

The Afterlife of Lizzie Monroe

by Kelly Martin

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2014 KELLY MARTIN

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
THE AFTERLIFE OF LIZZIE MONROE

Copyright © 2014 KELLY MARTIN

ISBN: 978-0-9911273-3-7

ISBN 10: 0991127331

Cover Art by P.S. Cover Design

Edited by Laura Heritage

To God for everything

To my girls for being excited about Mama's books.

To all my readers. Thank you so much!

To all the people I've pestered about this book, I appreciate you taking the time to help me make it better.
I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before.

Philippians 3:13, KJV
Lonely Lizzie full of strife

In the barn, she took her life.

Go there now and count to three

Lonely Lizzie you will see.

_-_ Dixon, Tennessee Legend

# Chapter One

"Shane, man, snap out of it."

Shane Davis heard Drake Samson, lead singer and all around jerk, but he didn't feel the need to respond. They had been practicing for three hours on the same song: a snore-worthy ballad with the slowest drum beat ever invented... okay, maybe not the slowest ever, but it was pretty close. Three hours of the same obnoxious beat, the same painful tempo wore Shane's nerves very thin. He needed a cigarette then he needed to leave. Somewhere he needed to be; something he'd wanted to do for months on the agenda tonight.

"I would, Drake, but I'm a bit bored. Can't we play something that screams _Love's Suicide_ and not something that makes the audience want to actually commit suicide?" _Love's Suicide_ hadn't been his first choice for a band name, but it had history to the town and history — he was told — sold tickets. He couldn't see how some poor girl's suicide could make people want to pay to hear heavy metal, but whatever. He was just the drummer. No one ever really asked his opinion when it came to names or songs or tempo... or anything. If he cared, it would tick him off. As it was, _Love's Suicide_ killed time. If he got payment or laid from it, bonus.

"We could always cut the drums out completely on the song." Drake smiled his ever pompous smirk. "It's not like they are needed. I was just throwing you a bone by adding them." If the preppy cut, brown-haired idiot thought his little threat intimidated Shane, he had another thing coming.

"Awesome." Shane jumped up from the drum set and laid the sticks on the stool. He flung his nearly shoulder-length light brown extremely curly hair out of his eyes and crossed his impressive muscular biceps — the perk of being a drummer — over his dark grey, body hugging shirt. "Get out of my garage."

Drake's face dropped much to Shane's enjoyment. It was one thing to be a jerk in someone else's house. Very much another to be a jerk in the only band member's 'whose parents weren't home' garage. "We have to practice, Shane." Drake cowardly backtracked. "We have a gig this Saturday in case you've forgotten."

If only. Drake had only reminded him of it every other hour since he'd booked Sarah Sadler's sweet sixteen.

"And sweet Sarah will want more than one slow as the hills song. She might want to even, strange as it sounds, dance."

"Boys..." Cheyenne gave her unwanted two cents from the bass. "Put' em back in your pants. Neither of you have anything to strut about."

"Sister, you've not seen mine since we were six." Shane smirked at his two minutes younger twin. She looked a lot like him in some ways — long brown curly hair, though hers wasn't as curly as his. She had light green eyes where his were chocolate brown. She was shorter and he was snarkier — on most days.

"I stand by my statement." She grinned like a know-it-all. "You two fight more than an old married couple."

"Gay marriage isn't legal in this state," Shane reminded her.

"Like I'd ever marry you," Drake mumbled.

"Like you'll ever marry my sister either, but it doesn't mean you don't pine after her every second of every day."

If looks could kill, Shane would be as dead as the preacher's daughter, the one _Love's Suicide_ was name after.

"Don't deny it," Shane just had to add.

Drake walked toward him with his fist balled up, and Shane simply flexed his muscle. Like he was scared of a rich idiot like Drake.

Preston Long, tattooed, pink-haired guitarist, jumped between the two raging bulls. "That's enough guys. Drake, it has been a long afternoon, man. Maybe it's time to move on. Practice something else."

Drake stopped, but his nose flared with every breath. It wasn't the first time Shane had seen him mad. He knew it wouldn't be the last. In all honesty, he liked aggravating Drake. It made life worth living. What else did he have to do with his time now that school was out for the summer?

But lately, like over the past few months, Drake had changed. He was jumpier now. Moodier, if that were possible. He hadn't mentioned why to Shane's knowledge. Of course, he could have said and he hadn't paid attention. That was always possible. Shane tended to tune out things that didn't interest him like politics, the economy, and Drake talking.

After a few second stand-off, Drake rolled his eyes. "Fine. Let's play something more upbeat to make the baby happy." He turned and stomped back to the microphone.

Preston nodded to Shane and slapped him on the shoulder before going back to his post to the right of Drake. The garage wasn't terribly big, only a two-car, so they were always in pretty close proximity to each other. Drake's garage was much bigger, as was his house, but his mom wouldn't allow them to cause such a 'ruckus' at their house. Shane's mom didn't care. She wasn't home enough to care. And his old man... well, yeah, no one cared.

Cheyenne winked at her brother and smiled. Shane couldn't help smiling back. She was the only person in the world who could make him smile on a regular basis. The baby of the family, she played her part perfectly as the little sister. Shane did more things than he liked to admit when Cheyenne played the 'please' card including staying in the band when he wanted to quit on a regular basis.

Without a word, Cheyenne faced the 'audience', or the grungy garage door, and got ready to play.

Shane was the only one not at his or her post, so he slowly grabbed the drumsticks from the seat and plopped down. He sincerely hoped Drake didn't pick another draggy slow song. He couldn't take any more drabness. His arms were itching for something faster, something to work out his muscles and allow him to flop his hair around. Built up stress and nerves and all.

"Lizzie's Rest." Drake called, and it was Shane's turn to smirk. He'd written that song a few months ago. It was his favorite. Hardcore drum beat on that one. It so didn't fit the lyrics.

"One... two... three... four." Shane called out. He hit the snare and off they went.

Eight counts later, Drake started vocals. "A young girl still in her prime. Lost her love and her mind. The news was bad. She has no rest. Lizzie Monroe slit her wrists..."

****

Finally, blessedly, band practice ended at around eleven, way longer than Shane would have liked, but he suffered through. It would have seemed suspicious for him to say, "Hey guys, I need you to go because Preston and I are playing with matches tonight, and we'd like to get to it."

His mom wouldn't get home until five in the morning. She'd have to leave at nine for her second job. Outside his bedroom door, Cheyenne ruffled his curls and told him goodnight. After returning the favor, he shut his door and listened. A few seconds later, he heard her room door slam. It wasn't past her to climb out her window and visit one of her many friends or the boyfriend of the month, much to Drake's dismay, so he listened a little longer to make sure she was really in for the night. He didn't want to meet her on the ground. He couldn't get caught. Not tonight.

For his part, Shane rarely snuck out and when he did he usually went to one place. Not a place one would expect from an eighteen year old guy — the rundown church that ruined his life.

He waited and listened for twenty minutes. Nothing. Deciding Cheyenne was staying home tonight, Shane raised his bedroom window and jumped down the lattice to the ground two stories below.

Dixon, Tennessee was a small town. Actually 'small' gave it too much credit. It had three red lights, one high school, one middle school, and four elementary schools — one at each corner of the county. Like lots of small southern towns, it had a lot of history, more specifically lots of Civil War history. Back in the 1860s, lots of young guys from Dixon died, most in the Battle of Shiloh about a hundred miles away. Monuments had been erected to those men, and every July the town held a remembrance festival.

Shane thought Civil War history was irrelevant, and the town put too much stock in it. Sure, it had been an important war, both for the North and the South. It changed the country completely, but it had ended over one hundred and fifty years ago. Time to move on. And he planned on helping it.

One relic from the war was Dixon Church right outside the town limits. Shane arrived a little before midnight.

"Took you long enough." Pink-haired Preston huffed when Shane walked up. He pointed his flashlight to his imaginary watch. "I've been waiting."

"Chill, man. I had to make sure my sister was staying in." He put his flashlight in the other hand, slapped Preston's hands and the boys hit their chests at the same time. They'd greeted each other the same way since grade school. Shane liked Preston. They could relate. He didn't like Drake either. Neither could deny one important fact, though. Drake was an awesome singer and a big asset to _Love's Suicide_. Sadly.

"You ready to do this?" Preston asked, looking at the large, abandoned structure in front of them.

"As I'll ever be." Even though it was June, Shane shivered and pulled off his backpack. He tossed his lit cigarette down on the ground and stomped it out before it burned something down. Irony and all. Kneeling down, he unzipped the backpack and pulled out a can of lighter fluid. "You sure you want to be a part of this?"

Preston nodded, not taking his eyes off of the church. "Yeah. I mean, it's abandoned so no one will get hurt. We'll be careful so no one sees us."

"All this for publicity." Shane put the matches in his pocket and zipped up his bag. Preston was there for publicity for the band, not that anyone could know they had burned it down. Love's Suicide would get a big boost in sales — or so the theory went — if Lizzie's church burned.

That was Preston's reason. Shane's reason was completely different.

"Hey, it'll get people talking about Lizzie Monroe again, won't it? It'll be free publicity."

"As long as we don't get caught." Shane had done a lot of bad things in his life. Things he wasn't very proud of. But he'd never burned a building down on purpose, and he'd never vandalized a church. He wasn't a church-goer, didn't really believe in God, but burning a church, especially one with a young girl buried inside, seemed on the wrong side. Then again—

Shane's parents had gotten married in the church nearly twenty years ago, one of the last couples to do so before it was shut down for lack of attendees and left to rot. He wouldn't let Preston know, but it was his main reason for wanting to burn it to the ground.

His mom was alright. Not his dad... not his dad he hadn't seen in five years, not even during the yearly family visits his mom scheduled at the prison. Cheyenne had gone. Not Shane. Shane couldn't have cared less about his old man.

So in reality, he wasn't burning down a church. He was sticking it to his lousy father. A cause Shane could get behind.

He was so ready for this. "Okay, what's the plan?"

Preston examined the building with his hands in his skinny jeans which fit his white shirt and black vest perfectly. It was a good thing he didn't have on his monstrous class ring or he couldn't fit his hands in his 'thinking' pockets. The boy really didn't really look like the rest of the folks in Dixon.

"It's not rained in about a week so the ground is fairly dry." Preston said. "It shouldn't take much to get a fire started. I think we should put a little lighter fluid around the sides, up the steps and on the door. They're wood, they'll burn but might as well help it a little."

The church sat off a relatively untraveled road so they didn't expect any passersby. No one would see them. A plus. But they would still have to pull it off without suspicion. The last thing Shane wanted to do was end up in prison with his old man. At age eighteen, he couldn't go to kid jail anymore.

"How about the basement steps?" Shane pointed his flashlight to the right side of the church. Eight concrete steps went down to the basement, the place Lizzie was buried. He'd never been down there before, but his father had told him about it once when he was little. His dad said it was an unfinished basement with a few things left over from when Lizzie's father had been pastor. On a side wall was a plaque with her name and dates. Shane had always thought it was creepy to bury someone in the wall of a church and he'd actually been pretty happy the church had shut down before he had to go.

Preston shook his head. "We won't worry about the basement. If it burns, it burns. If not, oh well. Lizzie won't know either way."

"Guess not." Shane couldn't help feeling a bit bad for the girl. Not bad enough ___not_ to set the fire, but a little bad. From what he'd heard, Lizzie had only been seventeen when she killed herself. A year younger than him.

"The electrical has been cut off here for years so there shouldn't be any danger."

Shane could barely make Preston's silhouette out in the darkness. He looked nervous. "We don't have to do this, you know?"

"Nah, man. It's not like we'll get caught. It's just an old building."

"An old ___church_ ," Shane corrected, hoping he got the drift.

"Like you care about that."

Shane couldn't deny that. "No, but you might."

"Doesn't bother me. Publicity, right?" He didn't sound very confident.

"Let's get it over with if we're doing it. I wanna get home."

"Hot date?"

"Bed. I'm tired. Drake bored me to death tonight, no pun intended. Any longer and I might have ended up in a coma."

Preston laughed. Shane knew he felt his pain. He took the time to look over the old structure one more time. "Okay. Let's do this."

The guys clanked their lighter fluid bottles together like beer cans and started around the church.

If Shane was honest, he would admit it was very eerie. So quiet. Too quiet for Shane's liking. The grass had grown up to about their knees, and the old, formerly white falling apart building loomed over them. Shane couldn't picture his parents getting married there. He couldn't imagine anyone even going to church in that rundown building in any recent decade. It looked like it belonged in another time. Shane shined his light on the crooked sign above the front steps that said _Dixon Church. Est. 1859 With God, all things are possible_.

He shook his head. Silly, superstitious idiots who built the church. If all things were possible, why did the church close down?

Preston threw some lighter fluid on the side of the building, and Shane followed behind. "You know, we'd get this finished a lot faster if you'd go the other way and we met in the middle."

Shane had been afraid of that. He wasn't scared of many things, but he had to admit this church freaked him out a little. Old, abandoned buildings had a certain spookiness about them. He couldn't put his finger on what exactly, but still the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

Preston continued on the right side of the building and Shane started on the left. Usually in the summer months, crickets and frogs could deafen a person. Not at the church. Not on that night. Shane shined his flashlight on the building as he began pouring his lighter fluid around the base of it. A beam of light through the crack in a boarded up window made Shane jump. Before he could scream, the light was gone, and he realized it was Preston's flashlight.

Shane doubled over, put the bottom of the flashlight in his mouth, and rested his hands on his knees. He wasn't entirely sure if he was trying to keep from laughing or crying, but he did know he was trying to catch his breath. There were no such things as ghosts. Nothing in the church would come out and get him. No dead people, no demons, no angels. It was just one old empty building.

_Get it together,_ __ he ordered himself. Preston could not see him freaking out like a baby. He'd never let him live it down.

Shane put some accelerant next to the basement door, even though Preston had said it wasn't necessary. After that, he threw some on the back of the building and met up with Preston back where they started.

"Ready?"

"Sure," Shane said, pulling the matches from his pocket.

"People better not find out it's us," Preston said as he looked the building over. He looked like he was getting cold feet. Too late now.

"They won't, you big baby. Lighten up." Shane slid the matchstick against the box and it instantly made fire. With the match in his hand, he looked past the light and at the church building.

How many people had gone to that church over the years? How many had died? How many revivals had happened? How many people had gotten 'saved'? How many people assumed their immortal soul was safe because they went through those doors every Sunday?

In his mind, he was doing the world a favor. The less churches, the better. "Can't say I'll miss you." He tossed the match on the church and it instantly lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Whoa!" Preston gawked, shining his light to the ground. It didn't take long before they didn't even need the flashlight to see.

"Yeah." Shane stood in awe as well. It was a pretty amazing sight. To see a structure you'd known about all your life going up by your hand was a pretty intense experience. He could probably get used to it.

"Guess we should go before the fire department gets here," Preston said with nervousness in his voice.

"If anyone even calls it in." Shane hoped they at least had a fighting chance of getting away before the authorities got there.

"They'll call. That fire'll be seen for miles in a few minutes. Let's go." He slapped Shane on the shoulder and started running toward the woods.

Shane stood and watched the fire a few more seconds. "Goodbye and good riddance." He fixed the strap of his backpack on his shoulder and turned to run after Preston.

The sound was so faint behind him he thought he was imagining it at first. Hearing it a second time, Shane stopped to listen again.

"Come on!" Preston yelled from the big tree a few yards away.

The sound again. Shrill.

"Do you hear that?" Shane yelled back.

"What?"

"Listen!"

Shane shined his light on Preston to see if he had any reaction or if he was totally losing his mind. "I don't hear—"

The noise cut him off. It was faint, but definitely there. A high-pitched something. "A scream?" Shane asked. Surely, he heard it too.

"Can't be. No one's here!" Preston yelled back, but Shane saw it all over his face. Preston had heard it too and he was scared.

"Did you check the building?" The screams kept coming, louder. A young girl by the sound of it.

"No, I didn't check the building! It's abandoned."

Shane shouted an expletive at Preston. "A homeless person, Preston. A homeless person could have been in there. They could have been... squatting or something!" Shane ran back toward the church and heard Preston's footsteps on the ground behind him.

Flames licked the top of the roof, threatening to push through at any second. The closer Shane got to the church, the louder the screams became. "There's someone in there!"

"There can't be. There can't be." Preston kept saying behind him.

They stopped as close as they could. Shane felt the heat of the blaze on his face and he put his hand up to shield his eyes.

"It's an animal or something. It has to be." Preston shined the light on the building.

"It's not an animal. It's a person, Preston. Someone's in there." Shane's hand shook, and he tried to get closer to the flames.

Preston grabbed him by the shirt collar and pulled him back. "Are you kidding? You can't go in there. It's an animal, Shane."

"What if it's not!"

The loudest scream yet erupted in front of them and Preston let Shane's shirt go. "Tell me that's not a person!"

Preston didn't move, didn't do anything but shine his light on the basement door. "It's coming from in there," he said barely above a whisper.

Shane's heart sank. The basement. "There's a girl in the basement."

"The only person in the basement is Lizzie Monroe," Preston said, making Shane's blood run cold.

The screams echoed through the woods until Shane couldn't take it anymore. He ran toward the fire and stopped when he got at the basement door. Looking back, he saw Preston just standing there. Preston locked eyes with him, mouthed I'm sorry, and ran out toward the woods leaving Shane to deal with the girl in the basement.

The girl screamed again. A guttural, primal scream he'd never heard before and never wanted to hear again.

Shane knew what he had to do, and he wasn't happy about it. Steeling his nerves, he ran down the basement stairs and kicked the door open. Flames lapped the wooden floor beams above his head, causing them to creak. He didn't have time to worry about how creepy the underground room was. He knew he had to get whoever it was out and get out quick. "Hello!" he yelled as he shined the flashlight around.

The heat was nearly unbearable. "Hello! Are you down here? Answer me. We have to go!"

He couldn't see anyone. Shining it again, he still saw no one. No one was in the basement with him.

"Help me! Please!" the girl screamed again. This time he could locate it... behind the rock wall.

"No... no... no... no-no-no-no! I'm not here to rescue a ghost."

He turned to run back out of the basement as fast as he could. Behind him, a huge crash made him jump and automatically turn around to see what it was. The wall on the far side of the basement had given way due to the structural damage above. Something large had partially slid out. The screaming increased and now it was accompanied by pounding.

Torn, he turned to run out of the basement, but the girl's raspy almost other-worldly voice wouldn't let him. "Let me out! Please let me out! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! God, please help me! I can't take it anymore!"

"Screw it!" he yelled, shining his flashlight over in the direction of the voice. With the flames popping around his head, he got close enough to see it was a coffin that had slid out of the wall.

Above the hole had a plaque with _Elizabeth Ann Monroe_ etched in it. He couldn't dwell on it. If he was going to die in here, so be it, he supposed. He couldn't leave a screaming girl. It wasn't Lizzie. It couldn't be, but someone had put someone down there to let her die, and he couldn't let that happen.

"Can you hear me?" he asked the box, hoping it wasn't a crazy thing to do.

"Yes! Oh Goodness, yes!"

Shane's heart sank. _"It's not Lizzie... It's not Lizzie."_ He kept telling himself over and over again.

A loud boom sounded above him and he knew the roof was giving way. He didn't have a lot of time. Against every bit of his better judgment, Shane found a sharp wooden stick and put it under the lid of the box... casket would have been a better description.

If he believed in prayer, he would have said one. As it was, he just wanted to get the girl and get out before he got stuck in church forever.

The lid popped and he tossed it aside. He shined the light on her and his breath caught.

The girl inside started coughing and hacking.

The girl wearing a very old, dingy white wedding-type dress from what he could tell.

The girl who didn't look a day older than he did.

The girl who could not have been Lizzie Monroe.

"Thank you! Thank you." She coughed and her voice was raspy. The smoke was getting to her too.

"Can you walk?" Whoever this girl was needed to get out and she needed help. Someone had put her there and he needed to get her out before they both died.

"Nothing works. I can't move. It's been too long," the girl said. Her blue eyes widened when she looked over his shoulder. "Fire! There's a fire!"

"It's okay. I'm going to get you out." Shane put the flashlight in his mouth and reached down to scoop the girl up. He took her left arm and flung it over his shoulder and then picked her up. Her dress — fuller than he imagined — clung to the box and he had to force it out.

As fast as he could, Shane ran to the basement steps. The fire roared in his ears and the girl's body in his arms shook.

He reached the steps and took them two at a time before he made it into the fresh air and ran farther away from the building. When he got to the big tree at the end of the lot, he laid her down and stared at the church. It crumbled under the weight of the corrupted beams.

"Guess that wasn't the greatest idea ever," he mumbled to himself though ragged breaths. He took the flashlight and shined it on the girl. She was shaking, and rightfully so. She'd just been kidnapped and thrown in a wall by some madman to die. But who would do that?

Exhausted, he fell back on the ground and watched the roaring inferno. Hopefully, the cops wouldn't care that he set a fire. He'd saved the girl. It had to even out. Balance the scales as it were. "Are you okay?" Stupid question, but oh well.

"Thank you. Thanks. Thank you," she said over and over. She looked up at him and fear replaced gratitude. "Are you the devil?" she whispered.

Shane did a double take. "The who? The devil? Why would you think I was the devil?"

"Because I was in Hell. It was dark, then it got hot... then there was hellfire. That means you're the devil. Is this Hell too?"

"Not technically." What was wrong with this girl? "I heard screaming."

"I screamed forever and no one ever heard me so I stopped for a long while. Then it got hot... it got..." she started drifting off and Shane couldn't have that.

"Hey." He patted her gently on the cheek. The strangely perfect cheek for someone who had been stuffed in a wall. Her dark hair was nasty. The dingy white dress she wore had tattered in places. If it had a good scrubbing, it would probably look almost new. "Don't stop talking. Who put you there? You couldn't have been in there too long or you would have suffocated by now."

A different thought overcame him. What if whoever put her in there was still around, waiting and watching? He, well, they could both be in very big trouble.

She didn't say anything, just moaned under him. Great.

He grabbed her hand to soothe her. Her hands were dirty and her nails looked rough and worn to the quick with little splinters under the nail beds. On the ring finger of her left hand sat an oval ring with some sort of vine engraving on it. It looked old, antique-ish. "Hey, calm down, okay? I know you've been through a lot, but passing out on me won't help. What's your name?" Shane ran his fingers over hers and down her wrists.

He felt something, something not quite right. Toward the base of her hand were raised lines on her wrists. He checked the other and sure enough, another one. Shane's heart sank.

"My name is Lizzie Monroe," she said before collapsing.

# Chapter Two

May 1862

Lizzie stood on a small wooden stool facing the full antique length mirror, one of the few things her family had that belonged to her grandmother. It wasn't her normal reflection. Normally, she wore long sleeved shirts and full skirts, most made by her mother. Mother had tried to teach her, but Lizzie had not been able to get the hang of sewing. An inadequacy for sure. Sewing was a skill Lizzie would have to acquire before her nuptials. Daniel deserved better than a woman who couldn't sew.

"Ow." Lizzie jumped when the straight pin poked her ankle.

"Sorry." Mother grimaced from the floor. "But I have to get the hem correct or the dress won't flow right."

"I can't believe this is my wedding dress." Lizzie admired the white frock in the mirror as she gently rubbed her fingers over the beautiful bodice. Her mother had spent months making it. Lizzie assumed she'd worked so hard on it to keep busy. Daddy fought in the war as well. He on the North side, much to the shame of his church congregation — or so Lizzie overheard. No one talked about such things in front of her. And Daniel, a favorite son of Dixon, fought for the South.

Lizzie just wanted it all to be over. She wanted Daddy back to walk her down the aisle and Daniel at the end of it. Except now, she wasn't sure if they could even co-exist in the same room. Their allegiances were so different.

"Are you sure we should even be making this dress?" Lizzie sighed sadly as she felt the fabric gently hugging her midsection. "Daniel might not be home for months, years even. Who knows how long this war will last?"

Mother pinned the final details of the scalloped lace hem. "There. Pretty as a picture."

Mother wasn't one to talk about the war. In fact, she changed the subject whenever war talk arose. Lizzie wished they could talk about it together. Both had men away. They could lean on each other. Help each other.

To Lizzie's surprise, her mother confided in her. The fact that she did today made Lizzie even more anxious. "God knows. I wish it to be over soon as well. I can't take the stress much longer. It is a thousand wonders the two of us made it through winter."

Her father's congregation was as divided as the country. Some sided with the South. A few others with the North. The Northern sympathizers helped support Lizzie and her mom during the winter. If it weren't for them and the generous gifts from Daniel's family, the two of them would have gone hungry.

Cold chills slid down Lizzie's arms thinking about it. The sooner Daniel and her father got back, the better. She wasn't sure she could survive another winter without them. Mother sewed for others on occasion and was compensated. It was their only income. Lizzie had tried a few times, but no one in town would hire a girl — except for the saloon. She hoped it wouldn't come to that.

While her mother rechecked the hem, Lizzie pulled at the itchy lace high neck of her wedding dress. The lace nearly touched her ears and felt like it was choking her. She missed the freedom of her day clothes.

Though beautiful, it was not her ideal dress, but she was grateful for her mother's sewing expertise. She had to admit, the long white lace sleeves and full skirt were expertly made. Unlike some girls, she would not be wearing a hoop, much to her happiness. She'd never liked them. Colleen Smith had one under her dress. She took up half the aisle when she walked down it. Not something Lizzie wanted. No money could be spared for one anyway. Mother used old dress skirts to fill out the bottom. No one would see them anyway. The craftsmanship was so well executed, one couldn't tell the difference. Someday, Lizzie hoped to be as good of a seamstress as her mother, though it wasn't looking promising. Daniel and their future children deserved her to be the best wife she could be — though she had to admit she was not entirely sure how to do it.

Mother stood and pulled Lizzie's wavy brown hair behind her shoulders. She fixed the tops of the sleeves of her dress and fluffed out the skirts a bit. "There." Mother smiled and pushed a falling bit of graying hair behind her ear. Laugh lines wrinkled to the sides of Mother's eyes — a rare sight now. The lines were created before the war when things were happy, simple. Mother had not smiled much since Daddy left. Truth be told, Lizzie hadn't either. She missed her father and Daniel terribly. "You look so pretty, Lizzie."

Pretty might be an overstatement, but she did feel lovely in Mother's creation. She could have done without the high neck, but everything else fit her perfectly. "Not every girl gets a new dress for their wedding," Mother mused proudly. "Some wear their mother's, but I thought it would be nice to give you something for your own."

Lizzie smiled and kissed her mother on the forehead. No need in telling she knew the exact reason her mother had made a new dress herself. Mother needed something to keep her mind occupied. Everyone in Dixon did.

"It's beautiful. You outdid yourself."

"You will be the most beautiful bride Dixon has ever seen. I can't wait for Daniel and your father to come back home to us so we can celebrate."

"Me too, Mother." Lizzie ran the tips of her fingers over the full skirt. "I can't wait to wear this dress again."

****

"Um... Liz... Lizzie... Can you hear me? Wake up... I guess... If you... can... Okay. This is creepy."

The first thing she noticed was the smell. Like a strange tobacco smoke. Not as stout as what Daddy smoked, but tobacco smoke nonetheless. She'd never been fond of that smell. Some of her friends snuck their father's tobacco and smoked in the woods behind the livery stable. Not Lizzie.

Lizzie tried to open her eyes but found the exercise exhausting.

Where was she?

And softness. Softness? Under her. Not hard. Not the box. Not the box?

Lizzie moved her fingers and felt soft fabric under her. Not the box!

Hot.

Burning.

Fire.

Falling.

The devil!

The devil had saved her.

That could only mean one thing. She was in a new level of Hell. She knew it.

Her eyes fluttered open then shut automatically from the bright light over her. The darkness spun around her and she wondered if this comfortably deceiving part of Hell was just there to disorient a person. Taunt them before the real pain began.

"Hold on. Just, uh... calm down, okay?" It was a man's voice, but she didn't automatically recognize it.

She had to think about this. Really think. What made more sense: that she'd been in Hell for however long, or something else? Was there a chance, even a small one, that the time in the box had been a dream? It had seemed pretty real, but what if? What if it had all been a dream and she was home?

"Daddy?" she asked weakly. She'd give anything if she was home in her bed.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm not your father," he answered, breaking her heart. "Mama?" she tried again. The darkness had to be a dream. It couldn't have been real, though it felt very real to her at the time.

"Definitely not your mother." She heard some humor in his tone. She wasn't sure what to think about it.

"I want to go home." It came out as a sob. "Please. I'll be good. Just let me go home. I'm sorry."

She felt feather light fingertips on her forehead. The feeling disappeared as quickly as it came. "I don't think that's possible. How are you alive? _Are_ you alive?" The man asked dumbfounded, confusing Lizzie.

It couldn't be real, could it? Did she really kill herself? Had she honestly been in hell? "Is this a dream?" It had to be a dream. It was a dream and now it was over.

Lizzie tried to open her eyes, but the bright light kept her from doing it.

"If it's a dream, I'm in it too. It would explain a lot. Seeing as you don't have a heartbeat, I'm thinking this is either a very real nightmare or my very own zombie movie. I'm hoping for the nightmare," the male voice said. He seemed as nervous and confused as she was. If only she could open her eyes. It would make things easier if she could see.

She took a deep breath to calm her prickly nerves and focused on her eyes. Slowly, she forced the lids open. The light still nearly blinded her, but she refused to shut them again. Enough of this. She needed to know where she was.

Her eyes rolled until she could finally focus them enough to squint through the bright light. From what she could tell, she was in a room. A large glass window was on her right. Under it sat some sort of desk with a few contraptions she hadn't seen before. In front of her was a curio with a gray box on top of it.

"Are you okay?"

Her eyes met the owner of the deep voice, and all she could do was stare. If this was the devil, he looked deceptively nice. He had the curliest hair she'd ever seen on a male. A short-sleeved shirt and too short pants. She couldn't keep her eyes off of his bare arms. They were wide, strong. Muscular.

_Stop it, Lizzie!_ she ordered herself. It was highly improper to look at a man in such a way. Then again, it was highly improper for a man to dress so minimally too.

Her mind went back to something the man said earlier. "No heartbeat? I have no heartbeat?" Lizzie tried to raise her hand to her heart to check, but found her limbs wouldn't move. This wasn't looking good for her 'it was a dream' theory.

The man shook his head. "None. Believe me. I've checked."

The fact that this stranger felt her chest without her knowledge as she slept wasn't pleasant for Lizzie, but she had other things to dwell on at the moment. No heartbeat. She wasn't alive.

"Is it still 1862?" She held her breath, hoping.

"Not for a very long time," he said.

Tears stung her eyes. What had she done? No heartbeat. She remembered the darkness of the box. It had felt so real because it _was_ real. "Oh God," she said more to herself than the man next to her, or even to God for that matter.

"I'd say God is the least of your worries," he said.

So she was in Hell. In Hell with the devil himself. Maybe the curls on his head were really snakes. Perhaps this was all to confuse her before she fell into the next level of Hell. She'd died after all. Killed herself. Dead people went one of two places. The man certainly didn't look like God, but he could pass for the devil with the metal spikes in his ears and lip.

The devil sat next to her but kept his distance. Through the light of the flameless lamp on a table next to her, she could see curly brown hair — or possibly worms — cascading past his ears and almost to his shoulders. His eyes confused her most. They weren't red like she imagined the devil would have. Instead, they were appeared brown. In fact, they looked worried. Why would the devil worry about her unless it was all a trick?

She looked down as well as she could to make sure she had on something decent. The devil's attire made her concerned for her own.

What she saw broke her non-beating heart. It was her wedding gown. It wasn't as clean and wonderful as it had been the last time she remembered wearing it when her mother perfected it. Now it appeared dingy and tattered. But the high neck still itched. It would be nice to scratch it. Was that Hell? A continual itch you were unable to scratch?

Torture.

"Can I get you something? Water? Tea? ...Brains?" the devil asked, standoffish. Was he nervous? He couldn't be nervous. He was the devil.

"Brains? Are we expected to eat brains here?" She certainly hoped not.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't because... eww. But seriously, do you need something?" he asked slowly as if talking to a child.

"Why are you being so nice to me? I didn't think Hell was supposed to be nice. My father made it out to be all fire and brimstone." Her words sounded hoarse, like they weren't even her own. Some water would be good, but she'd never ask the devil for it. Who knew what he'd want in return?

"Hell?" He laughed. "I've thought that a lot, but no, it's not actual Hell... I don't think anyway. My sister can make it Hell sometimes."

"The devil has a sister?" she whispered in awe. Why did the Bible never speak of her?

"Watch it. I might get offended if you keep calling me the devil and my room Hell."

She definitely didn't want to offend Satan. None of this made any sense, though. None. The box had been Hell. Now she knew it hadn't been a dream, so the whole thing had really happened. She had been in Hell. She knew she had been. It was dark, cold, void of anything. Occasionally, she heard the voices of Heaven singing above her but not in a long while. So, where was she now?

"Do you know where you are? Dumb question I know," the devil asked.

Not a dumb question. A good question. "Not Hell?"

"This house has been called many things, but, as far as I know, it isn't literally Hell." His brows furrowed.

"I'm not in Hell?" She just couldn't believe she'd made it out of that dark, horrible place. It wasn't supposed to happen. "Are you the devil?"

He seemed to consider that. "No. I'm not. Are you?"

What sort of silly question was that? "I most certainly am not. My name is Lizzie Monroe."

"You've said that before, but I'm having a hard time believing you," the man who claimed not to be the devil said.

"Why not? I wouldn't lie."

His eyes became very hard. "Because Lizzie Monroe died over one hundred and fifty some odd years ago. And you are talking to me in my room. Now, you don't have a pulse so that is a mark in the dead category, but still. This makes no sense."

Something they agreed on. "My _fiancé_ , Daniel, he died. And I couldn't handle it." Her eyes scanned down until they found her hand lying by her side. It took everything she could to wiggle her fingers, one with the ring Frederick had given her from Daniel. Her long, lace sleeve had rolled up enough to allow her to see the scar: the slit she put there a few minutes after Frederick left the farmhouse. The jagged line extended from one side to the other thanks to her father's knife she'd found in the barn.

Seeing the damage made her physically ill, and she thought she'd throw up. Involuntarily, her body lurched and the gentleman caught her before she tumbled over the side. "Easy," he said. His voice was very soft. Very comforting. Definitely not the devil's.

"I was dead," she said, letting it finally sink in.

"I'd say from lack of heartbeat, you still are."

Lizzie didn't know what to say to that. She just felt the warm tears stream down her cheeks. It felt so strange. "Shhh..." He hesitated before putting his hand on her head to soothe her. "Look, I have no idea what you are. I can touch you so you aren't a ghost. You have no pulse so I know you are dead. But I also know I'm talking to you, so something's going on. I know I'm not crazy, or at least I don't think I am, so that means you're real. Do you feel like sucking my blood?"

That got her attention. "Blood? Drinking it? Like a monster?"

"Like a vampire. That would explain you being in a coffin under a church all this time."

Under the church? Was that why she'd heard the singing from Heaven? Lizzie thought a minute. "I can't say your blood sounds appetizing."

"That's good. I'm glad my blood doesn't appeal to you." He let out a shaky laugh."No blood. No brains. We have that going for us."

"Nothing sounded appealing in Hell," she added. She'd never been hungry. Never had any other human urges in the darkness either.

"Hell? The box?"

She nodded best she could.

"What was it like?" He seemed genuinely curious. So, she supposed he wasn't lying when he said he was not the devil.

"Dark. It was dark. Cold. Lonely. Hard. I tried to move, but couldn't very much. So, eventually, I just stopped trying. Endless is a good word for it. Boring. Exhausting."

"Sounds horrible," he said compassionately.

"It was. Very much so. I don't know what I was in exactly, but I know it was my Hell. And now I'm out. Why?"

****

Shane had no idea.

He knew he should be freaked out with the zombie-ish girl in his bed. Okay, sure it was pretty cool to have a zombie in his bed if he wanted to be honest, but who knew when she'd pop up and try to eat his brains. If _zombie_ was the right word for her. He wasn't exactly sure what she was, but _zombie_ seemed as good of a descriptor as any. She was dead, now she wasn't... or maybe she was. He was so confused.

Lizzie Flippin' Monroe was in his bed, in his house, and he wasn't sure what to do with her.

"I don't think you were in Hell."

Her eyes furrowed. At least her forehead muscles moved. "Why would you say that?"

"There is no God so I'm pretty sure _He_ didn't send you into eternal damnation."

Lizzie looked at him strangely which was saying a lot with her being formerly dead and all. "How do you not believe in God?"

It was a simple enough question, but he didn't see the need in getting into it with her. She'd been though a lot and, for all he knew, could spontaneously combust at any second. "I have my reasons."

"And I have my reasons for believing and for knowing Hell is very real."

Shane sighed and raked his hands through his hair. If only he were dreaming... "You weren't in Hell. You were in a wall at Dixon Church."

Lizzie shook her head, causing her matted hair to barely move. Nice, her neck muscles moved too. "No. I was in Hell. I thought it was a dream at first, but now I know differently. I know where I was."

"I'm sure it felt like it. I have no doubt. But Hell isn't real."

"It is."

"It's not, sweetheart. I'm sorry to break it to you." So, arguing with a nearly two hundred year old zombie probably wasn't the smartest idea, but he couldn't stop himself. Though if he didn't quiet down, Cheyenne would hear them and come check on him. She'd love to bust him for having a girl in his room at this time of night — though he didn't know how she'd react to it being the infamous Lizzie Monroe. There wasn't exactly a way to foresee something like that.

A tear slid down her dirty cheek, making Shane uncomfortable. He hated seeing girls cry. He'd seen enough tears from his mother to last a lifetime. Having an undead girl in one's room was cool... having a crying undead girl in one's room... not so cool. "You might not believe me, Mr..."

"Shane." He'd forgotten to tell her his name. Then again, she _had_ assumed he was the devil.

"Mr. Shane."

"No. Just Shane. I'm Shane Davis. This is my house... well, my room at least."

Shane didn't think eyes could get so wide. "Get away from me, Mr. Davis. Get away."

"Hold up. I'm not going to hurt you."

Lizzie didn't seem to see him, which was super creepy. It looked like she was the one looking at a ghost. "Frederick Davis?"

"Shane. I'm Shane."

"Shane." She tried his name on her tongue. Finally, the ghosts haunting her eyes disappeared.

It took a minute for her to say anything else. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let on like I did. It's just... You have his last name."

"Who?" Shane didn't think Davis was that uncommon of a name. His family was the only Davis in Dixon, though.

"No matter." She stared at him like she was trying to figure out a puzzle. Finally, she shook her head and said, "I can't be in your room unchaperoned. I'm... it isn't proper."

"Honey, the definition of proper has changed in the last century." He smiled despite himself. He had a feeling he was going to get a crash course in old-fashioned etiquette from the dead girl. Could be interesting.

"Oh my." She seemed to consider that. "Do women and men normally frequent each other's rooms?"

"Yes, very often. In fact, it's a law." He got up and started toward the door. Shane could just imagine her face. She was probably flabbergasted by that prospect.

"Are you leaving me?" Lizzie asked, causing Shane to stop. He turned to face her. For all intents and purposes, she looked like a normal girl in his bed. Except for the having no heartbeat and being covered in dirt.

And most of all, she looked sad. Out of place. Alone.

Shane couldn't say he ever really felt things for the girls he'd been with. Sure, lust. Occasionally pity. He wasn't a bad guy or anything. He just wasn't one to get emotionally attached.

But the girl... He couldn't explain it. There was something about her — maybe the fact that she had to be even more screwed up than he was — that got to him.

"I'll be back in just a second. I'm going to wet a wash cloth so I can get some of the dirt off of you."

"With water? From inside the house?"

"We have this new thing called indoor plumbing. Bathrooms... in the house."

Lizzie looked horrified. "You do... that... in the house?"

Shane winked. "We do a lot of things in the house."

Shane walked as quietly as he could to the upstairs bathroom which happened to be right beside Cheyenne's room. She wouldn't question why he was in there so late at night — a man's body had its own timetable after all. However, it might wake her and that would be bad.

He cringed when the door to the towel closet creaked on its hinges. Stupid old house. With deliberate movements, he pulled out a white washcloth and two towels — one white and one a worn dark blue. Rummaging around as quietly as he could, he found one of his mother's old lotion containers. A round one with barely any left.

He shut the closet door and made it to the sink with as few steps as possible. The floor creaked and he sighed. Why was he trying to be quiet again? The universe was against him.

It took a few minutes, but he finally got the gooey lotion out of his mom's container and filled it half way with water. He put the towels and washcloth under his arm, opened the door, and turned off the light.

To heck with stealth, he just needed to get back to his room as quickly as he could. Holding the water out in front of him so he wouldn't slosh it, Shane ran on his tiptoes all the way down the hardwood floors to his room.

In one swift, sort of awkward motion, he opened the door and shut it behind him — all without dropping a drip of water or the towels. He even impressed himself.

"Whew." He smiled and leaned on the door, finally allowing himself to take a deep breath.

Lizzie was biting her bottom lip. "So the water... is in the house?"

She hadn't gotten past that yet.

"Yeah. Miracle of modern technology."

"How?" She seemed genuinely curious. Why wouldn't she be? Back in her day, people had to go outside in the middle of a snowstorm when nature called.

Shane walked over to the table next to the bed and sat down the water. He laid the towels and wash cloth on the bed next to Lizzie. After that, he pulled up his rolling computer chair next to her. She kept looking at him strangely. He still hadn't answered her question. "Pipes. The water goes through the house in pipes. Don't ask me how because I don't know and don't care to know. It just happens."

Lizzie shook her head. "It's a miracle."

He'd never actually thought of it like that before. "It's... something. Let's get you cleaned up, okay?"

You would have thought I'd told her we were going to have sex in front of her mother. "Cleaned up? As in washed? I can't move."

"Luckily for you, I can." He picked up the container of water and dabbed the washcloth in it.

Shane wasn't exactly thrilled to be doing this, but he couldn't just sit by and let her lay there — helpless and caked with dirt. And he couldn't exactly ask Cheyenne to help him. Inside, he was hesitating. Outwardly, he hoped he exuded confidence. Lizzie was giving off enough 'oh no' vibes for both of them.

"You don't have to do that," Lizzie protested as the washcloth came just inches from her face. "I'm alright. I don't mind a little dirt."

"Lizzie, there's a _little dirt_ and then there's you. I'll probably have to burn these sheets when you get up and are able to move again. You, my dear, are a little dusty."

"There has to be another way." She moved her head farther away. It gave him hope. The longer she was out, the more her muscles moved. Maybe, given a few hours, days even, she'd be able to walk and be out of his life for good.

Maybe.

"There isn't another way. You are moving your neck better. That's good. But it may be a day or two before you can move your arms. You don't want to lie here like this until then, do you?"

She sighed. "Only my face. Please."

Shane smiled. "It wasn't like I was offering to give you a full body sponge bath. How about this? I'll wash what I can see. Your face and your hands. The rest can wait until you can move. Deal?"

"Deal." She relented.

His joy about winning the argument was short lived when it hit him that he actually had to do it now. "Ready?"

She nodded. She so wasn't ready, but oh well. It had to be done. "I tried to get the water warm, but it might be cool now. Sorry."

She turned toward him, her neck really working now. "You have _hot_ water?"

"We have a lot of things," he said as he placed the rag on her left hand. Better to start off slow.

Lizzie shut her eyes when the washcloth touched her skin. She didn't look pained. In fact, she appeared to be peaceful. "Like what?"

"What else do we have?"

She nodded, still with her eyes closed as he ran the washcloth over her fingers. "Um... well, we have cars. Motorized carriages I guess would be the best way to describe them. We have airplanes — uh — stage coaches in the sky."

"With flying horses?" Her eyes fluttered open then shut again. He thought she might actually be going to sleep. The warm water must have felt good to her.

He laughed. "No flying horses. With engines."

"Steam? Like a locomotive?"

How should he know how a train worked? "Something like that." He washed the ring on her left hand. It was beautiful when he got the grime off of it. A black stone, he thought.

Once that hand was finished, put her right hand on her stomach and proceeded to get the dirt off of that one. He watched as her chest — he couldn't help himself — went up and down.

"Why do you breathe?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Lizzie looked up at him. "Pardon me?"

He could feel his cheeks redden and he hated it. He'd never been embarrassed around girls before, so why was he around this one? "You're breathing. But you don't have to. You don't have a heartbeat. So..."

"Perhaps I do have a heartbeat and you just missed it."

"I checked all the pulse points." He checked her right wrist again. Sure enough. Nothing. Eerily nothing. "No heartbeat. Hmmm.... Stop breathing."

"Excuse me?"

"Stop breathing. See what happens." Asking a dead girl to 'see what happens' might not have been the smartest idea ever, but he had to know. Even if it was just for his own experiment.

After a second or two, Lizzie shut her eyes and held her breath. For the first time, she truly looked like a corpse. Not her skin. It was pale. However, it hadn't turned grayish or the shade of blue he expected to see on a dead body.

She was still. Lifeless.

After four minutes, Shane shook her. "Okay, you can breathe now. You're starting to freak me out."

Lizzie opened her eyes. "It didn't hurt. Felt a bit strange. It was as if my mind needed me to breathe, but my chest didn't require it."

"Interesting," Shane said. "I just don't get how you're here. How you're talking. Do you have any ideas?"

"None," Lizzie said sadly.

Shane rolled his head around his shoulders, popping his neck. Her hands were clean, or as clean as he could get them without an actual bathtub or shower. And that was expecting too much at the moment. He dabbed the cloth in the container again, this time the water had a chill to it. It had been sitting out too long.

"I'm gonna wash your face now, okay? Don't freak out on me or anything. We have to get some of the dirt off."

"I understand. Thank you for assisting me," she said as she shut her eyes again.

He felt he was doing more than simply 'assisting'. Probably wouldn't be the best thing to say to her, though. Without a word, he placed the washcloth to her forehead. She shivered beneath it.

"Sorry. I should have told you the water was cooler now."

"No apology necessary."

Shane washed her forehead. Then he went down the bridge of her nose and around her cheeks.

When it came time to wash around her lips, he became self-conscious. Inwardly, he didn't know what to do. Should he warn Lizzie he was about to touch her lips? How pent up had they been in the eighteen hundreds anyway? Or should he just do it? It wasn't like she could stop him — which wasn't the best thought he'd ever had.

Finally, he decided the truth was best. "I'm going to wash your lips and chin now, okay? You still with me?"

He felt her swallow hard.

"I know you don't like this, but it'll be over soon. I promise. I do this kind of thing all the time."

"I hope not." She smirked as the cloth wiped over her bottom lip, making it plump out a bit.

_Stop looking at her lips,_ He chided himself. Or at least, he needed to stop looking at them like _that_.

He hurriedly finished with her lips and then decided her neck should probably be washed too. Her dress had a lacy neck on it which didn't look comfortable. If he moved it down a bit, he could wash her neck off. No sense having a clean face and dirty neck.

Lizzie hadn't been expecting that. When his hand touched her neck, her eyes flew open and she yelled.

"Shhhhh..." Shane quieted her. He removed the washcloth from her neck and patted her shoulder. "Calm down. We can't wake up my sister."

"Too late." Shane's door opened and Cheyenne strolled in. She had her hair in a messy ponytail, a black shirt, and short neon yellow shorts. She looked like the cat who ate the canary when she walked in, knowing Mom would have a fit when she told her Shane had a girl in his bed... Then she saw Lizzie... and looked a bit puzzled. "Who's that? Why do you have all of those towels? And why is she dressed like Doctor Quinn?"

Shane had two choices: lie and tell her she was a one night stand and to not let the door hit her on the butt on the way out, or tell her the truth and hope she didn't believe him.

# Chapter Three

June 1862

Lizzie fanned a fly away from her nose as she walked down the long path past Dixon Church toward town for the fifth time in as many hours. It wasn't like she was forgetful. She didn't need to go to the mercantile every hour for bread or eggs, or the reason for this trip — a ribbon for the sleeves of her wedding dress.

In reality, rumors brought her back.

With mail rarely getting through and the news scarce, rumors were all anyone had to get any sort of information: correct or incorrect. And rumor had it some Confederate soldiers had been spotted along the ridge toward town. Not a battalion, but a few scattered souls who had been left behind or deserted the battle. The gentlemen would no doubt be hailed cowards by some, but not by Lizzie. She had every hope in the world that one of the men was Daniel coming home to her... Daniel or her father on the Union side, though she couldn't see the good preacher abandoning his post for any reason.

"Lizzie, you'll wear the road out, miss!" Mr. Goodwin, the blacksmith, yelled from across the way when she entered town. Mr. Goodwin's shop always smelled of animals and fire. Still, the man had been nicer to her than most in town since her father became a traitor in their eyes.

"I am very forgetful. Next time I'll have Mother write a list," she lied, knowing well and good the blacksmith wouldn't believe her.

Mr. Goodwin nodded politely and didn't speak again until she'd passed by. "The soldiers didn't mention Daniel," he called as he struck metal on the anvil with his hammer. The clank rang in her ears.

The news caused her to turn suddenly. "Excuse me?"

Mr. Goodwin put the horseshoe in the water barrel next to him. Thick, hot steam bellowed like a curtain between them, and a knowing grin crossed his hardened lips. "The soldiers. The reason you keep coming to town. They came by right after you left the last time. Mayor Thompson talked to them. They were Rebels from a few miles south, trying to get home. Staying the night in the boarding house, I reckon."

Mr. Goodwin had a tendency to get off topic. "Daniel? You spoke of Daniel."

"I did, but they didn't. Daniel's mother has already questioned 'em. She told my old lady about it. Broke down in tears. I don't know where your lad is, missy, but I know he ain't here."

Lizzie's heart sank. She became ill with herself for even entertaining such a ludicrous notion that Daniel was so soon home. She tried to hide her melancholy mood, but she feared it couldn't be covered. "Thank you, Mr. Goodwin."

Retracing her steps on the dusty road, she started back toward home when the blacksmith called after her. "Forgetting something, missy?"

Lizzie stopped long enough to raise a confused brow at the man. "From the store. You said you needed something."

"Oh right." The thought of getting ribbon for her wedding dress hurt much worse now. Would she ever see Daniel again? Would she ever get to wear it? "I've forgotten what it was," she said sadly. When she reached the church, she ran the rest of the way home.

****

Lizzie couldn't move many things, but she could finally begin moving her fingers. While Shane and the other girl talked, she kept running the tips over the now dingy white ribbon decorating the sleeves of her wedding dress. She never had gone back to get it. Her mother must have added it after Lizzie had died. Her mother... how horrible it must have been for her. To lose her only living daughter.

She slowly rolled her arm over to the thick raised line on her wrist. She remembered every detail of how it got there, how the blood spilled quicker than she imagined, how she had second thoughts, but it was too late. Had her mother found her in the barn? How had she reacted? Lizzie felt so selfish for hurting her mother in that way. The boy who was not the devil said she had been gone for over a hundred and fifty years. That meant Mother was gone as well.

Lizzie wasn't in Hell, but she wasn't in Heaven either. That fact hadn't escaped her, though she dared not voice it to Shane. She felt she couldn't tolerate his explanation on how Heaven didn't exist either.

Lizzie's chest hurt. She'd never see her mother again. Ever.

A sob echoed through her body and she was unable to stop it. Shane — Mr. Davis, it wasn't proper to call him by his first name — and the girl who dressed like a saloon prostitute looked at her in wonderment, but she didn't care. She'd ruined her life the day she killed herself.

"Um... are you alright?" the prostitute asked, walking toward Lizzie. Prostitutes, or saloon girls, sure wore less clothes in this century than they did in her time. Except for her clothing, or lack thereof, the girl was beautiful. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Non-weather worn skin, due to her profession Lizzie supposed. She had to be more of an _indoor_ girl. Lizzie started to speak, but Mr. Davis jumped between them.

"She's fine," Mr. Davis said. He wasn't an overly-convincing liar.

"She's not. She's shaking. What did you do?" The prostitute bent down to Mr. Davis' ear. "Did you drug her and bring her to your room?"

Mr. Davis didn't appear to like that accusation very much. Neither did Lizzie. She hadn't done anything with him — that she knew of. "I didn't do anything to her. I found her like this."

The woman crossed her arms, clearly not believing him. "You found her like this? A girl in a dingy white dress straight out of a western? Where? The mental ward?"

"Does it matter?"

"Uh-huh." The prostitute pushed Mr. Davis out of the way and stood next to Lizzie. "Sweetie, do you need a ride home or back to the asylum? Are you hurt?"

Lizzie laughed bitterly. Instead of dying and going to Heaven, she was in a brothel. "I suppose I am. I'm dead."

The prostitute tilted her head like she hadn't heard her correctly. "You're dead?" Lizzie would have had the same reaction if the roles were reversed. Then again, she supposed most people would unless talking dead girls were some sort of normal in the future.

Mr. Davis cleared his throat and gave her a look that said, "Don't say another word!"

So, she didn't

"Yeah... How many drugs did you give her, Shane?" The prostitute didn't wait for Mr. Davis to answer. "What's your name?"

"You don't have to ask her that," Mr. Davis interjected quickly, glaring at Lizzie over the other girl's shoulder. He kept biting his nails. A nasty habit.

"I have the right to ask her anything I want. I'm in charge, remember?"

A prostitute was in charge?

"You're such a two year old _. I'm gonna tell...,"_ he said in an unmanly nasally voice.

"Doesn't matter. I'm the oldest. she puts me in charge when she's gone to work and I'd like to know who this _dead_ girl is in your bed. So..." she turned back to Lizzie. "Who are you exactly?"

"Elizabeth," she answered quickly.

Mr. Davis's shoulders slumped, and she thought he was relieved. The expression didn't last long. "Elizabeth?" the prostitute asked. "Elizabeth what?"

"Kaufman..." Mr. Davis tried to answer for her.

"Monroe," Lizzie answered at the same time.

Mr. Davis rolled his eyes and hung his head Was she not supposed to tell her name?

"Elizabeth... Monroe..." the scantily clad lady repeated very slowly. "As in Lizzie Monroe? The girl the band's named after? Lonely Lizzie?"

"Lonely Lizzie?" The words didn't connect with Lizzie. Sure, she had been very lonely and sad when she had took her own life, but what did this woman know of it? And what band?

"You know. Lonely Lizzie? The girl who killed herself because her _fiancé_ died in the war. Shane is a bit obsessed with her. He named our bad after her..."

"Enough, Cheyenne!" Mr. Davis butted in forcefully. He moved between the girls with his arms crossed. "She's had enough."

"You don't seriously believe this, do you? She can't be Lizzie Monroe, Shane. Lizzie Monroe is dead as a doornail buried in the wall of Dixon Church, which, hey! Angela texted me a few minutes ago and told me the church had burned to the ground and... Oh my gosh! You did that! You burned the church."

"Shhhh..." Mr. Davis put his arms up to quiet the one he called Cheyenne. Strange, she didn't look like an Indian. "You'll upset her."

"I'll upset the dead girl? Are you serious?"

Mr. Davis's eyebrows reached new heights.

"Glory, Shane. You've finally snapped. You burned the church and paid this poor girl to be 'Lizzie'. She's not Lizzie, Shane. You're obsessed — and frankly, it's sick."

Mr. Davis bit his lip and his right leg started shaking. Lizzie could tell he was working very hard on how to explain things to the other girl. She hoped his explanation wasn't immoral. "Look, Cheyenne. I know she's not Lizzie. We were just — you know." He cocked his head to the side and ran his fingers over his arms. The man couldn't be still.

Lizzie didn't like the way that sounded.

Cheyenne didn't back down. "Have you lost your mind? That's gross, even for you."

Mr. Davis shrugged.

The girl shook her head. "Fine, whatever. If she's willing to indulge in your sick, twisted fantasy, more power to you both."

"Thank you," Mr. Davis said.

Cheyenne wasn't finished. "Did you or did you not burn down that church?"

"The church burned? Which one?"

"Don't play dumb with me," Cheyenne ordered.

Lizzie was interested in that answer as well. Her father had built Dixon church, been an active member and leader since its inception. Even when most of the congregation turned on him after he sided with the North, he still kept a special place in his heart for the church. "You set fire to the church, Mr. Davis? It wasn't an accident?" The tears stopped pouring and she could have raked his eyes out. How dare he?

****

Shane stood in a position he never thought he'd be in — between his angry twin sister and a furious dead girl.

He honestly didn't know which girl he was scared of more. "First of all, I didn't _burn down the church_." Okay, he so did, but they didn't need to know it. When a zombie looked at you like she could eat your brains, it was okay to lie. Self-preservation and all.

"And second, I heard her screaming and went to help her. I'm a freakin' hero."

"Uh-huh." Cheyenne so didn't believe him.

"Oh, don't be so cynical. It's true."

"Where did you hear her?"

"At the church."

"So you were at the church?" Cheyenne snapped her fingers in his face and pointed her finger so close to his nose, his eyes crossed.

"I was walking by the church..." he corrected.

"You burned my father's church down?" said the girl behind him. The girl who was so stiff she couldn't move, but fire sure came out of her eyes. Any second she could jump up and eat his brains.

He turned to Lizzie. "I didn't..." and to Cheyenne. "I didn't..."

Neither bought it.

"Okay, fine. I may have set the church on fire."

"How dare you!" Lizzie yelled, making his blood curdle. "I was in there!"

"I didn't know that... well, I did, but you were dead so what did you care?"

"Wait. I've just been messing with you." Cheyenne ran her fingers thought her hair, messing her ponytail more. "You really did set the fire — and you honestly think this is the real Lizzie Monroe? You're not just messing with me?"

Shane hated to tell her, but he more than thought it. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt because he had been the one who pulled her out of her broken coffin.

"I am Lizzie Monroe," the girl said, with much less heat than when she spoke to him. She didn't hate Cheyenne. His sister had always been the more popular of the two.

Seeing his opportunity, Shane turned his back to block Lizzie and mouthed to Cheyenne. "She's a little cuckoo. We're role playing, if you know what I mean. Just go with it."

Her face turned all shades of disgusted. "That's gross."

He just shrugged, hoping she bought it. Was it really more believable that she was Lizzie Monroe or that they were playing some kinky game?

"Mom's gonna be ticked when she finds out. You can get in a lot of trouble for this."

"Oh come on. Lizzie's not the first..."

"Excuse me!" Lizzie said louder than she had to.

"I'm not talking about Lizzie and whatever weird sex thing you have going on. I'm talking about the church."

Burning it down had been a grand idea. Who knew so many people cared about a stupid, rundown church? "Mom doesn't have to know. Just don't tell her."

"You want me to lie?"

"Don't seem so offended, Cheyenne. You lie all the time. Tell her I was with you. Give me an alibi."

To Shane's ever-present hope, his sister seemed to think it over. "What's in it for me?"

He was going to regret this. "What do you want?"

She grinned mischievously as she went over and put out the smoldering cigarette in the drink can he had it propped on. "That's a nasty habit. You need to stop."

"Duly noted. Will you please leave?"

"In a minute. I'll think of something. In the meantime, you'd better get ol' Lizzie back home before her parents miss her." She winked.

"I don't..." Shane heard Lizzie speak and turned to put his finger on his lips to shush her. Cheyenne didn't believe she was the real Lizzie which was okay. Good. Much less explaining that way. She did, however, think he was a kinky sex addict. That could get — weird.

"I'll be sure to get her home." Shane grinned so big it hurt, hoping she bought it. "So deal on not telling Mom or anybody about the church?"

"Ummm..." Cheyenne hesitated as always did when she messed with him.

He shook his head. "Come on! You know I'll get sent away for this. For one stupid act of teenage rebellion. Deal on not telling?"

"Deal." Cheyenne almost let the door shut behind her. She opened it just a tad and grinned. "For now."

Shane couldn't get to the door fast enough before she'd slammed it shut. At least that was covered for now. Horrible turn of events that his sister knew he'd set the fire, but bonus that she didn't believe him about Lizzie being the actual Lizzie Monroe.

One angry woman down, one to go. Lizzie didn't seem as easily conned as his sister. "Does your sister think we... uh... had relations?"

"No." He lied. "No. She doesn't. It's all taken care of."

Lizzie's eyes hardened. "I can't believe you burned my father's church down," she said with so much disappointment, it made him step back. Why did he care what this stranger thought of him?

"It was an accident," he said simply.

# Chapter Four

June 1862

Lizzie wiped her hands on the apron covering her beige day dress, causing some of the flour to flop into the air. Frustrated, she blew a stray strand of brown hair from her eyes. Biscuits were not her favorite things to make. She wasn't good at them. Not like Maggie Gail who won the biscuit contest at church every Fourth of July. Maggie Gail's wedding was in two weeks, marrying her injured soldier who came home a few days ago. Lizzie didn't know if Melvin would go back to battle, but she envied Maggie Gail just getting the opportunity to see and marry him. It had been an eternity since she'd seen Daniel, and she hadn't received a post from him in months.

Lately, the newspapers wrote only dire news. Casualties in the thousands from both sides nearly every month. It made her sick to think of everything Daniel must be going through, but she tried not to let her mind wander to the _what ifs_. He'd come home to her. She knew he would. God wouldn't take someone she loved so much from her. Daniel would come back, as would her father. Daddy would marry her and Daniel in his church and the world would be right again.

She let out an exhausted breath and wiped her forehead, leaving a trail of flour in its wake. Certain she looked like a horrible mess, Lizzie used a clean towel to try to wipe it away, then decided it didn't matter. Mother had gone to town a few hours ago to go to the church sewing circle meeting. Even though Mother said some of the conversations could get heated at times, she enjoyed going to speak with the other war wives. It was like camaraderie whether the husband fought for the North or South.

In the meantime, Lizzie decided to surprise her mother with homemade biscuits — practice for Daniel. What a mistake that had been. Lizzie rolled out the biscuit dough and tried her best to make a presentable bread. She refused to have Daniel come home to an inept wife. She had every intention of using the time Daniel was away to learn how to cook well and sew garments he would be proud of. It was the least she could do for him.

A knock on the door startled her, and she frantically tried to wipe the white flour from her dress and hair. It just made a bigger mess.

Another knock.

"Coming." She unwrapped the flour-covered apron from her waist and practically ran to the door.

When she opened it she nearly fell over.

A soldier in a faded gray uniform. He was tall, nearly as tall as the top of the door. He had brown hair slicked back under his hat, and the prettiest brown eyes. One arm was behind his back. The other he'd left somewhere else, presumably on a battlefield.

Lizzie stared at him for a second, not recognizing him. "May I help you?"

The soldier seemed nervous, like he didn't know exactly how to begin. "Are you Elizabeth Monroe?"

Lizzie felt her chest tighten up. Something about this was very wrong. Who was this man? "Lizzie. Yes, sir. Again, may I help you with something? If you need room and board, town is not far that direction." She pointed with a trembling, flour covered finger.

He pulled his hat off and held it against his chest. "Pardon me, Miss. I hope I'm not intruding and I mean you no ill will."

She didn't trust him, not completely. Mother was gone and wouldn't be back for a few hours. Lizzie didn't see how to get away from him without hearing him out. Since the war, she'd been leery of strangers. One never knew what they wanted or which side they were on. "I hope you are a man of your word, Mister..."

"Davis. Frederick Davis. I have news of your Daniel."

****

Now that her eyes worked better, she began looking around the room to see exactly where she was.

Her first impression was a saloon. The Cheyenne girl, who was obviously a woman of ill-repute, only solidified that theory. Lizzie had no desire to be in a saloon and feared what this young man would do to her. A girl, unable to move, on a bed didn't bode well for her or her reputation. She hoped he was a gentleman. She was sure she could kick him and run if she absolutely had too.

Well... she hoped she could anyway. Right this second, she couldn't even raise her arm two inches above her thigh, and her legs refused to respond to the simplest command her mind gave it.

"This can't be happening." Mr. Davis shook his head in an expression that looked a lot like happiness, though Lizzie couldn't for the life of her find anything to be happy about. Okay, so she wasn't in that box anymore. She could be happy about that.

"I feel like I'm dreaming," she admitted as she tried to wiggle her toes. They refused to comply.

"Me too," Mr. Davis said from the rolling chair by the window. I don't think we are though. I mean, you're real, right? I didn't make you up?"

"Not that I know of. I used to be real anyway, back when life made sense and I wasn't lying in the used bed of a brothel."

Mr. Davis nearly spat out the drink he'd just taken. "Brothel? You think you're in a brothel?"

Um... "I just assumed... and then I saw the Indian girl and how few clothes she had on and put two and two together."

Shane stared at her for a second then laughed so hard she thought he was going to fall off of the reclining chair. Lizzie didn't see the amusement. "Cheyenne's going to get a kick out of that."

"Why, if you don't mind me asking?"

"To start with, she'd not an Indian — or Native American as we call them now. Her name is just Cheyenne. Like I'm Shane and you're Lizzie. And this isn't a brothel. It's my bedroom."

Lying in some boy's bed unchaperoned... might as well be in a brothel... "I just assumed."

"You know what they say about people who assume?"

She shook her head.

He did the same, but it wasn't in a curious way like hers was. "Of course you don't. I forget you're from the Stone Age," Mr. Davis mumbled with a smile. He seemed to be taking this better than she was. Of course he was. He wasn't the one who had been stuffed in a casket for God knows how long.

"You resemble him." She couldn't help saying.

Mr. Davis raised a brow. "Who?"

It wasn't a happy memory. "Fredrick Davis. A man I knew once. I guess he's dead now. Suppose he got to live his life in the natural order."

"The natural order..." He repeated. "Anyway, it's now two thousand fourteen... if you were wondering," Mr. Davis said.

Dear Lord, had it been that long? She'd been locked up way too long.

"And that girl you saw is my sister. Twin. Her name's Cheyenne."

My word! How could she offend him in that way, assuming his sister was a woman of ill repute? "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I just thought... um... with her clothing and all... that."

Mr. Davis busted out in a laugh that rocked his entire body. Lizzie hadn't ever seen anyone laugh like that. "No, I'd say your assessment of my sister is fairly accurate. She wears the bare minimum of clothing at times."

Lizzie wasn't entirely certain what that meant — if his sister was a prostitute or not — but she decided not to dwell on it. She seemed nice enough. That's all that mattered to Lizzie. There were much more important things going on than how Mr. Davis's sister made her money.

Apparently, Mr. Davis thought the same thing. "This is so weird. How are you even here? You should be dust by now."

"I have no ideas."

****

That didn't help Shane very much. He'd handled having a relatively dead girl in his bed fairly well he thought. No screaming, barely any freaking out — he did most of it while she was unconscious and looking very freaky lying in her one hundred and fifty year old dress on his bed.

Still, he wanted to know how she was alive now and how she had survived in the casket since the 1800s, but he knew it would be a touchy subject for her. Everyone knew how Lizzie died. It was like the town legend — like the witch that haunted the Bell family. His band was even named after it. _Love's Suicide_. Lizzie's story had always been to get people to see their shows though. Familiarity and all. It had never really been about Lizzie. Why should he have cared about a dead girl who had decomposed years ago?

Only she hadn't. Lizzie was as real as he, as alive as he was, and in his room. A big part of him wanted to know why. There obviously had to be something going on to keep her alive. Magic if he had his guess, but he had no idea how to bring the subject up with her. She seemed very spiritual and he didn't know how she'd deal with the idea of magic.

Instead of saying anything, he just sat there and stared at anything but her. He'd run out of anything to talk about that wasn't the elephant in the room — how in the world she was there.

Lizzie grunted as she tried to raise her arm. It wasn't working very well. He cringed thinking how stiff her muscles had to be after being in a coffin, unable to move, for as long as they were.

"Blast it!" she said and lay her head against the headboard in frustration. She looked like she was fixing to get into a long narrative. Oh good... "In the darkness, my mind wandered a lot, as you can imagine."

He nodded.

"I used to daydream about running. You know, just taking off full force and running as hard as I could go until I got tired and fell over. I tried to stretch my legs and my arms, but there wasn't much room."

"And you were conscious? The entire time?"

She opened her mouth to speak then shut it as if another thought crossed her mind. "I woke up there. It was dark and I had to feel my eyelids to make sure I was awake. I didn't handle it well I don't think."

"Who would?"

She grinned sadly. "At first, I kicked and clawed. Tried to get out. I yelled, screamed, whatever I could do because it wasn't right. I wasn't supposed to be there. Finally, I gave up and accepted where I was and that I'd never get out. I slept some, but the rest of the time, I was awake."

Shane's body shivered. He didn't want to imagine. "Food? Water? You never got hungry?"

She shook her head. "Never. Not until you brought me here."

"See. I don't get that." He couldn't figure it out. What in the world had happened to this girl? "I don't see how you didn't go crazy."

Lizzie's eyes met his and they were darker than they had been all night. "Who says I didn't?"

O—kay.

So maybe taking this girl back home with him wasn't the greatest idea. He didn't know anything about her except she was dead, had been for a long time. Who knew what had happened to her brain in the dark that long? He wasn't sure he could have been able to stand it, though, she didn't exactly have a choice.

"I'm sorry." She shut her eyes. "I didn't mean to sound so cryptic. It's just... I never thought that would happen to me. When I sli... when died I wanted to go to Heaven. I thought I would, you know?"

"I don't believe in Heaven." Shane didn't know if he should have said it, but he thought she needed to know the truth about him. Looking at her, he knew he had some explaining to do. "I mean, I don't care if you do. More power to you. I just don't. I've never seen anything to tell me there is a God."

At least her brow worked because it rose pretty high. "What year did you say it was?"

Shane told her, and she seemed to take it pretty calmly. He guessed after being where she had been, nothing else could surprise her.

"So... I died two centuries ago and I'm talking to you in your room. You don't think that's God?"

"I think it's something. Magic probably." There he said it. He'd rather believe in magic than a God who would allow bad things to happen. "I don't know exactly, but I don't think it was God. I imagine He had better things to do than toy with a suffering girl."

"Magic was in the Bible, you know? During the plagues."

"I know, but still..."

"One can believe in magic and the Bible. Doesn't mean one should practice it. I thought I was going to Heaven with Daniel and I woke up in that Hell. I wanted to die, not live forever alone in the darkness. Ironic I suppose."

"Pretty messed up," Shane admitted. He felt bad for her, which was new for him. He didn't normally feel bad for anyone. Where to go from here? "Well, you didn't. Or you did and you're not now. Anyway, I suppose we need to know why you're here. You can stay here until we do."

Her eyes widened and she looked like she wanted to run. Luckily for both of them, they knew she couldn't — couldn't even walk. "Really? Your folks won't mind?"

_Folks_. So country. "My mother works two jobs and is rarely here. She'll be home in the morning so you'll have to be quiet, but it shouldn't be a problem. She never comes up here anyway. I'll have to convince Cheyenne you've gone, but that shouldn't be a big issue either."

"And your father?"

A very sensitive subject. "He's not around anymore."

She tilted her head like she understood. Shane had news for her. She didn't. "Dead? I suppose my own father is dead now too. I always figured the war got him like it had Daniel."

"Not exactly. I mean, not about your father. I'm sure he's been gone for several decades, but my father isn't dead."

"Oh. I beg your pardon. I'm all over my words tonight. It's been so long since I've used them." She laughed nervously. It was, dare he say, cute.

"It's fine. I understand." On top of the not moving, the solitude had to have been awful. "But he's just gone. He isn't coming back, not for a long time anyway."

She seemed to accept his answer, which he appreciated. Too much had gone on for one night and talking about his father didn't sound fun. An uncomfortable silence thickened between them like they'd already talked about everything they had to discuss. If her body would allow her to fidget, Shane figured she would. For the first time, she looked uncomfortable and not because she had been in a coffin a few hours ago. "Thank you for your hospitality, but I must be going."

The girl tried to sit up and her old bones creaked. It would be gnarly if it wasn't so spooky. He had to give her credit, she did actually lift her head off of the headboard. "You can't go," Shane said as he sat on the bed with her. Not close enough to freak her out, but close enough to get his point across.

"I beg your pardon." She sounded irate and defiant. "I most certainly can leave."

"No you can't."

"You aren't holding me against my will." She sounded sure of that.

"One, I'm not holding you. I found you. You would have burned if I hadn't saved you." Of course, if he hadn't set the fire she wouldn't have needed saving, but that was beside the point.

"Two, you can't walk." He pointed to her very immovable legs.

"I can try. If I really want to I can."

Sure, she could. "And three, you have nowhere to go."

The last part affected her the most. Her breathing increased and Shane thought she would cry again. Perfect.

"You know you've been..." What would the right word be? Thankfully, he'd never been really great at picking the right word. "... away for over a hundred years. I hate to say, but all of your family is gone. Your house is a historical landmark or something." He'd seen it before on a second grade field trip. It hadn't been anything special. Just an old two room home along with an outhouse and an old barn. The barn Lizzie had killed herself in.

Oh boy.

Lizzie averted her eyes and bit her lip. Shane wasn't sure how this would go, but he knew one thing. She couldn't leave. Not only because she was Lizzie Monroe, but because if anyone found her, she could tell that Shane set the church on fire. Sure, he'd take Preston down with him, but he didn't want it to come to that. He couldn't rely on the hope that she might be committed if she told someone else her crazy story. He might not want to go to jail, but she didn't deserve to be locked up as a nut when, in fact, she was telling the truth.

When she didn't talk, he did. "I say you stay here with me. You can hide out in my room. I'll figure something out. For now, you'll stay here. I'll help you learn to walk again, teach you how the world has changed since 1862, hopefully figure out how you are here and alive." Magic, obviously, but what kind? "And when the time is right, I'll help you get a ticket to wherever you want."

"I can't stay here in Dixon?"

Oh honey... "I don't think that would be a good idea, do you? You are a pretty famous person here. You have a museum and people know your picture. If people see you, they'll figure out you came back from the dead." And if they questioned her, she'd tell about the fire. Plus, he didn't want her committed for her crazy story. The quicker he got her well and gone, the better.

"Your sister didn't."

True. "She had bad eyes, but someone _will_ have watched too many paranormal movies and figure it out. And when they do, it'll be bad for you."

"People in your time wouldn't accept it?"

He shrugged. It might not be ethical, but he had to scare her into staying put. He couldn't babysit her 24/7 until she was able to walk again. "I daresay no one in any time would accept it. Our government has a tendency to dissect things it doesn't understand."

Her nose wrinkled.

"Yeah. Plus, you know, I imagine you are here because of some sort of magic or spell which would make you a witch."

Her eyes lit up. The scaring her into staying part seemed to be working. "I was never a witch! I never dabbled in anything like that."

"Know someone who did?"

"Not that I can recall."

"In any event, I paid enough attention in history class to know what people in your time did to suspected witches."

"I wasn't..."

"Doesn't matter if you were or weren't. People will assume and that won't be good."

"Why?"

Sigh. "They burn you at the stake." Too over the top? In all honesty, they probably wouldn't do anything to her now for being a witch. It would be viewed as a lifestyle or religious choice. But Lizzie wasn't from his time, and she didn't need to know that. She just needed a reason to stay put.

Lizzie looked like she was going to throw up. "I guess I don't have a choice. No matter what, I'm stuck here. Thank you for being so kind to keep me safe."

If you only knew, sweetheart. If you only knew...

# Chapter Five

December 1861

Lizzie placed the last pinecone on the Christmas tree and relaxed her tiptoes. There. Beautiful.

Ever since she could remember, her father cut a tree from the far end of the field, right at the edge of the clearing behind the barn, and brought it home for her to decorate at Christmas. This Christmas seemed more special than the others, the last she'd see her father and Daniel until the war ended. Both were scheduled to leave soon. Father for the North. Daniel for the South. Both would be in the same room for Christmas dinner in a few hours... she prayed they remained civil.

"Help me with the biscuits, dear." Her mother called from the table.

"Um... Are you sure?" Lizzie wasn't positive that was a good idea.

"You have to learn how sometime." Mother laughed. "Rumor has it Daniel has intentions to ask your father for your hand soon. You can't marry without being able to cook for your family."

Lizzie's stomach knotted when she thought Daniel might propose. She wanted it, of course. She'd wanted to be Daniel's wife since she first laid eyes on him, but with the war starting and threatening to grow worse, a family was the last thing she wanted to think about. Okay, so she was the last of her friends to find a husband and that added pressure, but there were things she wanted to do before settling down. Travel on her own, write and publish a short story — maybe even a novel. See the world. She'd shared her big dreams with her mother once and she simply laughed, calling them the silly ideas of a childish school girl.

Not wanting to be an old maid and loving the man very much, she knew she'd accept Daniel's proposal if and when he offered it, but it still made her uneasy. What did she know of being a wife?

Lizzie put on her apron and patted some flour on her hands. "Do you think Daddy will say yes if Daniel asks him?"

"Just because they differ politically, doesn't mean your father doesn't like the boy. He'll give his blessing."

The thought that had haunted her thoughts since learning both men's allegiances crept back in. "Mother, what if they end up on the same battlefield? What if they have to fight each other? What then?"

Lizzie's mother faced her daughter and placed her flour-covered hands on either side of Lizzie's rosy cheeks. "We cannot dwell on that now. What happens in the war is for the men to worry about. Our job is to keep them focused and not worried about us at home. I daresay, however, that your father would never fire on Daniel, and the same for the boy. This God forsaken war will be over soon and we will have our men back. Until then, we have to go on like always. Do the best we can, and pray everything will be alright. Putting all of this in God's hands is all we can do."

Lizzie knew her mother was right, but it didn't mean she worried any less. What would she do if the love of her life died in war? She was certain she couldn't go on without him.

****

The brightness made her jump and she nearly rolled out of the bed, which would have been bad since she couldn't exactly walk yet. Fighting to see what it was, she held her hand over her eyes and squinted toward the glass window. The sun! It was the sun!

If what Shane had told her was accurate, she hadn't seen the sun in one hundred and fifty years. Last night, she thought the fire had been bright, but nothing compared to this. The brightness invading the room hurt her eyes and it took a while for them to adjust. Had the sun always been that bright?

The last sunrise she'd seen hadn't impressed her. In fact, she never even really noticed it. For years in the dark box, she tried to remember what it had looked like, but she never could recall. It hadn't been important at the time. Now that her eyes had adjusted, she couldn't get enough. Funny how a century in the dark changed one's perspective.

After the initial shock of seeing the sun again, she scanned the room for Shane. The black swiveling chair he sat in last night was empty. For the first time, she got a good look at his room. Times had certainly changed.

From the angle of the window and her view of the rooftop on the house next door, she assumed she was on the second floor. A house with a second floor... only the rich had that. His bed, and it pained her to think she was lying in _his_ bed, had a wooden footboard and headboard. The sheets, sheets she was now lying under, were black and actually very comfortable. Not a quilt, which confused her. She couldn't place the material, but she knew she liked it. It felt good against her skin.

At the foot of the bed sat a small dresser with a large gray box sitting on top. She had no idea what it could possibly be used for. To the left of the dresser was a door. She had no idea where it led.

Another door, the one his sister Cheyenne entered last night, was to the right of the dresser. The ceiling did a strange little descent thing into a nook or something. A long rectangular table sat under the window and another strange box, this one black, sat on top of it. Swirling shapes of all colors rolled around the front of the thing like a moving picture. She had no idea the box's function, but found herself curious. She'd have to ask Shane when he came back.

If he came back.

Mr. Davis... not Shane. She couldn't think of him as 'Shane'. It wasn't proper. Well, maybe she could think of him as Shane, but call him Mr. Davis in conversation. Perhaps that would be agreeable.

_Shane_ was another mystery to her. She was grateful he'd saved her. Very grateful in fact. She'd still be in the casket if not for him... actually, she'd be burned in a fire if not for him. She was appreciative, but still very curious about him. It didn't get by her that he was a Davis. One of the last people she saw in her living days was a Davis. Frederick Davis. Symmetry, she supposed.

If only her legs would work. Things would be better when she got the stiff, non-working appendages to cooperate again. When she could walk again or at least learn how to take care of herself, she could leave and could start her life... a lonely life. Wasn't that ironic? A lonely life was what she feared when she slid the knife across her wrists.

Moving her hand over her eyes to block out the sun a few moments before was the first big step to independence. If her arm had started working, her legs would follow. She couldn't wait to show Shane her progress. Where ever he was.

****

Shane tapped his spoon nervously on his cereal, waiting for his mother to get home. Any other time, she'd be the one yelling at him to get his lazy butt out of bed. This would be the day she worked over, or he guessed she was working over. She never called, but that wasn't unusual.

He leaned his head on the table and played with the milk, pouring it over and over in the bowl with his spoon. It would have nice to sleep last night, but he found he couldn't sleep with the dead girl in his bed with her eyes closed. It was creepy. He kept thinking she wouldn't wake up and then he'd have to explain how a deceased teen was lying in his bed to his mom. Yeah, he was a good BS-er, but he wasn't sure even he could talk his way out of that. He'd been lucky last night that Cheyenne hadn't believed him. Very lucky.

Cheyenne... she could be a problem. If only she had somewhere to be, some camp like she used to go to. He didn't think her eighteen year old self would go to camp though... maybe she'd go to some music concert... or disappear on a bender — such a strange thing to wish for your sister.

The plan was to keep Lizzie hidden in his room until she could walk again, but who knew how long that could take. His mom wasn't a frequent visitor to his room, but she did bring the occasional clean pair of underwear up. Meeting Lizzie in there might not be the best thing in the world for either of them.

Ugh...

He slammed his head down on the table and his curly hair spilled over his face. And what about Lizzie? How long could he keep her cooped up in his room? Was there a limit on whatever magic was keeping her conscious? When he went back up there, would she be good and dead on his bed? Because _that_ wouldn't be suspicious...

Gah! Why had he burned down that stupid church?

"Shane!" The kitchen door slammed against the outside of the house and footsteps clomped inside. "Shane, get your butt down here!"

Oh joy. Mother was in a great mood. "I'm right here. Stop yelling." Good glory!

She looked surprised to see him downstairs and dressed, not that he blamed her. He was never up this time of morning. She didn't have to know he'd never been to sleep.

Stacy Davis was a short, little woman, about the same height as Cheyenne with straight brown hair. Shane got his curls from dear old Dad.

Many a man had been thrown off by Stacy's small stature, but Shane knew better. His mom could pack a punch if she needed one. Being technically a single mom to teenaged twins, she needed one a lot. Stacy tossed her worn brown bag on the old green kitchen chair and stood with her hand on her hip. She looked royally ticked, and Shane didn't know why. That wasn't technically true. He knew she probably had a pretty good reason, but he'd done so many bad or unsavory things in the past few days, he wasn't sure which one she was ticked about at the moment.

"What did you do, young man?" That didn't narrow it down. It wasn't like he was going to confess when he wasn't sure what she was upset about. He might inadvertently get her mad about something else. To keep her from undue stress, he decided to plead the fifth.

"Can you be more specific?"

"Did you do it?"

Again with the vagueness. "What?"

Stacy sighed, pulled out the old yard sale chair from against the dinner table and plopped into it. She'd worked overtime at the factory and looked exhausted. Shane felt bad for her... he did, but she'd made her bed, as they say, by marrying his no-good father and reproducing with him. Now, she had to lie in it as the saying went. "The church fire, Shane," she said, exhausted. "Did you set it?"

Holy cow! How did she know? It wasn't like he'd advertised his intention on the internet to burn the thing down. The only person who knew was Preston and he'd better keep his mouth shut if he knew what was good for him. Cheyenne might know, but she probably wouldn't tell unless she wanted something. Time to play dumb. He was good at that. "What church?"

"Don't pretend you don't know."

"I don't." He put on his best hurt tone. If it went like usual, he'd start to convince himself that she was off her rocker and totally wrong.

His mom leaned back against the back of the chair. "Dixon Church. The white one where your father and I got married."

"It burned?" Shane shrugged. "Oh well. Can't say I'm sorry to see that piece of crap go."

"Shane! That's a terrible thing to say! I loved that church."

"You loved my father at one time too, but that didn't work out either." Wow, where did that come from? He sure hadn't been thinking about his father. It just came out. Maybe he was more upset about his father leaving than he realized.

"You didn't answer my question."

"You asked a question?" Smart aleck was always a favorite for him. Lots of times it made her so mad she dropped it. Then again, he didn't want her mad at him, or did he?

"Just tell me the truth. Did you burn the church down or not?" By the way her tired eyes dropped and her shoulders slumped, he could tell she honestly didn't want to know. Knowing would be a burden she would have to live with, and she just didn't look like she could handle it.

"No. I didn't." Shane looked her dead in the eye and never flinched. It wasn't the first time he'd ever lied to his mother. It definitely wouldn't be the last. Got his con chops from his old man, only he swore he wouldn't end up like him.

"Promise?"

Shane smirked. "I swear on a stack of Bibles." Which wouldn't be any big deal for him. He believed in the Bible like he believed in the latest Wendy Knight novel — a good read but not true. Who cared if he swore on a Bible? An imaginary God wasn't going to strike him down over it. It was like being scared of a ghost. Or the dead girl in his bed — okay, so she could be a little scary, especially when she didn't move.

"You don't believe in the Bible," his mom said exhausted.

Dang it. Of all the times for her to remember. "It's a saying, Mom. Just a saying. I didn't do it. Why would I?" Always good to turn the tables on the people cross-examining you. Fun times.

"Who knows?" Stacy shook her head. "I'm not sure why you do half the things you do."

"Great to know, Mom." Shane rolled his eyes, only half-pretending to be hurt. Maybe if the woman started expecting something from him besides failure and disappointment he'd stop getting in trouble — okay, so she was usually right and he normally had done something to be disappointed about. It wasn't like he was the best guy in the world, but a little believing in him would be nice. She was his mother after all. Weren't all mothers supposed to believe their kids no matter what? Stacy hadn't gotten that memo.

Shane threw his half-eaten bowl of cereal in the sink and stalked back toward the living room through a doorway facing with no door. The house didn't have an open floor plan in the least, and hadn't been updated probably since Lizzie was in diapers.

The kitchen was green, an old timey seventies green that resembled pea soup. The appliances were white and sort of grimy. His mom never had time to clean thoroughly and Cheyenne never took the initiative. The wall next to the living room held the fridge that was hardly ever stocked — much to Shane's annoyance. The woman worked, would it kill her to bring food home to her family?

From the kitchen, he went through the passageway into the living room. It had the same dated look. An exposed red, rectangular brick fireplace took up one whole side of the room. It was dog ugly and useless as sin. The other walls were some wall paper with flowers and just basic nastiness that no one bothered to try to take down or cover up. His father had never lived in the house, and Shane had never been one for home improvement. It was functional for the most part, so who cared what it looked like?

The couch was alright. Comfortable at least. And a small twenty-seven inch television sat on the bottom half of a hutch. His room wasn't nearly as drab and unmodern as the downstairs. He had a computer, but just because the caseworker told his mom he needed it for school and got them a grant. Shane missed the caseworker. She was nice and actually made his mom take pretty good care of them. His mom had a bit of a breakdown after his father went away. It took a while for her to get on her feet. Some would argue that she never had.

When Shane got his foot on the bottom wooden step toward the second story, his mother yelled at him from the kitchen. Through the entryway, he could see that she hadn't moved from the table. She was still slumped over with her head in her hand, rubbing her forehead with her palm. Such a miserable life.

"I need to go away for a few days."

Of all the luck.

"Seriously?" He tried not to sound so eager, but it would be so much easier to take care of Lizzie without his mom there. Lizzie could even roam the house during the day when she learned to walk and not be cooped up in his room. Cheyenne rarely stayed at home during the day anyway, and at night... well, he'd think of something.

"Yeah. It's a thing for work. Like a business trip, I guess."

That didn't sound right. "You work for a factory on the line. Why would they want you, of all people, to go on a business trip? You aren't the type."

Shane hadn't meant to hurt her feelings, but it was written all over her face that he had. He rarely felt bad for the things he said to his mom. Normally, she deserved them, but she looked pretty pitiful, sitting there liked a whipped puppy. "I don't know. The boss said I was meeting production and did the best job on the line."

"Your male boss?"

"Yeah, but..."

Of course it was. "Mom, the only thing the guy wants you for at the 'business trip' is to be all up in yours."

That's when she got defensive. "No, it's not, Shane! He's a married man, and so am I."

Shane tried to ignore the fact that she called herself a married man. "Stop and smell the twenty-first century. He's not taking you because of your awesome work ethic."

Stacy stood. Her shoulder-length hair fell in twigs from the loosened ponytail. "Stop it right there, young man. I work very hard for you. So hard so you and your sister can have the life you have."

"And what a wonderful life it is," he said bitterly. Part of him kept yelling at his mouth to shut up and give it a rest, but the other part couldn't help it. It wasn't like his mom had ever been Supermom.

"I give you everything you need. I wish I could give you more... and maybe I can if this works out for me." She didn't sound mad which surprised Shane. In fact, she sounded hopeful. He hadn't heard her sound like that in a long time. "This business trip is my time to shine. To prove to my boss that I can make it on the corporate side as well as the physical labor part. This could lead to my big break, Shane. Isn't that exciting?"

Yeah... he guessed he could see her point. It would be exciting and it would, most of all, get her out of the house for a while. "How long?" he said in his normal huff. No sense in letting her know he was glad to see her leave.

"I'm supposed to leave tomorrow night if I can clear it with my other job, but I can always cancel. If you don't think it's a good idea..."

"No!" he yelled before he caught himself. Two seconds into this and he was already ready to squeal. Shane regained his composure and bit his tongue to get that pained expression that worked so well on his mother. The opportunity was perfect to get her out of the house and he wouldn't lose it by being weird. "I mean, yeah, I understand it now. I know why it's important to you. I think you should go. Cheyenne and I will hold down the fort."

Stacy cocked her head to the side. "That's what I'm afraid of."

****

Lizzie blew out a deep breath and concentrated very hard on her toes. She couldn't see them under the covers, but figured they were still there. It had been so long since she'd moved them, she wasn't positive she still could even if she tried really hard. Funny how she hadn't even thought about moving in so long.

When she first woke up in Hell, she screamed, beat the top of the box, and tried her best to escape. She kicked and clawed, smelling her own blood from her fingertips. She couldn't breathe, but found she didn't have to. It didn't matter if she let her lungs go up or collapse at all. Eventually, she stopped the charade and stopped moving altogether. Her mind wandered in those hours — days — years — it seemed of solitude, thinking about Daniel and wondering if he made it to Heaven. She had wanted to go to Heaven. That was why she'd did what she did. Unfortunately, it didn't work out that way for her — and she had no idea why.

"Move," she ordered her toes, concentrating very hard on making them wiggle. A wiggly toe would lead to a moving foot, and then a leg, and soon she could walk. She wasn't sure where she'd walk, but anywhere was better than with Shane. It wasn't proper to be at his home unchaperoned — not that her mother would know that she was with him. The thought of her mother being dead hurt. Lizzie wondered how long she'd lived and if she'd had a good life.

"Any luck?"

The bass voice coming from the door nearly scared the wits out of her if she had any left. It embarrassed her to no end for Shane to see her helpless as she was. For some reason she couldn't explain, she wanted him to like her. In her living days, most people had.

She couldn't deny he was attractive. His hair was longer and curlier than she had ever seen on any other man. Must be the style in the new century. He had the most beautiful brown eyes she'd ever looked into and if she looked very closely, she could see the kindness in them.

She still didn't like being alone with him very much though. It felt like she was cheating on Daniel in some way, though that was silly. Daniel had been gone a long time.

Of course, so had she.

"Don't be embarrassed on my account," Shane said as he closed the door behind them. "Nothing I haven't seen before."

Oh Heavens. The boy was a man. Lizzie didn't know how she felt about that. It certainly made her feel more uncomfortable being on his bed. She had never been intimate with a man. And to her knowledge, Daniel had never been with a woman.

Shane appeared to see her apprehension. "Not like that. I know you are embarrassed, but don't be. I've seen more skin than you have showing. I meant nowadays girls wear shorts and flip flops. They actually show their ankles." He smirked.

Glorious Land! "Are you fooling me?"

He smiled and walked to the strange-looking chair with the rollers on the bottom. Shane spun it around and straddled it like one would sit on a horse. "You saw how Cheyenne dressed last night, right?"

She nodded. It was hard to forget. "Surely not all young ladies dress like that nowadays."

He tilted his head and squished up his nose.

She got his meaning. "Oh, well. It's definitely different. Not as I imagined. Must be cooler in the summer to wear such clothes. Not nearly as hot."

"Hot in a different way," Shane mused.

She didn't understand.

"What about you? You gonna walk around with skirts to your toes?"

"If I walk around at all," she said sadly. Part of her would walk around buck naked if she could walk anywhere again. It had been so long! The shock of the dress code in the 'future' was fading and the reality crept in.

Shane's face fell as well and he sighed. "Any progress?"

Her eyes lit up. "Yes. Look." She beamed as she concentrated and put her right hand to her forehead like she had when the sun had hurt her eyes.

He appeared impressed. "Very good. You're getting better. How about your legs? Can you move them?"

"Not really. I tried to make my toes work, but I couldn't. Do you think it is permanent?" She hadn't thought of it before. In the darkness, could she have kicked and thrashed so hard to break her back?

"Can you breathe? You know, for me?"

Oh... she'd forgotten. It wasn't like she had to. "Why?"

"Because it really creeps me out talking to a girl who isn't breathing."

She supposed it would be. Concentrating, she forced her lungs to work in rhythm. Hopefully, it would become second nature to her soon.

"Better?" she asked, her breaths coming too quickly now.

"Much."

It hurt worse because she couldn't run, couldn't get away. Just stuck like a rock, stuck and unable to move.

Stuck.

In one place.

Stuck like she had been in the darkness.

In her casket.

In her death.

****

The girl looked like she was going crazy. Perfect. That's just what he needed. She was breathing all funny and looked like she would throw up at any second.

"Chill out! What's wrong?" He sat on the bed and hesitated before he settled on a place to hold her. He put one hand on her back and the other on her thigh, which she did not appreciate. She didn't say anything — she was too busy freaking out — but the look she gave him let him know he'd better back off and back off right quick.

He was smart enough to follow her wishes. He backed up and held his hands up in surrender. "I'm not touching you, Lizzie. But I can't help you if you don't chill out. Tell me what's wrong?"

Shane had no idea what had triggered her freak out session, but he darn well knew he didn't like it. Was she so emotional because she was practically a zombie? Heck, Cheyenne was emotional and she wasn't even dead. Would she freak out at different times of the day? If she did, she couldn't freak out too much because his mom was downstairs, probably in her room sleeping by now — if she wasn't crying. He'd caught her a few times crying, but he didn't want to think about it now. He had enough to worry about with the half-crazed girl in his room.

Lizzie, to her credit, did appear to at least try to calm down. She closed her eyes and took a few cleansing deep breaths. "What's the word? Para-Para... I heard it once."

"Paralyzed?"

"Yes. Paralyzed. Am I paralyzed? Forever paralyzed?"

What an absolutely ridiculous thing to be freaking out over, especially when she took being dead relatively well. "That's what this is about?"

"Am I?" She raised her voice, and he just wanted her to tone it down some.

"I don't think so," he grunted forcefully, hoping she figured it out and would take it down a notch.

"You don't think?"

"I mean, I've not seen you walk. I assume you'll be able to when you get stretched out again. You've been cooped up in that box for years, Lizzie. It's no wonder your muscles are stiff. It's going to take some time."

Shane couldn't help himself. Before he knew it, he had her hand in his, squeezing it to try to get her to understand. "But you have got to calm down and not be so loud! You'll get through this. I know you will, but, sweetheart, you've got to breathe slowly if you are going to do it. And don't freak out. Cheyenne's room is at the end of the hall and my mother's home downstairs, and unless you want the government up here dissecting every cell in your body, I suggest you stop being so loud and start working on changing your current situation."

For a few seconds, he didn't know how this would go. Lizzie was, for lack of a better word, supernatural, and who knew what she'd do to him. It could get pretty ugly if he didn't watch it. She didn't look imposing, but neither did the clown on that TV movie until he showed his razor sharp teeth.

"I'm okay now." She relaxed a bit against the headboard and shut her eyes briefly. "I don't know why I fretted like that or why I can't control my breathing. It feels so unnatural now. It's like everything's on overload."

"Understandable. You were... out of it... for a long time. Everything's new to you."

"Thank you for the kind words, but I'm worried I've made a fool of myself." Her cheeks turned an endearing shade of red. It was nice to see her a color other than pale. It made her look less dead.

"You haven't made a fool of yourself." He squeezed her hand again and hoped he could continue to keep her calm. Her little hand in his felt very small, tiny, fragile. He kept having to remind himself that she wasn't some delicate flower. She was a grown woman who had, at one time, been engaged to someone else. Lizzie was strong and needed to be treated as such.

Plus, he needed to keep her quiet so she didn't wake anyone up. So, he'd have to put on his charming voice, his suave face, his best 'good boy' attitude. He hoped she wasn't with him too long because he wasn't sure how long he could keep it up. He had never been known for his sweetness or calmness... or goodness.

"You may not be paralyzed, but you do definitely have some walking issues. We need to stretch your legs out so you will be able to get them moving again."

"We?" she asked incredulously without a happy look on her face.

One simple word was all it took for him to get it. "Yeah, _we_. You can't do it on your own, so you'll need help."

It didn't take a genius to read what was going on in Lizzie's mind. "You mean you want to... uh... _touch_ my leg?"

She looked scared to death. Shane felt the same way. "Not just one leg. Two." Scared as he was, he couldn't help smirking a bit at her expression. "It's not bad. I promise. It's not like it'll send you straight to Hell."

She glared.

"Bad joke." He didn't think it was a big sin to touch a woman's ankles and help them stretch out their legs. He'd done far more to a number of women in his day, but this was different. Lizzie wasn't from his day, and he knew this would be a new and different experience for her. It would be scary and freaky and weird, but he didn't want her to freak out again. Not only did he not want her to be loud, he couldn't take seeing her that scared again. "Look, it's not bad. I can keep my hands on top of your dress if you would feel more comfortable, but the only way to get you walking is to get your muscles working."

"Your sister? She can't help?" Lizzie said hopefully.

Ugh, Cheyenne. She'd be as useless as a telephone pole. "I don't want her to know."

"Why?"

"I have my reasons." And they were good ones too, not that Lizzie needed to know them right off.

Lizzie went from crying and being near hysterics to laughing faster than Shane could keep up. It was like she couldn't stop, and frankly it worried him a little.

"Are you okay?" A stupid question, but he didn't know what else to say. She was definitely going off her rocker.

"I'm sorry," she said through laughter-induced tears. "I'm sorry. It's not funny. Nothing about this is funny. But I can't stop myself."

He had no idea what to do or what to say. She was worrying him. It was like any second she could raise up and bite his head off... literally. "It's okay. I guess your emotions are bound to be out of whack after all you've been through."

"It's not that," she said as she tried to calm down. "I don't think it is anyway. It just feels good to laugh. It's been a long time since I have."

"You were blocked up in a wall for a long time." Shane tried not to imagine how horrible it had to have been for her. The smells, the sounds, unable to move... rats and bugs gnawing at the box. Thinking she'd never get out. No hope... he knew all about no hope. He felt it almost daily. No hope in leaving the small town of Dixon where everyone knew your business... and no hope of ever really making it in music. He had big dreams, but realistic expectations. Thankfully, no one thought he'd amount to anything anyway so no one had ever put a lot of pressure on him. His Kindergarten teacher had once... then Shane bit her and took the wind out of her sails. He'd been labeled ever since.

"Even before then," Lizzie laid her head against the headboard and rocked it side to side slowly. It was the only thing on her body that worked well so she tended to move it often. Shane pictured her as one of those girls who couldn't talk without her hands. Not being able to move must have been torture for her. "The war didn't make it easy for anyone to smile. Especially in my situation."

Shane wasn't one to care about people's pasts. He didn't even really care about his, but something about her story interested him and he couldn't help but be intrigued. _The Legend of Lizzie Monroe_ was as known in Dixon as Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. Everyone knew about poor Lizzie Monroe who killed herself in the barn over love. Some old geezers even taunted the young kids about seeing Lizzie's ghost if you went to the Monroe barn at night in June. Shane wasn't sure if he'd admit to actually trying it once just to see, and how he only lasted five minutes in the old barn before he ran like a baby. It hadn't been his finest moment.

He couldn't help himself. "So, what happened... exactly? I mean, I know the legend..."

"I'm a legend?" She looked bewildered. He guessed she wasn't as used to being infamous.

He nodded. "Yeah. Like everyone has heard the story of Lonely Lizzie cutting her wrists because her soldier didn't return from the war." He could have probably have phrased it more delicately, but he wasn't known for his tact. And it was true, or so he figured. She'd been the one to cut her wrists after all. Might as well not be embarrassed by it.

Lizzie's eyes dropped and her cheeks turned very pink. "Lonely Lizzie." She said nothing else.

Shane felt the beginnings of guilt. Possibly not the best way to talk about the war and what happened back then. "Look, I shouldn't have said it like that. I'm sorry." Whoa! He hadn't expected an apology, but that's what came out of his mouth. He couldn't help it. Lizzie looked so pitiful lying there all helpless on his bed. Back in the day, she had planned on leaving this earthly home only to find she'd been here longer. If there was a God —and he still wasn't convinced there was — He had a warped sense of humor.

"No, it's fairly accurate. I was lonely for a long time before I found out about Daniel..." she paused. Shane wished he could make everything better for her. To him, it had been an eternity ago that Lizzie lived, but to her, it was like yesterday. She had lived alone with the pain and suffering, with no one to talk to for so long. Shane couldn't imagine... didn't want to imagine. His life sucked enough.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. It was stupid to bring it up."

"No... it's alright. I haven't gotten to talk to anyone about it." Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. He had to commend her for not allowing them to fall. Most girls would have fallen apart by now... heck, if he'd been through what she had, he probably would have fallen apart himself long before now. Say what you will about Lizzie Monroe, she was strong.

"Ever? You didn't tell people bye?"

She shook her head. "I spoke to Mother briefly, but... when Frederick came to tell me about Daniel, my mother wasn't home. She was at the church with her ladies' sewing circle. The ladies liked to sew. Liked to gossip more than anything. Actually, I think she was there to find out if any of the new arrivals knew of my father or Daniel."

"New arrivals?"

"New soldiers. About once or twice a month stragglers would come into town looking for a room or food. Sometimes they went back to war, sometimes they hightailed it in the opposite direction. But the women would pretty much attack them when anyone new came into town for any information on their loved ones."

"Why didn't they just call?" Wow, that was a stupid question... idiot. "No phones. Yeah..."

"Phones?"

Oh yeah. He'd forgotten that Lizzie had no idea what things were. Great. He sure didn't have time to explain everything to her. "It's like talking like we are now only with a little rectangular thing and the other person isn't in the room."

He held up his cell and she studied it with a very confused look.

Sigh. He flipped the phone back on the desk. "Letters. Didn't you get letters?"

She shook her head. "Not often. The mail wasn't exactly reliable. The men didn't always have ways to get their letters mailed. I got one letter from Daniel when he was going toward Franklin. He said not to worry about him and that he would be alright." A tear slid down her cheek. Automatically, Shane's fingers grazed Lizzie's cheek and wiped the first tear away. Her eyes widened at the contact, as did his. It wasn't like he'd expected or even had any inkling about touching her. It just happened.

He stared at her for what seemed like an eternity, not really sure what to do or how to do it. Should he say sorry? Was he sorry? It wasn't like he'd broken some sacred vow or anything. But she kept looking at him like _that_ , and he kept feeling some sort of pull in his chest — not the normal place he felt a pull around a pretty girl.

And truth be told, Lizzie Monroe was pretty. Beautiful even. He'd only ever seen her in old black and white photographs. The one they used for their band logo had her hair in ringlet curls and half of it pulled back from her face. She wasn't smiling, which is why they picked it. No heavy metal band worth their salt would have a pretty, ladylike, smiling girl on their logo. Her eyes had always haunted him. Striking, even in black and white.

Even more striking in color.

Figuring what the hay, he wiped the tear from her other cheek. She looked away then back at him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." His voice was raspier than he wanted. He cleared his throat and shook his head to get the cobwebs out. He couldn't not be attracted to this girl... well, he could because, hello, she was actually very hot, but it wouldn't be right. He had to get her up on her feet and gone. How? He wasn't sure, but it had to be done. She was the only witness to the church fire — Preston wouldn't talk — and he couldn't have her telling what he did. Then again, who would believe a corpse?

Lizzie fluttered her eyes a few times. "I'm happy I can move my arms now. It was becoming frustrating."

"I imagine it was. Especially when your nose itches."

She laughed a little which made Shane ease up some. It was bad enough being the only man in his house anyway. Cheyenne and his mom always seemed to be 'moody' at the same time. But to have this girl now that he couldn't get away from, couldn't really leave, and didn't exactly know what to do with? It stunk. It stunk a lot.

"It wasn't fun," she admitted and leaned her head against the headboard.

"But you did good. You actually moved it. That's progress!"

"You think?"

"Absolutely. Let's not waste it."

"What do you have in mind?" She sounded skeptical.

"Start talking and start stretching your legs."

Her eyes bugged out. "Stretch... like stretch. As in touch? My legs... my actual legs. Not with your hands on my skirt?"

"That's the general idea."

"You can't... that's not going to work."

"Yes, it will. If your arms moved that much, then it means it is possible. We just have to help you some. Maybe I could steal a pair of Cheyenne's pants for you to wear."

"Cheyenne wears pants?" The idea seemed to shock her.

He found it pretty funny. "Yeah. A lot of women do nowadays. Most actually. Pants. Shorts. Short skirts."

"My gracious." She grinned. "When I was eleven, I wanted to wear pants and my mother forbade it. Said it wasn't ladylike and I needed to get that nonsense out of my head and fast."

"Hate to tell you, sister, but times have changed."

"Obviously. I don't mean this to be crude or disrespectful, but in my time, if a woman dressed like your sister, she would have been, well, either a prostitute or badly shunned."

Shane had to laugh. "Yeah, now it's pretty typical attire."

"Are you pulling my leg?"

"No, I'm serious. I'll get you a magazine or something so you can get used to the clothes and what not. Celebrities and reality TV."

"What's TV?"

His shoulders slumped. He really didn't want to have to be her teacher. "Doesn't matter. We need to focus now on your legs and making them work so we can get you out in the world." Not in the town of Dixon world, of course. That would be bad.

She looked out the window and bit her lip. "I'm not sure I want to get out in the world. From the way things are in here, it has changed a lot since my day. It would be interesting to wear pants though."

And she'd look good in them too. "You'll fit in in no time. I promise. I'll help you learn all about it, but first let's do some stretches."

He didn't wait for an answer before he pulled the cover off her legs.

"Wait!" she yelled and he shushed her.

"Don't yell. My family will hear you."

"That's bad?"

"They might not understand. My mom might call the government or a mental hospital or something. If you want to stay safe, you'll keep hidden in here until we can get you out of town." It was probably very cruel to tell her those things, but it was a means to an end. He needed her to stay put for now.

Her face got very rigid. "I knew a man once. His name was Simon. He went crazy. My father said he had the devil in him, but I think he'd just lost his mind after his wife and daughter died. Murdered. Simon chased the man who did it down and didn't leave much to bury, if you get my meaning. He wasn't arrested or anything. The general consensus was the man had it coming for what he did to Simon's family, but either Simon couldn't live with the guilt or just went crazy over his family, because he had to be hauled away. I heard stories, terrible stories, of the institution they put him in. Experiments and such." She shuddered. "I don't want to go to a place like that."

Shane knew he should tell her that mental hospitals in the twenty-first century weren't like that, not exactly like that anyway. But he really didn't want to. He needed her motivated, and if the thought of going to that place motivated her, then that's what he needed to do. It wasn't cruel. It was necessary.

"Then let's keep you away from somewhere like that." He gently moved his hands toward her legs. "I promise I won't hurt you. I'll take it easy and all of that other stuff."

Shane hesitated. Lizzie held her breath and her body got very still. Man, he hated it when she did that. No guy had ever touched her there, he assumed. "Look, it's not like that. I'm not thinking of you that way." Though he could. "But, darlin', we've got to get you moving. Understand?"

Lizzie nodded nervously.

Hew boy. Here we go.

Shane pulled Lizzie's tattered wedding dress down on her legs toward her ankles to keep her as modest as possible. To be as old as it was, her dress wasn't in horrible shape. It had a few rough places, some dirt, but the scallops around the legs were still in good condition and her long, flowing sleeves looked no worse for wear. Despite some dirt and a few ripped pieces here and there, it appeared that everything had been fairly well preserved. He had no idea why. From what he'd seen of Lizzie, she didn't either.

Well, he could either dwell on it, or get her out of his house and get on with his life. He chose the latter.

# Chapter Six

December 25, 1861

"It's not just about slavery. It's about our way of life." Daniel sat his tin cup down a little harder than Lizzie thought was necessary. Through her lashes, she glanced at her father who looked less than amused. Thankfully, the good preacher didn't have much of a temper. Unfortunately, what temper he had was wearing thin since the war broke out. It had been brewing for months, years even, and now it had exploded.

"There will be no war talk at the table, Mr. Dixon," Lizzie's father said as he cut his Christmas ham. Reverend Monroe had no time for war speak, especially at home.

"With all due respect, sir. I think we need to talk about this. We are both going to war in a few weeks — days even — and sadly not on the same side. I hoped to talk you into joining the Confederacy."

"I appreciate that, son." The reverend put his fork back on his plate. By the candlelight, Lizzie could see the stern, worn, exhausted expression on his tired face. Of the men in town going to war, only a handful were going to fight for the Union. Most were serving the Confederate forces, which made sense since Tennessee seceded from the United States a few months before, though it had been by the slimmest margin of votes. The state had joined the Confederate States of America, but not everyone — including her father — was happy about it.

Her father leaned back in his chair and wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin formerly lying in his lap. "I agree that the South, the Confederates, have some valid points. But I can't stand up for people having slaves. I never have. It's why I'll fight for the North, if I have to fight at all."

Daniel sat up straighter. "I have never had slaves. Never will. Don't believe in owning another person, but it's not just slavery."

"Maybe not to you." Her father butted in. "But it is to me, and that's the very reason I'll fight. And that's all I'll say about it tonight." With that, her father put his napkin on his plate, stood, kissed her mother on the cheek, and walked out into the flurries of snow for some air.

"I'm sorry," Daniel said after the cabin door shut. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have pressed it." He nodded to Lizzie's mother. "I apologize."

"It's alright, Daniel. It's just a very tense time all around. My husband knows you don't mean anything by it."

"I just... I wish he would fight for the South. We need more men like him if we ever wish to win."

"My husband asked for no war talk at the table, Daniel," Lizzie's mother chided, making Lizzie want to crawl under the table. This wasn't how she had hoped for the night to go. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd honor his wishes."

"Yes, ma'am. Again, I apologize."

An awkward silence filled the room, angering Lizzie. Why did they have to be so proper? Why couldn't they talk about it? The war was the only thing to talk about now. Everything revolved around it. She knew families who were torn apart by picking sides. Brothers were divided: one to the South, one for the North. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. She wanted to go back in time to when things were easy, simple. She wanted a life with Daniel, not constant worry.

"Mrs. Monroe," Daniel asked using his polite voice. "May Lizzie and I be excused? I'd like to give her my Christmas present now, if you don't mind."

Her mother's worn eyes lit up and the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth deepened as she smiled. It was almost as if she was herself again, before all the war happened. "Absolutely. You may be excused, Mr. Dixon. Lizzie." She grinned brighter. "Don't stay out too late."

"We won't be going far, Ma'am."

Daniel took Lizzie's hand and led her outside in the cold air and toward the barn. Daniel held an oil lantern in the other hand as the snow flurries swirled around them. It was like one of those ten cent romance stories Lizzie bought on occasion from the general store. They passed her father sitting on the porch puffing his pipe. His ruddy cheeks appeared kindly toward the two as they made their way to the barn. Lizzie hoped he approved of Daniel as a person, not his reason for fighting for the South. She'd die if he didn't.

When they got to their destination, Daniel opened the door and allowed Lizzie to go inside first. She had to admit, a barn wasn't the most romantic place ever. It smelled like horses and pigs, hay and... well... other not so pleasant things. But she wouldn't say anything against it. Daniel obviously had a plan and she wanted to see it through.

"I know this isn't fancy, but it's the best I could do on short notice."

"Short notice?" She shivered, wishing she'd taken time to grab a warm blanket. As if anticipating it, Daniel draped a wedding ring design quilt over her shoulders. She instantly snuggled inside it.

Daniel spread an old quilt that had conveniently been laid near the backdoor of the barn out on the dirt floor. He opened the back doors and allowed some of the snowflakes to come in. Even though it was snowing, a bit of the full moon illuminated the hills behind the barn. It was beautiful.

After a few seconds, he turned and sat the oil lamp on the ground next to the quilt. He motioned for Lizzie to have a seat.

She smiled, pulled the quilt around her tighter, gathered the skirts of her lavender church dress up barely over her ankles, and sat down as ladylike as possible. Once sitting, she covered her legs and shoes with her skirts and huddled in her quilt. The scene in front of her was glorious, but it was very chilly.

"I wish this could be better for you," he said nervously, and Lizzie couldn't understand why. Then it hit her, and her heart started to pound. "Are you leaving sooner than expected?"

Daniel turned back toward the open doors, his back to her. The way he put his hands in his jacket pockets and rocked on the balls of his feet, gave her all the answers she needed.

"When?" Her voice caught.

"Tomorrow. I'm leaving for the war tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." Her world stopped turning.

Daniel was to her quicker than she could suck in a breath. "Please don't fret. Please. It's not why I brought you out here."

"I thought we'd have more time."

"We will." He gently pushed her hair behind her ear. "We will have plenty of time together when I get back."

Lizzie wanted to say what she was thinking, _what if you never come back_. But she didn't say it. She didn't want him to worry about her. It remained the unspoken elephant in the room. "How long do you think you'll be gone?"

He tilted her head and rubbed his fingers gently over her cheek. He'd never touched her face before, never even kissed her. It wasn't proper, and Daniel was always proper. Proper to join his father and fight for the South when his ideals held with the North. Proper to a fault in Lizzie's eyes.

Daniel was very handsome with a strong jaw and warm eyes. He had a thick head of hair, now covered with little white snowflakes, and a well-kept beard. Though he was just twenty, he was very mature.

"The rumor is a year. Maybe shorter. My father says the Union will see the error in their ways and just let us secede without much of a fight."

"You really think that?"

He didn't answer. Instead he leaned back on his knees and smiled. "I'm sorry this wasn't planned, but with the short notice, I had to improvise. I've already talked to your father..."

Oh no...

Daniel took both of her hands in his and maneuvered himself on one knee. Snowflakes swirled around his hair and the oil lamp light shined in his eyes. "Elizabeth Monroe... Lizzie... I love you more than you will ever know. Will you make me the happiest man on this earth and marry me?"

Lizzie's mouth got dry, but she didn't have to think of an answer. "Yes." She barely got out before pulling him into a huge hug. "Yes, I'll marry you."

"I appreciate that." He grinned into her hair and pulled her closer to him. He held her for what seemed like an eternity, neither wanting to let the other go.

Finally, Daniel broke their contact. "I don't have a ring for you."

"That's alright." It didn't bother her in the least.

"It's not alright. You deserve the best, Lizzie, and I intend to give it to you. I'll get you one while I'm away. When I come back, I'll put it on your finger. I promise. I'll come back for you."

"I'll be waiting." She tried to put on a brave face. Why did the best day of her life also have to be the worst?

****

Lizzie looked down at the ring on her finger: a brass toned oval beauty with vines etched on the top. If only he'd been able to give it to her before he died.

She missed Daniel so much.

The boy fixing to touch her leg was nothing like Daniel. Daniel was as straight-laced as they came. His hair had always been perfect, slicked back with a little wave combed back up front. Always with a neatly trimmed beard. Always proper. Always a gentleman. And except for the night he asked her to marry him and the day he left for war, had never touched her.

And then there was Shane. Shane didn't seem to adhere to rules. He had her in his bed, after all. In his home. He'd washed the dirt off of her face. And now he had pulled her dress, her wedding dress no less, up enough on her legs so he could touch — touch! — them. Glorious Land!

Daniel had never even seen above her ankles.

"Deep breath, Lizzie. Don't freak out on me, okay?" Shane said from his perch at the foot of her bed, right beside her leg.

Dear Lord, I'm sorry I killed myself and everything. If you are still speaking to me or listening, please help me walk again. So I can get out of here and... okay, I don't know what, but something. Just help me...

"What are you doing?" Shane asked.

She opened her eyes and became a little self-conscious for some reason. "Praying."

"Praying?"

"Yes. Praying. It's going to be very difficult for me and I thought I'd better pray. I know you don't believe in God, but I do."

"Is that why you killed yourself? To meet God faster?"

Her jaw sat in a hard line. "Are you always so blunt, _Mister_ Davis?"

"Only around people I like." He grinned and put his hands on her legs without even warning her first.

"Hey!"

"Enough skirting around the issue, pun totally intended. We need to stretch your legs before I get as old as you are."

"I just..." No part of her wanted Shane's hands on her.

"Just nothing. We're doing this. You and me, sister. We're getting your little legs working."

****

No sooner had Shane tilted her leg back, her knee popped loudly. He promptly dropped it back on the bed. Ewwww... eewww... ewww... ewww. Nasty.

"What? What?" Lizzie squealed, terrified.

"I think I broke your leg." The antique thing just popped like a twig when he moved it. Yuck. He kept forgetting she was older than she looked.

"You broke my leg!" She yelled and looked down at it.

"Shhhhh! Stop screaming. You'll wake people up."

"I'm sorry, but when some gentleman says he broke my leg, I begin to panic." She gritted through her teeth. Shane couldn't hold in the laugh. She looked so funny like that.

"Aw. You think I'm a gentleman."

"Don't laugh at me," she ordered. Like she could stop him. She was the one unable to move.

Still...

"I'm sorry. It's just... you're right. Not funny." He ran his fingers though his hair and studied her knee. It required him to move her dress a little higher on her leg and she wouldn't be happy about it.

Oh well.

Without asking for an invitation, Shane moved the flimsy piece of fabric up, exposing her knee. Lizzie's breath caught and she shut her eyes. It wasn't in an excited way — more like a 'Dear Lord, help me' way.

"It's a knee, Lizzie. Everyone's got one." It didn't ease up her tension any. The girl seriously needed to chill.

She didn't say a word, but she didn't protest either. At least it was a step in the right direction. Maybe she was starting to trust him... that would probably be a bad thing. He wasn't exactly the most reliable person in the world.

He clicked his tongue while he looked her leg over. Man, he didn't want to look at it. Broken body parts weren't his favorite thing. He'd broken his finger once in baseball, years ago when he played, and that thing stuck out at such a perpendicular angle, it even made the nurse helping him a little nauseous.

At least when he looked at her knee, he saw good news. "Okay, so not broken."

"Not broken?"

"Nope. Just cracked like an old man's knee. That's good. You aren't as fragile as I was afraid of when I heard the pop."

"Hurray," was her unconvincing response.

Shane had to smirk. He had no idea they had sarcasm in the 1800s. "Let's do this again." This time he didn't even try to pull her dress over her knees. To heck with it, he'd already seen it. She'd have to deal with it.

"You aren't covering my leg up?" she said, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"Why? I've already seen it now." He shrugged.

"But I would prefer..."

"Look," he said a little more harshly than he should have, but good gracious, she was driving him crazy. It was just a leg. It wasn't like he was going to jump her and have his way with her right then and there because he saw her knee. Come to think of it, the way her knee creaked, he wasn't sure what would happen 'there' if he ever...

_Focus_. "I know you're prudish or whatever, but I don't really care about your knee or your leg. I promise. Okay? We just need to get this finished."

"Fine." She gritted through her teeth, flung her head back and shut her eyes.

_Thank goodness._ He sighed and bent her leg again. It popped, but it didn't freak him out like it had before.

Fifteen more times, he bent her right leg back, then forward, going a little bit farther back each time. "There." Satisfied, he laid her leg flat on the bed. "Can you move it? Wiggle your toes or anything?"

Lizzie opened her eyes. She still had the same annoyed look on her face, but didn't mention him seeing her bare leg. Instead her face became stern as she concentrated on her toes. "Nothing." She grunted.

"Try again."

"Try again?"

"Now." He had no time to coddle her. This lady needed to walk and get out of his life, ASAP. He couldn't be responsible for her, didn't want to be either. He never liked pets and always left the duties of taking care of them to Cheyenne. Lizzie was a bit bigger than a kitten.

She rolled her eyes and concentrated again. He kept waiting for her toes to twitch.

Nothing.

"Darn it." He huffed and put his head in his hands. This was going way too slow. Patience had never been his virtue.

"I assume it'll take time," Lizzie said the most positive and hopeful thing she'd said all day. He didn't feel it though.

"I don't have time," he mumbled.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing." He sighed and reached down to stretch her leg some more.

Before he could touch her leg, a heavy metal song bounced around the room. Lizzie sank down in the bed, her eyes wide. "What's that? Whose screaming?"

It was actually quite funny, watching her cower like that. The girl couldn't move her legs at all, could barely move her arms, but she sank in that bed like she'd been shot when the song started playing from his phone. There was hope for her yet.

"It's not screaming." He stood and put the black comforter back over her legs, knowing she'd appreciate it. "It's music."

"Music?" She wiggled until she was back with her head on the pillow. "That's music in your time?"

"Yes, ma'am. The sweet tunes of _Devil's Eyeballs_."

"You listen to the devil's music? I knew it," she said barely over a whisper.

"Some people say it is. I say it's calming."

Her eyes narrowed. "I hear nothing _calming_."

"Because it's not fiddles and banjoes and drums or whatever you listened to back in the day?" Shane picked his phone up from the desk at the window and looked at the name on the ID.

Preston.

The last person he expected to hear from. That was a lie. The last person he expected to hear from was his father, but Preston was a close second. He probably wanted to make sure their alibis were the same for the church arson Another thing he didn't need.

"We listened to actual music, not that screaming. And it was played by actual people, not tiny... _things_."

Shane held up the _thing_ again so she could see it. Black and silver and rectangular. A smart phone, not that she'd know what that meant. "It's a phone. Remember, I told you about phones."

"You mentioned it, but I don't understand how you can hear someone who isn't in the same room with you?"

For the love of Pete... Frustrated, he opened the message from Preston. "I'm not talking to him. He sent a text."

"What does that mean?" she asked and he totally ignored her. He wasn't going through Technology 101 with her right now.

Dude, we need to talk. Meet me at the quarry now!

Great. Preston was probably all upset over the fire and worried he'd get caught. Stupid boy didn't know if you were freaking out that you'd get caught, you _would_ get caught. Burning down that church was the stupidest thing he'd ever done in his life! He had a feeling he'd pay for it a long time.

"What's a text?" Lizzie asked again.

He pushed a few buttons to bring it back to the main screen — a stock picture of a silly red rose. He hadn't gotten around to changing it yet. "A text is something you use to write to people."

"Like in other places?"

"Yeah. I can press numbers, letters, whatever and send a message."

"Like a telegraph."

Whatever that was. "I guess. Anyway, people send messages and they show up on the screen. You can also use it to call people. You push numbers and they answer it." He guessed he did want to get into technology with her.

"If they don't?"

"I can leave a voice mail."

"Impressive." She kept staring at the device. "Things sure have changed. Almost like a fiction novel about the future."

"More than you know." Shane tossed the phone back on the desk and walked back to the bed. "Now, it's time to work on your legs some more."

Lizzie groaned. He felt the same way, but it had to be done. He pushed her knee a few times, cringing every time it creaked like an old man. Ugh. The things he had to do... when did the world become so weird? Oh yeah, when he burned down a church. Maybe — maybe God was teaching him a lesson. That would be his luck.

If he were any kind of gentleman, he'd ask her how she was doing and if she wanted to stop. Fortunately for him, he wasn't.

"Now, push against my hand. See if you can put pressure on my fingers."

She didn't look convinced that it could be done.

"Girl, do it so we can stop. The quicker you do this, the quicker we can stop for now."

"For now. How often are we going to work on my legs?"

"I figure every few hours until we have you walking."

A swarm of bees could have flown in her gaped mouth. "Are you serious?"

"Very. You want to walk, don't you? You want to get out of here and on with your life... or _afterlife_ , right?"

"I suppose. I haven't really thought about it. It's not like I ever thought I'd get to live in the world again, and it's so different."

"Yeah." _Hurry this up_. "Well, to ever get back in it, you'll have to learn to walk. Or at least function on your own. That requires work. Come on and work. Push on my fingers."

Shane positioned his fingers under her heels and pressed against them with a little pressure.

"Push."

"I am." She made one of those faces women have in the movies when they are giving birth. Automatically, his mind raced back to what he knew about Lizzie to try to remember if she had been pregnant. Then he laughed to himself. It would have had to be an immaculate conception because the woman had never been touched. He'd been closer than any man in history to Lizzie's nether regions, and he sure hadn't impregnated her.

"Push harder. On your feet, not your face. You look like you've got constipation."

Apparently, they had constipation in the 1800s because her face got redder. "I'm pushing my feet. Or trying to at least. This isn't easy you know."

Still holding up her feet, he pushed back a little harder. "You should have been exercising in your casket. Kept the muscles working."

The muscles in her brow didn't have the same problems as her legs. He sort of wished they did. "There wasn't exactly room, and why would I try to move if I'd never get out of there again."

"Thinking ahead," he said bluntly.

"Kiss my foot." She huffed. He imagined if she could have crossed her arms and pouted, she would have.

"Got some spunk to ya, don't ya, Lizzie? Good to see. You're gonna need to use it to get yourself mobile again. You can't stay here forever," he added the second part almost as an afterthought.

"We've covered that." She sighed and turned her face toward the window.

"Are you gonna push your toes?"

"No." It was her turn to be blunt.

"Lizzie..." Shane huffed. He pushed back on her toes, willing them to just show some sign of movement.

"What day is it?"

"June seventh," he said without really thinking. He was too busy working with her stupid feet, willing them to move.

Lizzie smiled sadly and her eyes started to well up again.

Oh great good gracious... "Why are you getting emotional about the date? You need to focus on your legs."

Lizzie shut her eyes. "Because June seventh was the day..."

Black Sabbath erupted through Shane's phone. "Hold that thought." He grabbed his phone and didn't have to look at the name to know who it was.

In one swift motion, he pushed the green button, laid Lizzie's ankles on his thigh, and put the phone to his ear.

The guy on the other line didn't wait for him to speak. "Where are you, man?"

"Uh... at home. Where are you?"

"The quarry. Where else?" Preston was agitated. That's all Shane needed. This guy needed to get a grip. He was as emotional as Lizzie. If there was a God, He was really having fun with Shane. Maybe he should just say he believed in _Him_ so _He_ would leave him alone. "Why aren't you here yet?"

"Um... Because I'm not your personal lapdog and can do whatever I want. I'll get there when I get there."

"You're leaving?" Lizzie asked and Shane hurriedly hushed her. Preston could not know about her.

"You're with a girl!" Too late. Did Lizzie screwed up everything she was around? "Dude, what in the world? We have things to discuss."

"I'm not with a girl." He glared at Lizzie and motioned for her to shush.

"Don't lie. I heard her. While you've been shacking up all night, I've been worried sick. I need to see you. Now. Forget about the girl and the sex and get down here. I think someone saw us last night."

Shane didn't have a chance to speak before the line went dead. He bit his lip and ran his fingers through his curls agitatedly. He'd never burn down another church with that moron.

"What's wrong?" Lizzie whispered like she was truly interested.

"Nothing. And you can talk now. He's gone." Shane jumped up and grabbed the TV remote. He turned it on and she looked terrified at the moving pictures across the room. He didn't have time to explain it to her. "It's a television. A TV, and it won't hurt you. Just moving pictures. Look, I have to go out for a few minutes."

"Out?"

"Yeah, out. I can't babysit you forever. You'll be fine. I'll bring you some food." He grabbed his keys and threw his hair back in a very low ponytail.

"I'm not hungry."

It surprised him enough to let the doorknob go and turn to face her. "You're not hungry? Really? You've not eaten a thing in forever."

"What can I say? Maybe I lost my appetite?"

"Hmmmm..." Definitely added another mystery to the puzzle, or something like that. She didn't need to eat or apparently go to the bathroom. He appreciated the latter, but that didn't make it any less weird. She had no pulse and could breathe like a person, but didn't eat or do other 'humanly' things. So what was she?

"Is that bad? That I don't want to eat? I could, you know..."

"No, that's fine. We can try something when we get back, if you want. Start you off with some crackers and see how they stay down." Then Shane did the most idiotic thing he'd done since he set the church on fire... He looked at Lizzie, really looked at her with compassion. He saw her for what she was, a flawed, scared, beautiful person.

"I'll be back soon, Lizzie. I promise, okay?" Why was he asking her permission... and why was he waiting for her to answer?

She simply nodded and turned her head away from the picture on the television screen. He watched her for a few seconds before he left. The girl would be the death of him.

# Chapter Seven

June 7, 1862

"Lizzie... Elizabeth. I don't know exactly how to tell you this, ma'am." Frederick Davis shifted on the balls of his feet with his gray soldier's hat fumbling in the fingers of his one hand. He looked young, no older than twenty, but his features were hard and weatherworn. Now that she really looked at him, not only did had have a missing arm but he had a bandage on his head. Another war wound, she supposed.

Her mind couldn't concentrate, not really. In her heart, she knew what he was there to tell her. It was written all over his face. But she couldn't think it, couldn't believe it... couldn't hear the words that she knew would come out of his mouth next.

If he didn't tell her, it wouldn't be true. If he never said the words, Daniel wouldn't be...

"Miss Monroe, I... uh... I knew Daniel, your _fiancé_. We fought together."

The past tense didn't get by her. "Please, don't go on, Mr. Davis. I.. uh... I don't want to hear any more. Please."

Frederick's face looked pained, but he didn't stop. "I understand that, ma'am. I truly do. But your beau made me swear to do something, and I can't get back to my own home in Chapel Hill until I do."

Lizzie sucked in a deep breath and felt the floor fall out from under her. Still, she had to be strong. There was no other way to be. The days of women being able to be dainty wallflowers were over. The war had hardened everyone, even her. Or so she hoped. "Then say your peace, Mr. Davis."

Frederick wet his lips nervously. "May I come in?"

"Say your peace right there, sir." She crossed her arms defiantly. Her heart raced a mile a minute and she felt like she'd pass out at any second.

As long as he didn't say it, it wasn't real...

As long as he didn't say it, it wasn't real...

As long as he didn't say it, it wasn't real..."Ma'am. I hate to be the one to tell you this—"

"Then don't," she heard herself plead, a heavy weight constricted her throat. "Don't say it."

"I have to, ma'am. I made a promise and I intend to keep it. Daniel, your Daniel, was the bravest man I know. He was kind and good. Honest."

She couldn't take any more. "Mr. Davis..."

"And he saved my life."

She blinked away tears and steeled her nerves. She held her hands so tightly across her chest, she felt bruises form on her arms. It wasn't like she cared. "How?"

Frederick's head dropped and the hat he twiddled in his hand became very interesting to him. "We were at Shiloh, ma'am, not terribly far away back in April."

April... it happened that many months ago?

"And... the Union, they came on so strong. So strong. We found cover, but couldn't get out. They kept advancing, and we had nowhere to go."

Lizzie didn't want to picture war. The books she read made it sound noble, romantic even. She'd never once wanted to think about the unpleasantness of it. Now, she had no choice. She would be one of _those_ women.

"A bullet came from nowhere and hit me. It felt like a weight had crashed down chest and on my shoulder here." Frederick pointed to the top part of his stump. "Hurt like the dickens. I didn't want to open my eyes at first, because, ma'am, not to be too crude, but I've seen some horrible wounds in my time, innards hanging out. You can understand how gruesome I imagined my own wound to be."

She winced at the visual and Frederick stopped.

"I'm sorry. I just... I forget sometimes not to speak of such things. They are always so clear in my mind. Anyway, I finally opened my eyes and saw my arm was still there, but not moving if that makes any sense. There was blood on my hand, lots of blood, and my head hurt like something I'd never felt before. Didn't take long before I realized a bullet had grazed my forehead too. I saw the blood on my hand and knew I was going to die."

"What about the weight on your chest?" She was too into the story to stop now, even though she had a feeling she wouldn't like the ending.

Frederick rocked on his feet. "See, I thought I'd been hit three times, but I hadn't been. Only twice. The third was..., well, ma'am, I was tackled. Tackled by Daniel Dixon."

Slowly, she nodded. It seemed to fit his character. "He knocked you down?"

"Yes, ma'am. I guess he saw the bullet coming or heard it or just needed me to get down or something. I don't know, but I know he knocked me down and saved my life."

"What happened to him next?" Her voice shook and she couldn't stop it.

"There was a lot of gunfire. Smoke. Everything. It was... well, frankly, ma'am it was pure hell. I finally saw him lying on the ground a few feet away." Frederick's eyes were distant, reliving it all over again. She felt bad for him, but needed him to keep going. Now, she needed to know every detail, every sorry bit of it.

"And?"

"And... remember what I told you about the innards on the outside."

Her breath caught and her hand automatically went to her lips.

"I'm sorry to be so descriptive, ma'am, but that's how it was. He was shot in the back and the bullet ripped through his belly. It was bad. Very. Very bad. He could barely breathe. I tried to save him. You have to believe me..."

"What happened?" She didn't want his apology. She wanted him to keep talking.

"May I come in?"

"No. Talk." Lizzie had never been so forward in her life.

Frederick's eyes fluttered a few times and he tilted his head to the side, clearly upset. She didn't know if it was from the memory or from the terrifying little woman in front of him. "I tried to stop the bleeding. I know it doesn't mean much now, but I did try. I put my hand on his stomach, but the blood just kept pouring."

Lizzie held her hand up and motioned for him to stop. She'd finally had enough and couldn't take any more. She turned her head and walked toward the kitchen area. "I don't want to hear anymore."

"I won't describe the wounds in any more detail because it ain't necessary, but I need to tell you the rest."

"What else?" She screamed across the cabin, surprising both of them. "What can you possibly tell me? I understand."

Frederick stepped inside without being invited. Lizzie spiraled until she was on the other side of the dining table. "I didn't say you could come in."

"I know and I'm sorry. But I need you to hear me out before you get too hysterical."

She stopped in her tracks. Of all the nerve... "You can leave now."

"Daniel made me promise to find you. He said you lived in Dixon. I remembered easily because it was the same as his last name. Told me your name. Then he gave me this." Frederick reached in his pocket and pulled out a ring. "He made me promise to give you this."

Frederick held it toward her, and she couldn't take her eyes off it. Getting closer, she saw how pretty it really was. It looked metal, a brownish one, with vine designs on the top. An engagement ring, just like he'd promised.

"Daniel pulled this out of his pocket." Frederick went on with the ring outstretched in his fingers. "He told me to give you this. Said he got it from one of the men from Louisiana. Said to tell you he was sorry he'd never get to see it on your finger."

Lizzie couldn't take her eyes off the ring. Her future lay in that ring, a future with Daniel and children. A house of their own. A life. Grandkids. Growing old together. The ring meant something. He'd gotten it for her. _He_ should be giving it to her. _He_ should be putting it on her finger, not this stranger. Not this man who claimed Daniel was... "I don't believe you," she said, surprising herself. "I don't believe he's dead."

"He is, ma'am. I'm truly sorry." Frederick lowered the ring a bit. His arm seemed weary from holding it up so long. Now that she looked him over, he was gaunt, mal-nourished, worse for wear. Lizzie couldn't help but wonder if Daniel's appearance had been the same.

"What happened to him?"

A quizzical expression crossed his face. "I told you, ma'am. He died."

"His body!" she shouted. "What happened to his body? Did you bury him?"

His eyes ghosted, making her furious. "You left him?"

Frederick backtracked. "I had too, ma'am. The Union was coming so fast. My head was bleeding. My arm... I needed help. It happened so fast."

"So you left him."

"I had to..."

"And you saw him die?"

Frederick's mouth formed words, but nothing came out. He looked taken aback that this little farm girl was yelling at him. Lizzie couldn't care less. "No. I had to leave. He handed me the ring and I had to leave."

Exactly her point. "So, you didn't see him die. You don't know if he did."

"I know he's dead. No one could have lived through those injuries."

"You don't know Daniel!" Lizzie huffed and her chest hurt from breathing so hard. "He could have lived! He could have and you left him. You don't know!"

Frederick's face filled with compassion. "Miss Lizzie, I understand how hard this is for you."

"You have no idea," she bit back. The nerve of this man! "None. Have you ever had a stranger come in and try to tear your world apart? Have you any idea how this sounds?"

"Yes, ma'am. I do. A few years back a stranger came and told my Ma that my Pa died. So yes, I know."

A knot formed in her throat, and she backed down just a bit. "I'm sorry for your loss, but it doesn't negate the fact that you are here telling me something that you don't know for certain is true."

"I understand your frustration and your apprehension. I do." Frederick walked over and laid the ring on the middle of the table. "But know this. Daniel Dixon was my best friend in the war, and I fulfilled my promise to him. I wish you all the luck in the world, Lizzie. I truly do."

Frederick bowed politely and went to the door. He spoke his last words with his back to Lizzie. "His last thoughts were of you. Take comfort in that. Not everyone gets the privilege of knowing."

With those words, he was gone. Just like that. He'd come, shattered her world, and just left; back to his life waiting for him. His girl would be thrilled he came back. His girl would throw her arms around his neck and kiss him passionately — not caring who saw because she'd been without him for months.

Not Lizzie. She'd never see Daniel again. Never get to hold his hand. Never get to kiss him. She'd never get to tell him she loved him, and she'd never get to be his wife.

The ring on the table mocked her. Her engagement ring. Daniel had gotten it for her. He'd promised he would, and he did. With shaking fingers, she reached down and plucked the metal band from the table. It felt lighter than it looked, and now that it was closer to her, she could see a more engraved design of a vine. Inside the vines was something she couldn't place. A symbol of some sort. If she'd cared, she would have investigated it further. As it was, she didn't.

Slowly, sadly, she placed the ring over her trembling finger. She slid it on, shaking harder as it got closer to the base. Daniel should be doing this. Daniel should be the one to place it on her fingers. This wasn't right. None of it was right.

Lizzie sank to the bench seat surrounding the table, unable to make her legs move momentarily. Air didn't feel like was reaching her lungs, and she felt she could faint at any moment. Her hair fell from the intricate braid she'd placed it in earlier around her head, and she didn't try to put it back.

For a long time, she sat there staring at the ring, thinking back on what Frederick had told her about Daniel's death.

Daniel's death. It didn't sound right. He was twenty years old. He wasn't supposed to die. Not in this stupid war. Not in any way.

When the sun began to set, Lizzie's mother came through the door carrying parcels from the mercantile. Lizzie saw her from the corner of her eye, but she didn't look in her direction. She felt her body rocking in short spasms, but couldn't stop it. Wasn't even sure she wanted to stop it.

"Lizzie?" Her mother walked toward her. "Lizzie, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Such a silly question. One would have to feel to be hurt, and Lizzie felt nothing. "He's gone," she stated so matter-of-factly it surprised even her how calm she sounded while rocking like that.

"Who's gone?" Her mother put her fabric parcels down, tossed a few envelopes to the side, and ran to sit next to Lizzie on the bench. "What are you talking about?"

Lizzie twirled the ring around her finger. Such a pretty ring. Much more grand than she ever expected from Daniel. "He's gone."

"Who!" her mother asked again. This time with more emotion.

"Daniel." Lizzie showed her mother the ring. "Daniel's gone."

"How do you know?"

Lizzie shook her head, while still rocking. "A man named Frederick. He was with him. He saw it. Daniel's never coming back."

"Oh, sweetheart." Her mother tried to pull Lizzie into a hug, but the girl refused to move. She kept rocking, kept looking at her new ring. A ring she would have loved to show off, if Daniel had really given it to her. Now what use did she have for it?

"Mother. I need to be alone for a while. Please. I'll be in the barn." Lizzie didn't wait for her mother to answer. She might have said something, but honestly, Lizzie didn't care. She walked out of the cabin with her head held high, outside in the late afternoon sun, and toward the barn. She knew exactly what she'd do when she got there.

****

Preston paced the rock quarry, jumping from boulder to boulder. Shane saw him before Preston saw Shane, and couldn't help but shake his head. The idiot was going to have a coronary.

Preston wasn't the average southern-looking guy, not that Shane was either to be honest. Neither had the most 'Southern' of looks. No belt buckles in sight. But Preston was more 'out there' than Shane. Preston's mohawked hair was pink, bright pink. A shade he perfected every other week to keep it the same bold hue. It led to lots of taunts at school, and Preston enjoyed every one of them. Preston was a rare bird that liked making people feel uncomfortable in their own skin. He loved it when people shied away from his five eyebrow piercings that connected to the large safety pin he had from his lip to his cheek piercing, attached on the inside of his mouth. His ears were being stretched by black gauges and he had more tattoos than Shane cared to know about.

You'd think that someone as outcast as Preston wouldn't freak out over something like burning a church down, but there he was, pacing like a caged kitten. Irritated, Preston took his phone from his skinny jeans and forced it to his ear.

"Calm down, man. I'm here." Shane yelled from above. Preston turned in a huff and slammed his phone shut.

"Took you long enough. Get down here." He pointed next to him, and Shane wasn't thrilled about being ordered around by the little punk. Sure, Preston and he had burned down the church together, so one would think they were best buds, but nothing could be further from the truth. They tolerated each other for the band. In fact, it had shocked Shane when Preston approached him about burning the church down. He'd known him since first grade when he'd been blonde, but they'd never been extremely close. Then again, he did like him much better than he liked Drake.

"Down here! Now!" Preston ordered, and Shane only complied to shut him up. If Preston was spazzing out this bad, someone could hear him. That would be very bad.

Shane jumped down the few feet between them and got as close to Preston as possible, hoping to intimidate the little turd. He clamped his hands on Preston's boney elbows and squeezed tightly to get his point across. "You have to relax. You're having a fit over nothing."

"Nothing?" Preston scooted from Shane's hands and slapped them away. "My dad came home this morning and asked me, point blank, if I had something to do with the church burning down."

Shane rolled his eyes. "Can you blame him? Look at you, man. You have drawn this huge target on your very pink head. If something bad happens, of course they are going to think it was you."

"That's prejudice."

"That's life, and actually, a pretty fair assessment considering you did have something to do with the church burning."

"Don't remind me." He groaned and ran his fingers through his not as high as normal Mohawk. Shane had never seen him so unmade up. Usually, he wore eyeliner and sprayed his hair within an inch of his life. Today he looked normal, well, normal for him. He had on a very light coat of eyeliner and a minimum amount of gray eye shadow. The safety pin thing from his cheek to his lip wasn't exactly normal though. It was actually pretty sick, in an awesome way.

"Man, seriously, you have got to chill out. People will ask questions. Let them. My mom gave me the third degree this morning too. You don't see me flying off the handle."

Preston's eyes nearly leapt from their sockets. "She asked you? Why do people assume it was us?"

Shane just stared at him until he got it.

"What did you tell her?" Preston finally asked. Even though it was June and hot in Dixon, he had his hands folded together like they were freezing. Shane had on khaki pants and a black short sleeved shirt and he was still hot.

Every muscle in him inwardly cringed, and it took everything he had not to yell at Preston. What exactly did he think he told her?

Shane kept his face very straight. "Everything. I told her everything."

Preston turned a funny color of pale. "Everything?"

This could be fun. "Yup. Everything. Every bit of the truth. Told her it was your idea. That you made me go down there and douse gasoline on that poor old church. You lit a match and bam, up in flames it went."

Preston stared at him for a hard second, and a knowing annoyed look spread over his ugly face. "No, you didn't."

"No. I didn't." Shane smirked just enough for Preston to slap him on the arm. Shane had to admit, it stung a little. Who knew little Preston had that much spunk in him?

"Jerk. What did you actually tell her?"

"Nothing." Shane rubbed his arm and jumped down a few rocks away. When he turned to face Preston again, the boy's hardened expression hadn't changed. "Dude, you've got to stop this. I didn't tell her anything."

"Is she still suspicious?"

"She's my mom. Of course she is. Something bad happened in Dixon so obviously it's my fault. Same ole, same ole. Fortunately, she's too busy to care." He hadn't thought how pitiful that sounded until it came out of his mouth. Then again, it was a good thing his mom worked two jobs. Plus this 'business trip', which he didn't really like, would take her away from home for a few days. Perfect timing. Normally, he liked her working so many hours. It meant she was gone around sixteen hours a day and not around to mess with whatever plans he had going on. At the second, his plans involved the formerly buried, currently taking up space in his room Lizzie Monroe, and getting her the heck out of his life.

"We need to get our stories straight." Preston jumped down next to him. For the first time, Shane noticed his eyes. They were blue and purple underneath and not from artificial means. He didn't look like he'd slept in a while. He really wished the guy would calm down over this. It just happened yesterday.

"Our stories are straight unless you mess it up. I was at home. You went home after rehearsal. We don't know how the church burned nor do we care. It's an old building that no one will miss anyway."

"No one but Lizzie Monroe," Preston muttered under his breath.

"What did you say?"

"What?"

"About Lizzie Monroe. What did you say?"

Preston tilted his head to the side and grinned ever so slightly. "Well, well. Look who's paranoid now."

He could kick himself for showing any cards to Preston. _Calm. You have to stay calm. He can't know._ "I'm not paranoid. You just mentioned Lonely Lizzie and I wanted to know why."

"Because she's buried in the basement, idiot. I heard the screaming just as much as you did. But I ran, and you should have too. You aren't afraid Lizzie's going to come back and haunt you, are you?"

It was Shane's turn to mutter. "You have no idea."

****

It killed Lizzie that she couldn't move her legs. She wanted to take off and run as fast as she could, out of this bed, out of this house, out of this time.

Sure, in her day, she'd killed herself so she wouldn't have to face home without Daniel. That turned out well for her, didn't it? Now she had no Daniel, no mother, no real home. And no idea how to act in the twenty-first century. There were devices in the room that she had no idea what they were, and Shane wasn't very telling. She took that back. He did tell, but in gibberish she couldn't exactly follow.

She ignored the annoying moving picture contraption Shane had left on for her and instead focused on the oval circle on the ring finger of her left hand. Frederick had given it to her on her last night on Earth. Said it was from Daniel. Said he'd told him to give it to Lizzie as an engagement ring.

She'd slipped the ring on, and then she'd gone out to the barn. If she looked close enough, she could still see a few blood stains from where the red from her wrists saturated the crevices of the delicate etching.

It made her so sad to even look at the ring. Daniel had bought or bartered for it for their future, but they didn't have a future. She might not be in a casket anymore, but Daniel sure was. This ring, this stupid ring, was a constant reminder of what she had and what she'd lost.

She couldn't look at it any more. She stuck her thumb under the band and wiggled until it reached the tip of her finger, threatening to fall.

"Shane, you up yet? There's someone..." The door opened without warning and Shane's sister barged in. When she saw Lizzie still lying on the bed, she stopped mid-sentence and fumbled with the doorhandle. "Uh... Hi. Again."

"Hi." Lizzie quickly pushed the ring back on her finger and tried to sit up straighter against her pillow.. "Cheyenne, is it?"

"Yeah." Cheyenne's brows met in the center of her forehead. "Lizzie, right?"

"Yes. We met last night." That sounded so wrong coming out of her mouth. Her mother would be so disappointed if she knew she'd spent the night in a strange man's bed. Then again, her mother probably hadn't been too happy when she found her dead in the barn.

Her poor mother.

"Right... the role play." Cheyenne bit her lip and waltzed in, scooting her feet across the floor like it was nothing. Lizzie wished she could do the same. "Well, _Lizzie_ , have you seen my brother?"

A question she could answer honestly. "Earlier this morning. He came in, said your mother was home, and that he'd be back in a few hours."

"Oh..." Cheyenne sat down in the rolling chair next to the table and looked at Lizzie quizzically. "And you're still here?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Lizzie examined Cheyenne. Her pants, _shorts_ Shane called them, weren't as short as the night before, and she had on a white shirt with thin straps that barely held it up. Oh boy. Lizzie could see the crease in the middle of her chest and tried not to look.

She seemed nice enough though. Her smile was warm and compassionate. And she had a pleasant face. "Honey, that's code."

"Code for what?"

"Code for 'I had a great time, now leave and be gone when I get back.'"

Lizzie blinked a few times, not fully comprehending what she was saying. Surely this girl couldn't think she was anything but a virtuous woman. In all her seventeen years, she'd never even kissed a boy. In fact, the only boy who had even seen her ankles was Shane — okay, so maybe she did have a point.

"Your brother and I, we didn't _do_ anything like _that_." Lizzie didn't feel it was necessary to elaborate to this stranger, but the burn of her cheeks let her know she was blushing. Great. A part of her body that actually worked correctly.

Cheyenne winked and leaned back in the seat. "Of course you didn't, sweetie."

Dear Lord, she didn't believe her. She'd tell the whole town, and they'd be sure to believe her. Lizzie Monroe: whoremonger. Mr. Lawson at the general store would have a fit. And his wife... oh, his wife would love to spread the gossip around. That nosey-nilly thought she was better than everyone else being the choir director at church.

The now familiar weight slammed on Lizzie's chest and she wanted to run away.

Cheyenne leaned up in her chair, her eyes contorted with a mix of concern and 'what is wrong with this girl'. "Um... are you okay?"

"Fine." Such a big lie. They'd know. They'd all know and she'd be the laughingstock of the town...

Except...

"My brother's not worth it, you know?" Cheyenne said with her elbows on her knees. "Don't worry over spending one night with him. You've lasted longer than some girls he's brought home."

Oh dear gracious...

"And besides. It's the twenty-first century. Things like this happen."

But she wasn't from the twenty-first century, now was she... "Not to me."

Cheyenne's brow rose. "Obviously to you."

Obviously...

More than anything, Lizzie wanted to cry or scream or do something besides lie there like a lump and let this girl question her character. Her father would be so upset when he came from the war and found she hadn't been a good—

She shut her eyes. The twenty-first century...

She was in the twenty-first century... She kept forgetting, and she wasn't sure why. Side effect of whatever was keeping her alive, maybe?

Lizzie found a strange comfort in the fact that she wasn't exactly at home. Everyone she knew, everyone who would judge her... everyone who _had_ judged her, would be dead by now. What a curious thing to be comforted by.

She'd miss her mother and her father, of course. Maybe she could get Shane to look them up for her and see what happened to her mother since her father more than likely died like Daniel, but the rest? Not so much. Some of the townfolk in her day were good people on the outside, but the biggest hypocrites in the world inside. Maybe the people in this time were better than that? Cheyenne didn't seem to be the judgmental type, even though she dressed like a...

Now who was judging?

Lizzie felt her chest ease and breath comfortably fill her lungs. Why did her lungs work, but not her legs? Another mystery for another day. "This isn't what you think."

Cheyenne looked intrigued. She leaned back, crossed her long legs, and motioned with her hand. "Please, enlighten me."

Lizzie really didn't know what to say. Shane had already told his sister about her being the Lizzie Monroe, and she didn't believe him. And didn't Shane tell her that if anyone found out who she really was some creepy people would come and take her away? That didn't sound appealing. So she needed to lie. Great, she was terrible at lying.

Fortunately, Cheyenne's rectangular do-hicky sang a song — at least, she thought it was a song, it sounded more like a coyote screeching with drums. What was wrong with the music now? Did no one enjoy an actual soothing melody?

Cheyenne huffed and grabbed the thing from her teeny pocket. She flipped it open and started reading it like a book. Shane told her it was like a wireless telegraph. Amazing. It would take time, but she'd figure this world out. She had to. Fiddling with the ring around her finger with her thumb, she knew she had no other choice.

"Ugh, Jerk." Cheyenne did some strange motions with her thumbs on the rectangular thingy. "I wish he'd leave me alone."

"Who?" Lizzie asked, pushing the ring back to the base of her finger.

"Drake."

"Drake?" She didn't remember Shane mentioning a Drake.

"Yeah." Cheyenne held the contraption in her hand. "Are you not from around here? Everyone knows Drake."

"I'm not, exactly." Truthfully, she was from right down the road, but Cheyenne didn't need to know that.

"Where are you from... exactly?"

Lizzie wasn't positive how to answer that. She didn't have to because the rectangular thing sang again.

"Good gracious!" Cheyenne grunted as she read it again. "This guy doesn't take no for an answer."

"Drake?"

"Yeah. He's Shane's friend. Not mine. He's in the band with us and thinks he's in love with me."

"And you don't reciprocate?" Lizzie couldn't fathom not loving Daniel.

"That's one way to say it. I mean, we're dating I guess. Made out a few times. Nothing major. He's cute, but he's just so clingy. Won't take no for an answer type. Do you know the kind?"

"Not really? I've only ever liked one guy." Loved was more accurate. Actually, 'love' without the _d_ was even more accurate because she loved him as much now as she did then and didn't know if she could face life without him.

"And I take it the one guy isn't my brother." Cheyenne smirked.

"Your brother is a nice guy. He's been very kind to me, but he isn't the love of my life."

"That's alright. You're just a notch on his belt too. Sorry." She seemed to actually feel bad, maybe. Lizzie didn't know that expression, but it didn't sound good.

Cheyenne stood up and smiled. "Just some advice from me to you. Woman to woman. You really should be gone by the time he gets back. I know you were playing this little Lizzie Monroe/Daniel sick role play." She made a disgusted face. Lizzie thought she made one too. "Whatever freaky thing he had with you, it's over. He's moved on and so should you. Next time, pick a better guy to spend your time with. I love my brother, but he is, seriously, the biggest man-whore I've ever met."

Lizzie's face reddened. She knew what a whore was and hated to think of Shane as such. Surely, Cheyenne didn't expect her to pay him.

"He'll have a coronary if you're still here when he gets back. Guys are like that, you know?"

No, she didn't know. "Where will you be?"

"Gotta meet up with Drake." She huffed, using her thumbs to do something else with her phone. "He wants to go see where the church burned down. Guess I shouldn't tell him Shane did it, should I?" She laughed. "You can see yourself out. Just be careful. My mom's home until 9 a.m."

With that, Cheyenne slammed the door behind her. Leaving Lizzie completely stumped. Didn't Cheyenne just say she didn't like Drake? And now she was going to see him, at the burned church...

Her church...

Oh, that couldn't be good.

# Chapter Eight

Shane sat on a rock and watched Preston pace like an idiot. "Dude, you're acting like this is the first time you've ever got in trouble. I know for a fact, it's not. Stop pacing."

"I just don't like it." Preston didn't stop walking. He wrung his hands together like he was squishing a bug. "Maybe we didn't think this through."

"Obviously." Shane rolled his eyes.

"Because if we did, we wouldn't have done it."

"I would have..."

Preston didn't hear him. "What were we thinking?"

Shane knew what _he_ was thinking, a little fun, a little fire, and a little sticking it to his old man by burning the church down he married his mom in. Not that his father could ever know Shane did it, but it was the principle of the thing. A lot of good that did him... the 'principle' got him a spazzing out semi-friend and a nearly paralyzed dead girl in his room. Perfect.

Letting out an annoyed breath, Shane jumped down from the boulder and grabbed Preston by his shoulders until he looked him dead in the eyes. "Preston, I'm only going to say this once. No one can know what we did. No one. I'm eighteen now. Technically an adult. Not even in high school anymore. I'll be sent away and I don't want to end up where my dad is, if you catch my drift. Yeah, it was stupid and we shouldn't have done it, but we did and now we have to keep our traps shut about it. Understand?"

"You don't get it." Preston's big blue eyes pleaded. Shane had never seen him so wild eyed — which was saying a lot with Preston. "I had a dream last night. A dream about Lizzie Monroe."

****

Lizzie watched the place where her toes were under the covers and became very annoyed. Why in the blue blazes couldn't she move her legs? Well, she knew why, but she was getting pretty flustered by it. So far, Shane had left her, and his sister had gotten the WAY wrong idea and thought they'd had relations when they hadn't. And she'd left to meet up with this Drake guy, who she said she didn't like, at the church — at HER church — which was burned to the ground.

That didn't set well with her.

In the thirty minutes since Cheyenne left, she'd worked her arms until she could get them over her head. It wasn't easy, but like her father said, nothing worth anything was.

She was determined to make her legs work. It was horrible enough being stuck in a room, but to be stuck in a bed, in her old wedding clothes and not with her new husband was unacceptable.

Then again, she had nothing else to wear, and Cheyenne's clothes weren't very appealing. Still, she had to try something.

With the moving pictures on the box across the room a faraway roar, Lizzie focused on her legs. First her toes. She prayed, willing them to move. She visualized them wiggling, moving. In the box, she'd moved them. At the beginning, she'd kicked and clawed, she'd moved a lot.

Now that she was out, they gave her nothing. She supposed she'd been stagnant too long. To be honest, she didn't realize she'd stopped moving. It just happened. She'd given up even before she'd been placed in the box, now she had to learn how to have a goal again.

The covers moved. Her big toe fluttered.

Not much, but enough to make her sit up straighter and nearly laugh out loud. She covered her mouth so Shane's mother couldn't hear her, but couldn't keep the sound down. Her toe had actually moved! Hallelujah!

"Lizzie, focus. Now get them all to move."

Lizzie didn't know how long it took her to make her feet roll around on her ankles, and she didn't care, to be honest. Watching them move with ease made her feel better. Maybe there was hope for her yet. At this rate, she'd be walking by tomorrow, maybe even today.

"Shane!" an unfamiliar female voice called from the door, making Lizzie freeze. Who in the world... "Shane! Are you in there?"

Lizzie tried very hard to keep as quiet as she could. Cheyenne was gone so that only left Shane's mother in the house. Lizzie froze, got very still, and prayed with everything she had for the door not to open.

"Shane, I'm leaving for work... The store called and asked if I could work over for Sharon, so I'm going to. Extra money and all. Shane?"

Lizzie wanted to answer, but knew she'd get the wrong idea just like Shane's sister.

"Okay, I'm leaving." She sounded so sad. "See ya later. There's money on the table for a pizza or something for supper. Bye. Be good."

No son was there to tell his mother he loved her. Lizzie heard the footsteps on the wooden floor give and the steps creak as his mother descended them. It broke her heart. Mothers should know their children loved them just like her mother did — or at least she hoped so, even after she found her daughter dead. Lizzie probably should have thought that through.

Lizzie's eyes closed automatically and she swallowed hard. In no way had she thought her suicide out. If she had... she would have never done it. If she had... she would have stayed with her mother.

Unwilling to lie there and feel bad about it any longer, she tossed off the black covers, picked her right leg up, and swung it over the side of the bed. She maneuvered again until she got the left in a similar position with her feet dangling close to the floor.

She could do this... she could. All she needed to do was stand with a little help from the table next to the bed, and her legs would remember what to do.

Easy.

"You can do this," she whispered. Now or never. She grabbed the small table with drawers next to the bed and gripped it within an inch of its life. As she stood, her old joints creaked and protested having to work, and her muscles — ouch — her muscles hurt. It reminded her of when her legs fell asleep sitting in church for long periods of time... only a thousand times more.

With both hands aching from grabbing the table, Lizzie shuffled her feet until they were under her. There, she'd done it. "Good job," she told herself before her legs gave way and she ended up in a lump on the floor.

****

Shane froze and stared at Preston. Now that he actually saw him, he noticed what was wrong with him. The boy was spooked. "It's not your dad asking about the fire that has you so flustered. You aren't scared of Lizzie Monroe, are you?"

"Her? No. Her ghost? Maybe."

The shaking of his voice gave him away as well. This guy was scared of a dead girl who wasn't even dead. Not that Preston knew that, and Shane wasn't in a position to tell him. "You honestly believe in ghosts?"

"No one has proven to me they don't exist."

"That doesn't mean they do."

"Doesn't mean they don't," Preston said defiantly. His eyes were wide and his nose flared when he talked. Must have been some nightmare last night.

"Preston, come on..."

"You don't believe in them?" Preston surprised him with that question. Shane didn't even have to think of an answer

"No." And he didn't. End of story. "And I definitely don't believe in the ghost of Lizzie Monroe." Mainly because the real un-dead Lizzie Monroe was laid up in his room.

"Drake saw her once, you know? Lizzie's ghost." Preston sat down on a boulder next to Shane. He fiddled with his fingers and his leg shook nervously as he spoke.

"He never mentioned it to me."

"Well, he wouldn't, would he? He doesn't want you to think of him as a wimp."

Shane nodded slightly. He agreed with that. Drake drove him crazy, but he always seemed to want his approval for some weird reason. For his part, Shane had never really cared what Drake thought of him. "What did he see?" he asked, very curious. He knew it couldn't have been Lizzie's ghost because there was no Lizzie's ghost.

"At the barn, you know, where she killed herself. He said he went in and said the little rhyme thing you're supposed to say."

He knew it. "'Lonely Lizzie, full of strife. In the barn she took her life...'"

Preston nodded. "'Go there now and count to three. Lonely Lizzie you will see.' Yeah. That one. Anyway, Drake said he went in there one night before they started padlocking it. He said he stood at the beam and said the rhyme. He turned around and there she was. Said it freaked him out, and he ran."

"Doesn't seem scary."

"You didn't see him afterwards. He was white as a sheet, man. He said she threatened him. Said he only had a few more years to live, and then I dream about her after we torched her church? Dude, that's messed up."

It would have been easy for Shane to laugh in Preston's face, because, face it, it was comical. One, there were no such things as ghosts, and two, because there was no way Lizzie was one. But Preston looked bad. Clammy, white, and sweaty. "And you just dreamed of her the once?"

"It was all night, man. And it was so real. We were at the church, watching it burn. Then we heard screaming..."

Shane didn't tell him that's exactly how he remembered it. The flames... the screams... the girl.

"Go on," he urged, suddenly very interested in his story. He wasn't one to believe in dreams or their meanings, but the guy seemed to be relatively convinced about all of this. After all, if you'd asked Shane yesterday morning, he never would have believed in zombies either.

Preston bit his lip above the metal stud. "I don't know. There were screams and we went to the basement. I didn't run like a baby in my dream. Lizzie was there, burning to death in her casket."

Funny how Preston's dream mirrored so well what really happened, except Preston's didn't have the girl coming home with him. "It's just a dream. Nothing more. We all have them."

"It felt real. We heard those screams last night, right?"

Shane could see where this was going and he wasn't happy about it. "Yeah..." he drawled out.

"What do you think it was?" It was a serious question.

_I think it was a seventeen year old dead girl screaming in her grave..._ "I think it was coyotes."

"Coyotes?"

"Yeah." It was Shane's turn to get up and pace, and anyone who knew Shane knew he didn't pace. It wasn't his style. Calm, cool, and collected were his style. Not all tense like he had been since last night. Preston, of all people, was rubbing off on him. "I mean, which is more likely? That a few coyotes were around or that the ghost of Lizzie Monroe was screaming at us?"

Preston gave a short little laugh, enough to bring some color to his cheeks. "You're right. I don't know what I've been thinking."

"You've been thinking I'm in deep crap with Shane for burning the church down. So guilt-ridden, you are seeing dead girls and freaking out in rock quarries."

"I guess, but, man. It was so real. Reckon what did happen to her? Lizzie Monroe is buried in that church. In a wall. What did the fire do to her?" He looked sick to his stomach.

"Does it really matter?" Shane asked, scrambling to come up with some sort of lie to cover his and Lizzie's tracks. Cheyenne knew about the girl in his room. That was one person too many. "She's dead. It's not like she could feel it if the fire got her, right?"

"That's kinda morbid." Preston laughed sadly and patted Shane on the shoulder.

Preston had calmed down. That was a good thing, but it couldn't be a routine thing. "We can't afford to have it happen again. It will blow over. No one will care about the church or who burned it down in a few weeks. Least of all Lizzie Monroe."

Preston smiled nervously, but not as nervously as before. "Yeah, Lizzie is too dead to care."

What Preston didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

# Chapter Nine

June 1862

She ran to the barn, flung the door open, then slammed it behind her. She paced the dirt, sobbing in her hands. This couldn't be happening.

Lizzie couldn't stop pacing. What was she going to do now? He was gone and never coming back. It wasn't fair. God wasn't fair.

She never heard the door behind her open or her mother step in. "Lizzie?" Mother asked from behind her. "I'm so sorry."

Her mother walked toward her with her arms out to comfort her, but Lizzie didn't want comforting. She wanted her mother to go away so she could deal with her grief by herself... in her own way.

She turned her back and paced toward the other open barn door. A warm summer breeze blew in, whipping her brown hair around her face. She angrily pushed it aside. The world shouldn't be this warm or pretty. Not even the warmest breeze could warm her frigid bones. "I need to be alone, Mother. Please."

"Let me help you," her mother said a few feet behind her. "I know this is difficult, and it's not fair. But you can't let it defeat you."

Yes she could. It already had. Lizzie stood straighter but with her back still turned toward her mother. "Daniel's family doesn't know. I hate to ask this, but... can you go tell them? I don't think I can do it and they need to know. They don't need to keep wishing for a miracle that isn't going to happen."

"Of course." Lizzie heard footsteps coming toward her and she tensed, hugging herself tightly. "Elizabeth, I love you. You're a strong woman. You'll get through this. It'll hurt for a while, probably a long while, but eventually you will move on. I promise." She wrapped her hands around Lizzie's waist and kissed the nape of her neck. "Grieve all you want. I'll leave you be."

Lizzie let out a shaky, tear-soaked breath as she heard her mother walking away and the barn door shut behind her. With a broken heart, she fell to the floor, anguish and anger convulsing through her body.

It was there that she saw her father's old knife hanging above the horse's stall. Her mind went on instinct as she stood, wiped the dirt from her dress and inched toward it. Mother was wrong. She couldn't live without him. There was no way. It hurt too much, and she didn't ever see it stopping.

They didn't even have a body to bury properly. She'd heard horror stories of mass graves on the battlefields and couldn't breathe when she thought of Daniel rotting away in one. Handsome Daniel. He'd always taken pride in his appearance. Always properly dressed, even when she saw him tending the family farm in his tan pants and suspenders. And his smile. That smile melted her heart.

That boy... her boy... was thrown away like slop to hogs. Just a body. Like the countless others who had died in the war. Others who had families, kids, mothers, fathers, lives... now they all had something in common. They were all dead, under the ground. Tossed in there with others like they never mattered. Like they didn't have a life or a family. That was it. That was the end of his life. It wasn't fair. He was just twenty.

She grabbed the knife with trembling fingers.

She needed Daniel. There was no other person who would love her like he did. She needed to see him again, be with him, love him.

Like an act of self-preservation, her mother's face flashed in her mind and Lizzie hesitated with the knife inches from her wrist. Her mother would be devastated to find her dead. It would crush her, and she hated hurting her mother that way.

Lizzie hoped Mother would understand that it had nothing to do with her. She was seventeen and able to make her own decisions, and she chose to be with Daniel... forever.

"God," Lizzie said the word bitterly. "You took my Daniel away from me, so I have no choice. None. I know I have no right, but please let this be alright. I need this to be alright. I need to be with Daniel. I need to see him. In Jesus' name I pray, Amen."

Lizzie held the cold steel of her father's knife against her wrist, shaking with each word she could barely get out. No matter what she prayed, she knew it wouldn't be alright. Nothing would ever be alright again.

She regretted that her mother would find her, but she couldn't dwell on that. Life had taken away her one love, the one person she wanted to grow old with. The one person she couldn't live without. If life was going to be so cruel to her, she wanted to be that cruel back.

Determined, she rolled up the long sleeves of her dress, first the right hand then the left. She fell back against one of the beams of the barn and slid to the packed dirt floor. While sitting in the shadow, the late afternoon sun shone in through the open barn doors to her right toward the forest. It was almost mocking her. Taunting her. Smiling when it should be frowning. It should be raining, thundering, anything but sunny and happy. Nothing would ever be happy again.

She'd never be happy again.

Sobs wouldn't stop shaking her body as she thought about Daniel, alone and dying. Daniel who had thought of her in his last breaths. She ran her fingers over the brass ring he'd given her, or rather Frederick had. Daniel had never had the chance. Their engagement ring. A ring she'd never take off as long as she lived, and beyond.

Had Daniel been scared? Had he been hurting? Such silly questions, of course he had. He'd been shot. He'd lain dying in the middle of a war, dying with thousands others.

If she couldn't have him in life, she'd have him in death.

Finally, all of her tears dried up. She sat stone-faced, staring across the barn at some imaginary thing she couldn't focus on. "Forgive me," she said without any emotion as she ran the knife deep in one wrist then the other. It fell from her hand and she leaned her head against the beam, feeling the life run from her. She got light-headed, and her limbs grew heavy. Wetness saturated her leg. Blood.

Her blood.

She sat silently thinking about the life she'd never live. The babies she'd never have. The husband she'd never cook for. She'd never make her mother a grandmother, nor would she see her father again in this world.

Her eyelids became very heavy and she tried to hold them open, but it didn't work. They rolled back in her head and her head fell to the ground. Her first thought, actually her last thought, wasn't of Daniel or her father. It wasn't of her mother and the life she wouldn't have now. It was of God. Even though He'd been so cruel to take Daniel from her, she still heard the sermons her father preached echoing in her head. She hoped He wouldn't be mad at her and make her suffer.

****

"Hey, Lizzie. Wake up. You're still with me, right?"

She fought to open her eyes, but they were heavy, tired. Why? She didn't know. Hadn't she rested enough in her coffin all those years?

"Lizzie, sit up. Come on." The floor under her head fell away and she found herself in a sitting position with her head against something soft. A bed by the feel of it.

Peeking through the slits in her uncooperative eyes, she saw Shane kneeling in front of her. His brows were knit so close she thought it would give him a headache. "What's wrong? Did you pass out? _Can_ you pass out?"

Did she? "I don't believe so. I tried to walk, and..."

"You tried to walk?" he said, flabbergasted. "Did it work? Did you fall and hit your head?" He scooted closer to her and pulled her head toward him, examining the back and sides. "I don't see any blood."

Her face must have contorted some way because Shane was back in her face in an instant. "Hey, Lizzie. Is something wrong? Is something... um... happening? Is whatever keeping you alive running out? 'Cause I can't have a dead body in my room?"

She had no idea why she was still on this earth, but she didn't feel like it was running out. She just felt tired. Sleepy even. It took every ounce of energy she had to shake her head. "No, I'm just sleepy."

"Sleepy, like passing out sleepy?" He sounded worried. She couldn't figure out why, except for the whole dead body thing in his room. She could see how that would be a bad thing especially when the 'body' was a 200 year old corpse.

"No, like sleepy. I've been working hard since you've been gone. I got my legs to move."

"Obviously, because you're lying on the floor so well."

Thinking back, she couldn't remember a more sarcastic person in her time. Well... maybe one... or two. Were all people like that now? Or had she just gotten lucky? "At least they moved. That was a start. I stood and started walking ,or rather sliding around the room, holding on to things of course."

"Of course." He smirked, but it didn't look like he meant it.

"And I couldn't go on anymore. I plopped to the floor and couldn't get up. I must have fallen asleep."

"How do you know you were asleep?"

A lump formed in her throat. "Because I was dreaming."

He sat down in front of her and crossed his legs at the knees, leaning over as if very interested in what she had to say. For her part, she didn't feel like saying anything. In fact, she'd rather forget it. "What were you dreaming?"

Her eyes fluttered at the request. No part of her wanted to get into it.

"Come on, you can tell me." He sounded genuinely interested. "What could a girl who has been in a casket for over one hundred and fifty years possible dream about?"

"Killing myself." She glanced at him when she said it, then averted her eyes to the floor, ashamed.

He clearly hadn't been expecting that. Shane cleared his throat and pulled the black ring holding his hair back out, causing the curls to spill around his face. "Oh, wow. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"Don't be sorry.. I did it. Might as well not be upset over it now."

"I know, but still, it's a big deal. You were so upset that you saw no other way out. That's pretty messed up."

A ghost of a smile pulled her lips. " _Messed up_ it was."

"Do you... uh... want to talk about it or something?" He sounded very uncomfortable about it, and she didn't want to discuss it either. She'd let him off the hook.

"Not really. Can't change what happened or what I did."

He got so quiet, she took the chance to glance at him. Something was on his mind and she wondered if he'd spit it out. She should have known him well enough by now to know he would. "Do you ever regret it?"

She took a deep breath, trying to buy some time to find the right words. "Yes. More than you could ever imagine. It didn't turn out like I planned anyway." She laughed darkly.

"I keep thinking and I just don't understand how you're here. It doesn't make any sense." He scooted against the desk across from her and crossed his arms. Hopefully if she was lucky, he'd drop the conversation about her suicide and talk about something else. "If you wanted to die, why aren't you dead?"

It was a good question. "I have no idea. It's not like I used any sort of magic to keep myself alive. I know that was your theory, but I didn't. That would have been counterproductive, wouldn't it?"

"I'd say so." He bit his lip and some sort of clicking sound came from his mouth. His eyes squinted together and he studied her up and down intently. It was starting to get very uncomfortable. "Maybe you didn't use any sort of magic, but maybe someone else did."

That was his big assumption? "Like who?"

"I don't know. I wasn't around in the eighteen hundreds. But, honestly sister, magic is the only theory that makes sense at this point."

_Speaking of sisters_ ... "Your sister was here earlier."

His eyes lit up like he'd seen a rattlesnake. "In here? With you? What did she say? What did you say?"

Obviously, this wasn't good news to him. "She said I needed to leave because all of your girls were expected to be gone by the time you got back." He slammed his forehead in his palm, and she swore she saw him blush. "And then she got a message on the little rectangle thingy from a man named Drake."

His head shot up. "That idiot? What did Cheyenne do?"

"She said she needed to meet him somewhere."

"And she didn't say where?"

"Yeah, she did actually. And your mom came up here."

"My mom!" He sat up straighter and looked a funny shade of green. "Did she come in? Did she see you?"

"She stood outside and said she was working over tonight. You know, you should really be nicer to her."

His features darkened. "Thanks for that sage advice, but you don't know my mother. Enough about her, what about Cheyenne? Where did she go?"

"You mean after she told me I was a, how did she say it, a notch on your belt and that I should leave before you got back and weren't happy to see me?"

Shane cringed. "Don't listen to her. The one thing you can't do is leave. We have to get this all figured out first. If someone finds out about you, about the church, I'd be in huge trouble."

It was her time to knit her brows. "Why would you be in trouble over the church? It was an accident, _right_?"

His mouth opened a few times, but nothing came out. He looked like he'd been caught eating a piece of mother's pie after she'd put it out to cool. "Never mind. Just, you have to stay here until we figure this out. First things first, we need to figure out how you are alive. We don't want you to drop dead any second and then I'd have to explain a body to the cops."

His compassion was overwhelming. Oh lookie, she'd gotten the sarcastic thing too. Now she was a real futuristic girl.

"Did anything different happen to you before you died? Did you see someone new? Or put on something new? Anything?"

She didn't have to think long. "Both actually. Frederick, Daniel's friend, came to see me about his death. He's the one who told me."

"How did Daniel die exactly? In the war I suppose." He didn't sound mean by his question, but it didn't hold a lot of compassion. It was just a question with no emotion in it. It had been very emotional to her.

"Shot. As were many men I assume." She wondered if her father had been shot too. The odds were likely that he had been.

"But this Frederick wasn't." He kept right on going with this conversion.

"No... well, actually, he was. Had his arm off at the shoulder and a head injury. It was wrapped when he came to the house. I think he said he was going to visit his family, then join the Confederates again, but I venture to say he didn't. I wouldn't have gone back if I were him."

"So, Daniel and Frederick fought for the South."

She nodded. "And my father for the North."

He looked shocked. "You don't say. I don't think I've ever heard that part of the legend."

"Well, that legend is my life, and I lived it so I know it to be true. Caused quite a bit of tension actually. The last Christmas we were all home, it was very hard for all of us. Daniel begged my father to change sides and fight with him, but my father refused."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "He had his reasons. The war was fought for many reasons: state's rights among them."

"Slavery," Shane added.

"Slavery," she agreed. "My father didn't believe in it."

"And Daniel did?" The way he asked, Lizzie took it to mean Daniel was losing favor in Shane's eyes.

She had to remedy that. "No. He didn't. He and my father agreed on that part. But he thought that the states should get to decide how they wanted to live and that the federal government shouldn't be able to dictate it. I mean, we did secede from England after all. Why couldn't a few states secede from the Union?"

Shane didn't seem to have an answer for that. Good, because she was finished talking politics.

"Anyway, Frederick came to my home and told me all that happened to Daniel. Daniel had made him promise as he lay dying on the battlefield so Frederick fulfilled his promise." Her mind wandered. "I wonder what became of him."

"We could look it up, I suppose," Shane said.

"I'd like that." She smiled back. For a second, she caught herself staring into Shane's beautiful brown eyes. He really was handsome in his own way. She blinked a few times to get that thought out of her mind. Daniel was her beau, and she'd best remember it. "I bet my home isn't even there now."

"No, it is." Shane said, surprising her.

"It is?"

"It's a museum now. A museum dedicated to you. You're pretty popular here in Dixon actually."

It made no sense to her. "Why? What did I ever do to get notoriety? I took my own life."

"I guess that's why. People love a good, dramatic love story, and yours is a pretty tragic one. Your house is there and the barn you, um, for lack of a better word, _did the deed_ in. It's all there."

"Huh," she looked away and let her mind try to process that. "I'd like to see it again, I think. I never in a million years thought I would."

"I don't know about a million years, but I do know one hundred and fifty years later, it's still there. But I don't thinking seeing it is a good idea."

"Why?"

"Because," he said like it was the most obvious thing ever. "There are pictures of you everywhere. I think they'd recognize you at the 'Lizzie Monroe' museum."

"Probably so," she said sadly.

"Yeah. So no going to the museum. Let's get back on track. You say this Frederick..."

"Davis!" she said quickly.

"Yeah. That's my last name... so..."

"No, Davis. Frederick Davis. That was the man's name that told me about Daniel. That's why I had a fit when I learned your name yesterday."

"You had so many fits, I never noticed." He smiled. "A Davis actually told you about Daniel?"

She nodded.

"Hmmm... that's pretty cool, I guess."

"You don't think it's a coincidence?"

"I don't know, but it is pretty darn interesting, I'll give you that. Did he do anything or give you anything that was different?"

"He gave me this." She held up her hand and showed him her finger.

"The ring?" He scooted closer to inspect it. He twirled the little oval thing to the left, then to the right, inspecting every angle. "An engagement ring?"

She nodded. "Frederick said Daniel gave it to him as he was dying. Made him promise to give it to me."

"Did he say where he got it?"

"Said he bought of it from a fellow soldier from Louisiana."

Shane's head shot up and his eyes narrowed. "Louisiana? Like New Orleans? Voodoo?"

_Uhhh..._ "I guess so. But I know Daniel. He wouldn't give me anything attached to Black Magic."

"He might not have known." Shane again inspected the ring on her finger. "What's that?" He pointed to a small symbol on the back of the band.

"I don't know. I saw it earlier."

"Hmmmm..." He looked it over more carefully. To be honest, it felt strangely nice for him to be holding her hand. He was warm and had just the right amount of muscles showing through his black shirt...

_Stop it!_ she ordered herself.

"Maybe we can do an internet search to see if we can find any information on this ring. Hold on." He took his rectangular thing that I thought he said sent telegraphs and people's voices through the air and did some things with his thumbs. He then fixed her hand into a ball and held the contraption over it. "Don't move." He ordered as he stared at the rectangular thing.

"Why?" she whispered, almost afraid to move. It wasn't entirely comfortable what he was doing, whatever it was.

"Because I don't want the picture to be fuzzy. Now hold still." He kept his eyes on the little device the entire time.

"Picture? Like a photograph?"

"Exactly." He did something and then looked at her with a smile. "Got it."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. See?" He put the device to her eye level and pushed a button. "There?" He turned it around, and sure enough. It was her image.

"Amazing. I've looked better, however. My hair..."

"Looks good for your age." He smiled warmly. His eye twinkled. "Okay. Turn your hand so I can get a picture of the symbol." She complied and he stared in the rectangular thing again.

"Do you want me to take it off?"

"Um... No. That might not be a good idea until we know what it is," he said, pushing more buttons.

"Why?"

He looked up at her. "Because I've watched TV and movies in my time. That ring might be the key keeping you alive. Who knows what will happen if that's true and you take it off."

She hadn't thought about that. "Good point. I've worn it this long. Might as well wear it longer."

"That a girl," he said. "There. It's uploaded."

She didn't know what 'uploaded' meant, but she just went with it. "What is?"

"The picture. Look." He turned the phone so she could see it, and, sure enough, there was a picture of her hand right there."

"Amazing," she said in awe.

"Back in your day, I bet it was a chore getting your picture taken. No point and click."

"It was not an everyday occurrence, that's for certain. I recall one time a photographer came through town. He took all of our pictures. Mother, Daddy, and I got dressed in our Sunday best." She could still remember the summer day. It had been warm and her layers made her perspire, but Mother had insisted they look their best. It wasn't every day one got their picture taken, and Mother couldn't wait to have a photograph of them to keep. "I had on a dark purple dress and a matching bonnet. I wasn't fond of the bonnet, but Mother said it was necessary. She had on a light pink dress Daddy had paid to be made specifically for her. It was beautiful. And my Daddy, well, he had on a black suit and hat. We all were warm that day." She laughed at the memory.

"The photographer had to wait on the sun and sing this silly little song. And we couldn't move. Not a flinch. Not even a smile."

"Is that why people in old photos don't smile?"

"We were told not to because it messed with the exposure or something. The photograph actually turned out pretty good." Guilt hit her. Lizzie wondered if her mother looked at the picture after she'd killed herself. It was all she had of her family. If Lizzie could have taken it back, she would have. It had been a very rash decision, a decision she now regretted. Her poor mother. Didn't matter now though. Her mother was dead herself, just like everyone she knew. And so should she be.

"Is that the picture at the museum?"

Lizzie tilted her head. "How would I know? You won't let me go. But we didn't have many taken, so I assume it is the same one. I'm glad she kept it." She thought again of her mother. What kind of a life had she had after Lizzie left?

"How about this picture? Do you remember taking it?" Shane reached for his wallet and pulled out a piece of parchment. Lizzie looked it over. The top said, _Love's Suicide_. Under it was a picture of her. She had brown ringlets falling around her face and a white dress.

"Where did you get this?" she asked as she stared at herself. The girl in the photograph had so much potential in life. It had been taken only a year before Daniel's death.

"Google," Shane answered.

Like that was supposed to mean anything to her. "Why do you have it?"

Shane put the parchment in his lap. "It's my band's logo... our... uh... calling card. What we use for advertising. I told you, we got our name from your story."

"Love's Suicide."

"I'm sorry. It wasn't like I actually thought I'd ever meet you. You were just a story. The town legend. A way to get paying customers." She couldn't decipher if Shane felt bad or not, but him using her picture to make money wasn't something that appealed to her.

Shane folded the paper and placed it back in his wallet. "I am sorry, you know. I never really thought about you as a person. I just thought it was a pretty sick story."

She just stared at him. Sometimes when he spoke, it sounded like gibberish.

"And... by sick, I mean pretty cool." He tried to explain himself by using other words she didn't understand. Not every helpful.

She stared some more, unsure of what she should say.

"And by pretty cool, I mean interesting. Fasciniating."

"Oh!" It finally made sense.

Shane's rectangular photograph/telegraph/telephone machine started ringing like a bell and he, fiddled with it some more and leaned back against the desk. "I've posted the pics to a message board I've been on a few times. Old timey things I had to look up for a school project once. If anyone knows what it is, it'll be them. And I'm going to try to look up the symbol."

Lizzie sure wasn't going to ask what a message board was. All the new information might make her mind explode."Do you really think this ring has something to do with why I'm here?" She rolled it around her finger. Such a little thing to cause such a big unnatural act.

"I think it has the potential. We need to know what it is and what magic it might have."

"If it's magic at all," she corrected. The thought of having a magic ring on her finger didn't sit right with her. She had been raised to denounce all types of the occult. Then again, she'd been raised not to slit her own wrists too.

"If it's not magic, what is it?" he challenged, sitting across from her. "God? Did God keep you alive in that casket for the past one hundred and fifty years?"

"Maybe," she said defiantly, but she wasn't sure she believed it. It wasn't that she didn't think God could do it. He raised Lazarus from the dead after all, and wasn't she sort of like Lazarus? But she wasn't sure He would. She should be dead, and she knew it. Something was doing it, and she wanted to know what.

"Maybe." He scoffed with a laugh. "Well, you keep dreaming that way and I'll work on the practical."

"Magic is practical?" It was her turn to scoff. "Doesn't seem much more ludicrous than the idea of God."

Shane's face hardened and his nose flared a bit. "The idea of an all-knowing, all-powerful God is ludicrous in my book. I'd believe in something evil over something good any day."

"Why?" She was truly curious. Why would someone want to believe in evil over good? Dark magic over God's power and love?

"Have you seen the world?" He jumped up in a huff and pointed out the window toward the big world outside.

"No, I can't say I have," she said with a rigid jaw.

Shane's expression softened and his arm fell to his side. He leaned his hip on the desk and stared down at her. "I don't suppose you have." He took a deep breath. "Look, the world is awful. It's horrible. It's cold and it's evil. We have people shooting at kids in schools and movie theaters. We are in no telling how many wars and people can't just leave others alone. So yeah, I believe in evil over good, because I, for the life of me, can't figure out why a God... A loving, caring God, would let this happen in the world. I don't understand how _He_ ..." Shane put his fingers up as quotes. "...can cause tornadoes or hurricanes that kill hundreds of people in less than an hour's time, and He isn't considered a mass murderer. I don't get it, and if you are going to sit there and shove religion down my throat, I'm going to tell you right now, that I don't want it."

Lizzie sat silent for a few moments, studying him. She'd never in her life or the after heard someone speak so passionately about the non-existence of God. "I'm not going to shove anything down your throat."

"Good..."

She kept talking over him. "But I am going to tell you that you are wrong. I know how bad the world is... or I knew. It wasn't fun or pleasant in my time either. People got shot every day. There was so much tension because of the war. Was Tennessee going to secede? Was it not? It only did by the slimmest of margins and that led to strife between people. It was an uncertain world, like I gather it still is. There's nothing new under the sun, Mr. Davis. It's just presented differently."

"Then why in the world can you believe in a good God?

"Because I'd rather believe in a God that loves me than in a world that hates me."

Shane scratched his chin and shook his head. "I'm not telling you you're wrong, because it's a free country, and you can believe what you want to believe. But I will say if there is a God, He has a very warped sense of humor."

"Is that why you burned down my church? Because you were mad at God?"

Shane's eyes widened a bit then recovered. "Which would imply I actually believed in Him."

"I think you do. Deep down, you do."

"Just drop it, Lizzie! It was an accident, remember?"

"Mr. Davis..."

"Stop calling me that! It's Shane. My name is Shane, and I didn't burn down your church to get back at God."

"Don't lie to me."

"I didn't," he said defiantly.

Well, she could be just as defiant. "Then how come you were there? Don't get me wrong. I'm glad you were, but I'm not stupid, Shane. I don't know what your gadgets are in this time, but I know people. You burned it down — accident or not — and when you heard me screaming, you panicked."

"That's not true," he said with less fire.

"It is! And I appreciate it. I do. I'm glad I got out. Who knows what would have happened if I caught on fire? I don't know how far this ring do-hickey will protect me." For the first time, that scared her. In the hours since her rescue, she'd taken for granted that she would live. Now, looking at the ring, she couldn't help wondering how much so called _magic_ it possessed and how long until her Earthly life was over. Would it be a slow drawn out death, or would she just fall over? And what would happen if she took the ring off? Shane said it wouldn't be good. She wasn't ready to test that theory. Not just yet. Not unless she had to.

****

Shane jumped on the chance to change the subject. Sure, it wasn't an accident he'd burned down the church — a stupid, stupid move on his part. Now he had his sister knowing the truth, Preston being a big baby, and his mom suspicious... not to mention the 'dead' Lizzie Monroe talking his ear off about God in his bedroom. "That's why we need to figure out where the ring came from, what the symbol means, and the rules associated with it."

"Rules?" Her little nose wrinkled and he couldn't help but warm inside. This girl, this poor girl really had no idea of the twenty-first century. Anyone now would know that any sort of magic had 'rules', if not learned in some book or vampire TV show.

"According to popular belief..."

"Belief?" She raised a brow. Of course she picked up on the one word that reminded her of her God. She was like a religious bloodhound.

"Not that kind of belief. Belief like a generally accepted fact."

"Like God." She smiled mischievously.

"Don't push it." But he couldn't help but grin back. He could see why Daniel had been infatuated with her. She had a certain way about her, a sweetness. "Anyway, the popular belief is all magic has a price or that it has limits. We have to figure out the limits of your ring. How long will it keep you alive and what happens if you take it off?"

She looked down at her hand. "We can take care of that right now."

Before Shane could stop her, Lizzie reached down and pulled the ring up past her knuckles and over her fingernails. "Stop!" he yelled, lurching toward her. It was too late.

With the ring in her right hand, Lizzie looked up at him with surprise. "I feel fine."

"You feel fine?" He could feel his heart beating in his throat. He couldn't believe that. It had to be the ring that kept her alive. It had to be.

"Yeah. Fine." She smiled and looked at her hand. "What does that mean?"

He let out a shaky breath. He'd be darned. "I'm not sure. It has to be the ring though. What else could be keeping you alive?" Shane reached for her hand and looked it over. "That's... crazy."

"Well, whatever it is... it's not that ring." She dropped the oval thing to the floor beside her wedding dress covered knee. "Any other theories?"

He scarcely got a syllable out in answer before Lizzie coughed violently and the blackest gunk Shane had ever seen shot out of her mouth. She caught it in her hand and looked up at Shane in horror.

Blood.

Black blood.

"Shane," she said before another coughing fit took her over. Another wad of black shot out of her mouth, splattering on her formerly white dress.

She looked down at her wrists and saw the slits she'd placed there over a hundred years ago reopen, and the dark liquid freely oozing from them.

Shane was at her side in two seconds. He grabbed her by the shoulders and sat her up. "You cannot die. Got it? I don't want to lose... I can't explain it to my mom if you do."

She smiled with black stained teeth. "Guess it was the ring after all." Her eyes rolled back in her head and the corpse became a corpse again.

# Chapter Ten

1862 — month unclear

Lizzie woke up in a fright. The dream had seemed so real. She'd been told of Daniel's death, given the ring, and then went to the barn to end her not-worth-living life.

It was dark and cold, and the air was stale. She tried to catch her breath, but she couldn't. The air she sucked in didn't seem to be reaching her lungs. Unsure why she couldn't even see the moon shining in her room, she sat up and hit her head on something hard. Something wooden over her head kept her from going any higher.

She froze. It couldn't be what she thought it was. It couldn't be. There was no way.

Lizzie kicked her knees up, sure to knock whatever had fallen on her head off. Her legs only rose a few inches before they hit the barrier as well. Panicked, she threw her hands above her. Sure enough, all she felt was hard wood, under her as well.

She was in a coffin!

It was all real.

Not a dream.

Daniel was dead.

And so was she.

It wasn't a coffin.

It was Hell.

This wasn't want she had been expecting when she slid the knife across her arms. She'd expected to wake up and see a warm, sunny paradise. She expected to see Daniel running toward her, and her father, if he was already there. They would be happy with Jesus for all time.

The tiny box wasn't warm. It wasn't Heaven. Was this it? All alone for the rest of her afterlife. Never seeing Daniel or her father again.

Lizzie kicked and scratched the wood, trying everything she could to get it to open. Wooden splinters ate away at her fingernails. She smelled the blood. All the while, she screamed at the top of her lungs to get out, but no one ever answered.

Hell, indeed.

****

Blood.

Blood?

It spilled from her wrists and her mouth like a person with diseased lungs, only she had no disease that she knew of. Shane tried to help her, but she didn't see it doing any good. Just like in the barn, she felt the life flowing from her and she fought to keep her eyes open.

It was no use. Her body became rigid and there was no way she could sit up any more. She fell to the side and stared at the ring. She probably shouldn't have taken it off.

At least this time, she wasn't inside a box.

****

"Lizzie. Lizzie." Shane climbed on top of her, one leg on each side and shook her, not too hard at first, then hard enough to shake her forcefully. She had to wake up.

"Okay... okay... this isn't good." What could he do? One, he could get off of her. It wasn't a good position to be on a dead girl. Two, he had to make her undead.

The ring.

It had worked once. Maybe it would again.

A quick scan of the floor showed nothing. He couldn't find the stupid thing. He grumbled an expletive, pushed his hair back behind his ears when it fell into his eyes, and crawled over her so he had a better view of the floor.

Metal shone under the nightstand.

Not wasting any time, he reached under the table, stretching until he found it. When he got it in his fingers, he dragged it out and turned back to Lizzie. She looked horrible. A puddle of blood pooled around her, and her face was ashen.

Not stopping to think, he grabbed her cold and lifeless left hand. He pushed it on her finger and waited, hoping every old movie he'd ever seen about magic rings was right. If not, he was royally screwed.

"Come on... come on," he whispered watching her chest. It wasn't his normal reason for watching a girl's chest, but this time it was necessary. She had to open her eyes. At least give him one sign she wasn't gone for good.

"What the heck!"

Shane's own heart sank and a wave of sickness hit his stomach. He'd been so worried about Lizzie that he didn't hear his bedroom door open or Cheyenne walking in. "You killed her?"

"I didn't kill her. Why would you automatically start with that conclusion?" He'd have to remember to thank his sister for the vote of confidence when I got the dead girl back to her undead status.

"I'd think it was fairly obvious. Can't say I ever saw you as the murdering type," said a very familiar, and oh so annoying male voice behind her.

Shane shut his eyes and didn't even turn to look. Of all the people, of all the people to see this. It had to be him.

"What did you do to her?" Cheyenne ran over to kneel beside of Lizzie. She pushed Shane to the side, but he didn't budge. Lizzie was his to deal with, not Cheyenne's. "Oh gracious! Shane! Did you drug her?"

He just glared. "When this is over, we are really going to have to talk about how much you don't trust me."

"Evidence." She pointed to Lizzie's lifeless body.

"She's not dead." _Lord, please let her not be dead._ He couldn't believe he just prayed to something not five minutes ago he claimed to not believe in. Just great. His entire life was screwed up.

"She looks dead," Drake, ever helpful Drake, announced from a few feet away. "What's with all the blood...? What the— Did you cut her wrists, man?" he screeched, horrified.

"No!"

"And I knew you were into this Lizzie thing, but why did you have to get a look alike to sleep with? And you killed her? Slit her writs like the real Lizzie did?" Cheyenne shrieked.

"I didn't..."

"Call 9-1-1," Cheyenne ordered Drake who pulled out his phone.

"Stop!" Shane reached back and knocked it from Drake's hand. Drake started to say something ugly, but Shane talked over him. "You can't call the cops."

"Why? She's dying if she's not already dead." Cheyenne reached down for a pulse. She jerked her hand back, her eyes wide. "Shane," she whispered. "What did you do?"

Shane actually had no words to explain it. Two people he really didn't want to depend on to keep his secret knew about the dead girl in his room. Wonderful.

The girl under him took in a huge breath and sat up, holding her chest as she gasped for air. Shane caught her by the shoulders and leaned down to look in her eyes. She didn't have to breathe, so Shane had no idea why she was. But at least she was moving. Moving was good. "Breathe, girl. Just breathe," he ordered. Good. Score one for him. And they now knew beyond a doubt that it was the ring keeping her alive. Score two.

Of course his twin and her idiot boyfriend had watched the dead girl become undead in his room... Score them.

He tried to cover it up, though he was sure his uninvited guests saw the slits on Lizzie's wrists closing until they were only scars. It was pretty cool and pretty freaky at the same time.

"Shane," Cheyenne said slowly. "What's going on?"

Shane motioned to Drake. "Not in front of him."

"Not a chance, buddy." Drake sat down in the rolling chair in front of the desk. "I'm in on this now. What kind of freaky, kinky thing are you into?"

Shane wanted to get up and throw the little — word he didn't normally say out loud — out of his room and lock the door. Lizzie was his and no one else's. A lot of good it had done him to keep her in his room. She hadn't been there twenty-four hours before Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb found out about her.

His life sucked.

"Wait. Does this have something to do with the fire?" Drake asked, curious. Shane wasn't used to hearing him without at least a hint of snark in his voice. It didn't suit him.

"Fire?"

"You can drop the innocent act," Cheyenne said.

It ticked him off, quite frankly. Hadn't she promised to keep his secret?

"You told him?" He gritted his teeth.

"Now who needs to talk about trusting each other?" She bit back.

"I accused you of a breaking a promise, not killing someone. I think that's a bit of a difference." Shane glared.

"Children. We get it. You're both untrustworthy. You have issues. Shut up about it and tell me what's going on. Why did you set the old church on fire?"

Shane was going to tell him, again, that he didn't when Cheyenne shook her head at him. "He knows, Shane. Drake and I went to the old church today to scope the damage. We couldn't go downstairs because it had collapsed, but Mr. Brown was there. You know? The person in charge of the upkeep of the church?"

_He'd done a fine job_ , Shane thought sarcastically. He just nodded with irritation. Lizzie groaned in his arms and he rubbed her cheek to soothe her. He'd much rather deal with her than the two others trying to ruin his life.

"He said the fire department checked out the basement to make sure no one was down there. Kids acting foolish and the like." She let him know through her steely stare that she was talking about him. He got it, thanks.

"They found a hole in the wall and what they think was Lizzie Monroe's casket burned up down there."

It was Drake's turn. He sat in the desk chair backwards and leaned his chin on his folded arms which rested on the back of the chair. "But no sign of a body. Not even bones. Which is strange because you would assume something would be in a coffin. A dress. Something. It wouldn't have all disappeared."

"You know what happens when you assume." Shane couldn't help saying it. He really needed a new joke.

"Ohhhh." Drake smirked. "Touchy."

"What does this have to do with me?" He wanted them gone so he could focus on Lizzie. While better, and moving, she didn't look quite right. He needed to get her in the bed and comfortable before something else happened. And he had to be sure to never let her take that ring off again.

Drake sat straighter. "I think you set the fire, and I don't know, got all kinky and went to steal Lizzie's body."

"Are you insane?" Shane nearly pushed Lizzie out of his lap to slap his band mate. It would feel good if he did. Big idiot. "That's morbid."

"And yet, here she sits."

"This girl's not dead." Shane shot back.

"She was," Cheyenne, ever helpful, said. "When we came in."

"Do you know how crazy you sound?" Shane scoffed. Crazy, maybe. But getting way too close to the truth."She's not who you think."

"Then enlighten us," Drake said way too politely. Shane knew this wouldn't end well. "Why is there a girl dressed in a tattered wedding dress, who looks a lot like Lizzie Monroe lying on your floor? Why was she dead when we walked in, but very much alive now? Why wasn't there anyone in the casket in the church? And where's the real Lizzie Monroe?"

"I am Lizzie Monroe," Lizzie said before Shane could stop her. There had to be some way to shut her up that didn't involve her bleeding all over his floor.

# Chapter Eleven

Time Unknown

"Mother! oh, sing me to rest. As in my bright days departed: Sing to thy child, the sick-hearted, Songs for a spirit oppress'd."

Lizzie heard the muffled words, muffled and so far away, but comforting. She'd heard that song, Mother, Sing Me to Rest, in church when she was younger at a baby girl's funeral. It had been so lovely. So haunting.

She could hear Heaven, hear the souls of the dead singing, and it was pure torture. The people above her... the people in Heaven got to sing songs to God, songs to Jesus, and be happy. She wasn't happy. She was down below. Down in Hell. Alone. Cold. Unable to move. Unable to speak. She didn't remember the last time she'd said anything. Had nothing to say. Time meant nothing in Hell. A few times, she thought about yelling at the people in Heaven, just to see if they could hear her, but she thought better of it. So far, the Devil had left her alone. If she yelled, he might find her, and that would be worse than she had it now. So she didn't dare even whisper. Simply mouthed the familiar words, wishing things were different and she could have a second chance.

****

"What happened?" Lizzie sat up with Shane's help. She gripped his hand as tightly as she could and leaned her head against his soft bed. Her lungs felt heavy, unused, like they had cobwebs in them, and something sticky was all over the floor and her dress.

"Easy, girl," Shane said as he held her upright. She rolled her eyes up to him and swore he was concerned.

"Lizzie?" a different man said from a few feet away. Her eyes followed the sound until she laid her eyes on a dark-headed, clean cut feller kneeled down and staring at her pretty intently. To his right stood Cheyenne, short pants showing more leg than Lizzie had ever seen on a woman — or a man for that matter — and a white shirt that accentuated every curve she had. Her mother would have died if she'd dressed like that in her time.

Shane said no to the strange man's question and she said yes in the same instant. He looked at her with an annoyed raised brow and it hit her what he had told her earlier. She couldn't trust anyone. Maybe the stranger was there to hurt her or he'd take her to be some government experiment. She got it, but it was way too late. She'd already given her name. "Uh... no?" She looked intently at Shane and he just shook his head at her sad attempt at deception. Okay, so she wasn't the grandest liar.

"I saw you dead," the other guy said and pointed to the floor. "When Cheyenne and I walked in, you were dead. Like dead dead, and now you're not. How?"

"I wasn't dead." She scoffed and squeezed Shane's hand tighter.

"Really?" He crossed his arms, challenging her.

"I was, uh, coughing."

"Up blood," the other guy said

"And then it stopped," Lizzie said hastily.

"When Shane put the ring back on your finger... and oh yeah, the slashes on your wrists closed. I watched them." The other guy would not ease up.

Lizzie wasn't a violent person, but she would have liked to pop this new guy in the mouth. Couldn't he stop being such a know it all? "That's impossible."

"And yet it happened."

"Drake." Shane's voice was low and calculating, almost threatening. If it were her Shane had used the tone with, she would have clamped her mouth shut in a heartbeat, but not this guy he called Drake. He took it as an invitation to dig deeper. His eyes even got a new little amused sparkle in them.

"Shane." His tone matched Drake's. "You have to admit that this is Lizzie Monroe. _The_ Lizzie Monroe. Don't insult your intelligence or mine and claim it's not."

"Don't equate my intelligence with yours. That's insulting," Shane said snarkily.

"I can't believe it." Cheyenne fell back against the desk like her legs had given out. She was growing strangely pale. "It's Lizzie Freakin' Monroe. In our house. Alive in our house."

"Have you two heard yourselves? You sound insane!" Shane shook his head and rubbed Lizzie's hair out of her eyes.

"It's not insane if it's true." Cheyenne said while crossing her arms.

"It's not what you think," Shane said, clearly trying to find some sort of a way out. Lizzie hated to tell him, but she didn't see one. She'd given them their ammunition when she said her name was Lizzie — and when she'd died on the floor.

"Oh!" Drake jumped up, making Lizzie flinch. "I've got it. The ring's keeping her alive," he said matter of factly, pointing at her hand. "It is, isn't it? Does it just work for her or can anyone use it?"

Shane hung his head and drew in a deep breath. He bit his lip and looked like fire could erupt from his nostrils. He obviously didn't like this guy. Lizzie barely knew him, but she knew he wasn't her favorite person either. He couldn't leave well enough alone. "I don't know," Shane said simply.

"You don't know?" Drake answered incredulously. "Dude, why don't I believe that?"

"I don't."

"I've been here all of five minutes, and I know everything."

"You think you know everything," Shane challenged.

"I know," he said with a much deeper voice. "Lonely Lizzie tried to kill herself by slitting her wrists. That's why they were bleeding when we came in, and the ring was off. When I walked in the door, I saw you put it back on and _voila_ , she's alive again. So, I daresay, it's the ring. I ask again, is it just Lizzie or can anyone use it?"

"And I'll tell you again, I don't know," Shane said forcefully. He gripped Lizzie's hand tightly. She didn't know if he meant to or not, but she squeezed it back.

"Sure, you don't." Drake scoffed.

"I don't." Shane stopped, shut his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Look, we just found out about the ring. We were trying out a theory when you walked in," Shane said.

"We?" Drake smirked. He pointed from Lizzie to Shane. "Tell me you haven't actually been sleeping with the dead girl, have you Shane?"

Shane jumped to his knees, but Lizzie grabbed his arm to keep him from attacking Drake. She wasn't worth it.

Shane looked down at her, his face hard. "He needs to learn to keep his mouth shut."

Lizzie opened her mouth to speak, but Drake beat her to it. "And I bet you are the one to teach me, right, Davis?"

"Shut up," Cheyenne said, stepping in front of Drake. "You two just cool it. You're acting like children."

"He started it." Drake sat back down on the rolling chair in a huff. He ran his hands thought his hair and sighed.

Lizzie tugged on Shane's arm to pull him down to her. He complied, but didn't seem pleased about it. He wrapped his fingers around hers, holding her hand. If Lizzie's heart could beat, it would have beat out of her chest. Even though he was holding her hand, he kept his eyes on Drake and Cheyenne. Lizzie wasn't even sure he knew he was holding her hand, but Lizzie knew and she didn't try to let go.

"Have you ever had the ring off? Until now?" Drake asked Lizzie.

She shook her head and cleared her throat. She had to think of something beside how warm Shane's hand felt against hers. "No. Just then. Can't say I enjoyed the results."

"No, I guess not," Drake said, his voice much deeper and far away. His entire expression changed, and he seemed to be thinking very hard about something.

"You can't tell anyone, though." Lizzie shot out before she could stop herself. These two knew her secret. Shane she could probably trust, but not these two. She didn't know them and didn't trust either of them. They hadn't given her a reason to yet.

Drake sputtered a laugh. "Why's that?"

"Lizzie," Shane admonished with a growl and squeezed her fingers a little tighter. "Don't give them any more ammunition. It's not worth trying to find compassion in the heartless."

"I have a heart," Drake shot back. "It's just I only show it to people who truly need it. Like my mother..."

"And my sister, and the random girl you slept with last week," Shane mumbled loud enough for Drake to hear him. Lizzie expected another explosive response. He gave nothing.

She just ignored the both of them, being on some sort of autopilot. "You can't tell because the government will get me."

Shane slapped his head with his free hand, and Cheyenne's jaw dropped. Drake smiled an amused grin. "The government? Were people in the 1800s paranoid too? Or..." he cut his eyes to Shane. "Were you fed some information to keep you scared and locked up in Shane's room like a corpse he _could_ use whenever he wanted?"

"Can it, Drake. You know as well as I do if anyone finds out about her, they'll run tests. They'll do God knows what, and I feel sort of responsible for her."

"Because you burned down the church?" Cheyenne added.

"Yes." Shane huffed. "Because I burned down the church, alright? I'm responsible for her because I found her in the church I burned down. Happy?"

Lizzie sat up straighter and bore a hole in Shane with her eyes. "Wait. You said it was an accident. You mean, you really did mean to burn it down?"

****

Between Drake and Cheyenne and the accusing eyes of Lizzie sitting next to him, Shane honestly just wanted to crawl in a hole. This had been the worst two days ever, and that was saying a lot. He wished, not for the first time, that Preston hadn't talked him into burning the stupid thing down. Sure, it hadn't taken much convincing, but it hadn't been anything but trouble since. To be fair, though, it wasn't like he knew a very undead Lizzie Monroe would be there in Technicolor.

"You know what? Whatever. It's burned. It's done." He faced Lizzie. Her hurt expression pained him more than it should have. Instinctively, he pulled her knuckles to his lips and kissed them gently. "And I'm sorry, I truly am, that I burned your church down and nearly burnt you to a crisp. But it's over. Let's move on."

From the corner of his eye, he saw his sister smiling from the desk. "Wow. A red letter day. Shane Davis actually apologized."

"Don't get used to it." He jumped from the floor and stepped over Drake to shut the bedroom door. It felt good to get away from them, even if it was a short span of time. "It doesn't change the fact that we have to all be united here in not telling anyone about Lizzie."

Drake stood and leaned next to Cheyenne on the desk. He put his dirty arm around her shoulder and it took everything Shane had not to go over and knock it off. Why couldn't his sister date someone decent? He'd take whiney Preston over this loser any day.

"How do you plan on hiding her? It's not like her picture isn't everywhere. She's pretty infamous around here," Drake said.

"I'm infamous?" Lizzie asked from the slump on the floor. Shane didn't pay any attention to her though.

"That's it!" he yelled when it hit him. Why hadn't he thought of it before? It wasn't a curse to have Cheyenne knowing about Lizzie. Maybe it wasn't so smart Drake knowing, but he couldn't change that.

"What's it?" his sister asked.

"Neither of you recognized Lizzie was the Lizzie Monroe until she told you, right? Cheyenne, you even saw her last night and this morning and it didn't click."

"Right. I just thought she was..."

He held his hand up to cut her off. "We know what you thought. We don't have to rehash it." At least he could give Lizzie a little break. He knew it was killing her, no pun intended, to be thought of like _that_.

"But I don't see how that matters," Cheyenne went on. "I'm not good with faces."

"You're good with my face." Drake smiled up at her, making Shane sick. Even his sister rolled her eyes. Good girl.

"Anyway, all we need to do is fix Lizzie's appearance some way. Make it where she doesn't look anything like herself. That way, she'll look even less like herself. Who's really going to think about Lizzie Monroe being among the living?"

"How far are you thinking of taking this?" Cheyenne looked worried. She shouldn't have been.

"Not extreme. Just hair color, a little make up, maybe even contacts."

"All pictures of Lizzie were from the Dark Ages before color, Bro. I don't think her eye color will matter," Drake said, pretty proud of himself that he actually knew that. Shane had known that too, but thought it better safe than sorry.

"What are contacts?" Lizzie asked.

"These things they stick in your eyes to make you see better or change your eye color." He took his hand from hers and used his fingers to charade putting contacts in his eyes. "The point is I think we can hide you in plain sight. No one will question it. They have no reason to."

"So..." Drake's brows knit together and he stood, slowly walking toward Shane. "You want to keep Lizzie as what, your new pet?"

"I'm not keeping Lizzie," he said and glanced at her. Not that he didn't want to. "But it means we can get her to the bus station without having to worry too much about people noticing her."

"And then what? It's not like she has social security papers or even a birth certificate," Cheyenne said then added. "Did they have birth certificates in the 1800s?"

Lizzie opened her mouth to speak, but Shane spoke before she could. "Not important. Let me deal with that. In three days, we can have everything we need to send Lizzie off to a grand ol' life wherever she wants to live."

He got up and hit Drake's shoulder with his fist as he walked past him.

"What's in it for me?"

"Excuse me?" Shane turned to face the jerk.

"What's in it for me to keep quiet? Don't tell me to do it out of the goodness of my heart." Drake scoffed.

"I'd never dream of it. Actually, if you tell anyone about Lizzie, if you tell about the ring, if you even tell what color my sister's underwear is, I'll personally make sure your father, the chief of police and your mommy, the..."

"Don't bring my mom into this, man." Drake stepped dangerously closer, almost touching noses. "Never talk about my mother."

Shane simply smiled. "Sore spot. Mommy not happy with your choice of college?"

"Stop it, Shane. You don't know what you're talking about. Leave his mother out of it. She's not even in town anyway." Cheyenne came to Drake's defense. It irked Shane to no end.

"Where is Mommy?" Like he cared.

"Nashville. So don't even think about talking to her. She has enough on her plate without you bringing this stupid Lizzie thing on her," Drake said, never backing away.

Leverage. Gotta love it. "Then don't tell anyone about Lizzie and your dear ol' parents will never have to find out about a few of your indiscretions. Does Samantha Morris ring any bells?"

"Who's Samantha Morris?" Cheyenne asked, standing up a little straighter.

Drake's eyes looked like saucers. Ah, so he apparently remembered. "Keep my parents and Samantha Morris out of this. They have enough going on."

"Up to you." It was actually nice to have Drake over a barrel.

"Fine." Drake gritted his teeth. "We'll do it your way. I won't tell a soul about the undead Lizzie Monroe and her ring of life." He looked past Shane and down at Lizzie. "I promise."

"Good." Shane slapped him on the shoulder, turned his back to him, and squatted next to Lizzie. Her hair lay in a mess on her head and her wedding dress was ruined with black spots of blood. And his floor, he wasn't sure how it would ever be clean again. One thing was certain, he had to clean the floor. He couldn't leave it for his mom. She was one person who couldn't find out. He didn't think she'd take it as well as the other two had if you counted blackmail as 'well'.

"Look, I know this is a lot to take in," Shane told Lizzie.

"You think?" She tried to grin, but he could see the terror and fear in her eyes. She was handling this as well as she could, and he appreciated it. She was stronger than she gave herself credit for.

"It'll be over with soon. I promise." Shane smiled and tried to make it genuine. He found himself wanting to protect her for some reason. Like she was his responsibility since he'd been the one to find her. "I'll keep looking into the ring, but until then, we have to work on getting you out of Dixon. I don't think people will know you are you in passing, but if you stick around a while, they might. We can't take that chance. So..." He sat down beside her, totally blocking out the other two people in the room. "Is there any place you'd like to go? Any place you'd really like to see?"

She seemed to consider it. "I don't even know what's in the world now."

"It's okay. The places are pretty much all still there. Where, in your wildest dreams, have you ever thought of visiting?"

"Hmmm... did the country divide? And who won the war? I suppose that would narrow my choices down."

Shane hadn't thought to tell her that and she hadn't asked. "The North won. It's still one big country. No more Confederate states."

She nodded. "In that case, I've always wanted to go to New York City."

"New York?" Cheyenne spat, clearly surprised. "Honey, I hate to tell you, but it's a lot different than when you were alive... the first time."

"Is it still standing?"

"Well, yeah, but it's just... different. Huge."

"Then I'd blend. I want to blend," Lizzie answered, twisting the most important piece of jewelry ever around her finger. "It would be a good place to start over, no?"

"Yeah, it would be, I guess. You'd definitely get lost in the crowd," Cheyenne agreed.

"How are you going to pay for it?" Drake rejoined the conversation.

"You let me deal with that. I have... connections," Shane said, smiling at Lizzie. "I'll take care of everything, okay? I promise."

# Chapter Twelve

Time Unknown

She hadn't moved in... she couldn't remember how long. It was strange. Lonely. Such was Hell. Not hot. No demons screaming around. No other poor souls to spend eternity with, unless they were stuck in their own rooms, their own tiny, shut off pieces of 'heaven'.

Lizzie had no idea how long she'd been in the box. Time didn't mean anything to her. No sun to mark day from night. No change of seasons. No aging.

Eternal boredom.

Eternally alone.

Sometimes she tried to scream, but the sound echoed in her tiny room, ringing her ears. Sometimes, she tried to make up stories, elaborate ones about time travel or rogue detectives figuring out cases no one else could solve. She wished for paper and some ink to write down her mental adventures. Her characters became as alive to her as anyone she'd ever met. A lovely lady named Lilly and her handsome rogue of a man, Daniel. They went on adventures, foiled crime, and made love all night. It got her though the endlessness.

Then out of nowhere, a new smell invaded her nose, something that hadn't happened in forever. A new sound echoed in her ears. And warmth. She hadn't felt anything but the damp cold for so long.

It got hotter. Surely, finally, Hell was coming to take her away. She'd been in purgatory after all, it turned out, and now she was going to the main event. Strangely, now the box seemed safe, and she didn't want to leave it. It had to be better than wherever the heat was. She'd listened to her father's sermons and she knew nothing good awaited her down there.

The world fell away and she landed with a thud. What happened, she had no idea, but she knew it couldn't be good. She heard screaming too, but had no idea where it came from. It took several moments for her to realize it was her own screams she heard. Her voice was hoarse, deep, very unlady-like. Almost frightening.

But she couldn't make herself stop.

She didn't want to fall into the fiery parts of Hell. The darkness became a comfort she didn't want to lose to the unknown.

Muffled footsteps came toward her, and she screamed louder, mainly from fear. The demons were upon her. They were ready for her and now she'd see what was waiting for her.

A dull orange light greeted her along with the first whiff of air she'd had in what seemed like forever. But it wasn't fresh air. It reeked of smoke.

And the Devil himself had her.

****

Finally, blessedly, the other two people left, not without a stern warning from Shane to the other feller though. The other guy, Drake, swore that he wouldn't tell a soul about Lizzie, and she hoped it meant the same in the twenty-first century as it did in her time.

Cheyenne promised to bring her some clothes to change into since Lizzie's wedding dress was messed up and bloody. After the girl left, Lizzie had to wonder what in the world she'd bring her to put on. She didn't think she'd feel comfortable in short leggings sans dress. Then again, maybe it was time to smell the new century. She was moving to New York, after all. Shane promised.

"You okay?" he asked, kneeling down beside her. She could tell he was still miffed from his conversation with Drake and his sister. His wild hair was becoming even wilder and his nose had a slight flare he hadn't been able to control.

"I'll be alright. You?"

"Fine." He smiled. "But you gave me a scare. I've never seen anything like that."

"Oh, you mean with my ring? What happened? I saw the blood. Then I saw a bright light."

He sat back down next to her on the floor. No sense in worrying about all the nasty black blood now. They'd have to clean it up later. He'd rather it be on the floor than on his bed sheets. Then he'd definitely have to explain it to his mom — Shane didn't do laundry — and that wouldn't be fun. "You took the ring off and put it down. Then things just went crazy. You started having these spasms and convulsing. You coughed up this oozy black blood and your wrists," he glanced down at them, making her self-conscious. "They opened and started bleeding." He said the last part in a low voice.

Becoming uncomfortable, Lizzie crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her wrists from him. "I saw a light. I think I was heading toward Heaven. I know you don't think..."

"Maybe you were," Shane said, surprising her.

"Thought you didn't believe in Heaven."

He raised a brow. "I didn't believe in zombies until yesterday either. I'm not saying there is or is not a God. I'm saying if there is such a thing as magic, then maybe there might be such a thing as God."

"That's a start." She grinned.

Shane hesitated and brushed a piece of her hair behind her ear. "Why did you do it, Lizzie?" he asked. Finally, he'd gotten around to asking. It was a question she didn't want to answer.

"You know why. I guess you do, anyway. You know my story. You said there was a museum dedicated to me. You had to have known about Daniel."

He nodded and leaned his head back against the mattress. "Everyone knows about Daniel. You got the news he was dead and you went to the barn and slit your wrists. But what I'm asking is _why_. Why did you do it?"

She looked at him incredulously. "I just told you."

"You told me the facts, I want to know why. What would cause you to go to the barn and think you had no other way out?"

In her time in the box, she had wondered the same thing. Surely, she could have had some sort of life after Daniel. She could have found another suitor, maybe. If not, she could have ended up like Dorothy Lang and became an old maid. In any case, she could have lived an actual life. "I was just... I was so upset... so sad. I couldn't deal with a life without Daniel. You have to understand, he was my everything. I didn't want to live in a world where he wasn't. I wanted to see him in Heaven."

"Glad that worked out for you." He didn't say it mean. In fact, he had a little smile on his lips. She smiled back and felt her cheeks blush, not from embarrassment, but from the way he was looking at her. No one had looked at her like that except Daniel... looked at her like she was special.

She shook her head to get that out of her head and took a big deep breath. This guy couldn't replace Daniel, and he was wanting her gone as soon as possible. There was no reason to get attached or even fathom the idea of him being drawn to her. She was a problem for him to solve and one to get rid of as soon as possible so no one would find out that he set the church on fire. Perfect.

Her smile must have faded. "What?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head and plastered on another smile, this time much less brilliant. "Nothing. It's nothing. Just, it's sad talking about Daniel and the barn. I didn't see any other way out. It probably wasn't smart, and yes, I'm paying for it now."

"But you have a second chance. Not everyone can say that."

"Very true. Thanks to the magic ring of destiny." She looked at her left hand. Without the ring, she'd be dead. When she took it off, she was. The ring had more power than she ever thought possible, and she couldn't help wondering if Daniel had known it when he'd bought it from the Louisianan, or if it had been a happy coincidence.

"Speaking of the ring, I need to check the message board and find out if anyone knows anything else about it." He pulled out his rectangular contraption and fiddled with it. Lizzie watched intently as flashes of light and pictures flashed on it.

"It's called a smartphone." Shane grinned and showed it to her.

"It's amazing. Between that and the box over there." She pointed to the larger, flat rectangle on the other side of the room where muted pictures of people flashed about. "This era is all about movement."

"Actually, it's all about being stationary and not talking, but chatting with everyone and their brother through these devices," he said, as he pushed a few more things until a light blue picture appeared with words on it. The top said _All Things Mystical Message Board_.

"Mystical? Is that of the devil?" she couldn't stop herself from asking. She was genuinely curious. She'd feared the demon so long, she wanted to ask questions about his role in the new age.

Shane shrugged. "Some people think so. I think it holds the answers to your ring. Look, we've got a few hits."

She'd never heard of a 'hit' being a good thing, but she took it to mean by his expression that it was.

Shane read silently to himself and her thoughts returned to her parents. "I feel bad, you know. About killing myself. My poor mother. To live alone without me or my father... it had to be hard."

Shane's head snapped around and his brow lifted. "You don't know?"

"Know what?"

His cheeks reddened and his eyes lowered.

"What?"

"Lizzie, I don't know how to tell you this, but your father didn't die in the war."

"What?" she exclaimed with her hand drawing toward her mouth.

"He didn't die. Before I came back a little bit ago, I Googled you. According to the internet, your father came back when he heard of your death. He even helped bury you in his church. He and your mother even had another child. A daughter."

"There's no way. None." She scooted up on her knees. She'd been so sure he was gone. So sure, and now to find out he'd actually lived. Not only lived, but had a life without her.

"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, I guess. I suppose most people would be happy to find out their father had lived."

"But he's not alive now so what does it matter?" she said bitterly.

"It does matter because he got to live. I think he lived to see the 1900s. He lived a long, good life."

"Without me."

"That was your doing. Not his."

Ouch. Did he have to be so blunt?

"I'm sorry," he said. She thought he meant it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that."

She pondered accepting his apology.

"You know, actually I did mean to say it."

She was sure her jaw dropped. Of all the ways to say he was sorry... "Thanks."

"No, I mean it, Lizzie. Suicide is a very permanent solution to a short term problem."

"Don't you think I know that?"

"Now you do. And now you have a second chance. Don't waste it."

She shook her head and bit her tongue. The subject needed to be changed. "So, my father was alive."

"Yes."

"And this internet told you that?"

He nodded.

"And there is a museum at my home?"

"Yeah." He drew it out, clearly getting where she was going with this.

"I know you don't want me to, but I need to go see this museum myself."

Shane sat up straighter. "We've been over this. It's not a good idea for Lizzie Monroe to show up at the Lizzie Monroe Museum. It might mess up the space time continuum or something."

"The what?"

"Never mind. The point is you can't go."

A determination she'd never felt before coursed through her veins. She clamped her hand on his and gave it a good squeeze. "I've been cooped up for years, decades, unable to do what I wanted. Don't tell me I can't go. It has to close sometime. We can just go when it's dark."

Shane grunted and pulled his hand away, squeezing his fingers into a fist like she'd hurt him. Good. "Fine. When it's dark we'll go. We can break in or something."

"You know how to do that?"

He only raised his brow as an answer. He returned his attention to the phone device. "Okay, this guy says that he might know something about the ring."

"Really?" She scooted closer and looked over Shane's shoulder. He glanced to the side and, with a small lick of his lip, back to the device. His expression had given her butterflies in her stomach. She had to wonder if he felt them too, but that was probably just wishful thinking.

Shane cleared his throat. "Yeah. Uh... he said he's heard of a spell that can be placed on an object that can alter the nature of the object."

"Black magic?"

"Magic, but I'm not sure the color." He moved the words on the device down so swiftly she couldn't keep up. "Says it had to have been a pretty powerful person to even put such a curse on the ring."

"A curse pretty much sums it up," she said under her breath.

"Miracle. We are calling it a miracle," he corrected.

"Thought you didn't believe in miracles."

Shane opened his mouth to speak then shut it again. Clearly he'd walked into a wall there. "Let's just say that maybe there might be something to it."

She had to laugh. It was nice aggravating him. It was nice to aggravate anyone. More than anything, it was nice to even be around someone.

"Anyway, he says we might want to try to find the original curse to break it, but we don't want to break it."

"We don't?"

"No. We don't." His eyes were intense when he said it and curiosity filled them. "You aren't dying again. I couldn't take it... the... uh... mess. The mess. I couldn't take the mess."

There was something different about him now. Something she couldn't place, but she honestly thought he'd miss her if she was gone. "Well, I guess I'll have to keep the ring on... for you."

"For me." He nodded and stared deep into her eyes. For a second, she thought he might kiss her. Did people kiss a girl they only knew two days in this time? All she knew was if he kept looking at her like that, she'd let him.

After a second or two, he cleared his throat and started reading the screen again. "The person, he/she can't die, decay, or otherwise fade away as long as the ring stays on."

"Sounds about right."

"But..."

The bedroom door sprang open, making both Shane and Lizzie sit up in surprise. "Sorry." Cheyenne cringed. "Didn't mean to scare you. I just found some clothes for Lizzie." She held up some wardrobe choices. One was a kind of short purple skirt with a black short sleeved shirt. And the other was a longer black skirt with a lavender long sleeved shirt. "It's June so I wasn't sure you'd want sleeves, then I remembered who I was dressing and thought I'd chance it. Did you guys even wear short sleeves back in the day?"

"Not really. It wasn't appropriate," Lizzie answered.

Cheyenne shook her head. "How did you not burn up?"

She shrugged. "Didn't know any better, I guess."

"Guess not." She came over and grabbed Lizzie by the arm, pulling her to her feet.

"Hold on, sister." Shane jumped up with her. "Lizzie's fragile. Don't be throwing her around."

"I'm not. I'm taking her to shower. She's pretty dingy. No offense. Then to my room to change clothes. After that we need to clean this floor."

"Okay, you two do that. I'll be reading up on the ring and the spell." He sat at the desk and pushed a button before another picture lit up in front of him. This world and their moving pictures. Did they never just sit and read a book?

"Aren't you going to help us clean up the blood?" Cheyenne asked as she helped Lizzie up.

"Nah. Woman's work." His head hit the desk when it collided with the pillow thrown by Cheyenne.

"I'm kidding. I'm kidding. Lighten up." He got up and took Lizzie's other arm, placing it over his shoulder. It felt wobbly walking. Wobbly but good. Cheyenne had one arm. Shane the other. "See, Lizzie? You're making progress."

Progress. Progress was good.

****

Before Shane knew it, the bright sunlight started to fade, turning the sky into a dullish gray color. Glancing at the clock on the right of his computer screen for the first time, he saw that it was getting close to six p.m.

Frustrated, he leaned back in his chair, racked his hands through his messy hair and yelled an expletive into the universe. "Cheyenne!" He yelled with just as much volume.

He yelled for her again when she didn't answer.

A few seconds later, footsteps clomped down the hall and his door flung open. "What?" she huffed. "We were in the middle of something."

"What you and Drake do on your own time is your business." He seethed. "But not with Lizzie here and not when I needed to stay focused and leave at least by two."

She plopped her hands on her hips. "I'm not mom. It's not my job to keep you on task. If you sat here four hours longer than you intended, that's on you. Not me. I've been busy."

"I don't want to know with what." And he really didn't. Why she gave Drake the time of day, he'd never figure out. The guy was an idiot, and even more so here lately.

"Not with Drake. Nice to know what you really think of your sister."

She was miffed. Perfect. So was he. "Doesn't matter what I think of you right now. The point is I stared at this screen too long and missed prison visiting hours."

Cheyenne looked confused. "Why do you want to go see Dad so bad? You haven't even spoken to him in five years."

He couldn't believe he actually had to explain this to her. "You would be a horrible detective." He sighed. "Lizzie needs papers to live in the twenty-first century, right? She has none because, hello, she's like ancient."

Shane stopped talking and examined her to see if maybe the light bulb clicked on. Finally, longer than he expected, it did. "Dad's in jail for forgery. Driver's licenses, Social Security cards..."

"Birth certificates for some illegal aliens," he completed her train of thought for her.

"You thought you'd go talk to him and he could give you some tips of the trade?"

He shrugged. "Couldn't hurt."

"You don't think he'd wonder why you suddenly became interested?"

"Doesn't matter. He knows how. I need to know how. Therefore, I ask. Simple."

He was going to keep going because Cheyenne didn't appear to be convinced when another set of footsteps entered his room. They weren't dainty. In fact, they slid and didn't sound graceful at all.

Lizzie. She'd actually walked in on her own.

"We've been practicing." Cheyenne beamed beside of him. "She's walking well, don't you think?"

"She is. Con-congratulations," Shane studdered as he looked at Lizzie. Gorgeous. Amazing.

Lizzie.

Cheyenne's own person dress-up doll.

Her hair had been brushed and straightened, falling in a gorgeous cascade around her shoulders. She had the slightest hint of makeup on, rosy cheeks and pale pink lips. Her ruined antique white wedding dress was replaced with a white button up shirt with sleeves almost hitting her elbows. A long black skirt flowed toward her ankles and a pair of teal flip flops showed her cute little toes. Lizzie stood there and pushed a piece of hair behind her ear nervously. Her magic ring sat purposefully on her finger. Shane saw nothing she should be nervous about. She was beautiful.

"What do you think?" Cheyenne smiled, knowingly.

It took a second for words to form. "Nice. She looks... nice."

"That's it?" Cheyenne's demeanor fell, but Lizzie grinned from ear to ear.

"Thank you, Mr. Davis."

"You're welcome, Miss Monroe."

Why couldn't he get the goofy grin off of his face? He'd spent almost twenty-four hours with Lizzie, but he didn't think he'd ever saw her as an actual woman before. Scary zombie? Sure. But not like this. Not like the pretty girl before him. He could see why Daniel had fallen in love with her.

Shaking that horrible thought out of his head — he couldn't fall in love — he swiveled his chair back to the desk and the research that had occupied his entire afternoon.

"Find anything?" Lizzie asked from right behind him. He closed his eyes, not knowing she was so close. _Calm down, man. Just stop it. She'll be gone in a few days if all goes well. Just. Chill._

"Um..." He had to clear his throat to get started. Cheyenne smirked. She'd noticed. Of course, she had. That girl was like a bloodhound when it came to his romantic life — not that he had or would ever have a romantic life with Lizzie. For one, she was a much older woman. And for another, she was still madly in love with this Daniel guy. She'd killed herself over him, for goodness sake. If that wasn't having it bad, he didn't know what did. She didn't have feelings for him. It wasn't possible. And he couldn't have feelings for her. That was suicide. "I learned that the ring more than likely came from New Orleans. I looked up Daniel's company in the war, and there was only one man on record from there. Jessup Dupree. Didn't find much on him. He died in the war as well."

"He died, but he gave Daniel a magic ring to keep me from dying? That doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe he didn't know it was magical. Maybe he just bought it thinking it was cool looking and sold it to Daniel on the way to the battlefield." It was as good of an explanation as any.

"Maybe." She relented. "I guess the _why_ doesn't matter. How does the ring work? Does the symbol mean anything? Did you find that out?" Lizzie placed her hand on his shoulder like it was second nature, and bent close to his ear, examining the new — to her — technology in front of them.

Shane's eyes automatically left the screen and focused on her, so close, so real, so... so _there._ Noticing the weirdness of it all, he shook his head and forced his eyes back on the computer monitor. In his peripheral vision, though, he saw Cheyenne smiling like an idiot. He didn't pray, but he threw up an S.O.S. to the Almighty — who may or may not be there, in his opinion — to keep Cheyenne from telling Lizzie that he might have some sort of feelings for her. He didn't need that complication.

Focus.

Get the girl out of the state.

Move on.

But why in the world had Cheyenne sprayed vanilla body spray on Lizzie. She knew it was his favorite scent on a woman. Surely, she wasn't stacking the deck against him.

"I couldn't find anything about the symbol. It's three conjoined triangles so it probably means something, but I'm not finding it. Nothing else, really. I've spent most of my time looking up this Dupree guy. Didn't get me much. A guy on the magic message board said he'd heard of a curse that could be attached to an object."

"Curse? Such an ugly word." She trembled against him.

"It's just a word."

"I just don't like being thought of as cursed."

"Miracle, remember? We are calling it a miracle. A miracle curse." He grinned playfully.

Lizzie took a deep breath and didn't say anything else. Shane took the rare opportunity of her silence to go over what he'd learned. "Anyway, the curse, according to this guy, can't be broken. It'll always be attached to the object, but not necessarily the person."

"So, the ring can exist without Lizzie, but Lizzie can't without the ring?" Cheyenne said, leaning over his other shoulder.

He felt like a sandwich. "Yeah. We already know what happens when Lizzie takes the ring off."

"Nothing good." Lizzie shivered.

His body involuntarily shook too. The sight of Lizzie bloody and dead on his bedroom floor would forever be burned in his mind. He never wanted to see that again. "So we have to keep the people who know about this to a minimum."

"Why?" Lizzie asked, innocent beyond her years. "I mean, I understand about the government and stuff. But what about the ring?"

"Because, if anyone found out they could try to take it from you for their own selfish reasons. That ring, in the wrong hands, could be deadly."

"Can you imagine how much money a person would pay for it?" Cheyenne said in a dream like voice, causing both Shane and Lizzie to look at her. "I mean, hypothetically speaking."

"Not hypothetically, I'm afraid," Shane voiced what had been bothering him for the past few hours. "If the wrong person found out about this, they could get the ring from Lizzie and sell it themselves. Can you picture how much someone would pay for eternal life?"

"Unless you are spending it in Heaven, eternal life isn't all it's cracked up to be," Lizzie said sadly.

"Maybe not cooped up in a box, darlin', but if you were free to roam the Earth for eternity, yeah, people would pay for that. People would kill for that," Shane said almost as an afterthought.

He pushed the chair back — taking the two girls back with him. "Hey!" Cheyenne protested, but he ignored her. "Did Mom ever come home?"

"She's still at work remember. She's not coming home. Why?"

"Good. You keep Lizzie here. I'm going to go see if I can beg my way in to see Dad."

"They won't."

"They might." He hadn't gotten two steps when his phone lit up with a text. Checking it, he saw it was from Preston, freaking out again. As if he needed any more issues today.

Meet me at the church. We have big problems!

_*I* have big problems here. I'll meet you tomorrow!_ Shane sent back.

NOW, SHANE! Something's wrong.

What?

GET HERE!

"Who is it?" Cheyenne asked.

"Preston." Every curse word ever invented plus a few he just thought of himself yelled through his mind. "I have to go meet him."

"But I thought..."

"Trip to see dear ol' Dad will have to wait until tomorrow. Probably couldn't get in tonight anyway. It's too late." He put his phone in his pocket and grabbed his car keys.

He turned to Lizzie, whose eyes were big and scared. His heart broke for her, and that was an unusual feeling for him. He wasn't the type to normally care, but he couldn't help caring about her. With a firm grip, he squeezed her shoulders, bent down to her eye level, and tried to speak as comforting as he could. "I'll take care of this."

"I know you will." She forced a smile back. It didn't reach her eyes. She looked totally terrified and worried about him. He felt the same way about her.

Shane took a few seconds to look at her. Really look at her. Before he could stop himself, he kissed her forehead. His lips lingered and he rubbed his fingers over her temples.

He felt her lean into him. Fear made him let her go.

"Take care of her," he ordered Cheyenne, who nodded.

With a bad feeling in his gut, Shane left the room to go to the burned out church to meet Preston. Whatever had him spooked, it couldn't be good.

# Chapter Thirteen

Yesterday

It hurt.

Everything hurt.

Fire consumed the building. The familiar building her father had built. And now it was gone. And she was freezing on the ground below this stranger.

He didn't look like a stranger, though. He reminded her of someone. Someone she loved.

Her Daniel.

In the limited light, she saw his hair. Wild like a stallion's, but the same color as Daniel's had been. His nose was similar and so were his lips. Lips she'd never see again.

"Are you okay?" he asked through ragged breaths.

No, she didn't suppose she was. She'd been in Hell, and now she was back on earth with a man who looked like Daniel, but wasn't, and her family church on fire.

A second thought erupted in her mind. The Devil. He'd invaded her thoughts and turned into someone resembling her Daniel. It was sneaky. Smart. Cunning. Just like she expected from the Devil.

"What's your name?" he asked a second question when she didn't answer the first.

"My name is Lizzie Monroe," she answered, never expecting the response she got. His face fell and twisted in some sort of horrible recognition. She had no idea why, and she couldn't dwell on it.

Daniel was dead. He wasn't coming back. He was in Heaven and she feared she never would be. And this guy, her savior or the Devil, reminded her of him. Was he as generous and noble as her Daniel? She hoped to never have to find out.

****

Shane hadn't been gone ten minutes when Cheyenne's contraption started singing its own song, if one could call that singing. Actually, it sounded more like her old cow bellowing. She missed that cow.

"It's Drake." Cheyenne sighed, her eyes moved back and forth reading whatever he'd sent via wireless telegraph. "He wants to know if he can come over."

"Why?"

"Who knows." Cheyenne kept her eyes on the device and her thumbs moving.

"Do you care for him?" Lizzie asked, feeling brave. Everyone knew everything about her life and she knew nothing about them. It was time to change that.

"Care for him? Drake?" Cheyenne first looked horrified then laughed. "No. Not really. I mean, he's cute and all. But he's, I don't know..."

"Drake?"

"Yeah. He's Drake." She laid the phone on the desk. "He's nice enough, and he's great in the band."

"Band?" Had she heard about a band? "Like with banjos and washboards? 'Cause I can't see Shane playin' a washboard."

Cheyenne nearly choked. "Not exactly. With guitars and drums."

"Ah." If the 'music' on their portable devices were any indication, she couldn't imagine the type of music they played. "And you are all in it?"

"Yeah. I play guitar. Preston's bass. Drake is the lead singer and Shane plays drums."

She hadn't imagined Shane as a drummer. She knew of drummers. "I'd love to hear you sometime."

Cheyenne winced. "We haven't had any paying gigs. We're supposed to play a birthday party Saturday."

Lizzie's face fell. "But I won't be here."

"If all goes right, you'll be living the high life in New York City."

"Do you really think it's a good idea?" She needed some confirmation because she wasn't so sure.

Cheyenne took time to consider. "I think that New York would be easier to blend in than Dixon, Tennessee. I mean, you're like a legend here. Our band's even named..." And then she stopped talking.

"It's okay. I know. _Love's Suicide_."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up," Cheyenne said quickly.

"It's okay. Fitting I guess." Of all the things to be known for... it wasn't how good of a person she'd tried to be in her life or how many times she'd gone to church. No one cared that she'd read the entire Bible front to back or that she could practically quote Revelation. Nope. All she'd ever be remembered for was slitting her wrists in one act of ill-thought out desperation.

Cheyenne's phone sang again before she could say anything else. "Ugh. He's at the backdoor. Wants me to let him in."

"Are you?"

"Don't want to be rude." She grimaced. "Might as well see what he wants."

"Might as well," Lizzie agreed.

"Be back in a second," Cheyenne said before shutting the door behind her.

For the next few minutes, Lizzie paced the floor. It felt good to be able to walk. She was getting better at it. Sure, she wasn't the sturdiest person even on two legs, but they were mobile. That's all that mattered.

And _Love's Suicide_ ... really? Could they have not thought of a better name? She saw nothing funny or musical about the worse day of her life. But, to their credit, it wasn't like they knew she was still alive to be offended.

On the floor at the table next to the bed, she found a small piece of paper crumbled up. She picked it up to look at it when the door behind her opened. "What did he want?" she asked Cheyenne without turning.

" _He_ wanted to see you," A male voice surprised her, making her spin around.

There in the doorway, stood Drake. His brown hair was spiked like he'd just rolled out of bed, but his gray shirt with a collar and beige short pants that only fell to his knees didn't have a wrinkle on them. He'd changed clothes since she'd seen him last. "I see you've raided Cheyenne's closet." He smiled warmly.

"Yes." She felt her clothes self-consciously. Even though Cheyenne had given her the most conservative clothes she had, she still felt exposed. "You too? I mean, you've changed clothes."

He shrugged. "Went home for a while. That's why I'm here actually."

Her brows creased. "I don't follow."

He strolled closer with a big smile. "I was in my room and Shane texted me."

"Shane?" She hadn't thought they were close enough friends to correspond.

"He asked if I'd come get you and take you to the museum. He said it was closed now and we might be able to sneak in. Said there was a letter there from Daniel that you might want to see."

"Where's Shane now? Why can't we wait for him?" Not that she wanted to wait. It just seemed the right thing to do since she'd started this new phase of her life with him.

"He got held up with Preston," he said with a small twinkle in his eye. "He asked if I'd take you." Drake held out his hand innocently. "I promise I won't bite."

She hoped not anyway. "What about Cheyenne?"

"Right when she answered the door, she got a message from Shane asking her to come meet up with him and Preston at the church. So I told her to go and I'd take you to the museum. See, it's all worked out. We just need to be going."

Taking a deep breath, Lizzie had to consider her options. She did want to go read the note Daniel had sent her all those years ago, but she wanted to read it with Shane by her side. Oh well, it wasn't like they were attached. He obviously had something better to do, so why should she wait? "Alright. Let's be going." She grabbed his hand and started out the door.

Cheyenne's phone device caught her eye on the desk and she hesitated a second before she started walking again. Who knew? Maybe people in this age had two or three of them. How else could she have gotten a message from her brother to meet him as Drake said?

The stairs were difficult, but Lizzie managed to get from the second to the first floor. She had never seen the first floor of the house before. It was nice, a little dirty and cluttered, but nice.

"Back door," Drake instructed, leading her through a small hallway next to the stairs and through the kitchen. Dishes were stacked in the sink and a little door, supposedly to a pantry, was cracked open. A little drop of red had splattered on the floor in front of it.

Curious, she wanted to investigate, but Drake pulled her out the back door and toward the outside until they got to something she'd never seen before. It was big, black, shiny, and monstrous. "It's a truck," Drake explained when her legs balked. "You ride in it."

"Like a carriage?" A very strange carriage.

"Something like that. Come on, let's go before someone sees Lizzie Monroe alive and well and asks questions, shall we?" He opened the door and helped her climbed in. It was the tallest carriage she'd ever been in. And the fastest. When Drake caused it to roar to life and go on the road, she had to hold on for dear life.

****

When Shane pulled his old, beat-up Mustang into the makeshift, grassy parking lot at the burned down church, he was pretty miffed. If Preston kept this up, they definitely would be found out. The idiot had to calm down. Shane had never imagined that someone so tattooed and pierced would be scared of anything. Preston kept proving him wrong.

Though his headlights, he saw the church, or what was left of it. The fire had done its worst, reducing it to a burned out shell. Charred wooden beams fell in the sanctuary like a black skeleton. To his surprise, the pulpit at the front of the church appeared to be intact — burned, but standing. Fires were strange things.

Preston ducked under the yellow police tape surrounding the building and walked into his headlights. His hands were stuck in the pockets of his dark blue jeans with several chains looped around it. The pink Mohawk Shane was used to seeing lay too pitifully to the side. He did have the safety pin thing in his cheek and around his lips, though. Even Shane wouldn't go that far in the piercing department. It looked painful.

Without turning off his headlights, Shane got out of his car and yelled, "What are we doing here, Preston? This is stupid. We can't keep meeting like this. Twice in one day?"

The closer Preston got to him, the more distraught he appeared. His jaw stayed in a rigid line and he kept shifting his eyes. Something had spooked him. Something besides the fire. "I lost something."

"Yeah, your mind. Why are we here?"

"I lost something," he said again, kicking the blackened grass around the church like he was searching.

He'd lose something too if Preston kept this up. "What?"

"A ring. Last night, I lost a ring here. I didn't notice it until a little bit ago."

Why did the entire world revolve around rings? "Oh for the love of... It's a ring, Preston." I'll buy you another one if it matters so much to you." He started to get back in the car and drive off, leaving this loser behind. He had more important things to do.

"It's my senior ring!" Preston yelled, catching Shane's attention. "The one with my name on it! If the police... if Drake's dad... finds it, they'll know I was here. They'll put two and two together, and I'll be up a creek."

"That's your problem, buddy. I have other things to worry about." Shane sat back in the seat. No way did he have time to search in the dark for Preston's ring. He could find it his own self.

"If they find out about me, you can be sure I'll tell them about you. I'm not taking the heat of this all by myself, Buddy!"

That got his attention. Shane stepped out of the car and slammed the door, making Preston jump. The little weasel. "You'd tell on me? On me! You'd tell the cops I had something to do with this?"

"If they find my ring, you can bet those pretty little curls of yours I will. I'm not going down for this all on my own."

Automatically, Shane's fist balled up and, with every muscle in his body, he wanted to punch Preston in the nose. The little twerp was actually blackmailing him into looking for a stupid ring in the dark at a church. "If anyone sees us looking for it, they'll know."

"Then I guess we'd better find it quick," Preston said as he bend down to search a new grassy area.

Shane clinched his teeth and let out a loud groan. This wasn't happening! "Fine!" He grunted. He went to his car, popped the trunk, and pulled out two flashlights. "Might need one of these, you know, to search at night." He threw one to Preston, wishing it would hit him hard enough to hurt.

Preston ducked out of the way before Shane could get that satisfaction. He picked it up, turned it on, and started looking.

Shane did the same. This was pointless and would take forever.

All he wanted was to be home with Lizzie... and, er, planning her new life in New York.

Lizzie... He wondered what she was doing right now. No doubt, Cheyenne was probably introducing her to the thrill of gossip magazines.

They were never going to find this ring...

# Chapter Fourteen

December 26, 1861

Daniel wiped the tears from Lizzie's cheeks. They flowed freely like sad rivers. "I'll be back. I won't leave you forever," he said with a brave smile. "We have plans, remember? I'm going to marry you, Elizabeth Monroe."

She chuckled despite herself and a sad hiccup caught in her throat. "I don't even have a ring, Mr. Dixon."

"I'll get you a ring. The prettiest ring I can find."

"I don't care about pretty rings. I care about you. Must you go?" She wished that he didn't. She prayed every night for him to change his mind and not leave with the other soldiers. Her father too, but he had plans to leave the day after Daniel. It was the saddest December she ever remembered.

Overnight, a few inches of snow had accumulated and a few more flurries floated in the air. It reminded her of a winter snow globe. Such a beautiful and scary sight to send Daniel and her father into. "Are you going to be warm enough? Did you pack a blanket? Is your coat warm?"

"It'll do." Daniel put his hands on either side of her face. The closest she remembered him ever being. In that instant, everything else faded away. She didn't see the town or the snowflakes. She didn't see the other soldiers hugging their families. Nor did she notice her mother and father hugging a few feet away.

It was only she and Daniel. The way the world was supposed to be.

"I'm more worried about you." He gently wiped a snowflake from her hair. "Are you and your mother going to be alright with your father and I leaving?"

"You know some men from the church are going to look after the farm. And your father is going to help."

"I know. I'm just making sure. For my own peace of mind. My father's not in the best health or he would be going with me." Daniel looked over Lizzie's head and nodded toward his parents. A sad day for everybody.

Lizzie felt a hand on her shoulder. Her father smiled sadly down at her and bravely at Daniel. "Daniel, good luck out there. Stay low and keep out of the heaviest fire. And if it gets too bad, by all means, run. Run as hard as you can. Understand? There's no shame in it. None at all."

"Same for you." In his Confederate gray uniform, Daniel extended his hand to Lizzie's father in his blues. "I hope to see you back here, alive and well, when this mess is over, Sir."

"And I you." Lizzie's father took Daniel's hand and pulled him to his chest. He hugged him tightly. "Don't do anything brave, son. You live and get back here to marry my daughter." The elder Monroe patted Daniel's back and let him go. With a slap to the shoulder, he turned without a word. He didn't stop. Only grabbed his wife's hand and walked with her down the long, lonely road home. They had their own goodbyes to make.

It broke Lizzie's heart to watch her father and mother walk holding hands. She hoped and prayed she'd get to see it again. She prayed she'd get to be old with Daniel and hold his aging hand. Anything less would be unacceptable. "Please don't go." She resorted to begging to make him stay. "No one will call you a coward and if they do, they'll have to answer to me."

Daniel looked down at her and put her chilly hands in his. "I want to go. It's my duty."

"According to your father..." She reminded him.

"According to life," Daniel corrected.

"If you meet Father... in a battle..."

"Don't think like that." He pulled her into a hug despite the eyes on them. Let them talk for all she cared. Who knew how long it would be until she saw him again? "I won't fire on your father. We'll both get home to you. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep." She hugged him tighter, not wanting to let him go.

She felt him smile into her hair. "I'm not. I am going to keep this promise, Lizzie. In one way or another, in this life or the next, I will be with you. I love you."

"I love you too." She cried into his chest covered in the rough uniform.

"No matter what..." He bent down to look in her eyes. "Don't give up. You are special, Lizzie. You have the biggest heart I've ever seen."

She smiled and pulled him closer. The yells of the officers that it was time to go only made her squeeze him tighter. "Don't leave me." She heard herself sob, despite the promise she'd made to herself not to make an ugly scene.

He kissed the top of her head then gently moved her away. "I have to go, darlin'. Don't forget what I said. I love you."

When her body broke contact with his, it was like a coldness invaded her body, colder than she'd ever imagined possible. It was December after all, but the chill wasn't from the cold. "I love you too." She barely got out in a whisper.

Daniel smiled bravely and waved back to her as other men she knew, boys she'd grown up with, walked by him and on their way to God knew where. With one last look, he joined the others, blending in a sea of gray.

****

When the headlamps of Drake's horseless carriage hit the house, a knot formed in her throat. It had been so long since she'd been home, only it didn't look like her home anymore.

Instead of green grass surrounding it, black, hard slabs with yellow lines lay in the front yard. A flag, with stars and stripes, flew on a tall flagpole above it. Behind her former home, now a museum, sat something she never thought she'd see again. The old red barn. It could barely been seen from her location, but she could see the edge of it. She'd know it anywhere.

In Hell... in the box, she'd always imagined going back home. Her mother would run up and kiss her. She'd smell fresh baked biscuits, though they wouldn't be made by her own inept hands. She'd sit next to a warm, comforting fire in the fireplace then she'd sleep in her soft bed.

She never could have imagined anything like this. It was her house, but it wasn't. And they hadn't even gotten to the inside.

"Do you want to go in now?" Drake asked, doing something with his right hand that made the loud truck stop roaring.

"Is it okay? It appears dark."

"It's your house, right? Don't see why you can't go in your own house."

Made sense to her. "Have you been in there?"

"Me? Years ago. In like second grade I think. We had a field trip here."

"Kind of a morbid place to take a school trip," she said. She didn't think if she had children she'd want them to visit the home of a girl's suicide.

"I guess." He seemed really eager to get into the museum. "Come on. No one comes out this way at night normally. Your farm was pretty far out in the sticks."

She didn't know for sure what that meant. "It was always a trek to town, I'll give you that. You don't think we'll be seen then?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so. Plus, my friend Laura's mom runs this place. Laura snuck me a key."

"You didn't tell her why, did you?" The words spilled out. How many people in the world had to know about her?

"Chill out." He put his hand on her shoulder then retracted it as quickly as it touched almost like it repulsed him to touch a dead girl. "She doesn't know why. I gave her some lame excuse about betting Shane I couldn't get inside. She liked helping with that."

"I take it Shane isn't very liked around here." She couldn't understand why. He'd been very nice to her.

"By some. A lot actually. You don't know him, Lizzie. Not really. He's not the best guy ever. You can't trust him."

She raised a brow. "But I can trust you?"

He smirked and stared out of the front glass of the carriage. "As much as anybody nowadays."

What did that mean?

"Let's go." He opened his door and slid out. Deciding she hadn't come this far to sit in a truck, she did the same.

It was warm. Very warm. The air was sticky, making it even warmer. She couldn't remember the last time she was warm, really warm. It would had to have been the night she killed herself. It was June then too. June Seventh.

"What's the date?" she asked Drake, following behind him.

"June seventh. Why?" he replied, causing her to nearly fall over her feet. He caught her mid-stumble and helped her steady herself. "You okay?"

"Fine." Her voice shook. She remembered Shane telling her now. Of all the days to be back on the farm, back at her house and her barn. Symmetry. Only this time, she had every intention of walking away alive and of her own free will... not a stiff, lifeless dead body. Today would be different. She'd see to it.

Drake let her go as soon as he was sure she was sturdy. He sure didn't seem to like touching her longer than he had to. She couldn't help but wonder what she'd ever done to him to make him act that way around her, then again, he was helping her see the museum and her letter. She would be forever grateful about that.

They got to a door at the back of the house, a door that hadn't been there when it was actually her house. "Fire marshal made them do some upgrades," Drake answered her unasked question. What he didn't answer was _what in the devil was a fire marshal_.

He opened a clear door that screeched on its hinges. He then put the little fireless lamp he carried in his mouth and put a key in a brass-colored handle. It turned easily and the door opened. "There. Ladies first." Drake handed her the light and motioned for her to go inside.

She wasn't entirely sure she could and hesitated. She'd wanted to see her house again for as long as she remembered, but now that she was there, it seemed strange. Not like her house at all. Someone else's home slapped on her father's property.

"Go on. We don't have all night." He shooed her in and she went with the flow.

She shined the light around the room and stood in awe. The two room cabin had never been so full in her eyes. She remembered it being bare. Homey and comfortable, but bare. Now, it had things stuck all on the walls. Some were utensils that had been in her mother's kitchen. Some she'd never seen before in her life. She started walking left, looking everything over.

A few mixing spoons.

An old flour sack. Why would anyone want to see those things of everyday life? Did they not use flour in this century?

Photos of the war.

Photos of Dixon, the town, taken back in her time. It was nice to see the pictures. They didn't look real, though. They were black and white... turning shades of brown. Her town had been alive, bustling. Vibrant in different colors of dresses, skirts, signs. It wasn't bland at all, but the black and white of the pictures made it seem so dreary. If only these people knew what the town had actually looked like.

In the kitchen, she found a piece of furniture she would remember anywhere. Her kitchen table. Instantly, she saw Daddy sitting at the head of the table, cutting the Christmas ham. Mother was to his left. She and Daniel sat across. Tension filled the room, but they were still cordial. Then he'd taken her out and asked for her hand in marriage. Such a good day.

The kitchen area with the old iron stove and cutting surfaces looked like she remembered. She could still smell her mother's biscuits baking along with an apple pie cooling. At the time, it seemed so normal, but now the smells and the sights were extraordinary. She'd give anything to have some of her mother's cooking again.

Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. This was her house. Her home. A place she'd hoped to see again, but never actually thought it would happen.

"The note's over here." Drake brought her back to the present and her objective. Slowly, she made her way toward him, her light trained on a pedestal with a clear case around it. "Shine your flashlight here."

So that's what the contraption in her hand was called.

"They put it in that so it wouldn't get stolen or fade too much. It's one of the most popular pieces in the museum. People like sad, emotional stories."

She nodded and steeled her nerves when she got to it. She bit her lip to keep from crying but felt her leg shaking. A note from Daniel she'd never gotten to read, never even knew it existed.

Graciously, Drake backed up, giving her room to see the note firsthand. It was an ordinary piece of paper, about the size of a journal. The edges were yellowed and the words had faded over time. Faded or not, she'd have known Daniel's handwriting anywhere.

"I can't make it out. The words." She squinted to read them. "It's not possible." She eased back and felt tears sting her eyes. She'd come all this way to read something from Daniel only to have time steal the words from her.

"That's why they wrote what it says here." Drake shined his light on a metal plaque above the letter.

Lizzie followed with her light and, sure enough. She could read the words.

_March 12, 1862_ ,

My Dearest Lizzie,

I hope this letter finds you well. I miss you so much. Every day I think of you. I keep your handkerchief with me at all times, in my breast pocket so it is always over my heart. You are my heart, Lizzie. You alone.

I'm sending this through post and have no way of knowing when it will get to you. We are passing through a town with a letter office, and the men and I decided to take advantage of it. This war isn't what I expected. Not at all. I've seen so many dead, but I won't trouble you with that. I haven't been here long, but I know I long to go home.

You should also know that I've procured a present for you. Something I promised. A ring. An engagement ring, and I endeavor to place it on your hand myself when I get out of this Hell.

I saw your father last week. He and I were on the same battlefield. After the fighting stopped, I snuck over to see him. He embraced me like a long lost son and said he was well. He misses you and your mother, but believes in his cause. I've seen so much, and I find I'm not as sure of mine anymore.

I long to see you again. I long to hold you and be your husband. It will happen, Lizzie. I promise. In this life or the next.

Yours forever,

Daniel

Tears streamed down her face as she fell back against a cornerstone beam and slid down to the floor. "He saw my father."

"Looks that way," Drake said with something resembling compassion.

"Wonder when the letter arrived at my house?"

"I don't know," he said, kneeling down to help her up. "But you got to read it, that's the important thing."

"One hundred and fifty years later." She laughed sadly.

"Better late than never," he said as he pulled her to standing. "Come here. There's something else I want you to see."

Drake led her around the room until they came to an old picture of her family hanging under a clear sheet of something. Seeing her family again made her legs buckle. Being weak and underused, they seemed to do that a lot. Drake caught her before she fell and held her upright. "Your family, right?"

She nodded and couldn't look away. Her father looked so handsome in his black suit and salt and pepper beard. Her mother was beautiful, her hair fixed just so for the special occasion. It wasn't every day people got their photos taken and her mother had forced them to dress in their Sunday best... not just Sunday best, Easter Sunday best. Lizzie stood between her sitting parents, the same solemn expression on her face. She wasn't sad, but the photographer had told them not to smile. Smiling messed up the exposure.

To her, the girl in the picture looked different, alive. Naïve.

"I guess you know by now that your father didn't die in the war," Drake said, close to her ear, looking at the picture as well.

She nodded. "Shane told me. It was quite a shock actually. And I have a sister?"

"You do... or did. Her name was Mary. She lived around here for a while, but they say she left when the Lonely Lizzie thing took off. Guess I understand. A whole town caught up in a sister you never knew. It had to be hard."

He was right. Her death must have been hard on all of her family, even the ones she had no idea existed. If only she could have her time to do over again... she'd surely do things differently.

Drake patted her shoulder lightly and backed away. "I have to be honest with you, Lizzie. I brought you out here with an ulterior motive."

She almost missed him talking, and she just caught the last few words. "What?"

"Ulterior motive," he said with his back to her. "I had one when I brought you here."

"I thought Shane told you to bring me," she said almost absentmindedly. The picture kept drawing her in. If only she could see her mother and father again.

"Shane doesn't know you're here."

****

"Man, it's not here." Shane grunted, shining his light over the same grass he had about thirty minutes before. "Are you sure you didn't just drop it at home or something?"

"No, I know it had to have fallen off here." Preston kicked around some more dirt.

Shane was this close to strangling him. Of all the things to lose at a crime scene. Not just some ring that could belong to anyone. Nope. His class ring with his stupid name on it. Might as well send a calling card to the police and say, "Hey, Preston and Shane did this!"

After five more minutes, Shane had enough. "Okay, I'm done. If we can't find it searching like two idiots in the dark, I dare say Dixon's finest won't be able to find it. Let's just drop it."

Preston's eyes lit up like he'd been shot. "No! We have to find it now."

"It's no use, Preston. We're wasting time."

"No, if they find it..."

"If they find it tell them you dropped it when you came out to look at the burned up church. There's been a lot of people here today. It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility for you to have dropped it when you snooped."

Preston shook his head over and over. "No... no. we have to find it tonight... tonight. We have to find it tonight, Shane. Tonight!"

"Why?" Shane screamed with frustration. "What's so blasted important about tonight?"

"Because Drake told me to!"

Shane could tell after Preston said it, he shouldn't have. Preston's skin turned a sickly pale and he looked like a deer in the headlights.

"Drake told you to do what?" Shane asked coldly as he inched closer to the idiot he was tethered to through arson.

"Nothing." He tried to back away, but Shane got him by the shirt collar and yanked him toward him. Shane was taller, and Preston rose on his tiptoes.

"Don't lie to me. Don't you dare lie to me. What's going on, Preston? What is Drake up too? Why are we out here?"

"To find my ring," Preston whimpered. That was fine. Shane just needed to make him more scared of him that he was of Drake.

Then it hit Shane. Preston hadn't even had his ring on the night before. With a smile on his lips, Shane eased Preston down and put the first two fingers of his left hand under the safety pin which connected his cheek piercing to his lip. He then pulled him like a fish on a hook. "Tell me what's going on or things are about to get very painful for you."

By the look in his eyes, that must have done it, but Preston hesitated, so Shane yanked him ever so sternly, pulling on the safety pin and bringing tears to Preston's eyes. "I'll pull it out, Preston. I swear to you. It'll hurt."

"Okay!" he yelled. "He took her to the farm."

"What farm? Her farm?"

"Yeah," he said as clearly as he could with his safety pin pulling on his lip. "He took her there."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

Shane jerked harder. He was so tired of this runaround. "His mother," Preston blabbed. "His mother's dying. You didn't know?"

Shane eased up a little on Preston's face. No, he hadn't known.

Preston took the reprieve from face torture to spill his guts. "I didn't know either. Not until today. He said she had cancer."

"Cancer." Shane wasn't stupid and didn't like where this was going.

"Yeah. Non-curable. She's dying."

"And Drake doesn't want that to happen. He'd do anything to stop it."

"Wouldn't you?" Preston grasping Shane's wrist to keep the pressure off of his face.

No, Shane was pretty sure he wouldn't do what he was sure Drake was doing right now. Without saying a word, he let the safety pin go and pushed Preston back. Preston staggered off balance, so Shane took that opportunity to punch his lights out. With his former friend lying limp on the ground, Shane ran to the car and headed for the farm. Drake was going to take Lizzie's ring to cure his mother, only it would kill Lizzie. No way would Shane let that happen.

****

Lizzie spun around, now clearly in the present. "Shane doesn't know? But you said..."

"I know. And I'm sorry. I am. I just needed to get you away from everyone."

Lizzie's felt like she might need to be looking for an exit. Unfortunately for her, Drake had her cornered. "What about Cheyenne? What did you do to her? Was she in on it?" She had a sick feeling in her stomach.

"She's fine. She's just knocked out a little bit."

"How can you be a little bit knocked out?" Lizzie questioned. She didn't know Drake. Who knew what he had in mind for her? Back in her day, she knew better than to go out in the dark with men she barely knew, and now she'd broken it just to get a glance at a letter Daniel wrote her.

"She's fine," Drake reiterated again. "She's just taking a little nap in the kitchen pantry."

The little blood droplet! It had been hers. "What do you want?" she asked defiantly.

He held his hands up in protest. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm not," he added when she scoffed. "I'm here to ask you a favor. A pretty big favor actually."

"Why would I ever help you?" She bit with venom she hadn't used in years. It was a valid question, though.

"You wouldn't. And you shouldn't. It's my mother." He lowered his hands and reached into his pocket. Lizzie got more in a panic, which he noticed. "Don't freak out, okay? I didn't ask you here to freak you out." He pulled a flat piece of paper out of his pocket. "Here. Take it."

Trying to be brave, Lizzie reached out and snatched the paper and recoiled like a snake. It was a picture was of a lady in her late forties by the looks of her. She had bright blue eyes and a big smile. She also had no hair and dark circles under her eyes.

"She wears a wig in public," Drake explained, not moving from his spot. "No one knows yet. Not even Shane. Cheyenne knows she's sick, but not as bad as she is. I've thought about telling them, but my mom's really adamant that no one knows."

"What's wrong with her?" The poor woman.

"Cancer. It started in her breast, but it's moved to her lymph nodes pretty rapidly. Doctors don't think she has very long to live."

Dying. The sweet, smiling woman in the picture was dying. Drake's heart had to be breaking. Shane had said that he'd been acting different for the past few months. Now she knew why. "I'm sorry. It has to be hard."

"You have no idea." His eyes glistened with unshed tears. "She used to be the healthiest person I'd ever met. She always ran, exercised. She did yoga."

Lizzie had no idea what yoga was, and she didn't stop to ask.

"She ate right. Did everything she was supposed to do to be healthy. She went to a regular doctor visit and the doctor found a lump... a knot," he clarified when he saw her bewildered expression. "The knot turned out to be cancer and the cancer had already spread. They don't give her a lot of hope for coming out of this."

"I'm so sorry." Heartbroken, Lizzie handed the picture back to Drake. He took it and folded it back up in his pocket.

"Me too. That's why I'm here with you. I just... I don't see any other option, and I wanted to beg you for your help."

A cold chill ran up her spine. She didn't like where this was going. "My help?"

"Your..." He took a deep trembling breath. This obviously was very hard for him. That made two of them. "Your ring. It can keep her alive, right?"

"It could if it wasn't keeping me alive." She laughed nervously. That's why he brought her here. He wanted her ring for his mother. _Oh, Lord,_ She prayed. _What do I do?_

Drake shut his eyes and scratched his head. "Here's the thing, Lizzie. You killed yourself all those years ago. You chose to take your own life. My mother didn't. She wants to live, and your ring can help her do that. Not to sound mean or cruel, but you've had your time. Everyone you've known, everyone you were related to is dead."

Ouch, but he had a point...

"And back then, you chose to die, did you not? You chose suicide over having to live without Daniel. It's the ring that saved you. The ring you didn't even know about. It has a magic you didn't even want. Now it's time to take it off," he pleaded. "Go to Heaven and be with your family. Meet your sister you've never known. Go be with Daniel, just please... please give me the ring so I can save my mother's life. Please."

Her heart ached for him. It had to be hard watching his mother dying. She knew if it were her, she would do everything she could think of to keep her mother alive.

"I know it's a hard decision." He went on when she couldn't find any words.

Her mind was racing too much. She'd promised Shane she would live out her life in the fullest, but could she do that knowing she was depriving another woman from living at all. Drake had a point. Back in 1862 she'd made her choice. Even though she appreciated the second chance, maybe it was her second chance to help Drake's mother.

"I just... it's a lot to ask."

"I know it is." He inched closer. "Lizzie, I know and I wouldn't ask if it wasn't the last resort. My mom went to the doctor today and it's gotten worse. They are only giving her three months to live. Three months, Lizzie. That's not long at all. You've been alive for over a hundred years. I know a lot of that time was basically spent in Hell, but at least you got to live. My mom will be gone. She'll be gone and I won't be able to get her back if I don't do this for her. I'm asking... Lizzie, I'm begging. Please. Be a hero. Save my mother's life."

Shaking, Lizzie bit her lip. A thousand things swirled in her mind. She'd promised Shane she'd live and not do something like she'd done in 1862 again. But this time, it would be to help someone else. Not just her. It would save a life... not take it. It wouldn't hurt anyone. Shane didn't know her well enough to cry over her death for the second time. And if he did, he'd get over it. She'd miss him — miss him so much. But she couldn't be selfish.

With her mind made up but very sad about it, Lizzie took a big deep breath and smiled at Drake. "Okay."

His face lit up, and relief clearly washed over him. "Okay?"

"Okay. You're right. I don't know this time period. I don't know the customs or how people are supposed to act. I'm out of my time and it's not fair to your mother. If I can help her, I should do it and not be selfish about it."

"Oh, thank you, Lizzie! Thank you!" He pulled her into a hug so tight she couldn't breathe if she wanted to. "Thank you!" he said again into her hair. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

"I have a pretty good idea," she mumbled, and he let her go.

"Sorry. I'm just... you've saved her life."

She smiled back. His mom's life meant hers, but that was okay. She'd die a hero this time. That was something. "I'd like to see my barn again. You know, before I give you the ring."

"Of course... of course!" He beamed, walking her to the door. "You've saved her, Lizzie. Thank you. You're a hero."

That part made her happy.

They used their flashlights to light the way to the old red barn, much newer than she remembered. All of the boards had been placed back in the structure, even the ones the storm had blown out in early 1860, the ones her father hadn't gotten around to fixing because they didn't matter that much. The little red square at the top which was always open was closed, and the structure looked like a sleeping giant.

"There's a light switch somewhere over here probably," Drake said as he shined his flashlight against the side of the large double doors. "Ah..." he said with his hand on something attached to the wall. "Let there be light." When he said that, the sun came up in the building or so it appeared. Light from long rectangular structures hanging from the ceiling nearly blinded her.

"What is that?" she said, covering her eyes.

"Sorry. Its lights. Electricity. Like Shane has at his house. They ran it to the barn."

"No torches?"

"Nope. All comes from the wires. Pretty cool, eh?"

That was one way to describe it. Why anyone would need such things in a barn, she couldn't figure out, but it had to be for a reason. "No one from the road will see the light?"

"It's hidden behind the house. I don't think anyone will notice it. Plus, you wanted to see it, but we probably shouldn't stay long."

"Probably." Which made her heart ache. She'd give him her ring and then she'd be dead again. She was happy to help his dying mother, but wasn't thrilled to be dead again either. Maybe this time would be better, though. Maybe this time she'd actually make it to Heaven. She could hope. Then maybe — just maybe — someday Shane would join her. She'd pray for him. It would hurt if she never saw him again, in this life or the next.

Leaving Drake at the door, she slowly walked to the middle beam on the right side of the barn. The beam she died next too. A plaque hung there too. It read:

Lonely Lizzie full of strife

In the barn, she took her life.

Go there now and count to three.

Lonely Lizzie you will see.

R.I.P Elizabeth Ann Monroe: January 12, 1845 to June 7, 1862

"It's the rhyme associated with you," Drake said from a few feet away. "I guess they put it there to keep the legend going. I remember when I was younger, we'd sneak in here and say your name three times."

"Did anything ever happen?" she asked, trying to detach herself from all of this.

"Never stayed around long enough to find out." He gave a short, nervous laugh. "I guess it wouldn't have now that I think about it. You weren't a ghost."

"Just a... what did Shane call me? A zombie."

"A lifesaver," Drake corrected. "Have you seen everything you want to see?"

She shook her head and made her way to the backdoors of the barn. She tried to open them, but found them locked with metal and a strange locking mechanism.

"Padlock," Drake said. "It's to keep people out."

"They should have one on the front door." She laughed.

"They do. I just have Laura's keys, remember?" He pulled them from his pocket to show her.

"Right." She'd totally forgotten that. "Do you happen to have the key to this lock?"

He made a face. "Don't think we should tempt fate, do you?"

She wanted to tempt fate, darn it. She hadn't seen the view from there in years. "Daniel proposed to me here. It was on Christmas and we were bundled up. It was the last happy memory I have," she told him sadly.

Drake hung his head and walked to the padlocks. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you." She grinned. If she couldn't get her happy ending, maybe she could get something out of it. To relive her last happy day on Earth would be wonderful.

Drake tried every key he had, but nothing worked. "I'm sorry, Lizzie. Since this exit isn't used very often, I bet it's not on the main set of keys. I wish it was. I'm sorry."

It was okay. It really was. It was sad, but she still had the memory of that cold December day. She could feel Daniel take her hands, hear the nervousness in his voice, and feel her heartbeat in anticipation for the question that would change her life.

"I'm so sorry, Lizzie," Drake said placing the keys in his pocket.

"It's fine. I have my memories. It'll have to do. And I'll see Daniel again soon anyway." She forced a smile on her face. It would have been nice to have one day on Earth to share with Shane — to actually live.

"If there was any other way..."

"I know." She cut him off. "I know. I understand." She sucked in a deep breath. Might as well use her lungs while she could. "Where do you want to do this?"

"Any place that is comfortable for you. I want you to be happy."

Happy... such a novel concept. She'd spent years not being happy, years locked in that never-ending torture in the box.

She looked around the barn. "Well, seems like it would be pretty symmetrical to give you my ring where I started this wild journey." Lizzie walked over to the familiar beam that had once held her father's knives. None were there tonight, not that she needed one. All she had to do was take the ring from her finger and it would all be over.

All be over.

Lizzie eased down the beam and sat on the cool dirt floor. This was it. This was where she was going to die... again. At least this time, someone else would live because of it.

Drake kneeled down beside her. "Lizzie Monroe. I can't thank you enough for this. And for doing it willingly. It means so much. My whole family will appreciate it."

She smiled a shaky smile. "It's my pleasure. I hope your mother enjoys the gift and doesn't waste it." With that, Lizzie rolled the metal oval floral ring around her finger. She closed her eyes, took one last breath of air, and pulled the ring over her knuckle.

****

Shane broke every speed limit posted on the way from the church to the Monroe Farm. No way was Drake taking Lizzie from him. None. She may not have been his girlfriend or anything of the sort, but he found himself caring for her. She'd never had a chance. She killed herself before she even had a life. No way was Drake selfishly going to take it from her.

He pulled in beside Drake's black truck and a sick feeling washed over him. On the way over, he'd tried to call Cheyenne's cell, but she never answered. That wasn't like her. She always had her phone on her. Nothing was good about this.

Nothing.

No lights were on in the house, but he could see illumination peeking from the cracks in the old barn. The barn. Where Lizzie died the first time.

_God, no,_ he whispered with trembling breath.

He ran as fast as he could, determined to stop Drake before he could take the ring from Lizzie. With everything he had, he slammed into the barn door and it flung open at the force.

The scene he saw made him physically ill.

Drake squatted next to Lizzie who was slumped against a beam. When Drake saw him, he stood instantly and tried to block Lizzie. "This has nothing to do with you." He had the nerve to say.

"It has everything to do with me. Lizzie's mine." Shane tried to look around him to see if she was alright, but Drake wouldn't get his big butt out of the way.

"Yours?" Drake scoffed. "She's yours? She's your personal property? You never would have known about her if you didn't burn the church down. I see Preston did a poor job keeping you there."

"You son..."

"Uh... uh.... Don't get testy, Shane. All I did was tell Preston I'd tell my cop father what he'd done to the church if he didn't do his part and keep you there. Doesn't matter now, though. I got what I wanted." He held his hand to the side, fist closed. Something shiny inside caught Shane's eye.

"You killed her. You killed her..." Shane felt like he could hyperventilate. He'd been too late.

"Shane?"

Shane's world started spinning again when he heard her voice. "What are you doing here?" she asked from the barn floor.

"Looking for you." He went toward Lizzie, but Drake blocked him. Shane stared him down, praying he moved so he could knock his lights out too. "Come on, Lizzie. Let's go."

She stood up at the beam but didn't offer to move toward him. "I can't."

"You can. Let's go." He moved to his right, and Drake followed. "You need to move," he ordered.

"Make me."

Shane stepped forward to show him when Lizzie walked up behind Drake's shoulder. "Shane, don't. It's okay. I know what I'm doing."

"Yeah, what's that?" Shane turned his attention from Drake to Lizzie, still keeping Drake in his side vision at all times though. He didn't trust him.

"Drake's mother is dying. She needs my ring."

" _You_ need your ring."

"She needs it more," Lizzie had the gall to say. "And I'm going to give it to her. I'm going to give her the gift of life."

Shane's entire world felt like it was falling apart, but he had to stay calm. "You don't mean that. You promised that you'd live this time. You said you'd try."

"How can I when I know I can save someone else's life?" That did it. She was brainwashed. She had to be.

"What did he do to you?" Shane's voice cracked both from sadness and anger. He was so mad at both of them he couldn't hold it in.

"He told me the story and I made my own choice. My _own_ choice, Shane."

Shane couldn't help but laugh. He threw his hands in the air and paced back to the open barn doors. "Your own choice? Really? You believe that? What do you think he would have done if you had said no, huh? He would have forced you to give over your ring."

"It was her choice," Drake said.

"Shut up," Shane ordered, his voice dangerous. "I don't want to hear you. I want to talk to her." He focused on Lizzie. "Sweetheart, you deserve better than this. You deserve to live. And don't let him talk you out of the life... out of the miracle you got handed. This is your miracle. Not Drake's."

"I'll get to see Daniel and my folks again. I'll get to see Heaven. And I can help his mother."

Shane heard a glimmer of reluctance in her words and he saw he had a shot. "It's very sad about his mother. It is. I'm sorry about her, but Lizzie, this is your life. No one expects you to die so his mother can live."

"I died years ago."

"No! No, you didn't." Why couldn't she just understand? "You are alive for a reason. I don't know what it is, but I know it's not for Drake's mother. The world needs you, Lizzie." He couldn't look away. "I need you."

Lizzie bit her lip and closed her eyes. Shane saw it as a good thing. As long as she kept the ring on her finger there was hope. As long as it kept her with him, he had a chance.

# Chapter Fifteen

Lizzie couldn't look at Shane. In all her years, she never expected another person to care about her like Daniel had. Maybe Shane's feelings weren't as deep or as pure, but they were there, and if she was honest with herself, she had them too.

Her mind was pulled in all directions. She needed Shane. She needed her folks and Daniel. She wanted to help Drake's mother.

She rolled the ring around her finger, the little ring full of magic that she never imagined having.

She finally looked at Shane. Breathing so heavily, she thought he might have an attack. And to Drake whose eyes bore a hole into Shane like a buzzard seeing his prey.

What should she do? What could she live with?

"Don't kill yourself again, Lizzie. Please. We'll work it out. We'll figure something out so you can stay with me. Heck, I'll go to New York with you. I don't want to lose you," Shane said, his eyes welling up with tears. "Just keep the ring on your finger. For me."

For him...

For him...

Another chance at a life.

Lizzie knew what she had to do. Whenever she died — completely died —, be it today or in a hundred years, Daniel and her parents would be waiting in Heaven for her. But now, she had a chance to live. "I'm sorry, Drake," she whispered.

"What? No... no," he stammered, turning to her. "You promised. My mom needs the ring."

"So do I. I'm sorry."

Fire burned in Drake's eyes and his face contorted with pain. "You're sorry? Really?" He grabbed her hand and in the same motion opened his hand exposing a large shiny pocket knife. "So am I."

Drake pushed a button and opened a blade a few inches long. Lizzie screamed from fear and pain as he bent her fingers down and pushed the blade hard to her ring finger. She tried to fight, but it didn't seem to faze him.

What happened next seemed, to her, like slow motion. Shane yelled from across the barn as Drake tried to cut the ring finger from her hand. He charged them both and slammed into Drake in enough time to keep her finger intact. She and Drake fell to the ground in a thud, with Shane standing over them.

Drake pushed her off of him and backed away, keeping his eyes on Shane. More specifically on his midsection. Right where the blunt end of his knife was sticking out.

It took a second for it to register on Shane's face. When it did, he followed Drake's eye line to his stomach and the knife sticking in it. Shane jerked it out and dropped it to the floor with a thud. His eyes rolled in his head and he fell to his knees in front of Lizzie. She screamed his name as he fell over into her arms and pushed them both down to the dirt floor.

Lizzie rolled him over gently to survey the wound. It didn't look good. Blood oozed from his stomach, through his navy blue shirt and pooled on the ground. He coughed and dark red blood shot from his mouth onto her. Too much damage inside.

"You're going to be okay," she told him as she put one hand on the wound to try to stop the blood and used the other to stroke his hair. "You're going to be fine."

He stared at her, coughing and wheezing. His skin became clammy and very wet from sweat. He couldn't focus and his eyes kept rolling back in his head. "Fight, Shane. Okay? I need you to fight. I don't want to lose you. I'm not going to let you die."

She heard Drake speaking from a distance behind her, but she didn't care what he was saying. All she focused on was Shane and what she had to do. She did see Drake run by her and out the door of the barn. Guessed he didn't want to be connected to murder. Couldn't say she blamed him.

It was just her and Shane. The way it was supposed to be at that moment in time.

"Thank you for saving me." She smiled as tears fell off of her cheek onto his hand. "Thank you for caring."

He convulsed again, coughing more blood to roll down the crease of his mouth.

"Thank you." She bent down and kissed his lips, not caring about the blood. With her lips on his, she held his hand and rubbed his fingers gently. "Live for me," she whispered as a tear fell on his cheek. With of a flick of her fingertips, the ring slid from her finger to his pinky.

Surprised, Shane's eyes widened and he shook his head no. "It's okay. I want this for you. _I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before._ "

She felt the wounds on her arms open and the blood start to seep out. It was okay. She was okay. She fell back against the beam, her beam, and watched Shane. He'd have to die for the ring to work, but at least he'd get a second chance at life. She smiled at that. "I'm going to miss you, Shane Davis."

Shane kept his darkening eyes on her. He ran his fingers over the ring but was too weak to roll it back to her. Slowly, Shane became very still, and his eyes shut.

Lizzie closed her eyes and felt her own life slipping away again. This time, it had been for a reason, a purpose. She'd saved Shane, and that was all that mattered.

****

Everything felt so strange. Like he was there, but not there. Floating, but anchored to the ground.

"Shane! Shane!"

He heard the echo, but it seemed so far away like a dream. It was black, very black and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move.

_"Shane, can you hear me?"_ It sounded like Cheyenne. Sounded so far away, so muddled like she was speaking through water.

He tried to say of course he could hear her. He wasn't dead. He was...

What was he?

He remembered Lizzie and Drake... and a knife. The knife...

He _was_ dead.

He was dead and the blackness was Hell, such as it was.

_"Shane!"_ she yelled. Why could he hear her, but not move?

Suddenly, the blackness shifted like flying through a wormhole in space. Blackness zoomed past him in such a way where he could see it, feel it, but it was still very dark. Solid.

_"Drake, do you have your phone?"_ His sister's words echoed through his skull.

"Use yours."

_"I would if someone hadn't knocked me out! I left it at home."_ Who knocked her out?

Shane heard indecipherable yelling and finally he felt his shoulders being shaken. _"He has a pulse. It's weak but it's there. Tell them that!"_

Tell who? He tried to open his eyes, but they were too heavy. Too much work.

_"They're on their way."_ Drake's voice invaded his darkness. He hated that guy. _"I'll take Lizzie."_

That got Shane's attention. Determined, he grunted until his eyes opened. They shut just as fast, but he forced them open again. Drake wasn't doing anything with Lizzie. Why hadn't he heard her talking?

_"You can't just take her! I need help with Shane!"_ Cheyenne yelled. Shane's eyes rolled around until he focused on her. She sat beside him with her hands pressed against his stomach. She had blood up to her elbows and she had a bloody nose.

Shane tried to raise his hand to wipe the blood away, but he couldn't. He barely had the strength to look at her.

"Don't move, Shane? Okay. You just lay there. I'll take care of you." Cheyenne took his hand with one of hers — while keeping pressure on his stomach with the other — and kissed his knuckles. On his pinky, he saw Lizzie's ring.

"No," he said weakly. No, this couldn't be happening.

"My dad can't see her, Cheyenne. They won't understand. I'm taking her back to the church. Maybe they'll think they missed her or something. It's better than her being dead here."

Shane scanned toward Drake's voice. It was hard to see through the fog, but he finally saw his silhouette. Drake was kneeling next to Lizzie, who was lifeless on the floor.

"No," he said again, trying to get up and help her. He wasn't dead. She needed her ring back.

"Whoa!" Cheyenne pushed him back down. "You take it easy. Lay here until the ambulance gets here."

"Lizzie." He tried to sit up again, but his body wouldn't let him. He fell in a pained heap.

"She's gone, Shane." Cheyenne rubbed his forehead with her hand. The motion left a wet trail. Blood. "She's gone. She gave you her ring."

"I'm not dead..." he said through ragged breaths.

Cheyenne glared at Drake who had Lizzie's body in his arms. "You will be if the paramedics don't get here soon."

# Chapter Sixteen

The beeping woke him up first. It was calming, rhythmic. Nice.

He wanted to know where the beeping was coming from.

Slowly, his eyes opened. A dim light met him, not harsh enough for his eyes to slam shut again, but it did take a second or two for them to adjust.

He heard snoring to his right.

Snoring.

Cheyenne.

"Hey. You sound like an old man." His voice sounded different. Drugged. Heavy.

Cheyenne's eyes flew open and she leaned over to his bed so quickly she nearly fell over. It was so quick, she still had drool on the corner of her lip. Above the drool was a dark blue bruise. "You're awake!"

She grabbed his hand and kissed it.

"Miss me that much?" He grinned. It hurt to grin. In fact, a lot of things hurt now that he felt.

"You have no idea."

"Awww... always knew you cared."

She punched him gently on the shoulder. He said 'ow' just for pity.

"Of course I care. You're a heck of a drum player."

"Which is why you love me." His eyes were focusing on his surroundings more. He saw an IV line, coming from the hand Cheyenne held up, attached to a clear bag on a pole. The pole stood behind a monitor with different colored, squiggly lines. His heart monitor. Looked good. At least it was beating. "What happened? How long have I been out?"

"Two days. What do you remember?" Cheyenne answered, holding his hand with one of hers and picking some of the lint off of his blanket.

He thought back. "I remember Drake. He wanted Lizzie's ring. We were in the barn. Lizzie changed her mind. He tried to cut it from her hand. Then..."

"Then what?"

"Then, I saw blood. He stabbed me."

Shane touched his stomach with his free hand. Sure enough, he felt the gauze and padding under his white hospital gown. "The jerk actually stabbed me."

"Yeah. Not his finest moment. His father arrested him after he went to the church. He's out on bond." Cheyenne squeezed his hand tighter. "Mom's here. She's in the cafeteria. She's been by your side since you were admitted. Her luck, right? You wake up when she leaves."

"Yeah," he said, trying to get comfortable. It wasn't working. "Drake got arrested?"

Cheyenne shrugged. "That's what happens when you stab someone."

"And when you hurt someone." Shane rubbed his fingers lightly over Cheyenne's bruised cheek. "Drake?"

She nodded. "I feel a bit sorry for the guy. He only wanted to help his dying mother."

Shane started to say something when the ring on his little finger caught his eye. It was small and oval. Lizzie's. "Wait. I have a heartbeat. I'm in a hospital. Why do I have Lizzie's ring?"

"You had it when I got there. I guess she was afraid you'd die and she didn't want that."

Panic hit Shane's chest and his heart monitors went wild. "But I'm not dead. I have a heartbeat. I don't need the ring to be alive. She does. She needs it!"

His breathing got faster and he couldn't think straight. "Where is she?"

Cheyenne didn't seem to want to answer.

"Cheyenne! Where's Lizzie?" he asked again, not really wanting the answer, but needing to know. She needed the ring back. He needed her back.

"The church. Drake took her there... After... So the paramedics wouldn't see her and ask questions."

For a split second, Shane just stared at Cheyenne. "And you didn't give her the ring? She needs it!"

"You needed it. We didn't know if you would live. The ring meant you would... one way or another. I wasn't going to lose you." Cheyenne squeeze Shane's shoulder, but he jerked away.

"I'm not losing her either." He jumped out of bed so fast the world started spinning. He didn't care. Willing his body to cooperate, he started pulling the sensors off. The machine started beeping. He unplugged it from the wall right before he ripped his IV from his arm. Ignoring the pain, he found his bag of clothes and started putting them on — blood and all.

"Shane!" Cheyenne yelled. She tried to stop him, but he shoved her back. "Get back in the bed. You could hurt yourself! You need help!"

"I need Lizzie. I'll be back after I give this back to her." He showed her the ring and walked out the door.

****

Being stabbed in the gut hurt. There was no lying about that. His legs were wobbly and his head pounded, not to mention the incredible pain in his stomach. That was nothing compared to the pain in his chest. Why had Lizzie given him her ring? Well, he knew _why,_ but he didn't like it. Lizzie needed it, not him. He had to give it back to her. It would work. She'd come back to him and they'd go to New York like she wanted.

He couldn't lose her.

He wasn't sure how he made it to the old, burned out church, but he did. He stumbled down the steps until he got to the basement. The light was dim, but he saw her immediately.

Slumped against the far wall. Drake hadn't even put her back in her casket. Knowing that coward, he probably just tossed her and ran.

Shane wasn't sure what he'd do to Drake when he found him, but he knew it would be bad. Painfully bad.

Weakly, he made it to Lizzie and collapsed next to her body. Though more ashen than the last time he saw her, Lizzie looked almost the same. Her hair fell in brown ringlets around her face, and her face appeared peaceful. In fact, her lips — covered in black blood — were smiling.

Peaceful. That was a good word for her.

Shane pulled the ring off his finger and held it in front of him. She needed the ring to live, to be back with him.

He needed her.

And she needed Daniel.

Shane rolled the ring around his fingers, trying to decide what to do. Would Lizzie want to live in the twenty-first century? Would she want to be ripped out of Heaven?

Because he knew she was there. He knew she was in Heaven. A few days ago, he was sure it didn't exist. A few days ago, he didn't believe in zombies with magic rings either.

But now... now he had to think that something — someone — was out there greater than he. Someone who controlled things, someone who made everything.

Someone who made magic and miracles... who made love and friendship.

Who knew all Shane needed to believe was a hundred year old girl.

And he did believe.

In the basement of the church he burned down, the church he hated because it's where his dad married his mom — in the church where he saved Lizzie Monroe — Shane Davis got saved.

Kneeling next to Lizzie, Shane put the ring back in his pants pocket. He squeezed his eyes shut, and for the first time in forever, actually cried. "I don't see why you look so peaceful. You're dead. Gone for good this time. Thank you for saving me, but darlin', you didn't have to sacrifice yourself to do it. All I know is I'm going to miss you, Lizzie Monroe. Miss you so much. And I want to see you again, and I know what I have to do."

Shane's legs gave out and he fell on his bottom. Slowly, he scooted next to Lizzie and laid his head back against the wall. "God," he said, unsure how to go about this. "I can't deny you exist anymore. I've see way too much in the last few days. Some say it was magic. I believe that. But I also believe it was a miracle. Lizzie is a miracle. And Lizzie believed in you..."

He took a deep breath and instantly regretted it. Pain shot through his midsection. "And I believe in you. And I want what Lizzie had. Maybe not the undead part — but the rest. Her certainty in You. Her ability to see the good. Her ability to know you were real no matter what. I want that. I need that. I can't keep going like this. I can't stay mad all the time. I can't burn down churches every time I'm ticked. I can't stay mad at my father anymore... And I need Your help."

Shane looked up with his tear-filled eyes. "I need You in my heart. I don't know the right words to say. If there is a specific prayer I need to say, but I'm trying my best. I want what Lizzie had. I want peace like she has. And I know You can provide it. I do bad things. I'm a sinner — I guess You'd call it. And I want You to forgive all that. I want to try to do good, though I know I'll fail many times. Amen." He ended the prayer the only way he knew how.

There. He hoped it worked. He thought it worked. For the first time since he was little, he felt peace.

"Thank You for Lizzie." It seemed once he started praying, he couldn't stop. Shane leaned over and gently kissed the top of her cold forehead. The pressure caused something he never saw coming, though he guessed he should have. Starting with where his lips had touched her forehead, she began to crumble until she was nothing but ash on the floor.

****

TWO WEEKS LATER...

Shane took a cleansing breath before he knocked on the inviting red door. It took a minute or two, but finally it opened. "Hi, Mrs. Samson."

"Hi." Drake's mother smiled warmly, though she appeared curious as to why he was at her door. She looked bad. Dark bags under her eyes and a bandana covering her head. The poor woman... "I'm so sorry for what Drake did to you. I can't understand why he would..."

"It's okay," Shane said, not wanting to worry her. "I'm healing. How are you?"

"Fine... I'm fine."

Shane reached both hands in his pants pockets, unsure of what to say exactly. He felt the weighted envelope he'd placed in his right pocket before he'd left the house. "Can I talk to Drake? I promise. I just want to talk." It wasn't a complete lie.

"He's in his room," she said, moving to the side to let him by. "Please don't hurt him. He's all I have."

"I just want to talk. He owes me that much." Shane thanked her and walked in. He never stopped before he got to Drake's room. Not even stopping to knock, he threw the door open, and locked it behind him.

Drake didn't even have time to react before Shane took him by the shirt and slammed him against the dark blue wall. It hurt his stitches, but he didn't exactly care at the moment. So much for talking.

"I didn't mean for it to happen," Drake said before Shane could say anything.

"You didn't mean to kill Lizzie or stab me?"

"Lizzie was already dead."

"If it wasn't for modern technology, I would be too. You stabbed me, Drake. What in the world, man?"

"I didn't mean to. It was an accident. You just ran into it." Drake tried to push Shane off, but he refused to budge. It would have been so easy to snap Drake's neck.

"Lizzie had a life too, and you took it from her."

"She gave _you_ the ring. Her choice. And my mother's still dying. We all have issues." Drake didn't sound snarky. In fact, he looked sincere. "I'm sorry about her, Shane. I really am, but I needed the ring."

Shane smiled darkly. "You going to try to sweet talk me into giving it to you?"

"Don't suppose it'll work. It's not like you need it."

Shane appreciated his honesty. So much so in fact, he slammed Drake's head back against the wall as hard as he could.

"What do you want?" Drake winced. His head had to be killing him. Shane knew the feeling. The knife Drake jabbed through his intestines hadn't exactly been a walk in the park.

"You have a lot of money, right?"

"Yeah..." He dragged out.

"I need some money. A few hundred... and a plane ticket. Do that for me and maybe I can talk to your father about our little... _accident_."

Shane didn't waste much time with Drake. He said his peace and left before he punched him to death. It wasn't that Drake didn't deserve it. He hit his sister, attacked Lizzie, and stabbed Shane. The boy deserved everything he got — and much more.

But...

"Everything okay?" Drake's mother asked from the living room as Shane came down the hall.

"It is now." He grinned and headed for the door.

On his way out, he placed the envelope he had in his pocket on the table by the door. Outside it read, _Mrs. Samson. Wear it always._

****

A week later, Shane stood in the barn with the plane ticket in his hand. He couldn't take his eyes off the floor. It was gone. Every bit of blood he'd spilt had been cleaned up like it had never happened. The scar on his stomach told a different tale.

He stood in the barn, Lizzie's barn. It had just opened and he was the first visitor of the day. No one was around, though. Just him and his thoughts of Lizzie.

Out of his pocket, he pulled out a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and positioned it over the 'Lonely Lizzie' rhyme that had been on that beam as long as he could remember. After placing a few nails he'd found in the barn and securing them with a hammer, he stood back and admired his handy work. Without a word, he walked out past a museum worker who was coming out to investigate what all the noise was about.

He smiled and walked away as the lady stopped to read the new note.

Lovely Lizzie, done with strife.

In the barn, she saved my life.

A hero, she died. You see.

In Heaven with Daniel, now she'll be.

# Epilogue

Shane got off the subway and followed the crowd up the stairs and out onto street level. He'd been in NYC a little over a week and so far, he liked it. It was nice to blend in. He wished he could share his experiences with Lizzie though.

He strolled into a restaurant a nice old lady at the hotel recommended.

Shane gave his name at the front desk and waited fifteen minutes to be seated. A man dressed all in black, as were all the waiters, showed him to his table. Seconds later, the waitress came up beside him. "Welcome to The Vine. I'm Elizabeth." A young lady said as she sat down a glass of water.

For the first time in his life, Shane was too busy looking over the menu to stare at the girl. Nothing sounded really good.

"May I take your order?" She had a southern drawl that appealed to him. He hadn't heard it much since he'd been out of Tennessee.

"Thank you. I'll have—" His eyes flicked up to her face and his voice trailed off. She had long brown hair — and that face!

"Lizzie?" He gasped and dropped his water to the floor.

If you or anyone you know has considered suicide, remember it's a permanent solution to a normally temporary problem. Get help.

You can contact a doctor or call 1-800-273-8255.

And now a _Sneak Peek_ at the Hindsight Series Book 1

Out of the Blue

(coming February 2014)

# Hindsight

Book One: Out of the Blue
Chapter One

Start at the beginning...

The first time I met Jordan Rivers she was standing with her arms crossed, her jaw set and her brows furrowed. You'd think by her stance — and the way she glared at me — that she was mad. You'd be right.

It wasn't like I'd done anything to her. Not intentionally anyway. It just happened out of the blue. The right place at the right time, I suppose.

Unfortunately for both of us, I had the gall to try to staple the tiny corner of my ad on top of hers on the 'wanted' board across from the university book store. How dare I?

I turned around — back to the business at hand — and could hear her huffing behind me all annoyed, so I did what any guy would do — I moved a little slower and stapled my piece of paper right on top of hers. That brought a long huff out of her mouth. It made me laugh. Sure, it probably wasn't the nicest thing to do, but I couldn't help it. She sort of deserved it for being ticked off at me without reason.

My laughing didn't amuse her, though. Not that I thought it would, and something about _that_ amused me. Now you have to understand, I'm not the type of guy who goes around ticking off girls. Well, normally — but I couldn't seem to help it with J. She was just that sort of girl. Even from the beginning. Even before...

"Can you not do that? Please." She ground the last word though her gritted teeth, like being nice pained her. Maybe it did. It wasn't like I'd done anything to give her a reason to be nice to me. I could feel her next to me. The top of her shoulder touched my elbow. A short little thing with a temper... and a pretty face.

"Why? It's already so nice and stapled." I tried to hide the smile, but I couldn't. Not very well anyway.

"I don't think it's funny." She crossed her arms. Her cheeks had reddened and her huge blue eyes — a little darker than mine are — let me know that she wanted to rip mine out.

All over one stupid small piece of paper, mind you.

One.

"I can see that." The snicker that slipped out wasn't my finest moment.

Without missing a beat, she punched my shoulder and grabbed for the little yellow ad from the board.

I'd seen a temper like hers before. You couldn't live with my sister for any length of time and not see it, and my old body of eighteen years just couldn't move like it did when Ella and I were kids.

Thankfully, she stopped herself before she pulled the paper off—

I have to wonder what would happen if she didn't stop. If she'd grabbed my ad, crumbled it up and threw it in the trash as she strutted off. Things would have been different, that's for sure. I never would have met Oliver Weston for one thing. I could have done without that. Archenemies and all...

And I never would have had to—

The beginning, right? I keep trying to jump ahead. We are at the beginning. Not the end. The end will come. It always does.

Fate — fate or God — is funny like that. So many what ifs in life. What if she had thrown the paper away? What if I had gotten there in time?

One word changed my life forever. Changed the course of hers too.

Wow. I sound like a big deep doofus, don't I? I don't mean to, it's just... There are events that change our lives, and meeting her in the busy University Center hallway that morning was one of them. That's all.

ROOMMATE

The one word was _roommate_.

"Wait." She pulled her hand from the board and placed one finger on her chin. Tap. Tap. Tap. It was better than the alternative. She could have poked me with it. From how ticked off she looked, I bet a poke from her finger would leave a bruise. "You're looking for a place to live?"

I nodded with a suddenly very sick feeling in my stomach.

She pointed to the ad below mine.

ROOMMATE WANTED

"Oh," I said as I scanned the white flyer — the "official" one with the _Linley College_ stamp on top.

ROOMMATE WANTED. QUIET HOURS A MUST. NO PETS. NO SMOKING. NO DRUGS. IF INTERESTED PLEASE CALL...

But I didn't have to call. She was right there, staring at the board like if she did it long enough the letters would change. "I need a place to rent with a roommate and you need a... roommate."

"Sadly."

"Any prospects?"

"Not in the five minutes since I hung my flyer." She did that a lot. Spoke with an edge. Took a while to get used to it.

"You were stalking your flyer?"

She rolled her baby blues. "I was curious to see if anybody read it. Lucky me. I got you."

"Not really. I didn't read it."

Yeah... if looks could kill...

"Face it, Big Eyes. You need an ad that stands out if you want people to actually notice it. One that doesn't conform to rules and regulations."

"Like your code-violating yellow one?"

I smiled as brilliantly as I could. Every tooth in my head must have shown. "Got your attention, didn't it?" To my complete and total surprise, she actually smiled back at me. Not a fake smile either. Not a grimace or sneer. An actual, happy, smile.

"You should do that more," I said before I could stop myself. It was true though. She was pretty when she smiled. Full of life. Beautiful.

"Because you've known me all of a minute." She smirked and shook her head, causing her long black hair to spill over her shoulders. I wouldn't be a man if I said I didn't look — and I'd be lying if my first thought wasn't to run my hands through it, and other thoughts you don't need to know about. Use your imagination.

Never mind.

"What can I say? It's been an incredible minute." Yeah, that was my awesome cheesy comeback.

She narrowed her eyes at me — her expected response. Okay, so I wasn't what you'd call a lady's man. Never been particularly good at talking to them.

The thing about girls is you never know their mood. And you never know when they'll cry or when they'll haul off and kick you. I learned that from Ella back in Oklahoma too.

"Yeah. Sorry. Anyway, it seems we both are looking for a roommate."

"Looks that way," she said back.

I thought about it, but—

"Do you want to see the apartment first?" she asked surprising the heck out of me.

I sputtered out some sort of surprised, indecipherable sound.

"Roommate, idiot." She scoffed, all the while smiling bigger. I liked it. "I need one. You need an apartment. We could help each other out."

I'm not sure coherent words were in my mind at that time. Never in a million years did I ever think of rooming with a girl. When I moved from Oklahoma to Linley, Tennessee, I thought I had a dorm room with, of course, a dude. When that fell through due to a clerical error from the LC housing office, I naturally assumed I'd get an apartment — with a dude. My parents — good church going folks that they are — would come up here and drag me back to Oklahoma so fast I'd leave a trail of blond hair behind me if they thought I was living with a girl.

"I have a boyfriend," she said like I should have known. Like it would make a difference. "His name is Oliver Weston. He's a senior here at LC, and he's hot and rich, so no. This isn't a play for you and me to hook up."

Then again...

"If he's so hot and rich, why don't you stay with him?" An honest question.

She hesitated just a second before she answered. "He wants to stay at his fraternity house, and I want to make it on my own without his help."

"Trouble in paradise?" Not that it was any of my business. A fact she reminded me of soon enough.

"Hardly." One word answer. Perfect. She was hiding something, and the inquisitive part of me wanted to know what it was. But I didn't press it. I'd already pried too much already. Her business was her business.

"And he won't mind you living with another guy?"

She shrugged. "It's not his decision. It's mine. Besides we won't be 'living together'." One side of her mouth quirked up. Obviously, I wasn't in on a joke.

"But I thought you wanted to share an apartment?" I guess my feelings were sort of hurt. She changed her mind more than anyone I'd ever known.

"Come and see the place with me. You'll understand."

She made valid points, and I was definitely curious. "Okay, but don't try to take advantage of me. I'm fragile."

She snickered. "I'll do my best."

"Good." I pulled her ad down and handed it to her. "And I don't normally go to a girl's house when I don't know her name. Unless you count..."

"Jordan. My name is Jordan." She took the ad in one hand and held out the other to shake. I immediately took it.

"First or last?"

She tilted her head quizzically.

"I had this teacher once, Mr. James Jordan. His last name was..."

"Jordan." She'd already started finishing my sentences for me. "I got it."

No getting by her. "So. Jordan. First or last?"

"First. My last name is Rivers."

I nearly choked. "Jordan Rivers? Seriously? As in the Bible?"

Still shaking my hand, she squeezed my fingers just a little bit tighter. Enough to actually hurt. "As in my sheriff brother will arrest you if you make fun of his last name."

"What's his name? Nile?"

She nearly broke my hand.

"My bad." I grimaced. The woman had spunk. I liked that about her. Only I didn't know it then, but she didn't have the same spunk — the same attitude — around Oliver.

It was when she saw the pain on my face that she eased up on her grip. My fingers appreciated it. "My preacher father thought it would be hilarious. He was a nerd for puns. But you can call me J."

"Like the letter?"

"You ask a lot of questions," she said.

"You say a lot of vague things," I fired back.

She sighed. "Yes. Just like the letter."

We could have probably stopped shaking hands by now. In fact, we actually had stopped shaking. We were just sort of standing there. Holding hands. In the hall. People were walking by, but I never noticed them. J had a way of keeping your attention.

"And you are?"

"Oh." I realized I hadn't told her my name yet. I'm pretty sure my cheeks turned a little red. I was just standing there holding her hand like an idiot. It was sort of embarrassing. "Walker Scott. I'm new here."

"Really?" J pulled her hair back over her shoulders and smirked. "I couldn't tell."

# AUTHOR'S NOTE

The idea for The Afterlife of Lizzie Monroe came from a dream I had. A fire. A girl in white. And the man that saved her. I wanted to know what happened afterwards-- and what had caused the girl to be in the church to start with. And why hadn't she died... All of that turned into _this_. I hope you enjoyed it. I hope it made you think. I hope it entertained you. And I pray it might have helped you in some way. I love this book. It's very close to my heart, and it's hard to let it go 'into the wild'. I hope Lizzie's story is one that will stick with you... and I hope you follow Shane into his book — his world — and his new adventure.

Thank you for taking to time to read this book. Don't forget to leave a review on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or any other site if you feel so inclined. Also, tell your friends and neighbors. Word of mouth is always appreciated.

~Kelly — 1/8/2014

# ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kelly Martin is a bestselling author of four young adult/Christian novels: _Crossing the Deep, Saint Sloan, The Deception of Devin Miller, and Big is Beautiful. Saving Sloan_ , the _Saint Sloan_ sequel, will come out in early 2014. The first of the Hindsight series, _Out of the Blue_ , comes out in February 2014.

You can learn more on:

Facebook: facebook.com/KellyMartinAuthor

Twitter: @martiekay

Website: kellymartinbooks.blogspot.com/

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