Hearts Out of Time

HEARTS OUT OF TIME

Book 1 In The Trilogy An Era Apart

CHRIS LANGE

SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

New York

HEARTS OUT OF TIME

Copyright©2015

CHRIS LANGE

Cover Design by Anna Lena-Spies

This book is a work of fiction.  The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Published in the United States of America by

Soul Mate Publishing

P.O. Box 24

Macedon, New York, 14502

ISBN: 978-1-61935-
990-1

www.SoulMatePublishing.com

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

To my family for their

unconditional love and support

Acknowledgements

All my thanks to the fabulous Soul Mate Publishing team, in particular Debby Gilbert and Caroline Tolley. 

Chapter 1

The ringing jerked her awake.

Tracy dragged open a tired eye and peered at the alarm clock. Nine-thirty a.m. Who would be calling her this early on a Sunday morning?

“Hello,” she grumbled into her phone.

“Tracy Richardson?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“I have your father.”

The muffled voice sounded ominous and as though coming from a faraway place. What did he mean, ‘I have your father?’

“Sorry?” she said.

“You heard me. Bring me my Christmas gift or he dies.”

November was a bit early for Christmas presents. The last tendrils of sleep drifted away, leaving her clear-headed.

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Don’t play with me. Do as I say.”

“Who are you?”

The line went dead. Frowning, she sat up in bed. That call had to be a joke, but who would play such a prank on her? Timothy? Not likely. Since their break-up six months ago, he was taking his ‘best friend’ role very seriously. He wouldn’t do something to jeopardize their tenuous bond.

Who then? The list of her friends was pretty short. She couldn’t see Josh or Terry trying to trick her. Not in that fashion anyway.

She got out of bed before opening the drapes on unexpected good weather for this time of year. The blue sky engulfed the county of San Francisco with bright sunshine flooding the streets in a lover’s embrace.

After pushing the odd call from her mind and taking a shower, she rummaged in her closet to find a pair of jeans, a blue shirt, a thick jacket and her sneakers. This looked like a perfect day to go for lunch with Timothy at Skoma’s.

Breakfast was out of the question, as it had been for the past twenty years. Ever since her first morning at elementary school, she’d never been able to swallow solid food at that time of day.

Back then, she was too young to understand primary school represented the first step toward adulthood, yet she must have felt it somehow. She’d ignored all nutritionists’ advice since that particular event, and was happy enough with an orange juice and a black coffee. No sugar, thank you.

The beautiful day urged her to get out of the condo. Errands needed to be run, yet she should walk to her father’s place, just to check on him. No point in calling him first as he never answered. She’d nagged him about that time and time again, but to no avail. Always busy on a special project.

His house on Bonita Street was only a mile away, and the walk would do her good. Crisp, fishy smells from the marina caressed her nose while an onshore breeze lifted her hair and the sun warmed her skin from the November cold. Sausalito must be the best place in the world to live.

She’d call Alyson and Michelle after lunch. They could have a girls’ night, maybe watch a movie or make margaritas and trash their past boyfriends who drank too much, cheated on them with the Starbuck’s waitress, or forgot to stick around when the time to make a commitment loomed. As a result, the three of them were single now.

At 5984 Bonita Street, she rang the bell. She was born in this house, one of the largest in a wealthy residential area. She still loved this Victorian mansion, although she had been ecstatic when her dad bought her a condo on Main Street; a cozy, charming place to get away from the painful memories of her mother’s death.

Tracy fought back tears. Most days, she only had to close her eyes to see her mom’s smile, smell the light fragrance of her perfume, and remember with acute precision the sound of her voice. Tracy drew a trembling breath. She felt her sometimes, like a protective presence guarding a treasure.

Not right now, though. As usual, her father didn’t answer the door, so she used her spare key to let herself in. No need. The door was unlocked and obediently breathed in when she turned the knob. Why did he always forget to secure the house? Didn’t he know they lived in Sausalito, California, not Neverland? If he got robbed, Peter Pan wouldn’t fly through the window to save him.

Her breath caught in her throat as soon as she crossed the entrance. Through the open double doors, she saw the place had been ransacked, the beautiful furniture hacked to pieces, the couch and armchairs torn to leathery strips, the wall screen shattered, the floor littered with books, papers, and broken trinkets.

Heart pounding, she stepped carefully into the living room, avoiding the shards scattered on the floor. Someone had devastated her dad’s home, and the intruder could still be in the place. Although she ought to be careful and call 9-1-1, she had larger concerns. The main one being her father. She tore through the whole house, calling for him. From the ground floor to the attic, each room appeared turned upside down.

Who did this? Why? Where was her dad?

In the master bedroom, his clothes were strewn about in uneven piles. Red stains dotted the collar of his favorite shirt. Was he hurt? On closer examination, she spotted more stains on the carpet.

Her chest tightened. Fresh blood. Something bad happened here not long ago, something linked to whoever called earlier. The trespasser had spoken with her on the phone, possibly from this very room, right before abducting her father. Which meant he might still be alive. Deep down, she felt sure he was alive.

She didn’t call the police. She trusted her dad, trusted him with her life. From early childhood, he’d repeated the same words.

If you see anything out of the ordinary someday, don’t call for help. Go where I told you and open my secret box
.

He had always been an enigmatic man, even when his wife was alive. He was a brilliant scientist, but nobody ever knew where his mind strayed. Only that he made money out of his inventions.

He would disappear for days then come back whistling as though he’d just gone out for a loaf of bread. Or lock himself up in his study, sometimes without food or sleep for forty-eight hours. Or spend meals with his family without uttering a single word, lost in his own thoughts.

His wife accepted his peculiar behavior because she believed him kind, honest, and eccentric. Also because she loved him. Unlike her mom,
she
didn’t take her father’s absences well and often had to hold back her anger when he forgot Christmas, New Year, Thanksgiving, or Graduation Day.

Oddly enough, he’d never missed any of her birthdays until she turned at least fifteen. On those occasions, he’d tell her fantastic stories of magical and ancient worlds, taking her deep into his wildest fantasies. She didn’t forgive him but in time, she learned to live with the man he was.

What she was witnessing today definitely qualified as out of the ordinary. Without a second thought, she went to find the box. She raced down the stairs, two at a time, to the ground floor, then went out the back door opening onto the garden, and all the way past the massive swimming pool.

She got a shovel from the shed and started digging behind the willow tree. She might not have been able to pinpoint the precise location, if not for the recently turned over soil. As good a clue as any.

In a matter of seconds, she hit something with the end of the shovel. She got down on her knees to unearth a small, rectangular metallic box. Brushing dirt away, she took it in her hands with a kind of reverence.

She paused. What did her father hide in this box he’d told her about so many times?

Lifting the lid with nervous fingers, she discovered two items: a silver necklace and a folded piece of paper with her name on it. So far, so good.

She covered the hole with fresh soil before going back to the house with the box in her hand. She needed to sit before reading this letter.

Beloved daughter,

An affectionate smile spread across her face despite the unease filling her stomach. Who would write ‘beloved daughter’ but her dad? He spoke in an old-fashioned way sometimes, as though born a century earlier.

He had the uncanny ability to talk for hours about long gone eras, starting with their complete family history, from the first William Richardson’s arrival in Sausalito in 1838. Her father inherited his ancestor’s name although she couldn’t recall if he was William the third, fourth, or fifth.

History, mythology, and science were his passions whereas she lived in the present and had trouble imagining the lives of her grandparents, dead before her birth. The past remained the past. She returned her attention to the letter.

If you read these words, the worst has come to pass. Believe me when I say that I have always done my best to protect you and your mother, God rest her blessed soul. I’m afraid I have failed. Now, my fate and the fates of many others lie in your hands. I am sorry about that, and I wish things had turned out differently.

The man was as cryptic as ever. What did he want to protect his family from? Big, ugly, slimy aliens raiding the planet? She shrugged and continued.

The necklace is yours. From now on, please wear it at all times. Do not give it away and, for heaven’s sake, do not lose it.

God, he could be so patronizing. She was twenty-five years old, not a little girl. She studied hard to become an artist, on the verge of becoming appreciated, and she ran her art gallery with great professionalism. She wasn’t going to lose a plain necklace that he could buy by the thousands.

But, being the good girl he expected her to be, she slipped it around her neck, the cold metal sending shivers down her spine. Or maybe her sudden apprehension came from her father’s mystifying words.

Go to my study, remove the blue carpet, and step back. On the inside of the study door, below the handle, you’ll see a small circle. Turn it three times to the right and twice to the left. You’ll hear the clicks.

Shrugging, she walked the hallways.
Whatever you want, Dad.
The study was torn apart like the rest of the house, but she followed the instructions. On the fifth click, she heard a low sound like a quiet rumble.

Several wooden floorboards seemed to shift and slide to reveal an opening. Surprised and amazed at her father’s genius, she peered into the hole. A few steps heading downstairs. Darkness. Silence.

The light switch to the basement is on the wall, under the trapdoor. Go down. At the foot of the stairs, use the gray lever on your right to close the entrance.

She hadn’t been aware this house featured a basement, had never thought about it and never asked the question. She switched the light on, climbed the few steps down, and threw the lever.

Another low rumble and she found herself locked in the brightly lit basement. The room covered half the house, high enough to stand, and probably built against the hill. Why the heck and when did he have this room furnished? To work on special assignments?

The secret place looked like a lab, sparkling clean and futuristic. Several computers surrounded a man-sized, black thing in the center. What could it be? A shower cubicle?

Then again, what was the point of her dad designing an avant-garde shower in the basement? Looking at it, she was reminded of the telepods in an old movie titled
The Fly
. She switched her attention back to the letter.

Use the main computer to access my latest project. I filed it under the name ‘Everett.’ Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone down this particular avenue of research, but I am positive it isn’t too late to make things right.

What things? Jesus, what had he done?

I truly need your help, Tracy. So if you are willing, my dearest girl, start the ‘Everett’ program. Whatever you decide to do, remember that I love you very much.

Beads of sweat dampened her forehead. The whole thing started to freak her out, yet she needed to solve the mystery of her father’s disappearance. Whenever in need of guidance, she’d turned to him, providing he was available. But she wasn’t supposed to be a parental figure. Not yet.

The name Everett rang a faint bell, though she couldn’t quite place it. Did it really matter? Her dad was in danger, maybe hurt. From what he implied in the letter, she could help him. So she would, end of story.

She walked to the main computer. Although not skilled regarding technology, she easily initiated the Everett program. Her father made sure she’d be able to follow him wherever he was.

Step into the telepod. Once you’re inside, turn the red switch to the right and the door will shut automatically. Enter your mother’s date of birth to activate the sequence. Then press the green square twice.

He
had
seen the old movie. Despite her dismay, she grinned at the thought of him enjoying a science-fiction film.

Please, don’t be afraid. I have conducted experiments on my device at least a hundred times, and I assure you that it’s completely safe.

Easy to say, Dad, easy to say.

Her feet were already taking her toward the structure that turned out not to be a harmless, avant-garde shower. She followed his instructions, her sweaty fingers gripping the piece of paper.

The door shut behind her, soundlessly, efficiently. Blind to the world, she felt trapped in the metallic structure. Not even a portion made of glass to see outside, only a bright light overhead.

She entered the code, her hand shaking. She couldn’t help being scared despite her father’s reassuring words. On the brink of the unknown, she read the last lines.

Whatever happens, you and your mother will always be in my heart. Don’t ever forget that. I love you. Dad.

P.S. Trust Garrett.

Garrett? The name didn’t mean anything to her. A friend of Dad’s? A bit late for conjecture anyway.

Finger on the green square, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and pressed it twice. Nothing happened.