Timing, page 25
As an aside, in the notepad portion of her mind, she compiled a list of her questions to put to him, hoping the opportunity for asking them would eventually present itself.
It wasn't long before they turned off the main road and followed an adjoining one pointed straight toward the mountain range.
After about ten more minutes of brisk walking, they reached a small shed near the edge of some pine trees; other than the road, the structure was the first sign of human inhabitance since Hannah's arrival.
Vance told her to wait outside as he unlocked the building, and then he disappeared inside it.
She walked around the perimeter of the structure, staying on the shoveled path carved out around it.
Along the back of the shed, she glanced into the forest that was behind it, and for just a sliver of a second, she could have sworn that someone was watching her from behind a stand of trees.
Her father calling for her interrupted the sensation, and she quickly dismissed it as paranoia.
There was no need to be afraid here, she reminded herself, as she rounded the corner to rejoin him.
"You'll need these," he said, handing her snowshoes. "Now we'll have better light. My batteries were starting to die."
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"You'll see," was his only response.
He lit a torch, and they continued walking, only this time they were going through the forest without the guidance of a road.
Weariness began to set in. Hannah felt like her body was on autopilot, moving with barely any conscious effort on her part. She became ravenous for sleep and was unable to think of little else.
That was until howling fell upon her ears, so shrill that it instantly pickled her insides. Adrenaline rushed into her body, and the need for rest instantly vanished.
Vance intercepted her frozen stance and cut her off with a swift shake of his head.
"Don't worry," he said. "You'll like what's ahead."
He motioned for her to lead the way as they continued on through the snow, both of them moving closer toward the epicenter of the sounds.
Eventually, at the bottom of a hill, the trees thinned into a wide, flat area dimly lit by a yard light. Hannah could make out a dozen or so miniature houses, interspersed along two parallel lines, each of whose tenant sat at attention. Some were on the roofs, others on the porches.
And now that their master was in the immediate vicinity, their howling had turned to whimpers.
A smile spread across Hannah's face.
It was a Dog Town.
"Sled dogs," her father said, coming up beside her. "I trained them. Come on," he grinned, "let me introduce you."
He took her past all of the other canines to the farthest point in one of the lines where the dog house was twice as big as all of the others. It was a small replica of their home on the ranch.
Vance approached the animal first and crouched in front of it.
"Hi girl," he stoked her head and lowered the torch, "I've brought someone to see you."
Hannah brought her gloved hand to her mouth.
It was Sadie.
Even now, Hannah still thought of her every day.
They'd been inseparable, the dog a part of her life like no animal before or since.
Sadie had even learned to ride with her in a specially designed seat attached to the back of her saddle.
Boone had dubbed them the "Dog and Pony Show."
Hannah wrapped her arms around the dog. Her tears streamed onto the animal's head. Sadie whimpered and licked her as if saying, "I missed you." In no time at all, the canine had curled up in her lap, seemingly content with Hannah's familiar voice and touch.
"But Sadie died." Her voice lowered. "How is this even possible?"
"I know I probably shouldn't have," her dad admitted, "but I couldn't resist. You know how I loved her." He shrugged. "She left a big hole in our family when she passed away. I didn't show you at the time, Hannah, but it really bothered me when it happened." He plopped down onto the snow right next to them. Sadie raised her head and planted a big, wet lick on his hand.
"So," he said triumphantly, "when I knew you were coming, I went back in time and retrieved her from the past."
CHAPTER 33—DEATH
The dogsled clipped across lucid whiteness, the steady patter of paws in perfect synchrony with nature's surroundings. Overhead, the stars were punctured holes in the curtain of midnight, tiny portals of light into the heavens dictated by the crystal ball looming among them. Below, the stage was set for the choir of Earth's own angels, the canine's rhythmic cant a harmonic extension of Earth's own voice.
On slats of wood hovering just inches from the ground, Hannah slept curled up in a ball, a roly-poly mound of cargo protected from the frigid air by several thick layers of fur. Only her eyes were visible through the pile of blankets in a slit the size of a dollar bill.
Above her, Vance piloted the dogs in the direction of the cottage, the wind a constant bite against his ski goggles and mask.
Freeing one hand from the driving bow, he dug into his pocket and felt the roundness of the pocket watch. Checking it was purely instinct now, something he did as often as he thought of Hannah.
He wasn't the type to take chances. Especially after all that had happened.
He peered down at Hannah and took a moment to soak in her presence. She was his sun, his North Star, the heart of his very own soul. She always had been.
He just couldn't believe she was finally here.
Although he'd anticipated this day ever since parting from her, he never imagined that it would happen so soon.
He'd prepared himself for the fact it could take months, even years before she discovered the locket.
And never—not even once—had he allowed himself to contemplate the possibility of her never finding it…
Now, having her with him was a complete relief.
He'd noticed changes in her though.
Changes that, for some reason, he hadn't seen coming. He should have anticipated them, should have known his death, his absence would take its toll on her.
He forced his gaze back to the snowy trail in anticipation of the turn just ahead.
"Haw," he commanded the dogs, repeating it several times until they'd successfully rounded the corner.
Yes, Hannah was different. More serious. More reserved. More on her mind.
It also seemed to him she was holding back. Like there were things she wasn't telling him…
For her, his death had peeled back the façade of life and revealed to her darkness.
A darkness she'd never before experienced.
No longer was life always fun and carefree and innocent, like it was for most teenagers.
She'd been forced to grow up, had stepped over the threshold of youthfulness and into the realm of adulthood, where life had abrupt beginnings and endings, sudden stops and starts, where life often felt nearer to hell than to heaven.
And still, it went on.
Vance knew what Hannah had been through because he too had experienced loss.
A long time ago—when he was roughly the same age.
Not once did a single day pass that he didn't remember all he'd lost.
Eventually, upon the discovery of his Timing abilities, doors of opportunity had opened for him that he'd never once dreamed to be possible. He'd started a new life and had done everything within his power to erase the memories of his old one.
But no matter how hard he tried to forget… the past—his past—was always part of his present.
Like a scar, it stayed with him. Indefinitely. Beyond Timing. Even beyond death.
Now the cycle for him had repeated. He had a new life. A fresh start. But this time it was different. He'd been forced to leave. Was older. And then there was Hannah.
She'd given meaning and purpose to his life.
Every so often when his daughter smiled or laughed in a particular way, he would capture a glimpse of the love he once had. And lost.
Since leaving Durango and Timing to another era, he'd looked forward to this moment when Hannah would rejoin him and learn about her past. It was long overdue. For years, he'd planned on telling her, had meant to bring it up at just the right time, but then the accident had come between them and had completely altered the trajectory of his plans.
He and Jackie had done all they could for her. They'd tried their hardest to groom Hannah for everything in store for her.
But he hadn't been able to complete the race. He'd been stopped from crossing the finish line by Fate.
Now that she was here, he could prepare her for what she was destined to face. At least in some small way.
At long last, he could tell her… while there was still time.
He needed to protect her. But more than anything, she needed to know about her past to protect herself.
She would soon be a target, if she wasn't already…
*
The cottage was in sight.
Hannah stirred at the nudging of her father, the bite of raw mountain air quickly clearing her mind of slumber. She clambered off the sled and moved in the direction of the house, pausing only briefly to stomp her foot which had fallen asleep during the ride.
Outside, icicles dangled from the cottage's eaves and frost lined the edges of its windowpanes. The wooden front door, complete with rounded top and iron hinges, reminded Hannah of something out of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. It even creaked when her father opened it.
Before long, a crackling fire was casting long, pulsing shadows across the living room. Two cowhide chairs sat opposite one another on either side of the fireplace and next to one of them folded blankets filled an old copper wash basin.
After she warmed her hands near the fire, Hannah sat in the Holstein-patterned chair and spread one of the blankets across her lap. Sadie was curled up at her feet.
From the kitchen, her father nodded, "Ah, hah. I knew you'd like that chair, Hanny. I had it made just for you."
"Are you serious, Dad?"
"Yeah. I am."
"You expected me? I mean, how is all of this even possible? Are you like an angel or something?" She was only half-teasing. "Let me see your wings."
He chuckled. She'd always joked with him, and he loved that she had such a good sense of humor. So many people were too serious nowadays, he thought.
A pang of loss suddenly pierced through his heart. He missed having her around every day, missed their banter back and forth. No one had understood him like his Hannah.
Never had he expected things to turn out the way they did. His death had wrecked everything. And now he had to try and explain it all to her. It was hard to know where to even begin.
He managed a grin. "No, I don't have wings, but maybe I should look into it. And maybe I should get a tail while I am at it. I've always loved Whitetails—"
They were both laughing as he handed her a cup of steaming hot chocolate. In spite of her ultra warm clothes, she'd grown cold and was grateful for the cozy atmosphere and warm drink.
The rhythmic pulse of the fire, offset by the occasional crackle and pop, mesmerized her, made her feel like she was in a trance. In the bathroom, she'd even pinched herself to make sure she was really here.
In a thousand lifetimes, she'd never expected to see her father again. She'd come to grips with the fact that she never would see him again until she was dead.
Dead. The word immediately pierced through her.
That was it.
Hannah's face became white, almost translucent, like all of the blood had drained out of her head. Her breaths turned shallow. Her pulsed raced. Her neck felt as if it were being tightened in a corset. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't breathe normally.
Her hand went suddenly limp. The cup and saucer plummeted to the floor, shattering into a million pieces. But she was oblivious to it.
Vance put down his Chococoffee and rushed to her side. He knelt beside her and put his hand on her leg.
"Hannah, what's wrong?"
She said it so seriously, in such a blended tone of certainty and doom, Vance had to choke back tears of sadness.
"I'm dead, aren't I?"
From somewhere, she heard the pleas of her father.
"Oh, honey, no… no, of course you're not dead. You are as alive as you have always been." He tried to console and comfort her with words of reassurance, but nothing helped.
Nothing he could say would convince her.
Hannah was sure she was dying. Or maybe she was already dead.
So this is what happens when a person Times, she thought desperately. A person time travels and then dies… or dies and then time travels…
She gasped for air. Her breaths came shorter and faster. The world around her spun in circles… and then faded.
Hannah collapsed in her father's arms.
And as she died, images played before her, one after another—the movie reel of her life.
Alexander flashed into her mind, complete with his otherworldly qualities which never ceased to intrigue her. His savvy intelligence that challenged her every move; his terrific smile that made her heart double-beat; and his sensual kiss that electrified every nerve-ending in her body. Being with him was captivating. He'd cast a spell upon her and still, somehow, left her wanting more. The time they shared was never enough. He was a sizzling, raging bonfire that bewitched her, drew her in ever closer… even close enough that it could potentially burn her.
Then… there was Boone. Being with her father again made it difficult not to think of him. The two were so alike. Still, he always came as an afterthought, like an epilogue in the book of her mind. He was rough and rugged, like the Rocky Mountains she so desperately loved, yet he was also soothing and invigorating like waters of a mountain hot spring. But there was also a certain depth to him which she had yet to fully discover, a depth similar to her favorite fishing hole, where often the finest catch lingered just out of sight, waiting for just the right time, just the right lure… and when the perfect one finally penetrated the water's surface, the fish would bite, hard and fast, swallowing the bait so completely that it would never be able to let it go.
She imagined that was why Boone had never yet married… he was like that fish… waiting patiently for just the right time, just the perfect person. She supposed she was drawn to him, in part, because he was so much like her father. But she'd also come to understand that Boone was a glowing ember, the lasting remnants of the raging bonfire, a constant, steady source of energy and warmth, not to be underestimated.
Her mind turned to all of the others… there was Marie, Stony, her mother… every one of them ran through her head…
Yes, she would miss them all. Every single one of—
Wait.
She thought she could make out the frame of a man. Maybe it was her father. Was that him holding her? Shaking her? His voice reached out to her as if grabbing her from another existence.
"Get a hold of yourself, Hannah," he demanded. "You're not dead. Not even close."
But she was still lost, unresponsive—in another world created almost entirely by her own imagination.
Vance slapped her.
She felt the sting. It shocked her, awakened her from the stupor. Her eyes slowly regained focus, and after another minute, she could smell her father's aftershave and feel her stomach gurgling.
All were glorious signs she was alive.
Alive!
At once, she felt an overwhelming sense of happiness—a true contentedness she hadn't experienced in what seemed like eternity.
The pendulum of reality had swung her back into the land of truths.
She wasn't dead after all.
CHAPTER 34—A GIFT AND A CURSE
Sunlight peeked over the rims of the mountains and spilled into the bedroom window, casting streams of citrus onto Hannah's face. The room, like the entire cottage, was unpretentious with pine covering nearly every surface in sight, except for an old black rocker positioned boldly in the corner like a child refusing punishment.
She slept in a four-poster bed, her licorice hair randomly strewn against the crisp, white pillowcase, while half of a leg was positioned on top of the duvet, free from the confines of covers. Her eyelids occasionally quivered, wrangling against the persistent disturbance of daybreak.
The sun's touch eventually stirred her past the point of no return though, and Hannah's semi-conscious shift toward alertness began with about as much reluctance as a pig forced out of a mud bath.
She uncoiled from the fetal position and sighed, extending her toes and fingers toward opposite ends of the bed. She yawned and her fingers lunged into the corners of her eyes, sweeping away the sand of sleep and then massaging the bridge of her nose.
Thoughts began trickling into her brain. She couldn't recall the last time she'd slept so deeply, so dreamily. Without even consciously thinking about it, she re-centered the locket below her throat which had fallen to the edge of her shoulder and casually began to orient herself as to the day and the time and just where exactly—
And then as her eyes came into focus, a jolt of memory hit her like a rush of cold water in the shower.
She recalled the events of the night before and suddenly became hyper-aware of the newness, foreignness of her surroundings, and then she remembered—her dad—
Hannah hurtled out of bed.
When she opened the door and saw him peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink, she exhaled with relief, catching her hand at her breast, and stopping her heart from bungee jumping right out of her chest.
Vance was, at first, unaware of his daughter standing behind him. He was whistling something familiar, a song that made Hannah smile. John Denver's Rocky Mountain High—one of his favorites.
For a few minutes, she stood in the doorway and watched him.
She'd never expected to see her father again.
Now the gift of Timing had given her, what felt like, a second life.
At the very least, she'd been given another day with him, and that was more than she could have ever dreamed of.
Now though, all she wanted was a hug.
"Dad." She finally exhaled his name and crossed the room barefoot toward him.
