The Weird Travels of Aimee Schmidt: The Curse of the Gifted (51 page)

“Aimee, you okay?” she faintly heard Dylan ask in his usual caring voice. Aimee sensed him towering over her. She looked up as he eased his arm around her shoulders.

“Yeah, I’m okay now,” she finally answered after taking in another huge gulp of fresh air. Aimee closed her eyes and drank in the air feeling it bring life back into her frazzled body. Every wall of the police station came crashing down on her when she was inside. She had to escape before she freaked.

“Aimee, you did it, sweetheart,” Dylan continued as he leaned up next to Aimee on the FJ’s grill. “They arrested the guy you ID’ed. Officer Woolsey said this punk drives a white pickup registered to his father, the same truck that ran you off the road. Aimee, they finally have this asshole.” Dylan tried to reassure Aimee that she had done the right thing. “And Detective Woolsey mentioned to your dad and me right after you took off, they’ll be making several more arrests from that night pretty soon. There are others connected to this sonofabitch. He wasn’t acting alone.”

Aimee's stomach instantly started churning and she felt like she was going to barf right there in front of Dylan.

“Hey, you look terrible,” Dylan said as he suddenly noticed the gray color in her face. “Here, let’s get in and I’ll turn on the AC.” Dylan held his arm securely around Aimee's shoulders and helped her into his FJ. Instantly he was in the driver’s seat and had the air blowing so hard her hair flew wildly off her shoulders. She closed her eyes and felt the blood start to return into her limbs as the cool air hit her face.

“Feel better?” he asked.

She sighed deeply, then turned to Dylan and replied, “I guess. I don’t know, really. I’ll feel better when it’s all over, I hope.” Aimee forced a smile, and then looked out the window. Her dad was walking past to his truck. He turned and waved, then nodded with an encouraging grin on his face. Dylan waved back. She just looked emptily at her dad as Dylan threw the FJ into Reverse. Time certainly wasn’t healing the wound her last journey had inflicted.

The next day after Aimee stepped out of the shower, she heard her phone ringing loudly from her bedroom. She ran for it before it rolled to voice mail, and quickly looked before
answering.
DT
was on the screen.

“Hey, what’s up?” Aimee answered as soon as she had the phone to her ear.

Dylan’s voice screeched through the phone,
“Jesus Christ, Aimee, have you heard?!”

“Heard
what
?” Aimee answered with a question while she dabbed the towel at her wet hair.

Anger dripped thicker than Aunt Molly’s cream gravy with each word. It almost sounded like someone else talking, certainly not her always cool and laid back Dylan.
Before Aimee could say another word he exclaimed, “They arrested
them
!”

“Arrested
who
?”
she asked, now really concerned after she heard the word
arrested
.

“Brandi…and Nicole…and that new chick, Randi!”
hissed Dylan. “The dude they busted
yesterday is Randi’s cousin and they’re all somehow connected to his attempt to kill you. Holy shit, Aimee, I can’t believe it. Those bitches…” But Aimee didn’t let him finish.

“Ooooomiiigod!”
ripped from her mouth. She didn’t need to pretend. Aimee really was shocked just
how
fast it all came down. She thought she would have a day or two to prepare herself before they
got arrested. Aimee figured Dylan would freak when he found out, and she was right.

“I’m gonna
kill
her myself, if it’s true…” Dylan snarled with deadly seriousness.

That’s what worried Aimee most when they asked her to help ID the creep that tried to kill her. She felt positive before long Brandi would go down, but instead of feeling relief, she felt a different feeling; a new surge of fear took over. Brandi would definitely get out of jail, and wiggle herself out of it somehow, just like she did when she got busted for smoking pot with Anna Larson on one of their cheerleading trips with the football team last fall. She got thrown off the cheerleading squad for her little stunt, but that was all. The whole school knew nothing else would happen; no suspension from school…no probation...no community service. Nothing. Her parents had money. Lots of it. And Aimee knew they hadn’t seen the last of Miss Brandi Peters.

“Dylan, no way! You can’t get involved. It’s not between you and her. She’s after me. This is
between Brandi and me, and trust me, she won’t win.
You stay out of this
!” she ordered him.

Dylan didn’t understand what was going on, but he had never heard Aimee talk to
anyone
like
this before. Her tone must have immediately convinced him she meant it. He dropped it, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before it resurfaced. Aimee figured there would be a lot more of Brandi Peters to deal with in their near future.

**********

Aimee's dad anxiously paced behind them while Dylan toted bags to his FJ. It was June 28
th
.
They would be flying out of Portland in about seven hours for New York City, then on to Rome, but they wanted to get on the road to make sure they got to Dylan's dad's house to drop off the FJ, then on to the airport way ahead of time.

“Okay, kids, now make sure you keep only a small amount of cash on hand, and be sure to secure your passports and debit cards. Please, call me, anytime, I mean it, any time of the day if you need anything. You hear me? Anything.”

As nervous as a father changing his first diaper, Dad flitted around the SUV trying to help Dylan to secure the luggage and lecturing them on how to take care of themselves in foreign countries where Americans could be easy targets for trouble. She tried unenthusiastically to calm Dad. “Don’t worry so much. We’ll be fine.”

Her dad made her promise to call as soon as they touched down, and check in every day until they returned. He acted like she had never been away from home by herself. To placate him Aimee agreed, not because she really cared if he worried, but she had made a promise to Dylan she would at least try to get along since they would be moving to Eugene soon after their trip to Europe.

Dylan didn’t understand why she was
still
so upset with her dad, but fortunately had quit
pressing Aimee for an explanation since it only ended in a staring match between the two of them. She hadn’t forgiven Dad yet, probably never would, but if it made Dylan happy, then she would compromise her feelings and make a half-hearted effort to get along.

“Okay, Dad,” Aimee agreed, then she jumped exuberantly into the passenger seat of Dylan’s FJ and clicked on the seat belt. Dad reached in and kissed her on the cheek before she had a chance to divert her face, and he choked out softly, “I love you.” Aimee squeezed a smile between her narrowed lips and retorted, “I know, Dad. Take care of yourself. Okay?”

As planned, Chels was waiting at the airport when they landed in New York City. It only took three weeks for the big city to transform her. Aimee almost didn’t recognize her as she weaved between the exiting passengers going the opposite direction, waving excitedly while trying to reach them. She looked like she had just fallen off some runway; totally chic and drop-dead gorgeous. But Chelsea's beautiful, long, strawberry blonde hair was gone. Short, brown flirty layers softly framed her face. Only her big, blue eyes and pretentious grin gave her away.

Aimee savored every minute of the next two hours they had together. Even though they talked on the phone or communicated on the PC a couple times a week, it wasn’t the same as sitting here in person with Chels. Dylan practically had to drag Aimee away so they could get through the international departure on time. With hugs and kisses they both said a dozen good-byes, and Aimee had to make a million promises to come visit her in a few months before Chels would let her go. Dylan finally grabbed Aimee's hand and pulled her with him. Aimee watched Chelsea strut away in her four-inch black stilettos, then like two kids heading off on their first trip to an amusement park, Aimee and Dylan raced to the gate to board their flight for Rome.

Eleven hours and fifty minutes later the two were flying down a street in Rome in a taxi driven by a madman. A lit cigarette hung precariously out of one corner of his mouth and out of the other side, hostile Italian obscenities spilled incessantly at the other wild drivers in their tiny cars, most of which Aimee didn’t recognize. She clamped onto Dylan’s arm just in case they crashed. His driving reminded Aimee of an American sixteen year old male on steroids. Not a minute too soon, he whipped into the front of their hotel and screeched to a halt. In two seconds they bailed out, chunked a bunch of Euros into the driver’s hand that stretched out of the window, then rescued their bags. It took Aimee another two hours to get her stomach turned right side up from the taxi ride to the hotel.

The itinerary had them traveling insanely through Italy in a week. Dylan was their very own tour guide since he had visited Italy with his dad and Gretchen. Every moment during the day was crammed with running frantically from one tourist spot to the next trying to experience Italy like most American tourists, and every night was a lazy, moonlit fantasy.

Seven days later, they boarded a train in Milan bound for Paris, the City of Lights, but for the two it was the City of Love. The entire first day was spent inside their hotel room overlooking the Eiffel Tower. It was so totally romantic. The day flew by and dusk was emerging. It slowly enveloped the city while they watched from their bed. The twinkling lights were only barely visible in the setting sun’s red glow as it struggled for a few minutes longer to illuminate the Parisian streets. Dylan and Aimee watched through the window until the sun finally disappeared below the horizon and the Eiffel Tower brightened the sky with its millions of lights. Lights from every corner of the city effortlessly managed to chase away the darkness. Dylan held Aimee in his arms, her cheek rested on his cool, bare chest. He lightly stroked her arm with his thumb sending delightful chills through her body.

“Mmmm,” Aimee hummed softly, “I hope heaven is as good as this.”

Dylan chuckled and squeezed Aimee a fraction of a bit tighter. “Yeah, it doesn’t get any better than this, does it?” He looked down at Aimee suddenly. “You sure you don’t want to go out on the town tonight? We can catch a really nice dinner somewhere close, I bet. I mean, we’ve been in bed all day. Not that I’m complaining. Actually, I could stay here with you the rest of our time in Paris, but I’ll do whatever you want to do.”

Aimee tucked in closer and answered, “I want to stay here, right here in this bed with you. We can see Paris tomorrow.”

“Whatever your heart desires.” He snuggled back and lifted Aimee's hand, then coiled his fingers through hers. He held her hand close to his face to admire her ring.

“You still like?” he asked as he reached over and turned on the bed lamp, then picked up her hand again to study the ring. The lamp’s soft white glow casted diamond twinkles through the lacy, silver web.

“I love it,” whispered Aimee, “and I love you.”

Dylan kissed the ring, then laid their tangled hands on his chest and said, “I love you more.”

Chapter 19 déjà vu

Their time in Paris was over and Aimee and Dylan were leaving it behind rapidly en route to London. After two large cups of coffee at the station, Dylan stepped away in search of the restroom. With her head propped lazily on her palm, Aimee stared blankly out the window at the French landscape blurring by waiting for him to return.

In a sleep-deprived daze, Aimee failed to notice that fifteen minutes had passed since Dylan left. The couple behind her arguing in French brought Aimee out of her trance. She glanced down at
her watch.
How friggin’ long does it take to pee, anyway
, she wondered.

The two continued to argue in their language for a couple more minutes. Dylan still hadn’t returned. Aimee was really starting to worry so she decided to go looking for him. As Aimee stood to leave, the man looked up briefly and smiled. His partner poked him with her elbow and they started arguing heatedly. Aimee continued into the next car. Only a handful of passengers filled the cabin. A couple of families, probably American tourists like Dylan and herself, and several young couples all speaking French fluently, occupied the seats here and there. An attendant chatting with one of the passengers blocked the aisle. He obviously didn’t see Aimee next to him, so she waited impatiently for him to finish. Finally, he turned around and smiled at her. Aimee had learned a couple useful phrases in French for their trip.

“Excusez-moi s'il vous plaît. Parlez-vous l'anglais?” she asked.

“Oui. Yes, Madam. May I help you?” he answered in perfect English.

“Yes. Good. Well then, can you tell me where the restroom is?”

“Why yes, Madam. If you will go to the next car you will find a restroom.” He smiled and stepped back allowing Aimee enough room to continue past him.

“Merci,” she answered halfway smiling, and then slid by to continue her search for Dylan. She jiggled the knob on the restroom door, and it turned. Slowly, she pushed open the door and peeked in. Empty. Now she was really getting worried. Aimee looked around nervously. No one even looked up.

Aimee scurried to the next car hoping to find another restroom…and Dylan. But, no restroom, and no Dylan, so she kept going. The door to the next car was stuck tight. She yanked with all her strength. It didn’t move. Aimee peered through the window into the car hoping that someone would notice and assist her. She only saw the tops of heads, and no one spotted her. With every ounce of power she could muster, Aimee tugged at the frozen door. Suddenly, it loosened, and she lost her balance and fell through the opening into the next car.