silence.

“Hello...(silence)...uh, I’m sorry but I can’t hear you.”

More silence.

“Okay this is weird. If someone is there, I’m going to hang up.” Aimee nervously peered at Dad with her hand on the receiver, but the caller beat her to it.

Click. Dial tone.

She hung the phone up slowly and looked at Dad with her eyebrows furrowed; first her cell phone this afternoon, and now the house line. Perhaps it was just a coincidence, but it still felt creepy for some inexplicable reason.

“What’s wrong?” Dad asked finally looking up. He placed his chopping knife down on the cutting board and wiped the back of his sleeve across his eyes again to soak up the moisture.

“I don’t know. Probably nothing.”

“Well, who was that?”

Aimee was becoming petulant. “I don’t know, Dad. They didn’t say. Probably just a wrong number though. They hung up without saying anything.” She shrugged, then continued to help Dad where she had left off before the phone rang.

Her dad filled dinner with unusually inquisitive discussion about Dylan and his family. Afterwards, he convinced Aimee that since he had slaved over the stove she should get kitchen detail. He headed for the den, a magazine under one arm, and a cold beer in his hand. Aimee took her time washing and drying the dishes and scoured the soup pot. Zonker begged pathetically until she flicked off the kitchen light, then he trailed after her to the bedroom.

Her cell phone was buzzing loudly when she entered her room. Quickly she dug it from the backpack and flipped it open. The screen read
James
. “Hey, what’s up?” she answered while she kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the bed.

“Just checking that it was okay with Dad for us to come in a couple weeks.”

“Of course. You know Dad can’t wait for you to come. Hey James...” Aimee paused hoping he didn’t want to be alone with Sacha. “...uh, would it be okay if I tag along to Ashland?”

“If you pay your way.”

“Yeah, James, I’ll pay my way. I’ll even fill your car if you let me bring a friend.” She felt confident he wouldn’t say no to her bribe.

“Sure, you fill my car and you can bring anyone…anyone except Chelsea,” he said, his tone lightening. “Her incessant babbling drives me friggin’ insane.”

“Well, it’s not Chelsea this time. Actually, it’s not any of my girlfriends.”

“So then, that would make it a
boy
you want to invite?”

“Geez, you’re fast,” Aimee said. “Yes, that would make it a boy. I’m not into dating aliens.”

“So Aimee, what lucky dude finally got to you?”

“Uhmm, yeah, well…Dylan…Dylan Townsend.” She waited for his smart rebuttal. James knew how limited Aimee's social life had been during high school. He didn’t show the same concern over her as their dad, but she had to endure his wisecracks about being a social freak now and then. Aimee covered her eyes with her arm waiting for the condescending comment she knew was coming.

“Dylan Townsend!” His chortling was so loud she pulled the phone away from her ear until he settled back down.

“I take it you remember him.” She instantly was miffed he thought it was so amusing that she wanted to ask Dylan. “Look, James,” Aimee responded sourly, “…we don’t have to come with you. I just thought it would be fun for the four of us to go together. Dylan likes to snowboard, and I don’t think he has anything planned for that weekend. So…”

“Okay, okay, don’t get all pissed-off. I’m just giving you a hard time. Of course you and Dylan can come with us, that is if you fill my car,” he promptly reminded her of the bargain.

“Thanks, James. I really appreciate it. You’ll probably see a lot more of Dylan in the fall.”

“Oh, yeah, and why is that?”

“Well, he has a scholarship to play football at UC,” she said smugly. Aimee wasn’t ready to reveal that he might also see more of him if she was living with James and Sacha because Dylan had quickly made his intentions known he wanted to make their relationship more than just friends.

“Yeah, I know. I covered him in the paper when he got it. Good for him, and great for the Bears. So, do you think he’ll get us some free passes?”

“James, you butt!” she screeched as she sat up. “I hope you’re not serious. Anyway, we’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

“Sure. We’ll be there late Friday afternoon.”

Before James could hang up, Aimee quickly interjected, “Hey, James, before you go, how is that girl that got hurt in the robbery?” The journey had been in and out of her mind whenever Dylan wasn’t occupying it the past couple of days. She suddenly shuttered recalling the sound the girl's head had made when it hit the brick wall, and the gun’s loud blast as the robber’s lousy aim narrowly missed her. They both had come so close to getting killed. She had tried to bury those memories so she wouldn’t have to deal with the trepidation any sane person should have from an experience so frightening.

“She’s okay. I think they’re gonna release her tomorrow. She can’t remember much. And they still haven’t caught the sonofabitch who was trying to rob her. I tell you, it really had everyone freaked out on campus Friday. Hey, tell Dad we said hi. I gotta go pick up Sacha from work. Take care, and Aimee, I’m really happy that you wanna bring Dylan.”

“Ditto,” she replied, but he had already hung up.

Aimee closed her phone, hooked it to the charger, then set it on the nightstand. She laid back down on the bed and started to replay in her mind the
harrowing scene at the bookstore. It nagged at her why she was given this
gift
without really under
standing how she was supposed to use it. It was like getting a new computer without any instructions how to make it work. Aimee knew it wasn’t just a joy ride back and forth through time. Besides, getting sucked through a black hole that felt like it was shredding your body to pieces wasn’t her idea of a fun ride. All her travels up to this point involved someone in danger. She was being sent on these travels to somehow help these people, and hopefully alter the course of the event. She decided the next journey she was sent on she would try to change the outcome so no one got hurt…or worse.

Suddenly, the vibration of the phone interrupted her thoughts. She looked to see if it was Dylan or Chelsea, or James calling back to poke fun at her some more.

Number Withheld.

Her stomach somersaulted, then instantly she became irritated at the unwelcome intrusion. She
angrily flipped open the phone. “WHO
IS
THIS?!” Aimee growled between her teeth.

Silence.

Aimee continued, her typical latent temper gone and anger now fueling her mouth. “Look, you
creep, if I find out who this is, you’re in BIG trouble. No,
HUGE
trouble! Do you hear me?!”

Click. Dial tone filled her ear.

Who the hell is doing this?
Her mind raced thinking of all the possible weirdos who might
want to harass her. The list seemed empty at first. Her easy going, avoid conflict at all costs personality
shouldn’t put her on anyone’s hit list.
Do I have a secret enemy?
Other than some
random sicko who might be out there stalking her, which she seriously doubted, there was only one person Aimee could think of that would dislike her enough to resort to this type of tactic.

Brandi Peters!

But why?
Aimee remembered Chelsea saying she overheard Brandi and Nicole gossiping at the
basketball game about her date with Dylan, and then the very next day Brandi made it clear, crystal
clear, she wasn't very fond of her
.

But it wasn’t right. Aimee knew better than to accuse her until she was positive. So the rest of
the evening she would let any more
Number Withheld
calls roll over to voice mail, and only answer
calls for numbers she recognized. Aimee sighed anxiously and placed the phone back on the nightstand.

She didn’t have any homework left to study. She was prepared for the world history test tomorrow so she decided to get in bed early for once. She changed quickly into an old t-shirt and sweats, then headed to clean up and check on Dad. Within ten minutes she was curled up under her soft quilt, her body finally letting the day’s excitement roll off layer by layer. Aimee started deleting thoughts from the past few days so her brain would float into sleep. She took a few deep breaths, then slipped into slumber easier than she had anticipated. Fortunately, there were no more disturbing inter
ruptions from
Number Withheld
.

Chapter 8 Weird Stuff

Zonker’s moist tongue lapped across Aimee's dull face. Her eyes abruptly popped open. Z Boy was hovering over her. His mouth, with its pink tongue hanging out, appeared turned up into a mischievous grin. “Geez, Zonker!” she screamed, then she shot straight up in bed and wiped the slobber from her face. He laid down immediately and rolled over to his back pleading for forgiveness.

Pale, white light was filtering through the closed blinds. It was too light for her normal time to wake up. She jerked around to check the clock. Seven thirty-nine. “Crap!” she screamed, then bolted out of bed. Zonker scampered to the closed door.

She inspected the alarm.
Geez, how stupid am I?
It didn’t go off because in her
desperate effort to purge her brain of the vexing journey, her botched attempt to help the young girl, and now the eerie calls, if for only a few hours so it could reboot, she forgot to turn on the alarm before falling asleep.

Aimee pitched open the bedroom door and loped to the kitchen. Dad was already gone, which explained why he didn’t rescue her when she didn’t emerge at her regular time. She noticed a piece of paper on the kitchen table with Dad’s scribble.

Hey Sleepyhead, I had to meet the electrician early

at the McCoy
job. Sorry I missed you. Have a great

day! I should be home by the time you get off work.

Going out to dinner with a friend so don’t worry about

me. See you tonight. Love Dad…

Oh yeah, forgot to mention some girl called for you

last night about 11:30. She didn’t leave her name or

message. Just asked for you then
hung up when I told

her you were in bed.

She reread the note really irritated that someone had called so late, then didn’t bother to leave a name. Dad hated getting calls after ten, and usually gave her grief when anyone woke him up. All of her friends had her cell number so Aimee was positive they would have tried her first on her phone, but if anyone did call she must have been way too out of it to hear it vibrate.

First Aimee let Zonker out, then grabbed a glass of water and dashed back to the bedroom. She searched for her phone under her pillow, then checked for missed calls. Not one call. Sort of peculiar, but Aimee didn’t have time to worry about that now. She was going to be late to school if she didn’t get moving.

She tossed the phone onto the bed, then frenziedly began searching the closet for a clean pair of jeans. Every pair was dirty. She grabbed the pair from the previous day out of the top of the clothes hamper and half way checked them over before she tugged them on. Then she ripped the first shirt she found off its hanger and yanked it over her head. Aimee glanced into the mirror and grimaced. She would cover the wrinkled shirt with a blue jean jacket so no one would notice, that is no one except Chelsea, the fashion police. After throwing a brush through her tangled hair and pulling it into a disheveled ponytail, then swishing her mouth with mouthwash, Aimee slung her backpack over her shoulder and dashed through the backdoor, only pausing long enough to let Zonker in. She locked the door handle and pulled it shut, then flew to her car.