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

by J. A. Schreckenbach

  …Fireflies, with green tails blinking wildly, blanketed the big Texas sky. They gave a light show while everyone stood on the beach and gazed towards the city. The night felt unusually warm. A tepid gulf breeze licked at their backs while they stood admiring the magnificent beauty of such tiny creatures.

  Aimee was seven, maybe eight. Her dad and Aunt Lauren stood on both sides of her while they stopped to watch the swarm of fireflies flicker in the northern sky across from the seawall. They were enjoying a leisurely stroll on the beach through the warm surf. Sarah, Aunt Lauren’s daughter, ran past them screaming at the top of her lungs. Aimee's brother, James, and David, Aunt Lauren’s oldest child, were right on Sarah's heels chasing her with a stick. On the stick’s end, dangling perilously, was a dead jellyfish. Both boys laughed hysterically while they raced after her. Aunt Lauren hollered at them to quit tormenting Sarah, but like most young boys, they had deaf ears to any adult when they were having fun.

  Aimee sighed and pretended that the fireflies were tiny little fireworks in the sky. If she watched just long enough maybe they would fly high enough to escape the earth and join the millions of other stars in the universe. The sky was busting with green and yellow and white lights shooting every which way. So many lights filled the summer sky the dark backdrop was almost completely blotted out.

  Dad’s hand touched Aimee's back and she looked up at him. A big smile covered his face. He lightly squeezed her shoulder. …

  ...“Holy crap!”Aimee exploded, and she came up off the bed definitely back into consciousness. “Whatthahell!” followed loudly, then Aimee gulped a mouthful of air and stared angrily at the stranger messing with her shoulder. The acute pain of her shoulder being pulled, stretched, and tucked shot bolts of lightning through her brain and interrupted her wonderful dream. Aimee wasn’t happy.

  An old man with white, slightly balding hair, and a bit pudgy around the middle, was busily wrapping Aimee's right arm tightly to her torso so she couldn’t move the shoulder. He sang a pretty Celtic melody while he worked. Aimee's awakening startled him, but then he chuckled. Big dimples pulled up on both sides of his nose as he grinned at Aimee. “See there, now” he started in a thick Irish accent, “I knew ya would be coming around before long.”

  Aimee wasn’t sure where she was, but she had a good idea why she was here. She had a bad habit of wrecking cars when she got behind the wheel. She should have listened to Dylan and let him drive.

  She quickly surveyed the room. It appeared small but quaint, and warmly lit by the lamps on both sides of the bed. It wasn’t a hospital or hotel room. It was too homey looking, like a mother had been responsible for the decorating. Photos of strangers covered one entire wall. Some looked like they might have been taken in another century; perhaps the early 1900’s. Some were more recent. Some were black and white. Some were in color. Several had groups of people posing stiffly, dressed in their Sunday best. The pictures caught Aimee's attention before she spotted anything else, despite the old man sitting in a chair alongside the bed, who had patiently waited most of the day for this moment.

  The old man leaned forward, his large hands on either side of his knees, and peered over his glasses at Aimee. “So, Miss Schmidt,” he asked sitting perfectly still while he studied her face, “how are ye feeling?”

  She looked his way for a short second, then glanced towards the door for the only person she really wanted to see right now. “Fine. I have a miserable headache, but I’m used to miserable headaches. Otherwise, I’m feeling okay, a bit sore, but at least alive,” she answered. Aimee started to get up out of bed. She spit out, “Omigod…” and fell back onto her left side. The doctor stifled a little snicker. She winced and choked out all in one breath, “What the heck happened to me, and who are you, and where’s Dylan?”

  The old man chortled loudly this time, sat back and twisted his long, white beard between his fingertips like he needed to ponder what he wanted to say next. “Well, Mr. Townsend, er…Dylan…is outside helping Timothy. I’m Dr. Payne, Timothy’s neighbor, next farm over. And you’re one lucky young lady, Miss Schmidt.”

  “Lucky? I don’t feel so lucky,” she grumbled as she pulled the quilt up over her waist and sank back into the large mound of feathery, soft pillows behind her. Every inch of her body ached miserably.

  “Well, ye are. You had quite a wreck in that little bitty excuse of a car ye were driving. Somehow ya nearly took down that giant oak tree at the end of Timothy’s lane. Scared his flock so badly they might never be leaving the barn again to graze.” He stopped and laughed to himself. Obviously he found some weird humor in her predicament. She certainly didn’t.

  Picking up on her huffy mood, he stopped chuckling, cleared his throat and continued, “Well, now. Let’s see. Your tire blew and by the looks of the car ye must have flipped at least once before leaving the road and sliding into the tree. Lucky for you, you had your bloody seat belt on otherwise I wouldn’t be patching just a bum shoulder and icing a rather nasty, swollen ankle. I would probably have sent for an ambulance by now, and taken ye on to Cambridge for surgery…or worse.” He stopped and stared at Aimee with one eyebrow dramatically raised while he waited for her reaction. She said nothing, just stared at him, so he continued, “But, thank goodness Timothy was on his way to town and spotted the sheep tearing through the pasture like a pack of wolves was fast on their heels. Your young gentleman friend is bruised a tad bit here and there - he pointed to various areas on his body - but otherwise, faired the accident a great bit better than ye did.”

  At the mention of Dylan’s injuries, she reached over, grabbed his forearm, and interrupted completely frightened, “Dylan, he’s hurt? Omigod, what did I do?” She suddenly realized this time her accident and journey didn’t happen while she was alone. What she had dreaded most had happened. She had traveled with Dylan in the car, and even worse, she wasn’t the only one hurt this time! He could have been seriously hurt, Aimee thought, or he could have… She stopped and gasped as reality sunk in…he could have been sucked into the tunnel with me!

  “Can I see him?” she asked Dr. Payne. “Please, can you get Dylan?”

  “Sure, young lady. He’s been waiting here by your side since this morning fretting terribly over ya. I assured him you would wake up when you were good and ready, and other than, most likely, a fractured clavicle, a sprained ankle, and a few bumps and bruises, you’d be good enough to go back to London tomorrow. He promised he would get you in to see a doctor as soon as you get back to Oregon, but for now I fixed ye the best I could.” He shook his head and started to gather some of his medical supplies and equipment, and stuff everything piece by piece back into the big, black leather bag sitting at the foot of the bed. The doctor continued chatting while he prepared to leave.

  “Patched a lot of broken arms and stitched a load of cuts in my day. Why, I’ve delivered most of the folks in this area, too. Delivered little Timothy, myself, right here in this room some twenty-five…no, no, twenty-six years ago. He was the only child his Ma and Da had, God rest their souls, good people, his parents they were.” He stopped and crossed himself, kissed the silver cross hanging around his neck, then continued, “They died tragically last year in a horrible car accident outside of London. Left quite an empty hole for Timothy to fill since he’s an only child. He had just finished getting his doctorate in anthropology at Oxford. Had to return home suddenly when he got the news. Been here ever since…” Dr. Payne finally paused to catch his breath from his story about Timothy, the man they obviously owed their lives to for saving them. Aimee wanted to be hospitable and listen patiently to Dr. Payne’s story about Timothy, the anthropologist turned gentleman farmer, the man who had fortunately found them and gathered Dr. Payne immediately after the accident. She didn’t really want to be an ungrateful, ugly American. She truly was appreciative of everything Timothy and the good doctor had done for them, but right now, right this very minute, all Aimee wanted was to see Dylan to make sure for herself he was still in
one piece…and to make sure he didn’t hate her.

  Dr. Payne took the stethoscope from around his neck and tucked it in the top of his bag, snapped the clasp, and smiled warmly at Aimee. “Okay, Miss Schmidt, I think I’ve done everything I can do for now. I’m leaving some pain medication here next to the bed. Ye can take them now, and every eight hours as needed. I’ve only given ya enough for a couple days until ya get back to the States, but it’ll take the edge off the aches and pain ye’ll be feeling for a few days. Try to keep that shoulder wrapped so ye don’t move the arm unnecessarily. And a couple aspirin every few hours for that headache will help. Ye took quite a nasty pounding with the window when ye flipped.” He chuckled again as he shook his head. “I’m sorry for your accident, but it’s a miracle of God that the two of ye are not only alive, but not too terrible for the wear. Stroke of good luck, if I might say so.”

  I don’t feel so friggin’ lucky, she growled to herself. But Aimee was lucky. She had survived almost getting blown up in Afghanistan and then killed in a car wreck in England. “Thank you, Dr. Payne.” Aimee managed a limp smile as the good doctor picked up his bag and headed towards the door. “Please leave your bill with Dylan. I want to make sure we repay you for everything you’ve done for us.”

  Dr. Payne smiled and shook his head. “I’m retired, Miss Schmidt. I only trade my services these days. Lamb for stitches. Fresh butter for doctoring strep. Good Irish whiskey for setting a broken bone.” He laughed merrily as he reached for the door knob. “It’s a pleasure meeting ye, young lady. Not every day I get to meet such a beautiful, young American in these parts. Ye take care of yourself, okay? Stay out of the driver’s seat the rest of your time in England.” He laughed again. “I’ll send in Dylan, now. Have a good evening. If ye be needing anything else, young Timothy will call down to me.” He nodded, smiled once more, and left.

  Aimee heard voices float in from the hall. She recognized two of them; Dr. Payne and Dylan. The third voice, a young man’s with a British accent, was unfamiliar, but since this was Timothy’s house, she figured it must be young Timothy, the man Aimee already felt she knew from Dr. Payne’s little story.

  The door swung open slowly, and then Dylan eased around it and stopped. Their eyes met. She gasped. His face looked like he had been beat up in a schoolyard fight. “Oh, Dylan!” Aimee blubbered.

  He zipped over to the side of the bed and dropped down into the empty chair. His strong hands swiftly wrapped around hers and gently brought them up to his lips. He shut his eyes for a second while he softly kissed each finger, then he pressed her hand against his cheek. The faucet turned on and the tears poured from Aimee's eyes.

  “Hey, it doesn’t hurt as bad as it looks. No worse than what I endure from one of my football games. I’m sure nothing like what you’ve suffered. So, how’s the shoulder?” he asked worriedly.

  “Well, I’m not gonna lie and tell you it’s fine, but I’ll live. Hurts on the scale somewhere between the time I rebroke my rib and my broken arm.”

  Dylan laughed. “I’m sooo happy to see your beautiful, blue eyes. Damn, Aimee, you have a way of always scaring the crap out of me.” He shook his head as he tightened his fingers around hers. “Promise me you won’t get behind the wheel again. I’ll drive you anywhere you want to go. Hell, I’ll get you a friggin’ chauffeur if I need to.”

  “Dylan…” she started.

  “No…no…” he cut in, “no arguing. One minute we're driving down the road, enjoying the scenery, and the next thing I’m waking up in the ditch and I see some man pulling your body out of the car seconds before it catches on fire...”

  “What?!” she exclaimed. “The car burned up?!”

  “Yeah,” he answered very solemn now. “If Timothy hadn’t been heading to town when he did, if he had been even a few seconds later…” Dylan hesitated suddenly. Aimee felt a shiver run through his hands. He clamped his eyes closed for a few seconds, but when he opened them they were clouded with moisture. He sniffled, leaned over and wiped his nose on his shirt sleeve without letting go of her hands, cleared his voice, then tried to speak again. "Anyway, there is a god, and he was watching over us today.” Dylan stopped and looked far into her eyes, as deep as if he was looking straight into her soul. He leaned towards Aimee and stopped. His sweet breath washed over her, and she closed her eyes and sucked it in and imprinted it into her memory. His lips eased into hers and they kissed like it was their first, second, and last time. Finally, their lips separated and Dylan looked into her eyes. “You are a very lucky lady, Aimee.”

  “You’re the second person to tell me that tonight.” Aimee smiled and raked her fingers across a few stray strands of hair in his eyes.

  “Yeah, well, you are,” Dylan said. “So, do you feel well enough to meet the person who saved you? Man, of all the places you could have picked to total the car, you certainly picked the right place. Timothy's really a cool dude. Just finished getting his PhD last year, but for now he’s taking over the family farm. He’s offered to drive us back to London in the morning himself. Said he had some business there. He not only saved your life, Aimee, he got Dr. Payne here within minutes, made sure he got everything Dr. Payne needed for you, put you in the most comfortable room he has, and he's gonna get us back to London for our flight out. Anyway, I know you’ll like him.”

  Aimee listened to Dylan describe Timothy like he was a super hero. A saint. Thank goodness he was still home when they happened by his farm. She had to meet this remarkable young man who had saved them, rather saved her from herself, the person who risked his life to pull her from the wreckage just seconds before it caught on fire, the person who made it possible for Aimee to live another day so she could be with the man she loved…and return home to Oregon…to go to college in the fall…to visit her best friend in a few months in the Big Apple…to enjoy another totally awesome day on the west coast waves…and…and to hopefully someday find her mother and father. Yeah, Aimee couldn’t wait to meet her savior.

  Dylan leaned over and kissed Aimee's cheek, then got up to head out of the bedroom. He grinned and said, “Stay here. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll go see if Timothy is free.”

  Of all times, vanity kicked in. She usually didn’t worry about what she looked like when she felt this bad. Dylan said she was a natural beauty no matter what she was doing. Aimee didn’t have a mirror, but if she looked half as bad as Dylan, or a fraction as bad as she felt, she must look a fright. Aimee brushed through her hair with her free hand, then pulled and neatly tucked the quilt up over her waist. After a couple minutes she heard low voices in the hallway, then a soft rap on the door.

  Dylan politely asked, “May we come in?”

  “Sure. What’s with the formality? You don’t need to knock. Please…please come in.”

  Dylan entered first and stopped at the end of the bed. Their host trailed behind him. “Aimee, I want you to meet Timothy.”

  The man who saved her life stepped around from behind Dylan, his hand instantly extended towards her for a handshake. With great effort she leaned forward and swung out her good arm. She quickly looked from their hands up his arm to his face. Aimee met Timothy’s eyes.

  She looked at her savior, then to Dylan, then back to Timothy, and back to Dylan before her eyes stopped and froze on the young man who had pulled her from the car seconds before it burst into flames.

  With a smile that implied more than just a customary greeting, the same man who had too often invaded her dreams, and even her worst nightmares, stood at the side of the bed holding Aimee's hand in his, patting it tenderly to hide its trembling from Dylan. In a very proper British accent, Timothy said, “Please call me Joseph. My dear friend Dr. Payne is the only one who calls me by my Christian name, Timothy.” He stopped for a second and smiled, then continued, “I’m so glad to see you’re feeling better. You gave everyone, including my sheep, quite a fright this morning.” He chuckled, then added, “Although I wish it was under different circumstances, it’s a real pleasure to f
inally meet you, Aimee. Dylan is one lucky man. He’s told me so much about you it feels like I already know...”

  Her heart felt like it quit beating. Joseph’s face blurred. And like a house of cards in a hurricane, Aimee crumbled into the feathery mound of pillows underneath her. Then everything around her went black...dead black.

  ...TO BE CONTINUED...

  Escaping out of the tunnel in Spring 2016...

  The Weird Travels of Aimee Schmidt

  Book Two: Seeking Others