Hearts Through Time

FOURTEEN

The overpowering odors of ink and tobacco assailed Nick's nostrils, stirring him to awareness. Mumbling voices and the rapid metallic clicking brought him alert, and he struggled to focus on the sounds. His head throbbed with such pressure he was sure his eyeballs would burst from their sockets. What had happened to him? The last thing he remembered was...

Suddenly, the memories assailed him. Abby. The necklace. The woman he loved was gone.

With a groan, Nick grabbed his head and rolled onto his side, curling into a fetal position. He wanted to scream to all who would listen, to ask them to help him find Abby. How could he live without her?

Voices outside the room grew louder as did the heavy footsteps. The ground shook from the person's steps and sounded as if they stopped near his head.

Nick forced his eyes open, but his vision was unclear. After blinking several times, he could finally recognize his surroundings. His desk looked different. He blinked again. This was not the expensive furniture he'd purchased a few months previously. He glanced across the room to the window. This was not the window he'd been looking out the past several weeks, either.

He scrambled to a sitting position and realized he'd been lying by the door. He held his head to keep it from exploding, and his body ached from the effort. A vintage chair sat behind his desk, with three more in front. The light fixtures, curtains, and the throw rugs were also an outdated style.

Slowly, Nick stood, bracing his hand on the nearest wall until the room stopped spinning. The office door was closed, but through the frosted glass, he could see two people standing just on the other side. Carefully, he made his way across the room and approached the outside window. Parting the curtains he blinked as he looked out onto the street. Turn-of-the-century cars puttered along the road in front of the building. Men in brown suits, with stiff, white collars up to their chins with thick neck-ties, and wearing ridiculous hats on their heads, strolled down the walkway. Large, colorful feathers decorated the women's hats, matching their long, fitted dresses. Each woman carried a parasol. They looked much like Abby had the day Nick met her.

He inhaled sharply and jumped away from the window. Either he was dreaming or hallucinating. Perhaps he was so devastated from losing Abby that he imagined himself back in her time. Or...had he gone back in time?

Nick chuckled. Time travel? Right. Only in movies did that ever happen, and he'd kissed Hollywood goodbye long ago. Yet everything seemed so real. The smell of the ink, the metallic clicking outside his office, the people on the sidewalks, and the cars on the street. He was in Abby's world!

I must be dreaming. Nick pinched his hand as hard as he could. Pain shot up his arm. Okay, I'm definitely not dreaming.

He lifted the window and poked his head out to get a better look. The buildings he was used to seeing every day when he drove to work were no longer there. The gas station across the street where he fueled up was gone. The mini-mall on the corner—not there anymore. Instead other buildings stood on the lots...much cleaner and decorative buildings, in fact.

This was certainly not the set of a historical movie. He pulled himself back inside and jerked the curtains closed. He didn't believe in time travel. Then again, he'd never believed in ghosts until Abby showed up in his office.

On his way back toward the door, he noticed on the desk was a newspaper lying on top. He glanced at the date. 1912! Abby's time! His heart beat faster. He had suspected, but now it was confirmed. But why was he here?

He looked at the paper again as if he could find the answer to his question printed there. A black-and-white picture on the front page captured his attention, along with the headline "All Passengers on Titanic Rescued." With a sharp laugh, he picked up the paper and read about the iceberg, the unsinkable ship, and how all the passengers were rescued by the Carpathia. Nick shook his head. Whoever wrote this article must have been disillusioned, or at least received incorrect information.