Message-Id: <3148963B.6536@skyenet.net> Date: Thu, 14 Mar 1996 16:57:15 -0500 From: Christine Wirick Organization: Soong Press To: Quantum Leap Creative Subject: The Lesser Sin This story was published in the fanzine "Strictly An Indulgence" All rights have since reverted back to the author. Copyright 1994, Christine Wirick You may download this story and share it FREELY with your friends. If you have any comments, you may email me at: lalsoong1@skyenet.net "The Lesser Sin" A Quantum Leap story By Christine Wirick Sam Beckett, arriving, post-leap, in a bus station, held a briefcase in one hand and a suitcase in the other. Am I coming... or going? he wondered, then laughed, realizing he was always coming and going. The noise of nearby buses caught his attention--two were loading, the other unloading. It was nighttime and Sam caught his host's reflection in a dusty window ahead: a tall, thin man about sixty. "Dr. Greenfield, Dr. Greenfield!" a woman called as she approached the time traveler. She held out a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. "You left these on the counter." "Thanks," Sam replied, taking the spectacles and slipping them into his breast pocket with a thankful smile. He stepped to his right, not sure which way to go. "I believe your bus is that way." The woman pointed to Beckett's left. "You better hurry. It's about to leave." "Thank you." Reaching the nearly-full bus, he slid the suitcase into the open luggage compartment, but decided to keep the briefcase, hoping it would contain some clue about this leap. He boarded. "Ticket, please," the chubby, middle-aged driver requested. Sam patted his pant pockets, wondering where the doctor would have put it, and finally finding the ticket in the breast pocket of his comfortably worn jacket. He handed it to the driver with a triumphant grin. "Sorry..." The man accepted the paper with a grunt and nodded to the seats. Sam eventually found an empty one near the back next to a teenage boy. The kid eyed Sam meticu-lously, assessing the old man's vulnerability. Then he smiled, little more than a sneer, the crooked, off-white teeth giving Beckett the impression he was looking at a maniac. "Whatcha gawkin' at, old man?" the boy hissed. "You better look away, or you'll regret ever settin' eyes on me." He lifted his sleeve slightly, revealing a switchblade. "Oh boy," Sam said softly and quickly looked away. Just what he needed, a reject from Grease. He felt the cold stab of the boy's eyes on his back and realized the kid might be more dangerous than he looked. A blonde in her early twenties sat across from him. She smiled, bouncing as she did so, the motion encompassing her entire body with enthusiasm. "I'm Myrna Tate." "Ah, Dr. Greenfield," the time traveler replied. "A doctor, wow! Why are you taking a bus? I thought you doctor types had money. A plane would be much faster." "Some people don't like flying." Sam wondered if that was Dr. Greenfield's reason. "Really?" Myrna said, raising her eyebrows. "I had a cousin who was afraid of heights." "Fear of flying and fear of heights aren't--" "Me and my sister used to get her up in the hayloft, then take the ladder down. You should have heard the fits she threw, begging us to come back with that ladder. It was funny back then. You know, kids will be kids." Her smile faded. "It's rather sad now, though." "Why?" Beckett asked automatically, knowing she would tell him whether he really wanted to know or not. "Well, the poor dear decided she was going to get over her fear once and for all, so she climbed onto the roof of her two-story house. She slipped and fell off." Myrna formed the words slowly, her pain palpable on her pale face. "Breaking her neck." "Now that's morbid!" Al said as he made his entrance. "I know you can't talk Sam, so try not to look too conspicuous and get a good look at the guy sitting next to you." "Why?" Sam blurted out. He knew something was wrong with that kid. "Why?" Myrna exclaimed. "I just told you why. She wanted to get over her fear of heights, so our teasing wouldn't bother her anymore." Myrna continued to prattle, but Beckett tuned her out, listening to Al. "Ziggy says this bus is involved in an accident just outside Las Vegas, a couple hours from now," the project observer explained. "Seven people die and several others are severely injured." Sam glanced at Myrna, and she giggled, her eyes scintillating. "Dr. Wayne Greenfield--you--managed to save Emil Kasterdorf," Al continued. He pointed his cigar at the boy seated beside Sam. He was peeling dry skin from his hands, seemingly obsessed with the task. "Real charming guy, huh?" Al punched buttons on the hand link. "Huh.... Ziggy says you're here to not save him." "What!?" "I said my mother--" began Myrna. "Excuse me, I need to go to the restroom," Beckett said haltingly as he set his briefcase down. Al followed him into the small bathroom, noting that, were he a real person instead of a hologram, it would have been very crowded indeed. As soon as Sam pressed himself into the tiny space, he turned to meet the observer's half-amused gaze. "Al, I've never--HE would never expect me to--" Al shrugged. "According to Ziggy, if you don't let Emil Kasterdorf die, three years from now, in 1982, he goes out and kills thirteen women before he's finally caught by the authorities." "Oh, God!" Sam leaned against the sink, having lost his equilibrium. A foreign, cold fear locked in his midsection. "Sam, he chops them up to the point that their loved ones can't even identify them." Beckett closed his eyes trying to fight the nausea rising from his belly. Vivid images of once-beautiful women floating in pools of their own blood surfaced in his imagination. The bus rolled forward, picking up speed as they entered the highway. Sam washed his face and hands, trying to calm his suddenly rebelling nerves before stepping out of the bathroom. He glanced anxiously from passenger to passenger, wondering who would die. There were children aboard, each so full of life. Reluct-antly, he returned to his seat. Emil had his switchblade out, carving his name on the arm rest. Sam pictured the same blade carving the same letters into the flesh of an innocent woman. The thought sent his stomach rumbling again. He shifted in the seat, turning and expecting to see Al, but the observer had strangely vanished without a "goodbye." Even he's afraid of Emil, Sam thought, remembering the time when his friend had thought Beckett was a vampire. Holograms! he added with grim humor. The bus rumbled on into an ominously quiet night, and Sam fought against sleep. I need a detraction, he thought, then decided that it was time to browse through Dr. Greenfield's briefcase. Leaning over, he felt around for the case, but it wasn't there. "Lookin' for something, old man?" Emil asked with a smirk. "Did you take my briefcase?" Sam asked, trying to keep his fear under wraps. What was wrong? He usually didn't have this kind of problem... Emil laughed. "Do you see it, old man?" He raised his hands, waving the knife. "I ain't got it. Find it yourself." Sam knelt to look for the briefcase, spotting it between the two passengers in front of him. "Excuse me," he said to them. "I believe my briefcase slid under your seat." "I'll get it for you," the elderly man replied. "But it didn't just slide. The young man beside you kicked it." Sam accepted the briefcase. "Thank you." "Got some important papers in that?" Emil asked, clicking his switchblade closed. "I don't believe that's any of your business," Sam said slowly, eyeing the knife and praying he wouldn't pay for his comment. Opening the briefcase, the time traveler hunched over it and leafed through the pile of papers he found. Often when he leaped into someone, facets of his host remained. He noticed immediately that this was true with regards to Dr. Greenfield's eyesight. Reaching into his breast pocket, he grabbed the glasses and slipped them on. Among the papers were reports on female infertility, written by Dr. Greenfield. "Oh boy, he's a fertility specialist," he mumbled. "What did you say, old man?" Emil said. "Don't call me that! I'm a doctor. Doctor Green- field. You address me as such." Beckett wasn't usually so surly, but this kid could aggravate the most congen-ial person. "Well, ex-cuse me, doc," came Emil's sarcastic reply. Sam scanned a few more of Dr. Greenfield's papers. Finding nothing that could help him, he closed the briefcase and returned it to the floor. He removed the glasses, tucking them back into his pocket. "Reviewing your notes, Dr. Greenfield?" Myrna asked. "Not exactly." "Are you going to L.A. for a medical convention?" "Yes," Sam replied, deciding that it didn't matter whether it was true or not. "I'm going there to become a model." "You're certainly pretty enough." "Why thank you," she said, blushing. Myrna launched into a description of her plans, but Sam heard little of the idyllic dreams. He was too tense. A future serial killer sat beside him, and only he could prevent that future. How could he let any human being die? How could God expect him to? This wasn't right. Though he didn't know how, Beckett believed that he had to change history in a way that wouldn't test his morality. HE must believe I'm up to the challenge, Sam thought. There has to be a way to solve this so everyone wins. He turned toward Emil. With his hands propped behind his head, the boy was lightly snoring. Sam knew that Emil didn't deserve to win, but at the same time, he didn't have the right to let the boy die. "...said I was a fool to even try, but a girl's gotta try," Myrna said, and Sam suddenly remembered that she was talking to him. "What was that?" he asked. "My husband, Barry." "You're married?" "Yeah, I told you. Barry, he tried to keep me from making this trip, so I asked him, 'You ever hear of women's lib?'" "Oh yeah," Sam said with a soft chuckle, remembering throwing a brassiere into a fire during a women's pro-test. "I packed my bags, and here I am." "Myrna, why did you leave your husband to pursue a career that may never amount to anything?" "How would I feel ten years from now if I never tried? I can't stand the thought of becoming a homebody with a houseful of kids, totally dependent on a man." "You can be independent without leaving your husband. You could get a job or go to school. You're young. You have lots of years ahead--" Sam faltered, wondering if Myrna would be one of the casualties. He had to find out. Where was Al? "I know all the arguments," Myrna replied, not noticing Sam's breaking off. "Barry spelled them all out to me. He even said he'd pay for it if I wanted to get a college degree." "Sounds like your Barry is a sensible guy." "Yeah, but I like the thrill of adventure and chance." "I wish you luck. I just hope you don't make it to Los Angeles only to find you've left a bigger adventure behind." Myrna's smile waned. "Maybe, but we take gambles all our lives." "You lookin' for adventure, baby," Emil piped up. He'd either faked sleep or slept so lightly that all the conversation had roused him. "I hear this bus has a stopover in Vegas. Want to get it on?" "No, she doesn't want to get it on!" Beckett snapped. "I'm not that kind of girl!" She looked at Sam. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go to the ladies room." Oh, Al, Sam thought, I wish you'd come back. I've got some questions I need answered. For an uncomfortably long time, everyone fell quiet. Myrna returned and closed her eyes to rest. Most of the other passengers also appeared to be sleeping. Sam continued to force himself to stay awake, cautiously glancing at Emil from time to time. The kid remained awake as well, and the time traveler wondered if the other passengers weren't more fortunate than himself. They were totally oblivious to the fact that a maniac sat among them, or that they would soon be in an accident. A cold chill rattled down his back.