Consciousness returned to Dany in fragments—first sound, a rhythmic beeping; then sensation, crisp sheets against her skin; finally sight, as her eyes fluttered open to fluorescent lights and white ceiling tiles. A hospital room. Modern, from the looks of the equipment surrounding her.
She tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced her back against the pillows. An IV line ran from her arm to a bag of clear fluid hanging beside the bed. A heart monitor tracked her pulse with steady green peaks.
"You're awake," a voice said. A nurse in blue scrubs approached the bed, checking the monitors. "How are you feeling?"
"Confused," Dany admitted, her voice raspy. "What happened? How did I get here?"
"You were found unconscious in your apartment," the nurse explained, adjusting the IV. "Your neighbor called 911 when she heard a crash. You've been out for almost twenty-four hours."
Twenty-four hours. Dany's mind raced. The garden party in 1912, John, their daughter, Miss Harlow—it all came flooding back. But something had gone wrong with the transfer. Instead of returning to her apartment conscious, she had crashed back into her own time with enough force to knock herself out.
"The doctor will be in shortly," the nurse continued. "You had us worried—all your tests came back normal, but you wouldn't wake up."
After the nurse left, Dany carefully removed the heart monitor sensors and sat up slowly. Her head throbbed, but the dizziness was subsiding. On the bedside table lay her personal effects—phone, keys, and a small leather-bound book.
John's journal. She must have been clutching it when she was found.
She reached for it, needing the reassurance of its solid presence, the confirmation that her experiences weren't just elaborate hallucinations. As she picked it up, a slip of paper fell out—a note that hadn't been there before, written in John's elegant hand:
*She cannot be trusted. The wardrobe is changing. Be careful.*
Dany stared at the note, a chill running through her. She? Miss Harlow, presumably. And what did he mean about the wardrobe changing?
The door opened, and a doctor entered—a woman in her forties with kind eyes and a no-nonsense manner.
"Ms. Mitchell, good to see you awake. I'm Dr. Patel." She picked up the chart at the end of the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Better," Dany said. "When can I go home?"
"We'd like to keep you for observation until tomorrow morning," Dr. Patel replied. "Your vitals are stable, but we're still not sure what caused your collapse. Any history of seizures? Fainting spells?"
"No, nothing like that."
"And you don't remember what happened before you lost consciousness?"
Dany hesitated. "I was... reading. Then I felt dizzy. That's all I remember."
Dr. Patel made a note on the chart. "We ran a full panel of tests—blood work, EEG, MRI. Everything looks normal, which is good news, but also leaves us without answers. Sometimes these episodes are stress-related. Have you been under unusual stress lately?"
*Only traveling through time and falling in love with a man from the 19th century*, Dany thought wryly.
"Work has been busy," she said instead.
"Well, I'd recommend taking it easy for a few days after discharge. And follow up with your primary care physician next week." Dr. Patel smiled reassuringly. "Try to rest now. The nurse will check on you periodically."
After the doctor left, Dany reached for her phone. Several missed calls from work, a few texts from Liz asking where she was, and one from an unknown number. She opened the text:
*The wardrobe isn't what you think. We need to talk. -C.H.*
C.H. Catherine Harlow? The woman from the garden party? But how would she have Dany's phone number in this time?
Before she could ponder this further, there was a soft knock at the door. A hospital volunteer entered with a vase of flowers.
"Delivery for you," the young woman said cheerfully, placing the vase on the windowsill. "Someone must be thinking of you."
The flowers were an elegant arrangement of white roses and lavender—the same flowers that had been in the garden at John's anniversary party. Dany's heart raced as she reached for the small card nestled among the blooms.
*Time fractures when forced. The key lies in the pattern. Find me where it began. -J*
John. Somehow, he had sent her flowers across time itself. But what did his message mean? Where had it begun? The antique shop where she'd found the wardrobe? Or somewhere else entirely?
Dany spent a restless night in the hospital, her mind too full of questions for sleep. By morning, she was determined to discharge herself, with or without doctor's approval. Fortunately, Dr. Patel signed her release papers after a final check of her vitals.
"Remember, take it easy," the doctor cautioned. "And call immediately if you experience any dizziness or disorientation."
*If only you knew*, Dany thought.
Outside the hospital, Dany hailed a cab, giving the driver the address of the antique shop where she'd purchased the wardrobe. If John's cryptic message referred to where their connection began, that seemed the most logical place to start.
But when the cab pulled up to the location, Dany's heart sank. The storefront was empty, a "For Lease" sign hanging in the window. No trace remained of "TEMPUS ANTIQUITIES" or the elderly shopkeeper who had sold her the wardrobe.
She approached the window, cupping her hands around her eyes to peer inside. The space was completely vacant—no shelves, no counters, no antiques. It was as if the shop had never existed.
A movement reflected in the glass caught her attention—someone watching her from across the street. Dany turned quickly, but whoever it was had already disappeared into the crowd of pedestrians.
The sense of being watched prickled at the back of her neck as she walked back to the main avenue to find another cab. John's warning echoed in her mind: *She cannot be trusted. The wardrobe is changing. Be careful.*
Back at her apartment, Dany found the front door unlocked, though she was certain she'd locked it before her last journey through the wardrobe. She entered cautiously, half-expecting to find an intruder. The apartment was empty, but something felt off.
The wardrobe stood where it always had, dominating the small living room. But as Dany approached it, she noticed subtle differences. The carvings seemed deeper, more defined. And there was a new symbol etched into the center of the doors—a circle containing an hourglass.
"What's happening to you?" she whispered, running her fingers over the new carving.
As her skin made contact with the wood, a vision flashed in her mind—a library with towering shelves, a massive desk covered in papers, and a man hunched over them, writing frantically. John, but younger than she had ever seen him, perhaps in his early twenties.
The vision vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving Dany breathless. The wardrobe was showing her something—another time, another place where John existed. Was this where she needed to go next?
A thorough search of her apartment revealed nothing out of place, nothing missing. Yet the feeling of intrusion persisted. Someone had been here while she was in the hospital.
Dany's phone buzzed with another text from the unknown number:
*The wardrobe responds to blood. His blood, your blood. That's the key he won't tell you. -C.H.*
Blood? The idea was disturbing, yet it resonated with something Dany had read in John's journal—a passage about the wardrobe seeming to "recognize" him, responding to his touch in a way it didn't with others.
She opened the journal again, flipping through the pages until she found what she was looking for:
*November 12, 1885 – A curious discovery today. While examining the wardrobe's carvings, I pricked my finger on a hidden point within one of the designs. A drop of blood fell upon the wood, and I swear the carvings shifted before my eyes, revealing new patterns I had not seen before. When I touched the door afterward, the transfer was more controlled, less violent. I arrived precisely where I had been thinking of, rather than being flung randomly through time. Blood seems to attune the wardrobe to its user. But whose blood originally attuned it? And to what purpose?*
Dany stared at the passage, a chill running through her. If blood was indeed the key to controlling the wardrobe, it explained why her second journey had felt more directed than the first. She had handled John's journal, touched the pages where traces of his blood might still remain.
But Catherine Harlow's text suggested there was more to it—something John wasn't telling her. Why would he withhold such crucial information?
A knock at the door startled her from these thoughts. Through the peephole, she saw Liz, looking concerned.
"Dany? Are you in there? Mark told me you were in the hospital!"
Dany opened the door, forcing a smile. "Hey, Liz. Yeah, just a fainting spell. I'm fine now."
Liz entered, her eyes immediately drawn to the wardrobe. "Whoa, that thing is intense. Is this the antique you were so excited about?"
"Yeah," Dany replied, watching her friend approach the wardrobe with a mixture of anxiety and curiosity. Would it affect Liz the way it affected her?
But Liz merely ran her hand over the carvings with casual interest. "Cool patterns. Kinda creepy though. Like it's watching us or something."
"That's just the design," Dany said quickly. "Victorian furniture can be a bit gothic."
Liz turned to her, expression serious. "So what really happened? Mark said you disappeared for days, then ended up in the hospital."
"It's complicated," Dany hedged. How could she possibly explain what she'd been experiencing?
"Try me," Liz said, crossing her arms. "Because you've been acting weird ever since you bought this thing." She nodded toward the wardrobe.
Dany sighed. She needed someone to confide in, someone who might help her make sense of what was happening. And Liz, with her practical nature and unwavering loyalty, was the closest friend she had.
"You're going to think I'm crazy," Dany began.
"Probably," Liz agreed with a small smile. "But tell me anyway."
Over the next hour, Dany explained everything—the wardrobe's strange properties, her journeys through time, John, the journal, even Catherine Harlow's cryptic warnings. Throughout the telling, Liz listened without interruption, her expression shifting from skepticism to concern to wonder.
"So you're saying this wardrobe is like... a time machine?" Liz asked when Dany finally finished.
"Not exactly. It's more like it transfers consciousness. I'm still me, but sometimes I'm in my body from another time, or even in someone else's body who's connected to me somehow."
Liz stood and approached the wardrobe again, this time with newfound respect. "And this John guy—you've met him in different times, at different ages?"
"Yes. And apparently, we've lived entire lives together in some timelines. We were married for twenty years in 1912, with grown children."
"But you don't remember those lives?"
"No. Only the experiences I've had since first entering the wardrobe." Dany hesitated. "But I'm starting to get... flashes. Memories that aren't mine, or that haven't happened yet. It's like the more I travel, the more connected I become to these other versions of myself."
Liz turned back to her, expression serious. "And you think this Catherine woman is dangerous?"
"John seems to think so. And there's something about her that feels... wrong. Like she knows more than she's saying."
"What are you going to do now?"
Dany looked at the wardrobe, at the new hourglass symbol carved into its doors. "I need to find John again. I need answers."
"And you think you'll find them by going back through that thing?" Liz asked, gesturing at the wardrobe with obvious concern.
"I don't see another option. The shop where I bought it is gone. John's journal only tells part of the story. And Catherine Harlow, whoever she really is, seems to have her own agenda."
Liz was quiet for a moment, then said, "What if I came with you?"
"What?"
"Through the wardrobe. What if we went together?"
Dany shook her head firmly. "No. Absolutely not. We have no idea what would happen. It could be dangerous."
"More dangerous than you going alone?" Liz challenged. "At least if we're together, we can watch out for each other."
"It doesn't work that way," Dany insisted. "The wardrobe... it's connected to me somehow. To John and me. I don't think it would take you anywhere."
Liz looked unconvinced but didn't press the issue. "Fine. But at least wait until tomorrow. You just got out of the hospital, for God's sake."
Dany reluctantly agreed, though every fiber of her being urged her to return to the wardrobe immediately. Something was changing—the wardrobe itself was changing—and she sensed that time was running out.
After Liz left, extracting a promise from Dany to call if anything happened, Dany returned to studying John's journal. There had to be more clues, more information about how the wardrobe worked and what it wanted from them.
As evening fell, Dany dozed off on the couch, the journal open on her chest. She dreamed of the library she had glimpsed in her vision—tall windows letting in golden afternoon light, shelves of leather-bound books reaching to the ceiling, the scent of paper and ink and pipe tobacco.
In the dream, young John looked up from his desk, directly at her. "You found it," he said, his expression lighting up. "The pattern. It's all in the pattern."
"What pattern?" Dany asked. "I don't understand."
John stood and approached a large map spread on a side table. "Time isn't linear," he explained, tracing lines across the map with his finger. "It's more like... a web. Interconnected points that influence each other. The wardrobe allows us to travel along these connections."
"But why us?" Dany asked. "Why are we connected this way?"
John's expression grew troubled. "That's what I've been trying to determine. There's a fracture—a point where time itself was damaged. The wardrobe is trying to repair it."
"How?"
"By bringing together those who were separated by the fracture." John looked at her intently. "Us, Dany. We're supposed to be together, in every timeline. But something happened—something that split us apart across time itself."
The dream shifted, the library dissolving into mist. When it reformed, Dany was standing in a dimly lit room she didn't recognize. Catherine Harlow stood before her, dressed in modern clothes.
"He's lying to you," Catherine said, her voice echoing strangely. "The wardrobe doesn't heal fractures—it creates them. And John knows this. He's known all along."
"Why would he lie?" Dany demanded.
"Because the truth would destroy what you feel for him." Catherine's eyes were cold, calculating. "Ask him about the others. Ask him what really happened to them."
"What others?"
Catherine smiled, a predatory expression that sent chills down Dany's spine. "The other travelers. The ones who came before you. The ones who disappeared."
Dany woke with a gasp, the journal sliding to the floor. The apartment was dark, night having fallen while she slept. But something had woken her—a sound, a presence.
She wasn't alone.
Heart pounding, Dany reached for her phone, ready to call for help. But before she could unlock it, a figure stepped out of the shadows near the wardrobe.
"Hello, Dany," Catherine Harlow said, her voice exactly as it had been in the dream. "I think it's time we had a proper conversation about John Ambrose and what he's really doing with the wardrobe."
"How did you get in here?" Dany demanded, standing up quickly.
"The same way you travel through time," Catherine replied calmly. "Though I've had considerably more practice."
"What do you want?"
"To warn you. To help you understand what you're involved in." Catherine moved closer, her face illuminated by the streetlight filtering through the window. She looked exactly as she had at the garden party in 1912, not a day older. "John isn't the romantic hero you think he is. He's using you, using the connection between you to power the wardrobe for his own purposes."
"That's not true," Dany said, though doubt crept into her mind. "John is trying to fix something—a fracture in time."
Catherine laughed, a cold sound devoid of humor. "Is that what he told you? There is a fracture, yes, but John is the one who created it. And now he's using you to widen it further."
"Why would he do that?"
"Power," Catherine said simply. "Control over time itself. The ability to reshape reality according to his desires."
Dany shook her head, unwilling to believe it. "If that's true, why are you telling me this? What do you get out of it?"
Catherine's expression softened slightly. "Because I was you once. Chosen by the wardrobe, connected to John across time. I believed everything he told me, followed him through countless journeys, countless lives together. Until I discovered the truth."
"Which is?"
"The wardrobe doesn't just transfer consciousness through time. It feeds on the emotional connection between travelers. The stronger the bond, the more power it generates." Catherine's eyes were intense, pleading for understanding. "John has been cultivating your feelings for him, strengthening the connection between you to fuel the wardrobe's power."
Dany's mind raced, trying to reconcile this with everything she had experienced. The immediate attraction she'd felt toward John, the inexplicable longing, the sense of recognition despite having just met him—had it all been manufactured? Manipulated?
"I don't believe you," she said finally, though her voice lacked conviction.
"You don't want to believe me," Catherine corrected. "But deep down, you sense something isn't right. Why can't you remember your past lives with him? Why does he always seem to know more than he's telling you? Why does the wardrobe respond differently to him than to you?"
Each question hit Dany like a physical blow, echoing doubts she had been trying to suppress.
"What happened to you?" Dany asked. "If you were connected to John like I am, what changed?"
Catherine's expression darkened. "I discovered his true purpose. And when I confronted him, he tried to erase me from time itself."
"That's not possible," Dany whispered.
"Isn't it? The wardrobe can transfer consciousness across time. What makes you think it can't do more?" Catherine moved to the wardrobe, placing her hand on the new hourglass symbol. "This is his mark. His claim on the wardrobe's power. And on you."
Dany stared at the symbol, remembering how it had appeared after her return from the hospital. Had John altered the wardrobe somehow? Marked it as his?
"If what you're saying is true," Dany said slowly, "then why hasn't he succeeded already? Why keep sending me back and forth through time?"
"Because the fracture isn't wide enough yet. Each journey you make, each emotional connection you form with him in different times, widens it a little more." Catherine's voice was urgent now. "But there's a tipping point coming. A moment when the fracture will become irreparable, when time itself will shatter around us."
"And then what happens?"
"John gains the ability to rewrite reality as he sees fit. To erase people, events, entire timelines that don't suit his purpose." Catherine's eyes bored into Dany's. "Including you, once you're no longer useful to him."
The accusation was so outlandish, so contrary to everything Dany had felt from John, that it should have been easy to dismiss. Yet doubt had taken root, feeding on the inconsistencies and unanswered questions that had plagued her since her first journey.
"How do I know you're telling the truth?" Dany challenged. "This could all be a lie to turn me against John."
"You don't know," Catherine admitted. "You can't know, not with certainty. But ask yourself this: Why would I lie? What would I gain by turning you against him?"
"The wardrobe's power," Dany suggested. "If it's as valuable as you claim."
Catherine shook her head. "I don't want its power. I want to destroy it, before it destroys everything else."
Before Dany could respond, the wardrobe began to emit a low, humming sound. The carvings glowed with blue light, pulsing like a heartbeat.
"He's coming," Catherine said, backing away from the wardrobe. "He can sense when someone else is near you—near his precious connection."
The doors of the wardrobe began to rattle, as if something inside was trying to get out.
"I have to go," Catherine said urgently. "But remember what I've told you. Question everything he says. Look for the inconsistencies in his story." She pressed something into Dany's hand—a small, ornate key. "When you're ready to know the truth, use this. It opens a door he doesn't want you to find."
Before Dany could ask what door, what truth, Catherine was gone—not by the apartment door, but in a swirl of light that engulfed her and then vanished, leaving Dany alone with the pulsing, humming wardrobe.
The doors flew open with a bang, revealing the now-familiar vortex of swirling light. But instead of pulling Dany in, something—someone—emerged from it.
John stepped into the apartment, his appearance matching the younger version from her dream—early twenties, his face less weathered but his eyes just as intense. He wore the formal attire of a Victorian gentleman, his expression a mixture of relief and concern as he spotted Dany.
"Thank God," he said, moving toward her. "I felt the disruption—another traveler near you. Are you alright?"
Dany backed away, Catherine's warnings fresh in her mind. "Stay where you are."
John stopped, confusion crossing his features. "Dany? What's wrong?"
"Catherine Harlow was here," Dany said, watching his reaction carefully. "She told me some interesting things about you. About the wardrobe."
John's expression hardened. "Whatever she told you, it's a lie. She's trying to manipulate you, to turn you against me."
"Why would she do that?"
"Because she wants the wardrobe's power for herself," John replied, echoing Dany's own suspicion. "She's been chasing it for years, across countless timelines."
"And what do you want with it?" Dany challenged.
John's expression softened. "I want to fix what was broken. To heal the fracture in time that separates us."
"What fracture? What are you not telling me, John?"
He sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that seemed startlingly modern for his Victorian attire. "It's complicated, Dany. The full truth would take more time than we have right now."
"Try me," she insisted.
John looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. "Very well. But not here. Catherine could return at any moment, and this place isn't safe." He extended his hand. "Come with me. Let me show you where it all began."
Dany hesitated, Catherine's key cold in her palm. Two people claiming to want to protect her, each warning her against the other. Who was telling the truth?
"How do I know I can trust you?" she asked.
"You don't," John admitted. "Not completely. Not yet. But you feel something when we're together—a connection that goes beyond rational explanation. That's real, Dany. Whatever Catherine told you, that connection is real."
He was right. Despite her doubts, despite Catherine's warnings, Dany couldn't deny the pull she felt toward John. It transcended time and logic, a bond that felt etched into her very soul.
But was that bond natural, or had it been engineered by the wardrobe? By John himself?
As if sensing her thoughts, John spoke again, his voice gentle. "The wardrobe didn't create our connection, Dany. It recognized it. That's why it chose us."
The wardrobe's glow intensified, the vortex within it swirling faster. John glanced at it with concern.
"We don't have much time," he said urgently. "The portal is unstable. Please, Dany. Trust me enough to come with me. Just this once."
Dany looked from John to the wardrobe, then down at the key in her hand. Catherine had said it would lead her to the truth. But so was John, in his way.
Two paths diverged before her—one leading back through the wardrobe with John, the other toward whatever door Catherine's key would open. Both promised answers, but which would lead to the truth?
The wardrobe's light pulsed more frantically, the vortex beginning to collapse in on itself.
"Dany, please," John urged, his hand still extended. "We're running out of time."
In that moment, Dany made her choice. She slipped Catherine's key into her pocket and reached for John's hand.
His fingers closed around hers, warm and solid. The connection between them surged, a current of emotion and memory that took her breath away. In his eyes, she saw relief, gratitude, and something deeper—a vulnerability that belied Catherine's portrayal of him as a calculating manipulator.
"Hold tight," he said, pulling her toward the wardrobe. "This journey will be different from the others."
As they stepped into the swirling vortex together, Dany felt the weight of Catherine's key in her pocket—a reminder that her choice wasn't final, that questions remained unanswered.
The last thing she saw before the vortex engulfed them was a shadow moving across her apartment window—a figure watching from outside, its features obscured but its presence unmistakable.
Someone else was tracking their movements through time. And as the wardrobe's doors slammed shut behind them, Dany couldn't shake the feeling that they were heading not toward answers, but into a carefully laid trap.
_______
If you're enjoying the story, don't forget to add it to your library, leave a comment, or drop a Power Stone ❤️