For Eternity: Time-Travel Romance, #1

By Suzanne D. Williams

His heart thudding in his chest, he slowly turned around, and blood rushed from his face – for sliding down the door was a beautiful young woman.

Evan Hawks was told to do his job and avoid the dumb door. And he almost succeeded. When a careless accident somehow bridges parallel universes, he's left with a lot of questions … and a beautiful woman who insists it's 1978.

Emily Morrow was locking up the office for the night. But the handsome stranger on the other side of the file room says it's far into the future. 2012? He's crazy.

Yet, though time proves it true, things are not what they seem. Something sinister threatens the town, a common enemy from the past, whose presence in the future might separate them from true love forever.

Book 1 of 2 in the TIME-TRAVEL ROMANCE series by best-selling author, SUZANNE D. WILLIAMS.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Suzanne D. Williams
• Release date: Sep 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386588504

Suzanne D. Williams

Best-selling author, Suzanne D. Williams, is a native Floridian, wife, mother, and photographer. She is the author of both nonfiction and fiction books. She writes a monthly column for Steves-Digicams.com on the subject of digital photography, as well as devotionals and instructional articles for various blogs. She also does graphic design for self-publishing authors. She is co-founder of THE EDGE. To learn more about what she’s doing and check out her extensive catalogue of stories, visit http://suzanne-williams-photography.blogspot.com/ or link with her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/suzannedwilliamsauthor.

Book preview

And Enoch walked with God: and he was not; for God took him (Ge 5:24).

Chapter 1

The mop bucket sailed across the room and into the wall, and Evan Hawks knew he was done for, which was a crying shame because this was the only job he could find. Nobody wanted to hire the brother of a con who’d been splashed all over the news. It was guilt by association.

Splashed. Right. Evan Hawks stared down at the mop bucket lying on its side. What a klutz he was. Took quite a maneuver to tip one of those, but apparently even that mistake wasn’t too big for him.

He liked to think he was a great guy. He lived clean. He didn’t drink, and he attended church. Well, he used to attend church, back before he lost the best job he ever had. That was his brother’s fault too. Steal money from company funds and you get your brother canned as well. In the eyes of the public, he was now a disgrace.

He’d only gotten this job because the head of the department was a friend of his father’s and his father begged. That was humiliating to say the least. And now his career as a janitor was over as well because the mop water extended across the tiles, around the desks, and underneath the sacred door.

The sacred door. He’d taken to calling it that after being forbidden to go in there.

Under no circumstances are you to open this door, they’d said.

They in their suit coats and white jackets, squeaky shoes, heavy cologne, and manicured nails. What man manicures his nails? He shook his head.

The soapy water bubbled beneath Evan’s feet, and he considered his next step. Clumsy. Should have watched where I was going. He’d have to clean it up. But in order to do that he must touch the sacred door which would definitely get him canned. It was a lose-lose situation anyway he figured it.

With a sigh, he reached for the mop, and righted the bucket. Rolling it into the aisle between the desks, he began the long process of reclaiming the spill. He worked until his back ached and his shirt clung to his sweat-bathed skin. Then he squeezed the mop out between the compressed panels of the bucket and approached the sacred door.

But he hesitated, his hand hovering over the knob, and cast several conscience-stricken gazes over his shoulder. As usual, there was no one there. The infamous they all went home at five. They didn’t believe in working late and so left the place all to him.

Work until you get the job done, and lock up after, he’d been told.

And avoid the dumb door. That’s what he’d done until tonight.

The knob turned easily enough in his hand, but this didn’t surprise him because they never seemed to lock it. He figured this out on his second day here when the big boss swept through the door without inserting a key. But maybe the lock was broken. It was an old building and so wouldn’t be the first broken latch he’d come across.

He could feel the headache forming behind his eyes. He was thinking too hard again, and he hated it when he did that.

Just go in.

Inhaling deep, he pushed inward, and disappointment rushed out at him sharp as a tack.

That’s it? He craned his neck in the entrance, taking in the unfinished brick walls, the old roll-out windows and worn floor tiles. The room was empty. And not simply empty, but abandoned, as if no one ever went in there.

Cobwebs stretching along the loft-like ceiling blew in the breeze wafting through the doorway. A chill crept up his spine. Evil. Why did this place give him the creeps?

Best get done and leave the mystery of the door to them. He determined to do so. He definitely didn’t like the vibe, yet found he was rooted to the spot, his shoes glued in place by some magnetic force.

And the icy chill returned, squeezing his chest until he was unable to breathe. He panicked. The room. The door. The strange workers. Who cared about any of it? He simply had to get out of there.

So yanking at his legs, he freed his right foot and leveraged it against the wall to loosen his left. It was like walking through molasses, but if he could just––

He grabbed the knob and tugged himself through the doorway. Forget the job. Forget his need for cash. Better to sleep beneath an overpass than deal with whatever it was that went on here.

He almost succeeded. He came within a few feet of the outside office hallway before he heard the noise. A scrape and a thud, followed by a horrible squeal. The ear-splitting sound shot out the empty room and into his head, and eyes wide, he scrambled backward, his feet suddenly free of whatever pinned them, his only thought on escape.

But there was the dumb mop bucket again. He’d forgotten he placed it there, and so tripping over it, fell to the floor with a crash. Once again, he’d done the impossible. He’d tipped it over, this time landing on his butt. The cold, wetness soaked through the seat of his pants.

He wiped his hands on his shirt, leaving hand-shaped prints on the cloth, and glanced up at the door. Nothing. It was as deserted as it had been when he’d opened it. What made that noise? Maybe it came from another floor. Maybe something was going on upstairs. He looked over his shoulder into the hallway. Who knew what they did in this place?

You’re being ridiculous. Yes, he was. He must calm himself and clean up this mess. He’d obviously worked too long and the cleaning fumes had entered his brain. Righting the bucket, he peeled himself from the floor and reached for the mop.

At this rate, he’d be here forever.

Evan turned his back to the open door and scrubbed the floors until the mess was gone. Then dropping the mop into the bucket, he rolled it toward the office hallway. He paused before he exited. He’d better go back and close the sacred door. If he left it open, they’d know he’d gone in there for sure.

But that was the last thing he wanted to do. For that matter, he didn’t even want to turn around. Yet what choice did he have? Leave it open and he’s fired. He squeezed his shaking hands into fists and sucked in a lungful of air. Then he slowly turned around.

Blood rushed from his face and his heart pounded – for clinging to the front of the sacred door was a beautiful young woman.

She gazed up at him through watery blue eyes, a trickle of blood trailing down her temple. Please, hurry, she said. I haven’t much time.

Earlier that day

Evan Hawks, old pal! Where’ve you been keeping yourself?

Evan glanced up from the pile of scattered peanut shells into the eyes of his Italian-Puerto Rican friend. Antony Mirelli.

The one and only. Antony ran his hands through his thick, black hair, the long strands falling over his shoulders and about his face, and plopped himself down in the booth. He stretched his long legs out beneath the table.

Have a seat, Evan said wryly. As if you could stop Antony Mirelli from doing anything he chose.

Antony laid an arm across the cracked vinyl and wriggled his fingers, flashing his many rings. Evan resisted the urge to laugh and plucked a peanut from before him, popping it in his mouth.

Antony was always proud of those rings.

So how’s the new job? Antony grinned, his straight white teeth gleaming from the midst of a well-trimmed goatee.

Evan frowned. The last thing he wanted to discuss was his dead-end job mopping floors and cleaning toilets.

Aw, c’mon, Ev. It can’t be all that bad.

But it was. Only weeks ago, he’d had his own office, his own desk, a secretary. He shrugged and plucked another peanut from the pile.

You know what you need? A cocky smile arose on Antony’s lips, and he leaned forward over the table. You need a date.

Evan paused in his chewing, the oily taste of the peanut heavy on his tongue.

I could set you up with Gina. He did a little mariachi dance when he said her name, twisting his broad shoulders back and forth. His dark eyes flashed.

Not my type. Evan had met Gina. She was attractive enough, but way too outgoing. Frankly, he could never keep up.

"You have a type? Antony’s eyebrows shot up. Oh, that’s right. You want a re-la-tionship. I forgot how serious you are."

He was teasing. Evan knew that, but right now his sarcasm wasn’t appealing.

Let’s see ... Antony continued. There’s Heather.

Evan snorted and shook his head. No.

No? And what is wrong with Heather?

Heather Mayberry. First off, her last name was Mayberry. Second, she was a foot taller than him. How would that look?

Too imposing.

"Imposing? Ah, the legs! She has some legs. Why with legs like that ... Antony shook his head. Okay, so not Heather. How about Mara?"

No. He was emphatic about her. Mara was too smart. She had some fancy-schmancy job making six figures. He’d look dumb.

But Ev, with her you’d be set for life! You could retire and live in ease.

And become a mindless idiot. No, he didn’t want Mara or Heather or Gina or probably any other girl Antony would name. Antony always had girls, usually one on each arm. With his flashy smile and swarthy good looks, he drew them like flies.

I’m good, Ant, seriously.

Stop trying to fix me.

"You are not good. How long have I known you? C’mon. How long?" He stretched out his hand, palm upward, and curled his fingers inward twice.

Evan sighed. Ten years.

That’s right. Ten years, and if I know one thing about you, it’s that when you get all moody like this, something’s bugging you.

Evan swept the peanut shells from the table into the floor. Something was bugging him all right. The decay of his life. Why couldn’t he reverse time and return to how it was?

Yeah, well, that something’s pretty big, he said.

Gee, Ev, you gotta perk yourself up. Your brother wouldn’t want you to be like this. Plus, look at how your dad helped you out.

The squawk of Evan’s cell phone interrupted the conversation, and he stared at the screen. Speak of the devil.

Hello, Dad. No. No. Yeah. Why? His voice became rather loud at that question, and patrons at a nearby table turned. Covering the speaker, he whispered an apology. Look, Dad, I’ll think about it, but ... just I’ll think about it. Bye. Yeah. Bye, Dad. He rolled his eyes.

With relief, he set the phone down on the table.

So how’s the old man? Antony wrinkled his brow.

The old man is fine.

Still trying to run things, huh?

Evan wiped at the phone screen, swirling his greasy fingerprints around. Always. He wants me to go visit Brian.

And that’s a problem because ...

Because he hadn’t spoken to his brother since the day they carted him off. Hadn’t seen him since his day in court, and then he hadn’t looked like himself, dressed up in a suit like that.

He’s in prison, Ant, and that’s a problem.

Antony extended his hands across the table. He’s also your brother, and you told me you didn’t think he did the crime. You’ve changed your mind?

No. He no more believed Brian would steal company funds than Antony would stop picking up women. Neither one were even a remote possibility. Yet there he sat behind bars, and he couldn’t bring himself to go there.

Does your old man think he’s guilty?

His old man had, in his own way, turned Brian in. But he’d never told anyone that, and he wouldn’t start now. Evan glanced at the time on his cell. I gotta go to work, Ant. Some of us aren’t set for life like others.

He slid from the booth and tossed several bills on the table. Antony picked them up and handed them back. I’ll get it, Ev. It’s the least I can do for my best friend.

Evan nodded and took a step away, but Antony’s hand on his arm pulled him back. Say, what about Melissa?

God, no, Evan said.

Midnight

The man in front of her appeared ready to bolt. If he clenched the mop handle any tighter, he’d break it. Then she’d have to request a new one, and that meant more paperwork. Paperwork to buy a mop. Everything about the company was paperwork. And paperwork was her job. She organized the company files and therefore lived in that tiny room.

Please, she begged him. I haven’t much time.

Either she locked up or she’d be in big trouble. They didn’t like the door left open at night.

Where did you come from? the man asked.

He had a nice voice, rather soft. He’d be pleasing to talk to with a voice like that, and definitely pleasing to look at with his collar-length blond hair and gentle brown eyes.

She pulled herself up, but her legs wobbled. Why was she so weak? And why did her head hurt? Placing one hand to her forehead, she winced. Look, I’m not feeling so well. I need to sit.

The man nodded toward the nearest desk, not moving, and she stepped forward. But one hand on the chair’s backrest, she paused.

Foremost on the desktop sat a television screen. Television? But how could that be? Televisions were huge – oak cabinets with built in speakers – and this screen was small and flat. Where did the sound come out of? She twisted her neck to see behind it.

Who are you?

She brought her gaze back to the man’s face. This was the second strange question he’d asked. But maybe he was new here and didn’t know procedure.

I came from the file room, she said, My name is Emily Morrow. Now, I have to close up for the day. You can’t be in here.

He stared at her, unspeaking, then craned his neck to look behind her. She followed his glance. Wait. What did they do to the door? How had she not noticed that? Her cheeks warmed. She’d done it again, opened the wrong door.

Oh gees, she said. I’m sorry. This was a mistake. She turned sorrowful eyes to him. I need to go back. Yet she hesitated. He was awfully cute. Who was he?

She rounded the desk, and he backpedaled.

Then again, he was cute, but a scaredy-type. Did she want that? She tilted her head. You afraid of women?

His face changed then, some fleeting emotion crossing it.

No, he said.

She came closer. This time he didn’t move, and she could smell his scent. Sweat. Mop water. Male. Then why are you afraid of me?

His hair was damp around his collar and his forehead moist. I’m not afraid, but you ... you weren’t there, and then you were.

I only walked through the door. It’s my job.

Given, it was the wrong door. Still, she made this mistake often enough.

But ... but ... He gestured toward the door. There’s nothing in there.

She threw a hand to her hip. Really. This was ridiculous. What was wrong with this guy? She whirled around and stomped back to the door. Swinging it open wide, she leaned in. Of course, there is ...

Her heart stopped. It must have. She must be dead, and this was some place between earth and heaven. She didn’t believe in such things, but how else could there be nothing in the room?

It was here, she whispered. She laid a hand to the bare brick walls and cracked mortar. This place looks old, but the room is new. They just remodeled it. There’s filing cabinets, a desk, and a coffee pot.

She spun around, and eyes wide, tried to steady her once again swaying legs. What did you do with it? Her lungs clogged and her breath wheezed. Where was the air?

Then darkness swirled in her vision, and the lights went out.

Chapter 2

Evan dropped the mop and scooped the female up before her head could hit the tiles. That’d be great, for her to split her head open. Cradling her in his arms, her head lolling against his chest, he debated what to do with her.

Finally, he swung his arm beneath her knees and stood to his feet. Crossing to the nearest desk, he placed her in the chair and supported her head with one hand.

What did she say her name was? Emily. It fit her. She looked like an Emily.

Emily? He patted her cheeks. Emily? Wake up.

Her eyelids flickered, and she groaned.

Emily?

At his last call, she startled and trained her eyes on his face.

She had nice eyes. Eyes a guy could lose himself in. Crazy for him to think that. He shook his head. You’ve been alone too long, Evan Hawks.

She reached a hand to his face and laid it on his cheek, her thumb stroking the stubble. You’re real.

He smiled.