Date: Sun, 16 May 93 17:09:48 CDT From: Ingrid de Beus To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com Subject: Enemies:Part five:GRAMMATICALLY CORRECT VERSION Message-Id: _Enemies_ by Ingrid de Beus (c)1993 Ingrid de Beus Part Five: The kitchen seems even stuffier then when he left it. Sam feels his heart-rate accelerate as he walks through to the stairway. His foot is already on the second step when he catches sight of Layton's distinctive tan amidst a small group of men chatting in the center cluster of couches in the living room. Mastering his impulse to keep going up the stairs, Sam hops back down to the floor and tries to put a casual spring in his step as he angles through the thinning crowd. "Hi, " he says, dropping down onto the same couch as Layton. The other man grins in his direction, and continues to listen to the tale of a late-night brainstorming session gone awry, being told by a gangly young man with milk-pale skin and thick glasses. Sam listens politely to the young man's tale for a few minutes, mentally reviewing and discarding ways to turn the conversation towards moving, San Francisco, or anything even vaguely related to these two topics. Through his internal musings, Sam realizes that the young man has ended his story with a flourish, and Layton is getting up, perhaps to refresh his drink at the bar. Helplessly, Sam gets up and follows him. A vast feeling of unease coats the roof of his mouth with an unpleasant texture. He had been failing at casual conversation all day -- how is he to succeed this time? At the bar, Layton amiably pours Sam a drink. "So, have you ever been to San Francisco?" Sam finds himself saying, feeling desperate and foolish. "Yes, a couple of times, " answers Layton, not looking at Sam. "Beautiful city, don't you think?" continues Sam, inanely. Layton shrugs non-committedly. Sam's jaw feels like lead, and his stomach like a bottomless void. He closes his eyes, anticipating nausea. When he opens them, Layton has drifted away towards the windows. Silently, Sam curls his hand around his glass, and tries not to break it. For a moment, the pressure of his fingers against the heavy glass is all the reality that he can encompass. Then, slowly, he puts it down, and takes a deep breath. He'll just have to try again, later. Pushing off from the counter, he starts looking for a conversation that won't die around him, to give him some distraction. Sam walks away from the living room, and into the formal sitting room behind the glass doors. There are several people there, perched on the couches and chairs, among them the blonde that Al had examined earlier. She is involved in draining a champagne glass as Sam walks in. One of the men looks up and greets Sam. "Thanks for the invitation to the party, Ger," he says. Sam raises his eyebrows slightly at his tone, which contains more contempt then gratitude. "I'm glad you could make it, " he responds automatically. "I'm glad to see that so many people -- " Sam notices that the man's attention has gone back to the blonde on the divan. "-- could make it, " he finishes, almost under his breath. "I don't know why Layton brought his kid to this, " says another, fair-haired man, abruptly. His name is Alan, Sam remembers. "Why shouldn't she come? It's a birthday party, not a board meeting, " the cool blonde in pink responds. Jeffrey's wife certainly warrants her long nails, thinks Sam, envisioning a large white cat, with pink teeth and claws. Her name seems to have fallen through one of the holes in his brain, unfortunately. "Well, who would she talk to? " insists the first man, his attention wrapped almost entirely the woman in front of him. "There's no one here her age. " The blonde's mouth curves mockingly. "Are our conversations so mature, now, that a child cannot interpret them? " she replies. Sam hurries to fill the gap left by the man's embarassment. "We're all a long way from school-rooms and playgrounds, wouldn't you say? " he asks. "I don't know about that, " says a fifth voice. Sam looks up, past the blonde's champagne glass, and into the handsome laconic features of the blonde's husband. He surprises himself by remembering his name. "Could you explain that, Jeffrey? " Sam realizes that his caustic mood is showing in his tone, and tries to grin to make up for it. From the look in Jeff's eyes, the result is unappealing. "In the corporate world where I usually find myself, " Jeff answers confidently, " I find that there are fair number of cheats, sneaks, and bullies, in proportions similar to a typical school playground. " The blonde, her face turned away from her husband, rolls her eyes in response to his pompous tone. Alan answers her look with a watery grin. The other man, his concentration broken, mumbles something under his breath and departs, leaving a vacant chair. "Pity you can't settle things with a fight in a board meeting," the watery grin says. The blonde smiles winningly. "Ah, but you can translate the lessons of the schoolyard into the boardroom, " continues Jeffrey triumphantly. Sam's eyebrows quirk upwards again, his expression inviting further explanation. "You mean, when you-- or your friend --got robbed of his lunch money, you knew you had to put your funds in escrow when you got older? " Sam prompts. Jeffrey smiles condescendingly in return, and sits down next to his wife, putting his hand on her knee. "Something like that, " he adds, after a pause. Sam sits down in the empty chair, his weight making no more impression in the cushion than its last occupant. "All I learned in grade school was how fast I could run, " comments Alan, his grin gaining more character. Sam looks at him appraisingly. Alan *did* have the build of a runner, maybe even a track star. "I ran from bullies, too, " returns Jeffrey, " but only as far as the nearest friend. " "Friend, dear? " queries his wife, a little too tenderly. Her foot scrapes the carpet noisely as she draws her leg away from her husband's hand. An unreadable expression flits across Jeffrey's face. He laughs, a little too suddenly. "Any pal who could discourage a bully was a good friend of mine, " he declares. " I learned to plan when I was a kid. How to plan, and how to make the right friends. " She looks away. " What kind of friends did you make, darling? " he asks casually. Sam stiffens along with Jeffrey's wife. She looks at her husband, equally as casually. "The boring kind, I'm afraid, " she comments, quietly, the mocking curve returning to her mouth. " Sticks-in-the-mud. But we stuck together. And like any bunch of sticks, we broke instead of bending over, for anyone. Excuse me. " Sam stands up reflexively as the blonde rises from the couch and pushes open the glass doors in one smooth motion. "Women, " Alan comments weakly, after she has shut the doors behind her. Jeffrey shrugs, unwilling, Sam thinks, to show any concern. Abruptly Sam follows the lady out of the room, also taking care to close the glass doors behind him. She is leaning on the front door, rummaging through her purse. "Everything okay? " asks Sam, trying desperately to remember her name. Her attention does not leave the handbag as she answers him. "You're not yourself, today, Gerry. " The comment takes Sam somewhat aback, but he recovers quickly. "It's a special occasion. " Sam realizes that this is the first comment of this kind that he has received on this leap. Odd, how no one seemed to have noticed any difference in Gerald up until now. A flicker of his earlier loneliness passes through him. "Ah, hah!" the lady says, pulling a small vial out of her handbag. She opens it and begins to dab the stopper on her wrists and ears. The strong scent reminds Sam of big band music and soft breath on his neck. He snaps his attention back to the lady in front of him. "Pretty interesting conversation, don't you think? " he says, trying to keep her attention on him. She stoppers the vial, and lifts an eyebrow. "Pretty weak-minded, if you ask me. Men are always assuming that childhood activities are a metaphor for life. " She drops the vial back into her handbag. Sam plunges onward. "Well, don't you think that we carry our childhood experiences through our entire lives? " "Only if you're unlucky enough to have a memorable childhood." Sam puts a hand on her shoulder as she begins to walk past him. "Wait, please. You had a pretty strong reaction to Jeffrey's comment, back there. Did you ever-- " "What is this, pop-psych-analysis? Give it up, Ger." The edge in her voice is noticeably harsher. Sam ignores it, and her attempts to pull away. "I was just asking-- " "*Stop* it, Ger! " Sam starts, and realizes that he's gripped her shoulder harder then he intended. This leap is really getting to me, he thinks, trying to put a lid on his feeling of desperation. He takes his hand away from her shoulder, giving it a little pat as though in apology. "I-- I didn't mean to hurt you, " he says. Looking into her eyes, he's alarmed by the roiling anger there. "_Meaning_ doesn't matter, " she spits out at him. " It hurt. That's *all* that matters. " Sam winces visibly. "I'm sorry, I..." he continues, helplessly. Abruptly the anger and pain on her face is shunted away, and a blank expression replaces it. She passes a rueful look over Sam's confused features. "Oh, hell, I sound like a kid. We should all be back in Jeff's schoolyard, huh? " She sighs, and finishes in a flat, bored tone, "Sorry I snapped at you, Gerald. See you. " Sam mumbles a reply as she passes him. He should be trying to find Henry Layton again, to make another try at changing history, but he doesn't move. Something about her reaction to his insistence bothers him. She had looked at him as though he were everything that she hated in the world, he thinks. It was the *totality* of her gaze that held him. Nothing else mattered to her, except the pain, and the fact that he had caused it, no matter how momentarily. Sam feels his confidence waver as he picks carefully through this line of reasoning. "Schoolyards, " he mutters. "Only children react with totality of emotion. " He thinks of Danielle's face as she gripped the phone in Gerald's living room. "Sticks-in-the-mud. " The unhappiness apparent in Jeffrey's wife existence sickens Sam. He closes his eyes, unable to make sense of the pictures in his mind, or the people around him. The cold unpleasantness in his stomach is back. He takes a step forward, exhales heavily, and feels his shoulders slump as his forehead hits the door. Briefly, he considers banging his head into the door until all traces of this reality are banished from it, but a last note of self-consciousness reminds him of his visibility. He lifts his head and turns his back to the door and looks around. The party-goers' motions seem mechanical, and somehow distant from him. The sounds of glasses meeting sideboards, and feet scraping through the carpet, and voices rasping around alcohol, inconsequential until now, are giving him a headache. The pain, at least, is real. His mind seems to drift around it, searching for an anchor. One appears, in the form of a hologram. "How long have you been here? " Sam asks tiredly. Al watches Jeffrey's wife cross the living room, and pour herself a new glass of champagne. "Long enough to know you could use a vacation from this crowd, Sam. " Al pauses, and turns back to Sam with a mischievious glint in his eye. "Her name's Catherine, by the way. I could tell that you'd forgotten it. " "Thank you, Al. " "Hey, it's only a name--" "For noticing. Anything. " In response, the Observer gestures elaborately in a so-what-else-is-new attitude. "Don't let them get to you, Sam. These kind of people live in isolation. They barely notice anything outside their own selves, let alone a different personality behind a vaguely familiar face. " Al's contempt seems total, if good-natured. Sam begins to pace in the entrance-way. Al's presence seems to clear the fog in his head, as though his friend's bright clothing throw all other images in sharp relief, denying them their delusions. Abruptly, the shadows in Sam's mind become a picture, and a goal. He stops pacing, and looks at his friend. "Al, I think I know why I'm here. You said that Danielle was probably abused regularly during this weekend. Child abusers depend on privacy and secrecy, right? They depend on the child's fear to maintain that secrecy. " "Yeah, " Al frowns, and gestures sharply, as though to skewer someone. " Dr. Beeks said that it's one of the more vicious cycles found in psychiatric care. " "So what would happen if the abuse happened in a public place, where she might have the opportunity to make enough noise, in protest, to be heard by other people? " Sam begins to gesture as well, as his growing conviction shows through. "Well, she might be discovered, " Al responds. "Right, and her abuser would be, too. " Sam smiles a genuine smile at Al. "And then there would be no more secret. " continues the Observer, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice. "Right! " Sam's smile grows broader, even as Al's frown deepens. "Right... Sam, this is all well and good, but it's not going to happen, is it? " Worry colors Al's tone as he presses his question. "Sam? This is all hypothetical, isn't it?" "Al, she deserves a chance to redeem herself, in her own eyes. Don't you think she deserves that chance?" "Of course she does! " Al's angry shout gives Sam pause. "Sam, you're scaring me. " Sam's face sets determinedly. "Well, you're not as scared as she is. She's scared enough to build a wall of anger to protect her awful secret -- to protect her pain. The trouble is, she's going to trap herself inside, with it." He pauses, and finds a bitterness in his throat that he's felt before. "She's going to spend the rest of her life trapped inside a filthy, rotten world. " Al regards him, a sad and empty expression in his eyes. " And this! " Sam hits his own chest accusingly, " did it. " Al holds up his hands in protest of the gesture. Sam sees him, and amends his next words. " _He_ made her her own worst enemy. " "Sam, I know how you're feeling right now, " Al states slowly and deliberately. As he sees that his words are having no effect, he continues with growing emphasis. "I can't believe you're proposing what I think you're proposing. It's disgusting; it's horrible; it's dangerous, Sam! You're playing with more then just a girl's personality; your own future is at stake here. " Al's eyes try to lock onto Sam's, to force some sense into them, but Sam's conviction points his gaze past the hologram and into the party. "I'm not playing. This is the only thing that I can do. " Sam's voice grows quieter, more wondering. " This is a thing only I can do. " He glances back at Al, though not at his eyes. " This is all I can do, " he says, and walks past him. Al watches him move away, an appalled expression on his face. He pulls out the handlink, and immediately makes it squeal by punching viciously at it. "Give me an answer, you moronic pile of spare parts!" he snarls. The handlink moans again, almost in apology. One glance and the Observer smacks it again, in sheer frustration. He looks after Sam, and spits out one last comment before disappearing. "God damn it. " Danielle isn't in the living room, or in the corridor, so Sam heads for the kitchen. He pushes open the door and takes care to wedge it slightly open after he goes inside. Al appears, angry and concerned expressions struggling for dominance on his features. "Sam..." "Al, please don't watch this." Sam leaves the hologram's side, and strolls into the kitchen. He tries to think of something else, anything else, besides the scene he's determined to play out in this room. He maneuvers around the center island, catching his hip against the stove in his hurry. The rough edge disturbs him slightly, as though the metal and wood have no right to be real. Danielle is perched on the far side of the island, between the elaborate knife rack and the range. Briefly, Sam envies the agility and grace she must have exerted to place herself so precisely while leaping. Her hands grip the counter-top, and her legs swing slowly back in forth in time with her thoughts. Occasionally, her feet contact the cupboards beneath her with a deadened thump. Sam stops in front of her. She doesn't look at him. Sam takes a shallow breath for the cold weight in his heart. "Hey, there, beautiful, " he says, staring at her forehead to avoid looking at Al. " That's a pretty dress you've got on. " "Thanks, " she mumbles. "Now, is that anyway to talk to your friend Gerry? If you want to be as pretty as that dress you've got to be nice to me." Sam swallows convulsively, and tries to keep his face blank. Slowly, he reaches out a hand to touch her shoulder. She tries to shrug him off, tucking her chin further into her chest. "Go away, " she says, her voice cracking a little. Sam looks down at her, and resists his impulse to pick her up and cradle her in his arms. He reminds himself that he can't stay in this life, and winces at the selfishness of his thoughts. He turns the gesture into a firm grasp of both her shoulders. Danielle continues to stare straight ahead, into his shirt buttons. "We ought to have fun together, you and I... there's a lot of time still, before the weekend's over. " Sam slides his fingers under her collar. A hollow thump marks Al's departure through the IC door. Sam's hands feel huge and heavy to him. A small strangled noise comes from Danielle. Sam quickly takes his hands away and leans on his heels. Danielle draws her legs up into her arms, and buries her face in her knees. "I can't do this, " whispers Sam to himself, in relief. "FIRE!" yells Al, as he appears directly behind Sam. Sam jumps forward convulsively. He has just enough time to avoid plunging his hands into the knives as he falls heavily into Danielle's knees. The next thing he hears is an inarticulate cry from Danielle, and the next thing he feels is two small feet impacting on his chest with stunning force. He rocks back on his heels, and gets a full view of Danielle's anger. "Don't touch me! " she screams. Her shriek seems to silence all the myriad noises of the house. Sam takes a hesitant breath, and then loses it entirely as her feet hit his stomach. Coughing uncontrollably, he staggers hard back into the counter. Its sharp rim stops him in the kidneys, making him gasp even more. "Don't move, Sam! " orders Al, trying to gauge Danielle's hysteria. She continues to kick her legs, now futilely far from Sam. "I hate you! " she cries, her voice already becoming hoarse. "I hate you I hate you I hate you! " A sharp gulping sob interrupts her shriek. She covers her eyes with her hands. Sam obeys Al, recalling Danielle's prior experience. The knives are very close to her. The door to the kitchen cracks sharply against the opposite wall as Henry Layton flies through it. Mrs. Fundikker is directly behind him. Through his partially dazed vision, Sam can see the rest of the party eagerly crowding behind them. "What the hell is going on here? " demands Layton. His outspread arms and outraged stance block Mrs. Fundikker and her guests from entering any further. Danielle seems not to notice his entrance. A keening sound occasionally escapes her. "Danielle, " Layton asks, "what have you done? what's happened? " Sam turns his head minutely to look at Al, who shakes his head firmly, no. Layton comes around the island and holds out his arms to Danielle. "Come on, Dani, tell Daddy what happened, " he says, trying to be patient. Danielle's kicking stops, and she brings her hands away from her eyes. She's staring at Sam. Sam refuses to meet her eyes. "Daddy.. " she whispers, hoarsely. An unquenchable terror makes her tremble all over. Layton takes her hands in his, and glances over his shoulder at Sam. "Whatever my daughter's done, I'm sure she's sorry, Ger, " he says. Sam's mouth opens to protest, but he's stopped by a sharp gesture from Al. "Tell him you were just playing with her, " says Al, his expressions brooking no commentary. "I was just playing with her, " repeats Sam, unable to keep a perplexed look off his face. Layton looks back at him again. "Tell him that you like to play with little girls, " Al continues. Sam gulps, and does so. " Tell him that little girls have the softest skin. Tell him that Dani has softest skin of all. " Sam does so. "Dani knows what games I like to play, " Sam finishes. Layton's face turns blank. He turns back to his daughter, and touches her face tenderly. "Everything's going to be okay, Dani, " he says. " Nothing like this could every be your fault. " Danielle starts to sob. The handlink beeps once, as if to console her. Al ignores it. Sam stays in the kitchen while Layton takes his daughter out to the living room. Al remains as well, although he says nothing. The handlink beeps occasionally, but the Observer continues to ignore it. The remains of the party seem as subdued as the two time-travellers, uninclined even to whisper amongst themselves. Mrs. Fundikker remains in the kitchen, staring at her "son". Her face, which earlier had only a little excess make-up on it, now seems about to crack, like aging plaster. She doesn't move as Layton comes back into the kitchen and stands once again in front of Sam. "Fundikker, if you come anywhere near my daughter again, I'll kill you. " Danielle's father takes a good stance, and punches Sam across the mouth. Reeling slightly, Sam watches him leave, and then looks at Gerald's mother. "Now would be a good time to leave, Sam, " suggests Al. Sam nods once, and walks steadily towards Mrs. Fundikker. Her eyes do not waver to follow him. His path is unimpeded through the living room, as the guests shy away from him. The front door is held open for his passing by Catherine. A tight smile seals her face. The door slams behind him. Twenty yards up the driveway, Al pops in and starts walking next to Sam. For a few minutes neither man says anything. "I think I'm going to throw up, " says Sam, finally. Al looks at him quickly, but no humor is apparent in Sam's expression, only nausea. "I wouldn't blame you, kid, " he responds. After a moment, he pulls out the handlink. "You changed history, you know, " continues the Observer, trying to sound nonchalant. Sam looks at him, the light beginning to return to his eyes. "You'll be happy to know that Danielle doesn't end up in a Midwestern exec job after all." "She doesn't?" "Nope, she gets a job as a television producer in New York, and she does pretty well. Her dad lives nearby, and they never lost touch. " "That's great, Al! " An impossible weight slips from Sam's shoulders. He wants to scream in relief. He settles for grinning madly. "Gerald, on the other hand.." Al pokes speculatively at the handlink. "Yes?" Sam hears the regret in his own voice, and tries not to think about it. "He loses his job, never finds another as stable, floats around for about ten years, cheating on alimony, the dog... Hmph, Ziggy's lost track of him about five years ago. " "I don't know whether to feel sorry for him or cheated for Dani. " Sam shrugs uncomfortably. The fog starts to thicken into rain. "I sympathize, pal, but you can't be Judge, Jury, and Executioner. " Al gestures matter-of-factly. "Never more then a citizen deputy, huh?" "Ha! Yeah, yeah, I suppose. Citizen deputy-- that's pretty good, Sam." Sam stops walking, and looks at his friend through the soft rain. Al looks back at him, quizzically. Sam chooses his next words very carefully. "You're something else, you know, Al. You deliberately made me jump forward like that. After all that arguing, you helped me out. " Al gestures vaguely with his cigar, trying to keep his good mood. "Well, you know, you kind of convinced me... the ends were certainly justified, I mean, look at the results! " the Observer enthuses, angling the handlink for Sam to see the display. Sam instead looks straight into Al's eyes. "The ends justified the means? " he asks, begging his friend to take back his words. Al stands ramrod straight, and doesn't look away. "Sam, if they don't, then there's no way you could be leaping around in time. " Silence reigns on the mist-covered road as the scientist and the admiral look at each other. Sam, finally, drops his eyes. "Does that mean life is fair? That all the pain and suffering ordinary people go through is worth it? " he asks. Al's sharp laughter jerks his head back up. "Only if you make it fair! " the Observer declares. Sam can't help but smile, at that. Abruptly, a cascade of blue light hits his body, and his response is lost as the scene fades around him. In seconds he can see nothing of the woods except Al's image, and then that too fades and only the Leap, that irresistable sense of destination, remains. The End.