Hearts Through Time

PROLOGUE

Sacramento California, 1912

"You're gonna die."

Abigail Carlisle snapped out of her sleep. Pain pounded in her head as it kept in time with the speedy rhythm of her heart. Disoriented, she wasn't sure if she'd really heard someone whispering to her or if she'd been dreaming.

Her body screamed with stiffness and she lifted her head from the desk it had been resting on. Blinking, she tried to see who was with her in the darkened room. Her head swam, disoriented. Why had she fallen asleep on her father's desk, anyway?

In a rush, the day's events came back to her. Her father's death two weeks ago, and especially her uncle's threats had made her life unbearable. Uncle Alexander wanted her father's newspaper business, and her relative certainly did not think a woman could run a professional office properly. She, however, had different ideas. This was what her father wanted, or he wouldn't have left her as the sole heir of the company.

She rubbed her eyes—still swollen and chapped from crying. Stretching her arms above her head, she hoped to release the kinks in her body. Her headache would disappear soon enough, she was sure.

Abigail blinked her eyes again, trying to focus, but in the darkness she couldn't see much except the outline of the window located on her left side. Night had somehow crept upon her while she'd slept, and she had no clue to the time.

From the far corner of the room, the floorboards creaked. She jerked her head in that direction. The beat of her heart pounded out a different rhythm now. Eeriness crawled over her like a swarm of ants, and she rubbed the goose pimples rising on her arms.

"Who is there?" she asked in a strained voice.

Holding her breath, she waited for someone to answer, but the room remained silent. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't the only one in the room.

Abigail trained her ears to listen closer, and after a few seconds, she detected someone else breathing heavily. Just like she was.

"Someone is there, I know it. Please tell me what you want."

The floor creaked again as footsteps came closer. Abigail narrowed her eyes, but only saw the shadowy outline of a person raising their hand, pointing something at her. Before she could think of what to do, a flash of fire pierced the murky darkness. Hot, searing pain erupted in her forehead. Her head snapped back. The burn spread throughout her skull, ripping it apart. Darkness fogged her vision as she collapsed on the desk, her hand dangling at her side. She was cold, so numb. The last thing she recalled was the pungent odor of gunpowder stinging her nose as darkness completely claimed her.

Before too long, voices echoed all around her, but she couldn't see anyone. At times she recognized her grandmother's voice, pleading with her to go into the light. Just as quickly, a bright light appeared above her, more glorious than Abigail had ever beheld before. Go toward the light... Abigail tried to reach the bright glow, but her limbs wouldn't move. She couldn't move anything on her body, but she wasn't in any pain.

Her mind drifted away from the dark fog and she felt as if she floated on a light and fluffy cloud. No sounds filled her mind for the longest time. No smells. Nothing.

Just as she had gotten used to the stretch of silence, her vision cleared and colors appeared, as did shapes of people. More voices were recognizable. Sunshine filled the sky, making the trees so green and the flowers look like a rainbow.

People whom she recognized were outside, all standing around a casket. The birds chirped in the trees, but the people were far from being cheered by the birds' sweet songs. Headstones dotted the landscape. Her friends and family were wearing black as they dabbed white handkerchiefs to their wet eyes. An echo of sobs drifted all around Abigail and her heart wrenched for their sadness.

Grandmother cried in her handkerchief, wearing the same lacey black gown she'd worn for two weeks after the death of Abigail's father. Harry, Father's best friend and co-partner in the newspaper, stood next to the older woman, tears streamed down his face as he stared at the pine box in front of him.

She tried to take a step toward them to comfort, but her legs wouldn't move. She glanced down at herself to see what was keeping her from going to them. She floated above everyone at the cemetery, looking down. Her feet could have touched their heads.

What a strange dream...

When her family and friends moved forward to place a flower on the casket, an invisible force tugged at her body, pulling her backwards.

"No," she cried out, reaching for those people she loved, but they couldn't hear her.

Crying, she closed her eyes, wondering what was going on, and why nothing made sense. When she opened her eyes, she stood in her father's office at his building...the same room she'd been in when she'd fallen asleep earlier. A chalk outline of a body was on his desk, and in the middle of the outline, the oak wood was dark with dried blood.

Oh, good heavens! Someone had shot her. She was really dead! This was not a dream after all.

Yet, she couldn't be dead. Wouldn't she be in Heaven?

She glanced down at her feet, realizing she no longer floated above everything but was standing on the floor. She tested her weight until she had full control over her limbs before turning and darting out of the room. She ran down the corridor to the stairs. The newspaper office stood empty—as empty as it had on the day her father had been buried.

Running as fast as she could, she flew down the stairs and toward the front doors. She tried to grasp the handle to open the door and leave, but her body drifted through it.

Panicked, she stopped short, gasping as she patted her face and her chest. She glanced back at the door that was still closed. She had literally walked right through the door! This was no time to think of why all of this was happening, she needed to return to the gravesite and talk to her grandmother. The older woman was the spiritual person in the family, having been raised a gypsy. Grandmother would know what to do.

Abigail dashed away from the building, but the closer she came to the road, the more her chest tightened and she couldn't breathe. Her limbs soon stopped working, and once again, the invisible force that she'd experienced at the gravesite was tugging her back toward the building.

"Why can't I leave?" she screamed, not knowing if anyone could hear her.

Tears swam in her eyes when she reached the front doors again. For certain she was not in Heaven. This was indeed Hell!